#PS the first picture is not the full res one! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

femininenachos · 5 years

Note

thank you so much for giving us an update on this! I really love the magaya au, where the story is going and just the way you're handling the whole thing. Can't wait for the next update (PS the gay panic Lexa had when a pretty girl touched her was a little too relatable)

Previously on Make America Gay Again: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

~~ * ~~

How about we take this someplace warmer, preferably inside?

It was supposed to be a throwaway suggestion; a joke. It genuinely wasn’t Clarke’s intention for it to come out sounding like a bad pick-up line, flirty undertone and all.

Except here’s the thing:

Lexa agrees.

Shoots off the bench so fast it’s like someone jammed a red hot poker up her ass. And from Clarke’s perspective, it’s difficult to gauge if Lexa is that desperately eager to continue their conversation or she just really wants to escape the cold. But whatever the motivating factor might be, Clarke is more than okay with it.

It’s not even the first time her expectations have been upended today, which seems to be a recurring theme with Lexa. This gap between how Clarke assumes Lexa will react and the reality keeps throwing her for a loop.

She was ready to do the hard sell to convince Lexa to join forces. She’d rehearsed a whole TED Talk in the shower this morning, full of poignant emotional beats, weighty pauses, and a powerful closing statement.

It’s almost disappointing she didn’t get the opportunity to deliver it.

Because, with surprisingly little effort expended on Clarke’s part, Lexa is on board.

They’re a team now.

Committed to working together; fighting for a common cause; ready and willing to do whatever it takes to prevent one less piece of human garbage from getting re-elected to public office.

Clarke is so fucking amped about their newly struck alliance, thoughts racing ahead at a mile a minute once they set off, that they’re at the park gates before it occurs to her she doesn’t have an actual destination in mind.

She comes to a gradual stop. Squints and scratches her head. “So, uh, where to?”

Lexa turns, slipping her hands into the vertical pockets of her dark wool coat as the blustery wind picks up again, scattering clumps of fallen leaves across the ground. With all the detailing on the coat—epaulettes and double-breasted brass buttons—she half reminds Clarke of a naval commander on shore leave. Which is a slippery slope to be on, because in the next second she’s picturing Lexa wearing an officer’s cap. Or rather, taking it off and shaking out that gorgeous mane of hair and…

No. This is not the time or place for rogue fantasies about Lexa stripping out of uniform.

“Hm. Well. Nowhere too public,” Lexa says, drawing Clarke’s attention back to their current predicament. “We can’t risk anyone eavesdropping and tipping off journalists—or, worse, my father’s campaign team.”

Clarke chews her lip as she considers their options, racking her brain and coming up empty. Until a radical idea enters from left field. It’s probably inappropriate, but she’s at a loss for other alternatives when discretion is paramount.

“My place is only four stops away on the metro.”

(She isn’t still thinking about the hat. She isn’t.)

Lexa’s eyes go round. “Oh.” She peers at Clarke, uncertain, brow furrowing slightly. “I’d hate to impose.”

Clarke downplays it with a shrug, faking indifference while she ignores the flutter in her stomach. “You wouldn’t be. Plus, my roommate is away all week visiting his girlfriend so you don’t need to worry about your secret collusion with the enemy getting out.”

Lexa hesitates for a long moment, lips pursed in thought as she weighs the offer. Another strong gust batters them and Lexa shivers visibly this time, a full body shudder as she brings her shoulders up. Acting on impulse, Clarke unwinds the green and silver striped scarf (Slytherin represent) from her own neck and loops it around Lexa’s instead.

“Looks like you need it more than I do,” Clarke explains, taking note of the pink tips of Lexa’s tiny, tiny ears and how they turn a deeper shade of red. It’s far too endearing and Clarke has to bite her lip to contain the little grin that threatens to overtake her entire face.

The gesture seems to startle Lexa out of her indecision, a softly spoken “if you’re sure” breathed out into the frosty air.

That’s how they find themselves on a crowded subway train ten minutes later, standing room only. The carriage was busy to begin with but when another twenty or so passengers pile on at the next station, jostling for limited space, Clarke is forced to move closer to Lexa to make room. Which is fine, until some jerk rudely pushes past them and Clarke loses her footing. Lexa catches Clarke’s elbow at the same time she stumbles into Lexa’s body, an automatic “sorry” leaving both their lips on impact.

Shaken, it takes Clarke a beat to register the sudden intimacy of their position. Her hands grip both ends of the borrowed scarf Lexa still wears and Lexa’s head is bent close, mouth only inches from Clarke’s. She gradually becomes aware of several details: the gentle fan of Lexa’s (mild coffee) breath over her cheeks; the slow bat of dark lashes; the shallow crease down the middle of an exceptionally pouty bottom lip; the two-inch height advantage Lexa has over her in heels. This close, she’s enveloped in a fog of perfume; it’s floral, undoubtedly expensive, and it smells fucking amazing on Lexa. Individually, these things would be enough to throw off Clarke’s equilibrium. Cumulatively? She’s way too bi for this.

But the thing that makes her pulse leap and her mouth run dry is the way Lexa’s heavy gaze searches her face in return. Roaming across Clarke’s features before landing on her parted lips. Lingering there for a second or two too long. Pupils dilated. Eyes burning with an intensity that sends a warm flush across Clarke’s skin. When their eyes lock, clashing in the cramped space, Clarke feels her cheeks grow hotter.

“Are you okay?” Lexa asks in a low voice laced with concern.

Clarke swallows thickly and gives a nod. “Yeah.” She lets go of the scarf; adding, embarrassed, “Thanks.”

But Lexa’s hand remains cupped around Clarke’s elbow until they leave the train, the touch scorching a hole through her sleeve.

~~*~~

“Sorry about the mess,” Clarke says preemptively as she lets Lexa in. “If I’d known I was going to have a guest…”

It would probably still look like a tornado hit the place.

Lexa’s gaze moves around the living room, taking in the shabby interior with a hard to read expression. The longer the silent appraisal goes on, the more self-conscious Clarke becomes about the piles of papers and empty takeout containers on the coffee table, the clothes strewn over the back of the couch, and the fact she hasn’t vacuumed since Lincoln left for DC.

“Just give me a minute to move all this crap.”

She scoops the clothes up in both arms and tosses them into her bedroom then shuts the door. Makes a trip to the kitchen to find a trash bag and stuff the takeout boxes into it. When she returns, Lexa is perched gingerly on the edge of the two-seater next to the window. She couldn’t look more out of place if she tried, juxtaposed amongst the mismatched furniture. Clarke almost laughs at the sight: this buttoned-up socialite with an air of mild superiority and barely a hair out of place, despite being windswept on the way over, slumming it in Clarke’s crummy apartment.

But she remembers her manners.

“Can I get you a snack or something to drink?”

Lexa demurs with a subtle shake of her head and a small smile. “I won’t stay long.”

She takes off the scarf and folds it on her lap but doesn’t remove her coat or even unfasten it.

It is a little chilly in the apartment, so Clarke turns on the space heater for a quick blast before hanging up her parka on the hook beside the front door. She crosses the room to take up her usual spot on the couch.

“So?” Off the questioning look she receives, Clarke fills in, “Our plan of attack.”

Lexa’s shoulders relax by a degree. “Right.”

“Is there any dirt we can dig up about his personal life? Or, like, some kind of MeToo misconduct?” Clarke sits forward, elbows on her knees. “If we disgrace him, we could force him out of the race.”

“Doubtful. He’s always strived to show he’s a morally upstanding, church-going family man. And for reasons that escape me, he truly is devoted to my stepmother.” Lexa speaks as though the words leave a sour taste in her mouth. “So unless he had a secret affair that he’s done an excellent job of keeping hidden, I don’t think we’ll find anything.”

“What about his finances? Any irregularities there?”

“It’s on record that he has close ties with big pharma lobbyists and the oil industry. It doesn’t mean he’s breaking any rules. Besides, even if he was, I couldn’t gain access to that kind of information without raising suspicions.”

“Okay.” Clarke sighs, eyes downcast.

She pulls off the beanie and sweeps a hand roughly through her hair in frustration, fingers getting caught briefly in a snag. Frowning at herself, she scoops her hair up into a ponytail using the elastic tie she habitually wears on her left wrist.

When she looks up again, she thinks she sees Lexa gulp before Lexa’s gaze shifts away to the side.

The immediate flush that creeps up Clarke’s neck has less to do with the space heater making the roam toastier by the minute than the fact Lexa was obviously staring at her.

A bit too abruptly, Clarke stands and hooks her thumb towards the kitchen. “I’m just going to grab a water. Sure you don’t want anything?”

Another shake of Lexa’s head. “No, thank you.”

Despite the polite refusal, Clarke returns with two glasses filled to the brim.

(And so what if it took longer than it strictly should have, just because she had to open the fridge door and stand there for a minute to cool her cheeks?)

Her step falters when she discovers Lexa’s coat is gone, folded neatly over the armrest. She wears an ivory blouse tucked into her skirt, the boat neck providing a clear view of sharply defined collarbones, and Clarke shouldn’t be so compromised by this development but she is.

Seriously, why does Lexa’s every physical attribute have to be so offensively attractive? It’s like the universe is testing Clarke’s ability to function.

Somehow, she pulls it together. Responds to the raised eyebrow, aimed at the second glass she’s holding, with a casual shrug. “It’s important to stay hydrated.”

Their fingers brush as Clarke passes the glass over and she’s very careful not to react.

Lexa’s lips curve up slightly. “Something you and my stepmother agree on.”

The thought of sharing Nia Woods’s opinion on anything fills Clarke with abject horror. It makes her want to pour out the damn water and come back with that bottle of vodka from the back of the ice box. It must show in her expression because Lexa’s smirk grows a fraction wider.

“Don’t worry, Clarke. I won’t tell a soul. Your liberal credentials will remain intact.”

Clarke gives a withering look and sits down again.

“Anyway,” she says pointedly. “There has to be something we can pin on your dad. A guy like that doesn’t get to be in the position he’s in without greasing a few palms and trading favours.”

Lexa scoffs. “Show me a politician who hasn’t. Even Democrats aren’t above reproach. Thelonious Jaha. Jacapo Sinclair. Diana Sydney. Shall I go on?”

“There are bad apples on both sides of the floor.”

“At least Republicans are transparent about their greed.”

“Just not their multitude of other sins.”

They lapse into a tense, prickly silence, one that lengthens as they hold one another’s stare, a combative glint in their eyes. While Clarke can’t deny there’s something invigorating about the verbal sparring, it isn’t getting them anywhere.

“Look, Lexa, I get that you’re reluctant to resort to underhanded tactics but destroying his reputation might be the only way to bring him down. If you haven’t got the stomach for it—“

“I didn’t say that.” Lexa’s jaw tightens. A few seconds elapse then she lets out a long, drawn out sigh. “Whatever I think of his politics or his character, it’s hard not to retain some affection for the man who raised me.”

Lexa places her untouched glass of water on the coffee table. She stares at her lap, adjusting the hem of her skirt.

“He wasn’t always like this.” Her voice is sadder, more subdued when she adds, “After my mother passed away, he changed.” She appears to fold in on herself a little, spine sagging under the weight of this admission. “Not that he was ever an open-minded, tolerant person but he was more… moderate, I suppose. Less entrenched in his views.” A muscle ticks in Lexa’s cheek. “Grief transformed him beyond recognition.”

Clarke is up and moving before it really occurs to her what she’s doing. She sinks into the seat beside Lexa, like her presence, the nearness might bring comfort.

“Part of me always hoped he’d mellow,” Lexa continues. “That eventually he would come around to scientific fact over religious dogma. Or, I don’t know, he’d be swayed by an appeal to his sense of humanity or whatever shred of common decency remains.”

“It’s still possible.”

A wan smile tugs at Lexa’s mouth. “I think we both know that isn’t true.”

There’s a lull.

Until Clarke speaks up. “I lost my Dad when I was seventeen. Natural causes. If you can say that about an outwardly fit and healthy forty-two year old man. He was fine one day and the next,” she puffs out her cheeks and blows out a slow breath, “gone. He suffered a massive myocardial infarction while he was out running. Rare genetic heart disorder. Nobody knew.”

Lexa reels back slightly, brows shooting up. “Genetic…?”

“I got tested. I don’t have it.”

The relief that drains through Lexa’s face is instantaneous, but Clarke refuses to dwell on what it means.

“I’m so sorry, Clarke. Were you close?”

A nod. “We loved watching soccer games and old movies together. We had the same nerdy sense of humour and it drove Mom crazy.”

The way Lexa looks at her now, eyes glowing with soft sympathy, makes Clarke’s throat constrict, a hard lump of emotion wedging itself in her esophagus. But she finds the strength to keep going.

“Bereavement affects people in different ways. There’s no timetable, no universal coping mechanism. My Mom—she’s a surgeon—threw herself into work. I hardly saw her for the first six months afterwards. Any time I tried to talk about Dad she shut down, stopped the conversation and left the room. It took her years just to get to the point where she could even mention his name in front of me. We’re in a better place now. We talk. But it was kind of a fraught journey to get there.”

Clarke allows Lexa to process the exposition dump in silence for a moment.

She sighs at last. “I guess what I’m saying is: it’s never too late for personal growth, even for Titus fucking Woods.”

They share a wry glance and the tightness in Clarke’s throat recedes, the band of pressure around her ribs loosening.

“I hope you’re right,” Lexa says, so softly. And there’s something about the brittleness of her smile that tugs at Clarke in a way she can’t explain.

“Would it be too weird if I hugged you?” Seeing the surprise register on Lexa’s features, Clarke quickly backtracks. She waves it off. “Yeah, of course. It’s weird. Stupid question. Never mind.”

“Clarke.”

“Forget I said anything.”

Lexa puts her hand on Clarke’s wrist and, cliched as it is, Clarke feels a bolt of electricity shoot up her arm at the touch of their skin.

“I don’t usually—I’m not really one for—” Lexa presses her lips together. She shuts her eyes briefly. Resets and tries again. “If the offer is still open, I think I’d like that hug. Please.”

It’s the thin, strained ‘please’ that gets to Clarke most.

Awkwardness ensues. There’s a bit of logistical trial and error, a wordless negotiation of whose arm goes where, an exchange of sheepish smiles. But as soon as Clarke’s arms wrap around Lexa’s shoulders and she feels Lexa’s hands slide across her back through the fabric of her sweater, it’s like something clicks into place.

The sensations hit her dizzyingly all at once. If she thought Lexa smelled incredible before, it’s overwhelming now. Her hair and her perfume and the scent of her skin. As covertly as possible, Clarke breathes it all in. And it strikes her how warm Lexa is. Warm and soft, despite her thin frame, and Clarke wants to melt into it. Attuned to the pressure of each finger against her spine, she’s hyper aware of every place that they’re touching: chests flush, knees knocking, the soft strands Lexa’s hair tickling her cheek. Clarke’s chest aches with the urge to pull Lexa tighter against her, to press her nose against Lexa’s throat, to let her mouth—

A light expulsion of air close to her ear sends a tingle rolling down Clarke’s spine. She can’t hide her body’s reaction, can’t prevent the sharp intake of breath. It’s a reflex; beyond her control.

It snaps her out of this haze.

God, what the fuck is she doing?

There isn’t really a graceful way to disengage, especially when Lexa seems reluctant to let go. They both inch back, arms still loosely looped around one another, and Clarke makes the stupid mistake of catching Lexa’s eye.

There’s a moment.

An infinite moment of stillness where neither of them move.

A look on Lexa’s face that shakes Clarke to the core, that causes her stomach to plummet, heat coiling low in her belly. It’s that same hot gleam in Lexa’s eyes that Clarke glimpsed on the train but magnified to the extreme, pupils large and black enough to swallow her whole.

Lexa’s half-lidded gaze keeps flicking between Clarke’s mouth and her eyes.

She can’t remember anyone looking at her with this much thirst.

It makes her head spin.

“Clarke.”

Her name from Lexa’s lips seems like the most loaded word in the English language, a 12-gauge round that obliterates the last of Clarke’s self-control.

She isn’t sure who reaches for the other first, her own hand sliding across Lexa’s jaw as Lexa’s palm cups the back of her neck.

All that matters is that Lexa’s mouth is soft and eager, and she makes a noise that sends a warm flood of excitement through Clarke when she licks inside.

Part 8

#MAGayA retired

207 notes · View notes

sharkfish · 4 years

Text

ps i loved this one

(rereading bookmarks edition part 2)

(part 1)

i’ve been rereading stories from my bookmarks as a comfort thing. i’m getting real deep in there to stuff i haven’t (re)read for years, and damn do i have good taste. the ones i’ve read recently that you should, too:

(under the cut so i’m not that asshole that makes you scroll past an endless post)

Best Laid Plans by Persephoneshadow

Things are going well for Dean: he's landed the biggest design job of his architectural career and is about to get final approval on the project despite how difficult the development company, personified by Castiel Novak, has made it. It's not bad for a moody omega...except things are also going terribly for Dean because he has to get in a plane and fly to a meeting, and course ends up in heat a few hours before. Luckily, Castiel is there to help and both men discover the good that can come when nothing goes quite as intended.

i don’t know why i’m such a ho for stories where dean thinks cas hates him, but cas secretly adores him and is just a little “rusty” on his “people skills.” i’m also a ho for stories where dean is a gd skilled genius but his dumb ass still thinks his work sucks and/or anything good is due to other people instead of himself. and also, heat boning.

Confessions of a Cam Boy by MsCaptainWinchester (rons_pigwidgeon)

Dean runs a cam show to pay his way through marketing school, but he's about to start an internship that he doesn't know will change his life. Watching Dean's show is Castiel's favorite way to wind down after a stressful day at Sandover Bridge & Iron. When Cas comes to work one day and finds his favorite cam boy setting coffee on his desk, he is completely thrown. Will Dean finish his internship without knowing his favorite viewer is his new boss, or will he be able to see through Cas' non-existent poker face and figure it out?

omg poor cas is soooo awkward and dean is weirded out about how much his new boss seems to dislike him and then it’s super sexy >:)

For Science by shiphitsthefan

“Think of it like an experiment," says Dean. "You’re testing a hypothesis as to whether or not a desirable response can be achieved through the stimulation of the anus via the application of a willing volunteer’s muscular hydrostat.”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “Are you actually trying to use the scientific method to talk me into letting you lick my asshole?”

everyone is such adorable nerds in this one. it’s a fic about rimming, but it’s also about love and discovering yourself and acceptance. it explores cas’s realization through his connection with dean that he’s not straight up ace but more grey/demi - and that doesn’t mean he was “faking” being ace up until he met dean.

Friends with Benefits with Tentacles by andimeantittosting (Saylee)

Dean's never been embarrassed about his porn collection before, but that was before he found Cas holding his prized copy of Sweet Princess Asuka and the Tentacles of Pleasure. Dean finds himself sweating bullets—because this is Cas, sweet, nerdy Cas. Cas, his friend. Cas, his roommate. Cas, his—only slightly out-of-control—crush.

Cas, with his big, blue eyes and muscular arms and perpetual sex hair.

Cas, with his tentacles.

The last thing he expects is for Cas to suggest they experiment together.

there are not enough tentacle fics out there and i 100000% approve of this addition to the tag. i love that dean is out there legitimately studying porn, and the tentacles are obviously super fun, and there were parts where my heart hurt so bad, all around a damn fine fic.

Grown-Ups Making Grown-Up Choices by Carrieosity

Dean is a grown-ass man - he can take perfectly good care of himself, thank you very much. Except that sometimes the easier or more fun choices aren't always the right or best ones, and, all right, maybe thinking ahead and working the long game isn't his strongest suit. It's fine! He's fine.

When he meets Castiel, he realizes that flying by the seat of his pants may not be the best way to attract the super-serious (gorgeous, funny, genius) Alpha. Dean's shrink has been telling him he needs to start making "grown-up choices," and if that's what he has to think about in order to make Cas fall for him, then he'll give it a whirl.

i LOVE this fic (series). i feel so hard for dean feeling like he’s too old for his life to still be a mess, but i also felt sad for him that he thought he had to make all these hardcore changes - basically turn himself into a different person - to be worthy of cas’s attentions. i fucking adore cas in this, and i nearly cried just thinking about all the damn peppers they eat, and i want to read it again right now.

If I Run by Anonymous

"Dean Winchester is a red-blooded American male. He lifts all the things. He aims for functional strength. He counts his macros and makes fun of curlbros. He is not a member of the Tarahumara tribe and he will not read Born to Run, no matter how many times Sam tells him to, because Starting Strength is the only book Dean will ever fucking need."

***

Wherein a friendly competition with the mysterious ThursdaysAngel turns into a sexy selfie-trading spree that motivates Dean Winchester to train for his first marathon.

i really really love this fic and reread it pretty often tbh. it only became “anonymous” pretty recently and i’m so curious about why!! regardless, this fic is a really great time!!!

It's Always More Than Once (Before It Takes) by squeemonster

The first time it happens, it's because of boredom. Or, at least that's what Dean tells himself to justify it. Boredom and Dean Winchester are a dangerous combination, especially when you factor in beer, a raging libido, and laziness.

dean: my dudes, is it gay to do sexy stuff with your male bff? cuz i’m totally straight. but also, having sex with my male bff.

I Wanna Get Outside (Of Me) by emwebb17

Dean is a novice in the dom/sub world asked by his employer as a desperate last resort to be a sub for his recluse of a brother, Castiel. Castiel is a diagnosed OCD suffering from PTSD and agoraphobia, mysophobia, and dystychiphobia. Needless to say—he’s a mess who hasn’t stepped out of his home in literally seven years. The only times Gabriel can see traces of the way his brother used to be is when he feels in control—specifically when he has control over a sub. However, due to his idiosyncrasies and paranoia, keeping a sub around has been impossible. Enter Dean, who’s not a very traditional submissive, to try his hand at subbing for the hermit.

you know how sometimes you read a fic, and it takes ages to get yourself out of that world? even though you’re finished, you’re still right there with him? this is one of those fics. i reread it a couple weeks ago and fell asleep thinking about it last night. i cry a lot reading this one.

Living in Agony by ChasingRabbits

Dean Winchester's life is... well, it's not great. He's a gym teacher, he's in his thirties, and he can't seem to keep any part of his life straight. When the aftermath of a one-night stand goes awry, Dean is dragged kicking and screaming out of his cozy little closet and into the harsh light of reality.

Enter: Castiel Novak, the new history teacher, who knows full well that life gets crappy when you don't allow yourself to live it in the way it needs to be lived.

there aren’t a lot of stories that deal with themes of mental illness, and a lot of them read like an episode of degrassi where everything wraps up in 30min to never be discussed again. this story is honest in that there’s no easy out. there’s medication and therapy and supportive people, but that’s not always enough. it’s a story about how you don’t have to be mentally ill to be fucked up, and while people can’t fix each other, they can help each other. content note: references to a pre-story suicide attempt.

Oddly Shaped Empty by jemariel

Dean grew up thinking -- knowing -- he'd be an alpha.

Until he failed to present. As a beta, he has no mating cycle, no noticeable pheromones, none of the physical markers that are so important in a world of alphas and omegas. He's out of place. How is he supposed to navigate his relationships and find love when he doesn't fit into the neatly-defined boxes he's used to?

By the time he meets his new roommate, Castiel, he's more or less given up on finding a mate. He wears his secondary gender like a chip on his shoulder. But you never know what the future holds, who will come into your life, and how they might change it forever.....

Queer themes, finding identity, reconciling the past, and a whole lot of smut.

y’all know @jemariel is a gd genius, but i’m particularly obsessed with their fics that use abo to explore queer identify & experiences. i hold my breath reading most of this fic and also cry.

Steal my Breath by Sincestiel

“Tighter, Dean, please,” Cas urges throwing his head back to rest on Dean’s shoulder. Dean squeezes. He doesn’t know why Cas wants this or even what the appeal is, but he always comes harder when he’s struggling to breathe.

what’s on the tin. a quick lil breathplay fic that is thoroughly enjoyable.

Unsolicited by Dangerousnotbroken

In which Dean Winchester gets an unsolicited dick pic from an unknown sender which is both totally not disappointing in that it's a really nice dick pic, and incredibly disappointing in that it's clearly a downloaded picture of his favorite porn star.

There's absolutely no way it's actually this porn star sending it to him, right?

Right?

this is a destiel classic and i feel like anyone who isn’t new here has probably read it. but here’s your reminder that this is a great fic and you should (re)read it.

Wordplay by Dangerousnotbroken @dangerousnotbroken

“I don’t understand why talking dirty is such a big deal for you humans,” Cas complains, apropos of nothing.

it’s a “cas learning about sex” and also dirty talk, which are both things i’m really into!! and DNB is a genius so that’s even better.

if you enjoy these fics (and you should), please give the writer some love via kudos and/or comments. <3

ps - as always, if i didn’t tag the writer and you know their tumblr, please tag in the comments. i don’t think there’s a writer alive who wouldn’t be happy to be on a rec list. :)

#sharklist #sharkrecs

32 notes · View notes

imdoingthismspaintadventure · 4 years

Text

In which it keeps happening

Dave: Go online and view sites indicative of your interests.

Oh this should be good.

Oh no more content related to Gamebro and their unholy ilk.

“Grand Snack Fuckyeah”...GTA....I love that it’s not even trying to make a clever pun. You know those “there was an attempt” stickers? This isn’t even an attempt.

Also is that review written by Dave? I want to learn how to write like Dave. That Moses comparison gave me life and took it away at the same time.

“Will popular beverages play a role? And how critical will they be in your quest to attain absolute sweetness?” I HATE that Death Stranding has made that actually not a joke. Just....God fucking dammit. DS is great by the way. ....I just realized Dave Strider and Death Stranding share the same innitials when I typed that. Why does it all fit? This is a weird ass tangent.

Seems every kid has their own browser after all.

You open the HEPHAESTUS web browser and direct it to your ironically maintained blog where you post monthly satirical reviews of GAMEBRO MAGAZINE. Your latest post is a review of the MARCH ISSUE. You've been meaning to write a review for the latest issue too, but you've been sort of dogging it. Something about the game they're reviewing just doesn't strike you as ripe for satirical purposes.

Don’t be a coward Dave! A true artist doesn’t blame his tools! You can make the greatest shitpost ever, I believe in you.

Excuse me what in the fuck

In a new tab you open another one of your sites, a webcomic ironically maintained through a satirical cipher vaguely similar to that of your blog. It's called SWEET BRO AND HELLA JEFF. You have legions of devoted fans, most of whom are totally convinced of your creative persona's sincerity. Which is just how you like it.

...

Is that a real site?

Oh god it’s real

Oh god what the fuck is this

This....This actually takes effort to do. Like, the fucking title is a low res looking JPEG piece of fucking shit, but it’s a finely curated piece of fucking shit.

I just touched one of the buttons and it changed page.

it changed page.

there are more pages.

what

is this another comic entirely??

What...What do I do with this??

Do I liveblog it?? IS this still homestuck?? What is going on????

Okay I asked what the fuck this was, and all you guys answered me with was cryptic warnings and hushed expectations for my suffering and/or ascension. Like this was some sort of cursed chthonian text that would kill my sense of sanity.

Seems about right.

I don’t know why it posted two times I think I might have clicked it twice.

I’m not fixing my mistake cause I think it goes perfectly well with the spirit of the work.

Speaking of the work.

Nani the fuck

So one of these two duders is going to play some games of the video....and he encounter stairs....and he falls down said escaleras.....over and over again....in an endlessly recurring loop........while the other guy just fucking LMAOs at him saying “I told you about the fucking stairs, dumbfuck!” and he keeps falling...and falling...and falling...

Also I have heard “It keeps happening” before as an internet phrase. I’ve used it before What the fuck, it came from here?? From this.... thing??

This....

This is so perfectly and intentionally shitty, the whole comic is way too far to the left even. There’s a huge empty space on the right side.

Is the font fucking comic sans??

OH MY GOD THERE ARE 46 OF THESE.

You know those things that make you go “there isn’t a god”??

THIS IS NOT ONE OF THEM.

This is proof for the existence of a god.

A talented and artful god

who fucking hates you

I’m gonna move on with the actual comic and you guys tell me if I should continue with this thing and when.

I’ll just leave you with this

Dave: Check the latest page of the Midnight Crew.

OH EXCUSE ME FUCKING WHAT

OH WELL SURE LET’S FUCKING GO LET’S JUST OPEN MSPAINTADVENTURES INSIDE THE COMIC ITSELF

IS THE MIDNIGHT CREW THE IN-UNIVERSE VERSION OF THE PROBLEM SLEUTH CAST?? IS THIS WHAT PS IS INSIDE THE COMIC??

You figure as long as you're chilling at your computer you might as well see how that new MSPA story is going. You haven't looked at it in a while.

How meta can we go in this comic?

We’re already way to fucking deep and I don’t know how to swim.

Let’s go back to the shallow end of the pool please.

Midnight Crew.

Oh so we’re actually doing this. Oh.

What is this liveblog session?

Why is there a sword stabbing that map?

"You are members of a sinister gang called the Midnight Crew. Your nefarious plots are serpentine in complexity. Your schemes, convoluted. You are planning a heist in your underground hideout. What will you do?"

I just checked and this is a pararell to “Compensation, adequate” oh my god

It really is Parallel Problem Sleuth

Use Occam's Razor on plans and schemes.

OH MY GOD AN ACTUAL INVENTORY

BUT IT’S REVERSED.

THERE ARE 5 WEAPONS AND ONE ITEM THIS TIME

AND THE WEAPONS ARE ALL HAND-TO-HAND INSTEAD OF GUNS.

Also Occam’s Razor is fucking brilliant name for a Scalpel/Knife.

The right solution to a problem is usually the simplest one.

"Spades Slick uses OCCAM'S RAZOR to carve a circular hole into the HEIST PLANS, freeing it from the knife. You wonder what moron would jam the knife so hard into the table in the first place."

Probably one of you.

Probably all of you.

I know how everyone in these comics is.

SS: Climb ladder and exit hideout. Implement nefarious plots

Oh my god no

They are stuck in their hideouts aren’t they?

I can just feel his anger at this unbelievable bullshit

"You push against the MANHOLE COVER, but it seems some unbelievable jackass has parked your GETAWAY VAN on top of it. A familiar feeling stirs. That feeling is overwhelming, soul-blackening rage. It's the sort of rage that'll make a man feel totally justified in sporting an unnecessarily elaborate assortment of fancy blades."

Spades Slick seems like a hair away from murdering everyone else in that room. And somehow he’s the most relatable one in there.

Dave: Skip ahead a hundred pages or so.

Wait, that’s illegal

What is going on.

Why is everyone beating the shit out of each other?

Why is there a blender in there?

What is that antler thing and why is it coming out from a door?

Who is that guy on that picture?

You don't remember where you last left off, so you jump way ahead. You always forget to save your place in the story. It looks like tempers have become short in this pressure cooker already. You speculate that the tipping point may have been an ill-advised motion for a game of 52 PICKUP.

Jumping ahead in these comics looks like a fine way to get really confused.

Dave: Save your place, read it later.

Hey now that’s familiar

Even though the adventure began recently, it's already over 3000 pages long. You just don't have time for this bullshit. You'll catch up later. Besides, it looks like someone's pestering you. You're pretty sure you know who it is.

How long is homestuck by the way? I know it’s ungodly long but I just want to know the full extent of my road ahead on this foolish endeavor.

Also imma leave it here for today as I try to figure out what the fuck this was

#homestuck liveblog #homestuck #act 2 #mspaintadventures #dave strider #Sweet bro and hella jeff #midnight crew #what #mspaintadventures liveblog

32 notes · View notes

thedcmonshead · 4 years

Text

In Your Head

WHO: @thedcmonshead @burdenedxtelepath; @apoisontouch @cleverbxrd @iamtheniqht @frosticr @jeanelcinegrey and @master-of-magnetism mentioned

WHEN: After this phone call.

WHAT: Ra’s al Ghul wants some information and kidnaps Charles right under the nose of Jean Grey to find it out. Charles is stubborn. Ra’s resorts to less than friendly methods to try and pry it out.

WHERE: One of the League’s townhouses.

WORDS: 13k

TWs: Torture, graphic descriptions of injury, kidnapping, referenced child abuse, referenced murder, threats, implied sexual threats. Probably more TWs. This is a fucked up thread.

PS: Our tenses were all over the place, kindly ignore.

PPS: The rescue discord will wrap this up but you gotta WAIT

RA'S: It had been child's play.

Tracking people like the X-Men was no simple task, even for members of the League. They stayed in the shadows as much as they could, their Institute was as well-hidden as Ra's' own bases, and anyone who knew where it was seemed to live there or with the Brotherhood--no simpler to track down.

But Tony Stark was simple to track, and so were the people who drifted into his orbit. Which, presently, included Xavier.

A simple kidnapping had one of Ra's' assassins subbing in for the driver assigned to bring Xavier back home, and the minor hiccup of a second presence was mitigated entirely by the young woman's request to stop for snacks on the way home.

Jean Grey was powerful, but not who Ra's wanted.

Getting the collar onto the professor was a bit of a trickier matter, but his men were professionals, and this one in particular he'd trained to keep his thoughts small until the opportune moment. The man had simply pretended to have to re-situate the chair in the back of the van, and locked the collar around the man's neck before Xavier could use his powers to stop it.

From there, he'd ditched the wheelchair on the way to the townhouse Ra's had set aside for this, switched cars in a garage downtown whose cameras were mysteriously malfunctioning, and then gotten help dragging the Professor up into the flat.

Ra's had been at the museum through all of this, but the updates filtered through throughout the afternoon. When he finally got off and went to pay the man a visit in person, Xavier was on one of the dining chairs in the kitchenette under the watchful eyes of two of his men, collar settled snugly around his throat. Ra's smiled as he stepped inside, and under other circumstances, it would have seemed perfectly friendly. "Good evening, Dr. Xavier."

CHARLES: A lot had happened since his initial meeting with Mr. Stark, but he had left the meeting feeling slightly more optimistic than he thought he would. Though Tony had made it abundantly clear that he still, in some ways, supported the idea of the Accords, he was willing to feed the telepath information as it pertained to the capture of mutants. Tony could not and would not 'rescue' them and if called on the scene during an incident, he couldn't just 'let them go' either, but he could give them better odds of leaving with their lives as opposed to another Enforcer on the scene. It wasn't much at all, but Charles knew in the grander picture, any help was better than none. The more mutants he rescued, the better he would feel and, if they were adults, Erik had more people for his Brotherhood. That's the way Charles viewed it and so he accepted Stark's terms with a formal agreement to check in once a week.

Then Scott died after a set up and everything turned into chaos.

Those meetings with Stark went neglected for a while as Charles had to be everyone's shoulder to lean on. The children were afraid and the team was in mourning. Everyone wanted revenge and it had Charles' anxiety through the roof each night as he constantly found himself wondering who would be the first to foolishly go after an Enforcer.

Then Jean got taken to the Raft, further complicating things. Stark had reached out after that incident, but Charles found himself too angry to reach back. Erik eventually got Jean home and that did little to quell the unrest within New York. The papers had a field day with the incident, exaggerating the number of lives lost to the point where these unbiased papers began advocating for war.

Tony reached out yet again, but this time Charles answered his call. They were to meet again, despite Charles' apprehensions, so they could figure out how to fix this growing paranoia within the populace. At this point, Charles had already resigned himself to the inevitable. Naively hopeful he might have been, but he was --- by no means --- stupid. This war that Erik had always wanted was going to happen sooner or later. The signs were all there which only aided in making the telepath's anxiety that much worse. People like Jameson were idiots true enough, but you didn't need to be a genius to start a war. So long as there was a cause and people to follow it, you could have your war --- and it was coming.

The meeting with Stark didn't last long at all. As soon as he and Jean arrived, Tony received calls about several scattered incidents happening within New York. This struck Tony as odd and while the other Enforcers probably could have handled it, Ross insisted that Tony go himself. ( No doubt as punishment for that questionable interview that aired some days ago. ) Charles hated that he had ventured all the way to Stark Tower for nothing, but as Jean pointed out, it was better to be safe than sorry at home.

So they left, with Tony's driver following his orders to get them home. The only stop planned was for food at a nice deli on the way back. Charles would stay inside the car while Jean rushed inside to pick up the order she put in via her phone. Charles didn't remember much after that. He saw Jean get out the car and then he pulled out his own phone, ( probably to text Hank ) and then...

Why does my head feel like its splitting in two? His eyes would eventually open and the first thing he'd realize is that there were no voices. Usually, even with Hank's drug, he could hear faint whispers of voices in the mornings. The second thing he noticed was that he was not home. This wasn't his kitchen and he couldn't see nor feel Jean. What the--?

And then the panic set in. His throat tightened as he looked around. He could move freely, but what good was being able to move if he couldn't, you know, actually walk? They knew though. They obviously knew a lot about him considering it didn't take much to get him here. Reaching up, Charles tugged at what was making his throat feel tight, realizing that this was the pretty collar he once teased Stark about. So this is what it felt like to be an enslaved mutant... He closed his eyes, touching his temples and trying hard to probe the minds of the two guards but to no avail. All he felt was a light pain tickling his forehead and then sudden fatigue. This thing was draining him, but he supposed that made sense. Suppressants were what they were. Just a bit more extreme in this case.

Footsteps, and then a voice that, though polite enough, told Charles that he was probably the man behind this sudden detour from home. That meant he was probably dangerous and so rather than let that sassy tongue of his get him instantly killed, he swallowed his words ( for now ) looking over at the male curiously. He didn't respond. Merely watched him with disdain waiting for an explanation.

RA'S: He paused expectantly, and when no response was forthcoming, simply clicked his tongue as one of his men came over to help divest him of his suit jacket. There were some traditions that Ra's was terribly fond of, and this service to one's master was certainly one of them.

"Tsk. Here I was told you were a man of good manners, Professor. No 'hello'? I suppose that's alright. We have plenty of time." He crosses to the table, and settles into the seat opposite Charles, warm smile not faltering. An idle gesture of his hand has the guard rifling through the kitchen cabinets to start preparing tea.

"I'm a fan of your work, Professor. Your doctoral thesis on genetics was quite the read. I like to keep abreast of the most cutting edge work in the field--I used to be a medical doctor myself, you know. Amongst other things. Over a millenium and a half of life gives you plenty of time to pursue... hobbies."

CHARLES: Plenty of time. He didn't like the sound of that at all, but again, he held his tongue because without his telepathy, he was being forced to study this man the old fashioned way. He had never been terrible at reading people, even before he knew the full range of his powers, but not having the cushion that was his telepathy meant he was prone to making egregious mistakes; not something he could afford at this stage of the game. And what a game this was, for Charles was hardly buying this polite act. There was something sinister about him buried beneath the jovialness. The anticipation of inevitably awakening such a horror had him feeling sick all of a sudden, but he remained calm, watching his workers and then the stranger sitting before him.

He had read his studies huh? At one time, Charles would have been delighted to shoot the breeze with someone about genetics, especially a doctor who seemed enthused and eager to learn more, but... something wasn't right. Why the hell did he need to force him here just to speak about genetics? Charles would like to think he was approachable. He could have just made an appointment so naa. He wasn't buying it at all and while he was trying so desperately hard to remain silent, his tongue slipped---just a little. "I didn't realize kidnapping was merely a hobby. Perhaps I'll try it myself sometime, doctor."

RA'S: The man's snarky retort earned a laugh. Oh, that was cute. "Mm, thank you. I do so miss being called that, on occasion. Master is nice, of course, but it rather lacks the dignity of scholarly achievement."

He takes off the glasses he doesn't need and setting them carefully on the table in front of him, and regards his guest in silence for a few moments. The man's anxiety is practically palpable, though he's doing an admirable job of trying to hide it. Good. Hopefully that anxiety will help expedite things.

"I ran into your kind well before the thesis, of course. I once met a telepath in Berlin," he says, pushing out of his chair to circle around next to Charles. A hand on the back of the chair, and he turns the man and the chair to face him with seemingly little effort at all. "She told me that losing one's powers was like losing a limb. I'm a reasonable man. And I want us to be friends, Dr. Xavier, I truly do. So as a show of good faith, I'm going to let you feel again." Fingers calloused by centuries of fighting reach over to remove a piece of the thick band of the collar, leaving only a thin, supportive band connecting the two ends.

He doesn't mention that said telepath had hated brushing up against his mind, hated the noise that came with the Lazarus Pit's presence in his head. Xavier will figure it out soon enough, because he has no doubt the man's first move will be to try and read his mind.

CHARLES: Master? Oh, he's got to be kidding. He'd sooner swallow his own tongue than refer to anyone as master, but he didn't say that out loud of course. The vibe he was getting from this man wasn't good so he had to pick and choose his battles carefully here. That unease only worsened as the doctor spoke of a telepath he once knew. If he knew a telepath, then that meant his services were likely acquired at some point. But if he has me, then that other telepath must be elsewhere... or dead.

Charles didn't want to die. At least, not like this, and so he bit his tongue, watching with an obvious unease as his chair is forced around as if the chair plus Charles barely weighed an ounce. This old friend of his was correct. It didn't feel quite like losing a limb, but it made you feel vulnerable. You get so used to having the advantage over people that when the safety net is forced from beneath you, you feel naked and afraid, but he of course, wasn't going to admit that either.

Fingers curl under, digging into the palms of his hands. The moment the collar is adjusted, it feels like Charles is breathing air for the first time. His head feels lighter and his muscles, a little less tense. He looks up at the doc briefly before averting his gaze. He doesn't have to try too hard, for already he could hear voices but he had no idea if they were coming from the doctor's head or all three males in the room at once. It was confusing --- distracting even --- but he said nothing, listening quietly in hopes of getting something useful out of this good faith moment.

RA'S: As soon as the collar was adjusted, the telepath's expression twisted slightly, no doubt trying to parse the unexpected amount of noise in a room of only three others. He himself had long since learned to mostly tune the Pit out until it surges forward in anger, to the point that it didn't bother him anymore. There was a part of him that's tempted to push--to prompt a thank you, or to make the man look at him. But he knew how to bide his time. Keep things friendly until and unless the man refused to play along.

So instead, Ra's retreats back to his chair and settles in, just in time for the tea to be brought over. He reaches forward to lift the kettle. "That's better, isn't it?" he prompts as he pours a cup for each of them, sliding one across the table. "I know you have questions, Dr. Xavier. You're welcome to ask. As I said, I'd like us to be friends."

CHARLES:This whole session was putting Charles in the mind of the old good cop, bad cop routine you'd see in every cop movie except he wasn't a cop. He was some potential psycho pretending to play nice, and while Charles was prone to letting his optimism get the best of him, it was hard to channel his usual self when his telepathy wasn't giving him much of a reason to relax. Blue eyes looked to the tea being served to him and any other time he might have accepted for manner's sake, but no. He didn't want a drink. He wasn't prone to roleplaying with people he didn't know very well anyway.

"Of course I do. You intercepted my ride home and dragged me all the way out here and for what? To play house?" Mind your tongue Charles, he told himself, but anger was brewing inside of him. However, the collar kept that telekinesis in check so there was no hope of accidentally incapacitating any of them. Furthermore, even if he could manage it, he still couldn't walk so either way, he was stuck until... well, he didn't want to imagine the worst case scenario. "Who are you? And what's your apparent beef with telepaths? Your old friend isn't here which means you probably offed her. What have we done to offend you besides exist?" And he probes a bit, trying to search for the answer before Ra's could open his mouth but... voices. So many of them and it was frustrating as hell.

RA'S: The other guard, who up until this point had been carefully quiet and out of the way, cuffs Charles on the back of the head hard enough that the telepath has to grab for the table to keep from being knocked out of his seat. Ra's simply clicks his tongue, Arabic rolling off his tongue before the man retreats. "Sorry about that. My men can be a little trigger happy, as it were."

Ra's nudges the tea cup closer, smile taking on a bit of an edge. "Have some. I insist." He takes a sip of his own before starting in on the questions. "I have no issue with your people, Professor. Quite the opposite--I think you are indeed amongst the best of this planet. The aforementioned telepath died most unfortunately during the last World War. Some of you are rather more resilient than others, I'm afraid, when it comes to testing." Another small sip, and then he continues. "I believe that only the best of us should move forward into the coming age, and I'm afraid she didn't make the cut. You, of course, are a different matter entirely."

CHARLES: He doesn't anticipate the blow and so he finds himself desperately reaching and gripping the table to keep from sliding out of his chair. He doesn't groan out, but the discomfort is written all over his face. Fingers dig into the table, primarily out of frustration now, as he cast the guard quite the nasty look. As for the drink, he stares at it, telling himself not to be stupid. Not to do what he wants to do which is pour the tea in the man's face. Don't be stupid, Charles. Don't let your pride get you killed. Don't...

"I'm not thirsty." There. Defiant, but politely so. If he was truly playing the good cop here then this should be the end of the tea business.

Eyes are averted as he listens to the man's explanation, though it's terribly hard to concentrate. One part of him is trying to figure out why this doctor's head was so busy while the other was hanging on to the bits of information being given to him through speech. The last World War... But HOW did she die, he wondered? Then the answer came shortly after and that made blue eyes look up warily. Testing? He was beginning to think he'd have been better off at the Raft at this point, but he listened, taking it all in. After a moment, he dared to speak up again. "Who are you decide who's worthy of being alive through the ages? Did someone die and make you god because I apparently missed the memo." He paused. "I'm not the most powerful telepath around. There are kids with potential to surpass my own talents so I guess I'm just another unworthy soul caught in the midst of your crusade."

RA'S: He could choose his battles, despite the briefly flaring temptation to push the matter. No, if Xavier wanted to be stubborn like that, he could--he may very well be coming to regret not taking the drink when he had the chance, if this was emblematic of the sort of stubbornness to come. "Suit yourself."

Ah, there was the wariness that had briefly disappeared in the man's irritation at being hit. The man's question, obviously meant to be rhetorical, earned a laugh. "It seems you did, Professor. What else would you call a man with power to raise the dead?" He leans his forearms on the table, lets the Pit that's always pressing for his attention glimmer green in his eyes. "No, no, I'm afraid you misunderstand. You're plenty powerful enough to be moving on, compared to the rest of the world, but that's not why you're here. If I wanted a more powerful telepath, Professor, I'd have taken Miss Grey. No, I don't need your abilities. I just need you to answer a question for me, and we can all be on our way. Where is the Institute?"

CHARLES: ... Raise the dead? That was a new one on him. He had come across a lot of talented children over the years but none with the power of necromancy... that he was aware of anyway. Still, even if he found a child with such capabilities, he wasn't so certain it was something he'd be quick to encourage. Hard to be 100% certain though given all the things that have happened lately.

He was growing increasingly more uncomfortable by the minute, made only worse by Ra's slight change in demeanor. There was something way, way off about him and it had the hairs on the back of Charles' neck standing erect. He felt uneasy, but his telepathy --- or what range he had --- was proving more of a distraction than anything. He couldn't SEE past the static. Or rather, he could see nothing of note but hear everything seemingly all at once. It made focusing difficult but he did his best to reel it in. Far be it for this guy to know he struggling so much. He scoffed, because he loved this one's assumption that those guys would have been able to get the jump on Jean. She was different these days and Charles found himself silently approving of her ability to atomize anyone who crossed certain lines. It wasn't his thing, but he certainly wouldn't rag on her for saving herself by any means necessary and---

Wait, what? There's a deep frown that's momentarily etched in his features. How did this go from him potentially needing use of a telepath to wanting the coordinates of his school? Was he even looking for a telepath at all, or was he just looking to gain access to his school? Either way, the question was enough to piss him off so for the moment, he forgot all about trying to behave in favor of letting his sass slip past his tongue with relative ease. "I'm sorry doctor. Perhaps you should have allowed me go home in the first place. Logic dictates it would have been a lot easier to find had you simply followed us home."

RA'S: This man was irritatingly, amusingly reminiscent of a certain bird-themed vigilante. Ra's made no move to stop the motions of the guard as the man stepped forward again, twisting his fingers in the telepath's hair and yanking his head back, pulling up just enough that Charles can't quite sit in the chair and his weight is supported by his hair and where his shoulder blades press against the back of the chair.

"Logic dictates," Ra's echoes calmly, "That I not give two of the world's most powerful telepaths more time uncollared in the car with a man who does not have a helmet like a certain acquaintance of yours to block your reading him if so desired. Minimal time in such a state was preferable. Additionally, the school without you is, I imagine, rather less defended. Anything helps." The smile, this time, is nothing but predatory, in a truly feral way that never fails to set his enemies on edge. "Of course, should you prefer, you're welcome to give me the home addresses of your Rogue or Iceman, and I can take care of things that way. I'm told many of your students and professors live at the school, but I'm certainly open to alternative addresses should that not be the case."

CHARLES: This time he DOES cry out, for he wasn't expecting to have his hair pulled. Another hit to the back of the head maybe, but not this --- and in such an uncomfortable position. He struggles, body twisting uncomfortably but so many things are going on at once. The voices are getting louder and the collar is making his head hurt. The anger he felt inside --- the sheer rage --- was crying to be let out. Instead of unleashing waves of energy capable of moving objects, all of that power was being forcibly repressed. As a result, all of his muscles kept contradicting one another. His insides hurt; muscles were screaming as he flailed against the chair.

Ra's words were hard to focus on but Charles managed to pick up enough words to answer him amidst his discomfort. "My school..." he breathed, "is just fine without me. You underestimate those kids." He paused, drawing in a sharp breath. Bobby and Rogue were still at the school... most of the time anyway. Rogue had been known to aid the Brotherhood but since Scott, she was around more often than not. "They're both at the Institute so I'm afraid I am fresh out of alternative addresses." He paused again. "Unless... you want Magneto's handle. Some of my own bounce between the two of us. Rogue... could be with him, but..." He winced, shoulders aching from the way he was awkwardly handled. In fact, he felt his body slipping some within the chair but ended up groaning out again from the pain in his scalp. "That's.... that's all I’ve got for you doctor."

RA'S: How very unfortunate. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm afraid I'd rather not cross paths with your magnetic friend any sooner than necessary." He waves a hand, and Charles is dragged out of the chair, still held by his hair. With legs unable to support him, all his weight is suddenly on his scalp for the few moments before he's being tossed forward like a sack of potatoes onto the floor at Ra's feet.

"One more chance to tell me where, Professor, or I'm afraid things are going to get rather less pleasant than tea and conversation." Any attempt by Charles to push himself up onto his hands is met with a heel to the spine, pressing him back down. "It is funny, this. The government is terrified of you Omega class mutants, and all it takes is one little collar to make one of the most powerful telepaths in the world utterly helpless. Stay down, Professor, there's a good man."

CHARLES: More like he didn't want to cross paths with Erik at all. Hired muscle wouldn't be enough to intimidate anyone within the Brotherhood, while guns were simply an insult. Charles had a feeling this one knew better than to tangle with that lot so he settled for the telepath with no legs. Great piece of bad guy work here. The best. "Ah, well. He's quite the friendly one but your loss." And that's all he manages to get out of him before more pain is extracted upon him.

He's yanked from the chair by the hair, forced to hang limply before the other male. There's a loud cry because his scalp wasn't meant to carry all of his dead weight. Tears sting the corners of his eyes, but its hard to surmise if its because of his head, or the collar around his neck reacting to the power begging to be unleashed. He felt light-headed, but he has no time to dwell on it as he's tossed to the ground, groaning in pain. Instinct has his arms coming together, helping him push up from the floor but a strong, hard boot to the spine keeps him rooted in place. Fucking hell...

He stays put, trying to fully internalize what is happening here. It almost seemed like a bad dream really, but the voices were there and the pain was hardly imagined. From the waist down, he felt nothing, but everything else hurt. The collar had his muscles tightening in a manner that made him feel like he had a long day at the gym. His head... his scalp throbbed while his forehead had pain searing through it like a migraine. And on top of all that, he couldn't focus properly. Because Ra's had some weird shit going on in his head and it was driving Charles insane. Just what the actual fuck?

Ra's voice faded in and out but Charles realized by the tone of his voice that he was trying to taunt him. Or talk smack. Something to that degree. Either way, Ra's could say what he wanted, but Charles would die before he put those kids in danger. "I'm... sorry, but I can't help... but think... you're just as afraid of us... as everyone else," he managed in between sharp breaths. "You say you could have taken Jean, but why didn't you? Scared she was too much for you as opposed to the guy with no legs who can't even fight back?" He took another sharp breath, raising his head and shaking it slowly. "I'm sorry, but no. I will never tell you how to find my home so I guess... I'm in for a very long night huh?"

RA'S: Ra's clicked his tongue. "Afraid? Hardly. I simply believe in expediency." Although if the rumors about what happened on the Raft were true, Jean Grey may well be one of the few on this planet who could ensure his more permanent demise--there were ways to resurrect someone without a body, but they were far more complex and had far more side effects than he'd care to deal with.

The man finished his cup of tea before rising from his chair and crouching down in front of Charles, hand moving to his collar to adjust it fully closed again. "I had hoped we could avoid this unpleasantness, but I see that was perhaps too optimistic. Not to worry. I have all the time in the world." He patted the man's cheek like he was a misbehaving dog.

"Enjoy your night with my men, hm? We'll chat again tomorrow." He was perfectly capable of getting his hands dirty--enjoyed it, even. But he did still have a nine to five, while under cover, and his men were more than capable of getting started with persuading the man. Ra's stands, looking over at his assassins. He speaks English this time, clearly for Charles' benefit. "Get him cleaned up too when you're done, would you? I do hate blood on the furniture."

CHARLES: By then, Charles had grown tired of trying to keep his head up, not to mention the collar felt heavier all of a sudden. Because of this, he chose to remain silent with his head resting against the floor. He didn't even hear Ra's response at first, for the voices were louder than ever and all speaking at once. Eventually fingers brushed against his neckline adjusting the collar to it's original state. What seemed like a punishment to Ra's was nothing but a blessing for such as Charles. Now able to hear his own thoughts clearly, he felt relief though that would be short lived.

The condescending pat to his cheek and the words to follow had Charles mentally wincing in preparation for another beat down. He guessed his night would consist of being tossed and kicked around until those goons of Ra's grew tired. And only after the blood was handled would he be allowed back in the chair. Or wherever they decide to dump him after. There would be no enjoyment from this whatsoever, but deep down he knew it would be worth it in the end.

The kids were all that mattered. They were the ones who had to carry on long after he was dead. To throw them under the bus for his own pathetic life was unacceptable. At least they were willing to fight and if they were alive and well, they'd have that opportunity. Of course, enduring all evening was easier said than done. As someone who wasn't used to taking this kind of pain, he would have to keep reminding himself what he was enduring for. Some of those kids had nowhere else to go so he had to take it, even if it meant being here for weeks on end until he was nothing more than a shell of himself. "Goodnight, doctor," he managed quietly and after that, everything was a blur again.

RA'S: Charles' suspicions were unfortunately correct. The next several hours were spent being tossed around and beaten like a misbehaving dog, the two men trading off when one got fatigued. Particular focus was given to his torso--his legs were numb, they knew, and Ra's needed his mind in functioning order. But by the time they're done, Charles' chest and back are already turning black and blue, a few ribs quite probably cracked from particularly sharp kicks, and the man's scalp and neck are burning from being dragged around variably by both his hair and his collar. A few punches and kicks had drawn blood.

Of course, once they were done with that, they were not actually done. 'Washing him up' is even worse. Charles is stripped of his clothes ( a process which brings about more vicious taunting once they see his chest ) and thrown into the tub to be hosed off with icy water. The next hour is spent on his back in the tub with his face covered by a doubled over hand towel and forced under the faucet for seconds at a time, their laughter filling the room with each helpless splutter and coughing fit. Only when they've had enough toying with him is he pulled back out, toweled roughly off, and deposited on the floor next to where Ra's had sat earlier. He's not permitted to fall asleep, kept up by cruel nudges to his bruises until Ra's arrives early the next morning.

CHARLES: There was no way to fully prepare himself for what was about to come and he would learn that the hard way. It was a hard dose of reality with every blow landed that he probably needed --- whether he wanted it or not. Each blow to the gut had him hissing out in pain, but the collar allowed his thoughts to drift towards the Raft too. Sometimes he would check out amidst the pain, wondering if Jean or any of the others who were stuck there had to endure such things every day. Is this what his people were subjected to at the hands of the government?

Of course, Ra's and his men were not working for Ross. This much he gathered upon arrival. They were some other group, possibly one Ross was unaware of, but even so, Charles couldn't help but wonder if his people were kicked around like this for merely existing while locked away. Every so often he'd be forced back into the moment and pain would register harshly. As he was kicked to the other side of the room, he felt pain in his ribs that had him gasping for air and mentally pleading for it to end. They kept taunting him, offering him a way out and when he wouldn't answer, he was dragged into another room and tossed into a tub. The freezing cold water sent his body into shock but it would only get worse from there.

One would hear stories of 'waterboarding' on the news; how it was a tactic ruled too cruel by the courts to use in interrogations, but these men were not beholden to the laws not to mention the military has been getting away with it for years. Charles always liked to swim, with no real fear of drowning except this was making him feel the real possibility that he COULD and it was worse than the physical pain from before. At some point during this humiliating scene, he checked out, too embarrassed to stay in the moment, but there would be no rest for him. He was tossed back into the floor, roughly where Ra's once sat, but each time he thought to close his eyes to survey his body's wounds, he would be prodded or kicked. Sleep was not an option either so he kept his eyes open. Eventually a door would open and he'd hear more footsteps, but he was a quick learner. Trying to sit up was only going to result in another hard heel to the back, a back that was probably already disgusting to look at. So he laid there, shivering in the floor. Day two would begin now. More of the same. Rinse and repeat because he wasn't giving them that address, period.

RA'S: The front door was closed and locked before Ra's paced over to the man where he lay prone on the floor, clicking his tongue. "Look at this. It's a shame, Professor, it really is--a man of your caliber shouldn't be in this way. Ailtaqatah," he said, voice redirecting to the guards.

Charles is picked up by his shoulders and deposited in the chair from yesterday, and one man slips off to prepare breakfast, but Ra's’ full focus is on Charles. "You look tired, Professor. I'd love to let you sleep. Help me help you, Doctor Xavier. Tell me where to find your Institute, and you can sleep. You can go home. I have no intention of harming your students. You can tell me." All true, except that not intending to do so doesn't mean he won't if they prove as stubborn as Charles.

Ra's reaches into his suit pocket, procuring a box from within and setting it innocuously on the table next to him. "I can't imagine how much pain it's causing your students, knowing their headmaster is missing. Wondering if you're dead. And you could well be--as I said, I've special means. If you were to tragically die being recalcitrant, it'd be child's play to bring you back and start over. Of course, you'd have rather less fun with that--there'd be no getting what you hear in me out of your head."

CHARLES:The man's voice was nothing short of irritating but then, that was to be expected after getting no rest last night. Charles' bottom lip was cut and swollen from biting down on it so much while arms, shoulders and other areas sported dark spots indicating harsh bruising. There were bags beneath his eyes with one eye nearly swollen shut. Muscles throbbed all over to the point where if he concentrated enough, he could count the seconds between each pulse beat.

Oh. He was talking again. Charles raised his head, unawares that he'd been deposited back into the chair. It didn't matter though. The chair didn't make him any more comfortable while his hands were busy 'protecting' ribs that hurt each time he drew breath.

A box was placed upon the table while more irritating words were spoken. Charles was only half listening, for Ra's voice was merely noise far too early in the day. There were threats in the midst of his 'soothing' words --- that much he gathered --- but what did it matter? What was death to a man who was sure it had to be nicer than this? He knew Ra's was waiting for some kind of answer but all he received was an averted gaze. The sass from yesterday had been silenced by Ra's men for the time being, but it hadn't been enough to make him tell the whereabouts of his school...

RA'S: Irksome. There was no response, no reaction from the telepath, even despite the long moment of expectant silence. Very well. Ra's wasn't one to be ignored.

He stands, crosses over to the other chair and takes Charles' chin in his hand, fingertips just shy of pressing bruises into his skin. "It's rude to ignore your host, Professor." His free hand brushes over the swollen bruise at Charles' eye, feather-light in contrast to the grip holding the man's chin. "Tt. Look what they did to you. My apologies, it was a lack of adequate instruction on my part. I'll have them avoid the face, next time round. Wouldn't want to do any permanent damage to something so pretty." Even without telepathy, there's no misunderstanding that tone of voice. Speaking of which--Ra's hand drops to the collar, gives the man the freedom to skim again, and this time, the overwhelming mental noise from yesterday is basically gone. Which means that Charles can see all the images running through Ra's head. Of him, of the kill the night before, of a young man Charles has never seen before but can tell is important to his captor in a way that feels wrong.

CHARLES: Charles wasn't sure what to expect, but the moment he saw Ra's rising from the corner of his eye, he was visibly wincing --- instinctively preparing to be hit again. Instead, all he received was some forced eye contact with the man's fingers pressing dangerously close to many a bruise on his face. It was so hard watching him when all he longed to do was bury his face in a pillow. Not just to sleep either but to let out all the anguish he felt in this moment. Tempting though it was to snatch away from him, the telepath remained still, watching him quietly as 'commanded'. This seemed to please the other male, or at least he assumed as much being that he didn't get hit, but he wasn't sure that the loose collar would be that much better. Bracing himself for the onslaught of noise, Charles twisted his face again, waiting for the inevitable confusion only... it didn't happen. There was nothing. Only an eerie silence.

But there were other things; things he had a feeling Ra's wanted him to see. There was blood and lots of it in a detailed kill that put into perspective just how dangerous the man before him could be. Then there was another scene; one featuring a young man Charles had never seen before. The look in Ra's eye was concerning in the memory, but more than that, Charles could not make out the the relationship between the two of them. The only thing he knew was that this scene made him uneasy, and maybe that was the point. He just wished he knew why.

Charles remained silent for quite some time wondering if he was supposed to say something about what he saw. Was Ra's waiting for a question here? Was this a test? Would the silence lead to an early beating? Charles just didn't know. A breeze suddenly brushed over his naked form and he found himself shivering all over again. However, he didn't want to dwell on the fact that he was minus any clothes and looking rather unpleasant before him so he dared to speak up, though it was barely above a whisper to Ra's ears. "...why... why are you showing me this? Is he... your son?"

RA'S: That gets an immediate flood of response, a whirlwind of images and emotion in short succession. The image of a baby in its mother's arms springs to the forefront of Ra's mind.

The child is small and shockingly pale compared to his mother's dark skin, white hair giving away the reason clearly even to one not oriented in medicine. Albinism.

Disgust. Bitterness. Fury.

The mother, glassy-eyed on the bed.

"I don't have a son."

Back to the boy from before. Dark haired, looking angry and frightened and amused all at once, knuckles white around the staff in his hand, and the want attached to the image is palpable and no small bit disconcerting. "No, he is my future Heir. Despite his insistence to the contrary."

CHARLES: The scene that flashes before him next is one that strikes Charles as cruel. The mother appeared to have been crying an awful lot, no doubt about the small child in her arms. The complexion is a stark contrast from her own, but it doesn't take Charles long to deduce what's wrong. She had a child with a rare condition even by today's standards.

Ra's sudden response earned a look from Charles but that tone implied that perhaps he shouldn't press the subject matter. That child was definitely someone of importance. Or had been. Why else would Ra's be thinking of him?

The scene changes as Ra's thoughts shifted quite dramatically. Charles found himself looking for clues as to who the other male might be. He didn't KNOW him and a deeper look may have revealed a name, but his telepathy would only probe so far without hurting himself. And he didn't want to feel the pain that came with pushing too much so he didn't try. Instead, he guessed he'd wait for Ra's to explain some more or else simply settle for not knowing. Either was good for someone too tired to care. "Your heir? ... To your... fortunes I presume?" 'Fortunes' wasn't quite the word he wanted to use but... Probably wasn't a good idea to accuse him of being a terrorist. So fortunes it is.

RA'S: "Fortunes is one way to put it," Ra's muses, and now that Charles seems rather more cooperative, the grip on his chin is released, though the man lingers close.

"I've controlled my League of Assassins since its inception. I need to have someone reliable in whose hands to leave it, eventually, and neither of my daughters are adequate. They lack the necessary dedication, the vision, the intelligence required to accomplish our goals. My grandson is likewise ill-suited. Most regrettably, he seems to be gaining his father's morals along with his mother's poor temperament. Pity--he'd been somewhat promising.”

There's no mistaking that mental image. The Batman is one of the most recognizable symbols on the planet.

CHARLES: He has been released finally; a small sign that maybe he was doing right by the other for the time being. Charles would take it even though he still felt uneasy about the other man's closeness. Blame it on the beating from yesterday. Even so, he gives him his undivided attention, pinching himself each time he felt his eyes daring to close. He was so tired, but he knew he had to focus. Maybe this information would become relevant someday, provided he lived to tell the tale. The League of Assassins actually sounded familiar though Charles had never done any research himself. In fact, all he had was a vague memory that the group may have been discussed at one time, but chances are, it was a minor discussion since Charles couldn't recall much at all. Or it could have been the fatigue working him over, but either way, they didn't sound like a group that would have interested the telepath much. So he doesn't dwell on it.

Instead, he takes note of the fact that Ra's has several children and a grandson. At the moment, the man had yet to reveal any of their faces, but he does reveal something that makes Charles' twist his face in confusion. Batman? The Prince of Gotham? The caped crusader who Charles DID take an interest in at one time? THIS was the man Ra's al Ghul wanted as his heir? Charles was in no position to judge, for he had no idea what Batman's relationship to him might be. On the surface, they might have been enemies but Charles knew from experience that it was never that simple. "The Batman... I... thought... did he not fight you at one time?" He paused. "I'm sorry. Gotham's paper rarely lands on my desk unless... it's big news and I am... confused."

RA'S: "Tt. No, no. He's my grandson's father. The other one you asked about is to be my heir." A brief flicker of images: Talia and Batman meeting on a surveillance camera, a boy who looks distinctly similar to Talia at his daughter's side and then at the tip of his own sword, still looking far too young to be in combat.

And then the first boy, again, holding a bo staff and looking distinctly afraid as he stares down a Ra's who had clearly once been in the young man's bedroom, judging by the environment around them. "Detective--"

"Get out, Ra's."

The memory evaporated into smoke with a curl of displeasure that indicates that that particular meeting had not ended how Ra's would've liked. Ra's clicked his tongue, a condescending smile curling its way across his lips as Charles still looked to be struggling to get his bearings on the situation.

"Is this all too hard for you to follow, Professor? Bit too fast? Here I thought your type were supposed to be quick." His hand snakes out to catch the man's chin again, fingers pressing lightly underneath. "Mm. I suppose if you're finding thinking this difficult, we could find some less thought-intensive activities for you. I'm sure you want to lie down, don't you?" There's a suddenly very sharp grin on the face of one of the other assassins.

CHARLES: Charles was tired and once again found his mind wandering, but he pinched himself, forcing himself to remain in the moment. Grandson... Damian. Okay. He thinks he finally gets it --- at least the family history part.

Talia dated Batman --- whoever he might be --- and in turn they had a son whom Ra's doted on while his own son was well, probably an afterthought due to his condition. So he got it, but he still didn't know what it had to do with his school.

He watched the scene unfold in Ra's head, paying close attention for once and when it vanished suddenly, he found fingers brushing his chin reminding him that he needed to be more diligent. Ra's gentle touch was misleading, so much so that Charles began to feel uneasy. But his words... well, he wasn't 100% sure of the implication but if it involved either of his minions, well, it couldn't be good to say the least. "I would be lying if I said that I had no desire to lie down, but I think, given the circumstances, I would rather continue dealing with the fatigue. So please continue. I think... I understand the connections you've thrown at me, but I... don't quite understand what my school has to do with it. I don't know Damian and none of those people you've shown me have ever set foot in my school so what are you after?"

RA’S: "Shame," Ra's murmurs, apparently to himself, before his tone shifts back to the almost teacher-like cadence, versus this sharper one. "What they have to do with this? Not terribly much, but you were asking questions. It does have to do with my future Heir, but mostly as a matter of setting the stage. He will inherit my men and my mission, and I would have progress to show for it beyond the means he's come to expect and dislike."

Decades of research, schemes to wipe out cities, engineered viruses in neatly labeled vials--all flash through his head, coupled with the environmentalist radicalism that taints those memories palpably, an attached whirlwind of emotion and opinion. And then, to the point: the recognition of Bobby and Rogue's powers in a video of the X-Men, followed by the constructed image of growing ice caps and acres of crops gone dead. "Your people's powers have the potential to reshape this planet and civilization in a more drastic way than has ever been possible. Just in time for handling the world's most pressing challenges."

CHARLES: Shame. Yeah, right. If those two brutalized him while 'standing', he didn't want to think about what they'd do to him if he were caught 'dozing off' so no thanks. He'd hard pass on that.

In the meantime, Ra's words were quite concerning. The images that he let Charles glimpse within his thoughts were far more extreme than anything Ross had cooked up. Experimenting on mutants was horrible true enough, but unleashing deadly viruses that could potentially wipe out cities of people? That would be low even for Ross which made Ra's infinitely more dangerous than the Secretary. Charles shifted uncomfortably, unsure how press about this. Everything Ra's showed him was getting a resounding hard no from Charles, and he knew Bobby and Rogue wouldn't feel any differently.

This was just... too much; the musings of a madman and it had Charles frowning where he sat. "That's... a bit extreme. While it is hard to defend humans most days, the rest of us are not gods. We have no right to take matters into our own hands and go to such extremes to correct mankind regardless of what they've done. I mean, we can try but your way..." He looked away. "You want to hurt people in the process and that's not... I can't support that."

RA’S: "’The rest of us are not gods.’ Are you quite sure about that?" Ra's drawled, stepping back and returning to his seat as the tea and pastries were brought and laid out before them. Well--before Ra's, at any rate.

"Civilizations of old had gods of all sorts. What else would you call a man who can change the minds of others on a whim? Or men who can control the elements around us? Women who can bring lightning down from the sky. Men who can fly. Your Angel would have been accepted as Hermes incarnate, had he been born in another time. What else do you call an immortal if not a god?" He poured himself a cup of tea. Did not offer one to Charles.

"Come now, Professor, let's drop the pretenses. You know there are those who are better, and those who are not. It's simply genetics. Why shall we let those who are lesser destroy the world for those of us who are better, bring us all down with the proverbial ship? We have a shared interest, Dr. Xavier, in seeing your people live. But even if you should win the war your associate wages, you will not be safe. No one is. We have been doing this for millenia, Professor: cull the weak to spare the population as a whole. It's a regrettable sacrifice, but a necessary one. You're a man of science, you understand. So help me to help us."

CHARLES: "A less informed mind might mistake us for gods but we are nothing of the sort --- even the so-called immortal ones." He paused, letting his eyes close briefly. He was so tired, but more than that, his throat was dry and the smell of food was making his headache that much worse. Despite that, he powered on before he found himself lying down and not in the manner that he'd like. "Just because you can doesn't mean that you should", he continued. "I've no doubt that your words are true. As mankind gains the scientific knowledge to prove or disprove old theories, more and more stuff pertaining to religion gets debunked. Regardless, none of that applies to the now. We have already proven that mutants are nothing more than one gene gone rogue. In other words, we could have just as easily been born into this world as normal humans, but we unlucky few morphed into what we are today. That doesn't make us gods at all."

He frowned. "Better is a matter of perspective and is rooted heavily in mere opinion as opposed to hard facts. There's a lot of things we mutants could be doing. Some of us are already doing things your way in a manner of speaking, but the vast majority of us just want to be left alone." The telepath closed his eyes again, but was careful not to let them rest. Focusing was so hard right now, but he swallowed, forcing words to escape him. Talking kept him from nodding off. "We'll never be truly safe," he whispered, "but is anyone really? When we walk out our doors every day, there's never a guarantee we'll make it home. Those are hard facts that apply to everyone --- not just the homo inferior as you so put it. You alone cannot change things. The world is what it is. Hurting people will never change human nature at its core."

RA’S: "Nothing more? Please, Professor. We aren't talking about spontaneous eye color change. It's not a simple mutation, it's evolution, after millenia of stagnation in our genetic family. Homo sapiens is no longer the peak form of our family tree. You would, I daresay, be hard-pressed to justify saying that your kind are anything less than better, given their abilities."

bite of pastry, before he continued, smirk playing at the edges of his mouth as he watched Xavier try to maintain his composure. "Ah, but Professor, I'm not alone. These gentlemen here are only two of a vast organization of... shall we say, like-minded individuals that I have been building for over a thousand years. Our mission started with weeding out corruption, you understand, but then more pressing existential issues forced something of a pivot. We cannot change human nature, but we can preserve the continued existence of humanity. Through sacrifice, most regrettably." He polished off the pastry and carefully wiped his hands on the napkin, gesturing for his men to move to Charles' side. "Ah, well. It seems you aren't quite so apt to accept the truth. Eventually, perhaps. As I said--we have all the time in the world."

He reached for the box he'd set down earlier, flipped up the top to pull out a syringe and vial. "As much as I have enjoyed this little morning chat, Professor, I'm afraid the nine-to-five calls." Centuries of practice have him drawing up the liquid into the syringe with perfectly steady hands. "We discovered, quite by accident, back in the fifties, that you telepaths don't take well to psychoactive drugs. Or, well--perhaps too well might be more apt. I do wonder if that's changed over the decades. Only one way to find out."

CHARLES: "A person's natural abilities does not define their status as good or bad people. Only one's heart and the actions that follow can truly define such a thing. You're wrong." Charles goes quiet, listening as Ra's detailed just how far his influence ran. It was problematic, but not something he'd have to deal with --- provided he lived to tell the tale. This was something Stark's men would have to stress over and he pitied them. A ghost organization such as the one Ra's controlled would not be easy to put down, but he shook the thought, forcing himself to pay closer attention. The last thing he wanted was to be hit again... at least so soon. "Sacrifice. Everyone's favorite term when it comes to changing the world. No one ever wants to do things the hard way; the way that requires patience and potential compromise. That way takes ages with fewer sacrifices. Your way equals instant gratification, but is that truly best in the long run? I do wonder..."

He goes quiet again because Ra's was right. He wasn't buying any of his politics. He sounded like Erik, only worse since Erik --- as far as he knew --- wasn't planning on blowing up every major city in America. His blue eyes that were hardly full of life these days glanced warily at the box Ra's was toying with. On the inside, there was a needle and vial, objects that filled him with dread. Granted he was used to shooting himself in the vein most days. It was how he took Hank's drug to 'cure' his paralysis. But this? He was more than certain that if it was coming from Ra's, it wasn't going to be good, but pride kept him from squirming in his chair or begging in any manner. He was terrified, evident from the way all color had drained from his features, but he knew begging wouldn't change matters. He wasn't going to tell him about the institute so he turned away, resigning himself to the fact that he was in for a long, brutal day. "Have a wonderful day at work your highness," he muttered quietly.

RA'S: "You're being deliberately obtuse, Professor, and it doesn't suit: good and bad in an ethical sense has no bearing on better or worse from an evolutionary standpoint," Ra's sighed, clicking his tongue. The rest of Charles'words didn't warrant an answer--if the man wanted to make things more difficult than they needed to be for the sake of nothing more than his own moral security, that was his cross to bear. Ra's was not so afflicted.

He rose to his feet, and one of the men grabbed Charles' wrist and bared his arm for injection. The contents of the vial were emptied into the man's veins, and the effects had started before the man even made it out the door. It was a potent hallucinogen in its own right--something Crane had cooked up back in Arkham and Ra's had edited in his own fashion back in Eth Alth'eban. The human prisoners he'd tested it on had not enjoyed the experience in the slightest. A telepath of Charles' caliber was apt to take it far worse. With the sort of power in his mind, in his veins, hallucinations would no doubt be more vivid, the psychological effects more pronounced. A shame he had to go to the museum, because he'd love to take notes. Hearing it secondhand wasn't the same.

Then again, if Charles continued being so stubborn, he would no doubt have ample opportunity to repeat the experience. His men kept their hands off of Charles, today, except to move him to the sofa. Wouldn't do to have the man knock himself out hitting his head on the dining table if he slipped out of the chair, after all.

It's not until the evening that Ra's returns again, with food and a voice that's far too light. "How are we feeling, Professor?"

CHARLES:This felt familiar only it wasn't Hank issuing the drugs this time. He looked away, not wanting to watch them inject him with who knows what. In his mind, he was hoping it was poison, but he knew better. Ra's al Ghul was on a mission. He needed information and he intended to get it eventually. Charles just hoped he was strong enough to endure. He knew his friends were looking for him. Jean... There was only so much hiding one could do from her before her telepathy found him and Erik? Actually, until now, Erik had yet to cross his mind save for the mild comparisons to Ra's. He wasn't entirely sure how he was going about things, but if Jean told him --- and he had a feeling she did --- Erik was... probably somewhere making life choices Charles wouldn't approve of.

But am I truly in a position to judge his moral standing right now?

The thought would be fleeting as the drug seemed to instantly take hold. If he thought the collar was bad, this stuff was by far the worst. Looking around frantically, the whole room seemed to spin on an imaginary axis. Ra's men... their voices were distorted, as were their faces which looked like something out of a horror movie. Charles jerked back, but in reality he wasn't moving at all. He had been deposited upon the couch a long time ago but reality and fiction were blending together in the worst of ways.

On his corner of the couch, he twitched; twisting and turning in an effort to get away from the faces of Ra's men and their distorted voices. Irrational fear gripped his chest and for a while he stopped breathing. Voices. There were so many voices in his head which didn't make sense when he knew they were alone. Or were they? He didn't know, for his mind fed him lies about being in his own home surrounded by literal ghosts of his past. His mom. His poor mom who died of a broken heart and his step-father, the man who loved him more than his own son. His brother... the one he never spoke of. He was leering over him, screaming at him about the scars left behind by their father's abusive sessions. Charles was crying. Arms were folded over his chest as he rocked back and forth, unable to separate himself from the illusion. "I'm sorry Cain. I'm--- I'm sorry."

Sobbing. He was sobbing. He sobbed so hard that his chest ached from the wear of it.

Nauseous. He could vomit at any moment, but it never quite happened. The feeling just sat in his stomach while his mind forced him to relive his past. His mother's depression. His father's death. His brother's hatred of him for being daddy's secret project.

He couldn't tell you when the drugs wore off. Or if they had at all. By the time Ra's voice caught the attention of trembling male, he nearly jumped out of his skin, curling into the sofa's cushion as if it would put distance between him and...Cain? "St---stay back! I'll tell father!" His face remains hidden with the day's experience making it difficult to pinpoint dream from reality. Far as he knew, this was Cain talking. Ra's was just something else his mind cooked up weeks ago.

RA'S: The dose, in a regular human, should've lasted only a few hours. He'd anticipated getting maybe five or six out of it, with a telepath, but here Charles was, still clearly in the throes of delusion. A powerful telepath indeed.

He deposited the food on the counter before crossing to the sofa, reaching out to take the man's cheek, finding the skin damp with tears. "Oh, dear, you have taken it hard. Shh, shh," he soothed as the man flinched away, letting his hand slide down to close the collar fully at last, cutting off the man's powers altogether.

He sat next to Charles, guiding the man's head against his shoulder and brushing fingers through the man's hair. "Look at you. 9 hours, and still in it. All your power," he murmurs, "and still so helpless." He'd been doing this for centuries--breaking people. Pain. Fear. Humiliation. Relief, carefully choreographed. All part of the toolbox, all key to taking apart someone's will piece by piece. "Not the first time you've been knocked around a bit, hm, bitati? Running to your father instead of fighting your own battles--no wonder you're too scared to do what's necessary now. Far too used to hiding behind father's coattails. You know what they say: spare the rod...."

A slow smile, and his tone shifts from condescending to saccharine. "Speaking of spoils, I did bring you some food this evening, bitati. Would you like to eat, hm?"

CHARLES: He didn't want to be touched. He didn't want anything except to be left alone, but that obviously wasn't happening.

Sometimes when he blinked, he would see the distorted faces all over again, but even though those were temporary now, it didn't change the fact that he could still hear Cain screaming at him or his mom thinking depressing thoughts, completely oblivious to his telepathy. He was there. He still felt like he was there in the mansion many years ago yet Ra's voice was not Marko's. It wasn't Raven's so he knew subconsciously that he couldn't trust his head right now, but it didn't make accepting reality any easier. The collar he had grown to both love and hate was shackled around his neck securely once more. To be honest, he didn't even realize it was loose. His whole day was spent inside his own home reliving events he'd buried a long time ago. And now he was being pulled close by the enemy, but today's episode would not allow him to be lulled into another false sense of security by his captor. Charles' mother did not hug him much near the end of her life and while Marko showered him with it daily, he knew this wasn't Marko holding him.

Despite knowing this, he found himself comparing his own situation to that of a scene Ra's showed him weeks ago? Or was it days ago? His perception of time was lost to him yet he remembered. He remembered the pale child swaddled after birth while Ra's looked on with utter disdain. He recalled how the mother sobbed so with the child in view, but even now Charles wasn't sure if she was just as disappointed as the man currently holding him or if she loved that child with all her heart. Cain was that pale boy to some degree, screaming at him because their father played favorites. Only Cain didn't fight to please their father. Cain was a victim of him and it ran him away.

The way Ra's cradled him within his arms had Charles trembling even more because he knew this wasn't real. The image... the perception of loving 'father' Ra's was currently projecting wasn't real at all. This was... something else --- part of his game --- but Charles was too out of sorts to properly defy him. The lack of sleep for days on end made him want to melt into the warmth, but he was far too alert and on edge. He was trembling, nauseous and questioning everything in his head. How long had he been here? How long would he have to stay? And his body... The bruises... the cracked ribs... the ache was part of the norm now it seemed even though he wished he could breathe without it hurting so.

Ra's said something, but it didn't fully register right away. Something about being helpless and sparing the rod. Then he mentioned eating and Charles nearly recoiled at the thought. No. Absolutely not and he would shake his head fervently, finally finding the strength to hint at his displeasure of being held. He slowly began pulling away, but not necessarily in a manner to allude he was being defiant. He simply felt sick and he shuddered to think how he'd react if he puked all over him.

RA'S: It was hilarious, watching the man at war with himself between leaning into him and pulling away, and his lips tugged upward as Charles finally struggled to sit up. He allowed it, though kept his hand wrapped around the back of the man's neck. "No? You're not hungry? I suppose medicine can do that to you, sometimes. I bet you'd much rather sleep, hm?"

His thumb lifted to press against the side of the man's head, coaxing him into facing Ra's. "I want to let you, Charles, I truly do. But I've done you so many favors today already, you see--told my men not to add any more bruises, brought you food, gave you a nice stimulating morning conversation. I even let you use my sofa. I simply can't do anything more for you unless you do something for me. It's only fair, you understand. So come on. Tell me what I need to know, bitati, and you can sleep. You can go home once I have an address. Wouldn't that be nice?" The warm smile was incongruous with the threat contained in the words, only elaborated on after a moment of silence to let the telepath call up such a nice image.

"If you don't tell me, I'm afraid we'll have to find ways to keep you awake tonight. You look so very tired, and neither of us want to make that worse, do we? Or, god forbid, have to give you another dose of that drug, hm? Eighteen hours on end would be most hazardous to one's mental health, but if needs must..."

CHARLES: Charles has had plenty of nightmares. In fact, he nearly went an entire summer suffering from them if not for Hank's efforts. But of all the nightmares he's had in recent years, this was proving to be one of the worst ---and he knew. He knew things weren't likely to get better either because despite his spirit being torn to shreds, he'd sooner suffer even more or die than put his children in danger. He wasn't just their headmaster anymore. He had become something of a father figure to many so what kind of a father would he be were he to sacrifice his own sanity in exchange for the ones who held the keys to the future? What Erik could not fix in this lifetime could possibly be fixed by one of those young, bright minds on the come-up someday. He couldn't do that --- couldn't give in all because he hurt all over. And did he hurt. Heart. Head. Chest. Ribs. He hurt all over but that pain... Better that he endure all of this than someone else. Besides... maybe this was punishment for stealing Cain's father away from him. Maybe... Just maybe...

He looked at Ra's for a long time, studying his features. His voice was smooth like silk --- alluring even --- but his eyes... They were soulless and so with the ounce of resolve he had left, Charles pulled away again, letting the gesture be his answer to Ra's. He wasn't going to eat nor was he going to tell him the address to the school. He was confident that Ra's couldn't get in thanks to that extra layer of shielding but just him knowing the exact location put them all at risk. So he retreated to his corner, fingers digging into his own skin. There was no way to mentally prepare for whatever the night held when his own mind was still fuzzy from earlier. All he could do was wait while in the back of his mind, a plea formed in his head, but one he'd never actually utter. Let it end... please...

RA'S: He'd expected no less, this early on. Pain was all well and fine an incentive, but hope for reprieve was apt to keep people hanging on far past when reason would dictate they ought to cave. Best to start chipping away at that, too, because he was certain the man had been checked out the last time they'd had this discussion. He let Charles pull away, though his hand caught the man's wrist as he moved away, forcing the telepath's arm to extend out across his own lap.

"I don't need to be a telepath to know what you're thinking, bitati. I've been in your very position a few times myself, you see. Hazards of the job." The fingers of the hand not curled like a vise around the man's wrist trace far too gently down the man's arm. "I need you to listen to me carefully. This isn't going to stop on any terms but mine, Professor, I want you to understand. I don't have to stop at any line, because if you die on my watch, my Lazarus Pit can bring you right back--and even better. It'd give you your legs back, give you some of the delightful company you've heard in my head. And then we would start over, like this, until you give me what I want." The gentle touch that's slowly drifted down to Charles' palm slides still further, curling around the man's fingers.

"I'm going to break one of your fingers, because I'm not sure you're paying attention to me, bitati. It's rude to tune people out. Choose which one."

CHARLES: Charles wasn't exactly checked out contrary to what Ra's believed, but he guessed it was hard for the other male to know for certain when the telepath wasn't doing or saying much at all. He was still coming down from the high of that drug while trying to ignore just how much his body ached. The need to sleep had dissolved because of that drug. If anything, he was very much awake but just... Defeated.

He didn't fight as his arm was tugged forward and 'gentle' fingers combed down his flesh. It was hard to imagine that someone like him once had similar experiences but Charles quickly shook the thought as Ra's began speaking of the one thing that could free him from the pain... or at least, temporarily. The whole 'being reborn' thing still baffled the telepath, but he hadn't the time to dwell on that either. Pain. More pain was to come and Ra's, being the cruel, narcissistic sociopath that he was, had the gall to think Charles would actually choose which finger met its maker. He gave the other male a look, one filled with a sort of disbelief, before looking away again. What did it matter which finger he chose? It was going to fucking hurt either way so silent he would remain trying not to tremble so much.

RA'S: Tt. That just wouldn't do. Xavier was an educated man, he was capable of learning. He needed to learn that Ra's is not a man to be ignored.

His grip shifts, and with a twist, it's the man's wrist that cracks. Almost before Charles can even react, he has the man by the throat again, dragging him half-against Ra's chest, head forced back against his shoulder so he can turn to speak into his ear.

"If you're not going to speak, darling," Ra's murmurs against him, voice saccharine, "I will take the ability from you. With those abilities of yours, you don't need your tongue to tell me what I want to know. And you'd be far from the first to lose it at my hand--I don't take kindly to disrespect. When I ask you a question, bitati, you will answer me. Do you understand?"

CHARLES: The scream that he let out was but a reminder that his vocal chords were still in working order despite his insistence on remaining silent. Having braced himself to lose all of his fingers, it was the sound of his wrist cracking more so than the actual act that screwed with the telepath's psyche. If he had to compare the moment to anything, it would be akin to someone telling you they were going to cut off your arm and proceeded to do so painfully slowly, forcing you to feel and hear the saw as it hacked through your skin.

That's what this moment felt like.

The cruel sound of the crack was what triggered Charles drugged stupor. He screamed, eyes clinching shut as tears he fought streamed down his cheeks anyway. He was damn near sobbing, the act only delayed by the way Ra's had him by the throat. His captor was saying something about disrespect and it was in this moment that he realized he was fully capable of hating another human being.

For the first time in his life, he found himself wondering what it would be like to put a coin through this guys head. To stop time, take control of Ra's body and watch him walk into a coin over and over until it left his forehead bloody and bruised. Until the coin finally began pushing its way through the skull. It would take hours for a mere coin to do such a thing without Erik's aid, but the long, torturous session would make up for all of this. It disgusted Charles knowing that he could envision such AWFUL things; that he could see himself watching this person torture himself to death because Charles programmed him to do so. And yet...

"Yes," he choked out, longing to cradle his wrist. The slightest movement has him choking out a sob, an act he was more than ashamed of. Whereas his ribs had turned into nothing more than a dull throb, his wrist was not afforded the same luxury of time...

#c: charles xavier #t: in your head #f: discord #//fuck dawn lives for that wc comment smh #tw: murder mention #tw: kidnapping #tw: mental instability #tw: child abuse #tw: predatory behavior #tw: child neglect #tw: torture #tw: injury #tw: blood #tw: threats

6 notes · View notes

travellvogue · 5 years

Text

Meant To Be

CHAPTER 6- The Truth

(ps- if you wanna cry along with me, listen to a sad song whilst reading this lol)

A tingling nerve sensation ran through your body as you clicked on the Instagram App, fingers shaky as you opened the DM, the growing sensation of fear as you began to read.

Hi babe, i'm on holiday in Dubai and I've got something to tell you. I've just met Jesse, asked him for a photo.. and well, he was with another girl (who definitely wasn't you) and they kinda looked cosy, too cosy for my liking tbh xx

The feeling of sickness was overwhelming, an emotion that simply wasn’t describable as you re-read the paragraph over and over again, no idea who this girl DM’ing you was, but your gut was telling you to trust her. The change in your heart rate told you there was something to be worried about, the lump in your throat that had formed within seconds was a clear guidance that something wasn’t right, your heart knew before your brain.

And within seconds the sickness turns to heartbreak when the picture pops up in the DM the girl quickly attaching it to her message as a form of evidence, it was obvious that the picture had been taken in an attempt to be subtle and secretive, the Dubai beach bright and sunny, giving you the perfect view of Jesse and this random girl that had been mentioned, laying together on a sun bed, umbrella shading them slightly as his hand rests on her hip. The pictures not the clearest but it’s obvious to see that it’s definitely Jesse, the same skin tone, veins and muscles in all the right places, that fucking bucket hat next to him as his curly hair sponsors a damp look. But who is the girl? You need names, information, Instagram usernames... anything. You can just about make out some blonde hair, completely different to your own hair, skin tone paler than yours, a bikini that displayed the majority of her ass. Your shaky hands made it hard to reply to her as you tried your best not to sound desperate for information, but every inch of you wanted her to reply back and say she was wrong, that it was all a big mistake.

Hi love... thank you for telling me. this is gonna sound crazy but can you tell me everything? xx

What the hell were you meant to say!? What are you meant to do when there’s a picture of your boyfriend lying close with another girl on your phone... a girl you knew nothing about, in a different country, whilst your sat at home helpless and lost, your brain telling you not to fall for it, your heart telling you this isn’t a joke.

You could feel the tears that were threatening to spill again, by now you thought you had none left to cry, but god were you wrong, the waterworks started again as another DM came through a few minutes later- the longest minutes of your life as you waited for a deeper explanation. And that’s how it was all revealed, he wasn’t ‘man’ enough to end your relationship before looking for another one. You had to rely on a stranger to rip the band-aid off, to make the decision final- get rid of that fucking cunt.

They were close… too close. His hands all over her, smiling and giggling. She had an accent, but not sure where from, blonde hair, orange face and white body. There was an awkward tension when I asked for a photo, as if he wanted to hide and tell me to go away, as if he had a secret. Obviously I don’t know the full story, all i know is that you deserve to be treated better than that xx

To trust her wasn’t even a question anymore. You knew she was telling the truth. And that was it, one Instagram message and you were packing up your belongings, just like Jesse had done two days ago. A rushed blur of movements, clothes thrown into a suitcase, makeup, jewellery, shoes. Anything that you’d kept at his packed into as many bags as you could get hold of. Anger overriding your body, ignoring the tears dripping from your face and onto the clothes you were shoving into the bags. Heavy footsteps storming around the house as you tried to find anything that resembled your relationship. Photo’s ripped from the wall, frames pushed to the ground and smashed in a fit of anger, you body desperately needing to throw up from the mixture of emotions you were experiencing.

Something inside you stopped your rage as you reached the kitchen, eyes laying on the matching ‘happy’ and ‘happier’ mugs, something so small yet so prominent in your relationship. Your heart ached to simply look at the mugs, the first gift he’d given you, “we first met when we both wanted a cup of coffee” he’d told you as you unwrapped it, a wide smile on your face as he showed you the matching mug he’d got, the routine of making coffee in them every morning eroded away just like your relationship. Fingers wrapping around the handle of each one as you brought them down onto the kitchen counter. Silence. Nothing but your thoughts filling your mind. And then tears, a cry so painful you couldn’t even muster up the sound of a sob, lungs hardly giving you time to catch a breath, silent tears holding the most pain. Knees buckling at the overwhelming pressure of the emotions, body sliding to the floor, knocking the ‘happier’ mug to the ground as you went. Broken china shattered across the floor from the drop, a metaphorical representation of you and Jesse. Broken. Unfixable.

He’s happier without you. He’s happy is someone else’s arms.

That hurt to admit, more than anything. You could come to terms that he had cheated. It was the motive behind it that left the deepest cut. He didn’t love you anymore… did he ever love you? Your heart was broken from loving someone that was in love with someone else. You’d cried yourself to sleep for weeks on end over someone who didn’t even care about you.

If they loved you, they wouldn’t cheat.

You knew he was capable of evil, for God sake he cheated on his previous girlfriend, and you were fully aware of that, yet you still fell for his charm. But that didn’t mean you weren’t aloud to hurt, this wasn’t an excuse for people to tell you ‘I told you so’. Sometimes your heart needs more time to accept what your mind already knows.

Everything was packed, no trace of you left in his home, or his life. You were done, finished, he could have his freedom back, his new toy to play with- but you wouldn’t let him play with your emotions anymore. Your soul couldn’t deal with anymore heartbreak. To let go of something when you know it’s everything you’ve ever wanted, but in the end you’d rather be able to say that you loved too much than not enough.

You’d returned back to comfort, your ‘second home’ with your cousin, a reckless drive back to where you belonged, leaving Jesse behind. You’d told her everything, from the beginning, tears still spilling, a salty sting to your eyes that you were now so used. A restless sleep, clouded thoughts. But you mind kept returning to one thing. Trent.

#meant to be #jesse lingard #jesse lingard imagine #jesse lingard one shot #jesse lingard blurb #jesse lingard smut #trent alexander arnold imagines #trent #trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold one shot #trent alexander arnold smut #trent alexander arnold blurb #england nt

83 notes · View notes

ateanalenn · 4 years

Text

The Untamed / MDZS, resources post, stuff I needed as a writer

ORIGINAL POST AT DREAMWIDTH! (and updates will be there too and maybe on tumblr, if I remember)

(this is a copy paste, the formatting might not survive)

(also available on AO3)

The Untamed / MDZS, resources post, stuff I needed as a writerApr. 11th, 2020 05:46 pm ateanalennFinding info for this show / how to write about / pitfalls to avoid was a pain :( I guess that's part of having fandom on Tumblr. Since Tumblr's search function only works by selling a kidney and sacrificing a goat, I had to rely on Google. Which, not great. Anyway, useful stuff I found to understand this fandom: • MDZS on Dreamwidth: theuntamed_mdzs (active) mxtx (community focused on all the works by the author Mo Xiang Tong Xiu. Not active, but it's there) theyilingweisect (community sharing fics, meta, discussions. Not active either since jan 2020) • MDZS aka Mo Dao Zu Shi (book) aka Grandmaster of Demobnic Cultivation / The Untamed (drama) (there's also an audio drama, a manhua, a donghua, ...) - the novel's en glish fan translation at Exiled Rebels (complete ) As far as I know, this is the most popular translation, though I would like to know if anyone has another translation that they think fit best. - the drama is streaming on Netflix, Viki, WeTV & Youtube. From what I heard around, Netflix and Youtube are the most accessible, obviously, but Viki has the best subtitles (and a whole lot of annoying pubs though). I think that I heard somewhere that there are fan subtitles made, will update if I find the link again). • About names: • The Untamed: A Primer Basically an overview of what is this drama, a few spoilers (but under arrows to open so less risks to see something you didn't want to see). Useful list of titles for the main charas! (ex: Wei Wuxian: Young Master Wei Wei Ying (use of this name denotes “I feel affection for you”) The Yiling Patriarch (use of this name denotes “I think you are evil”) A-Xian / Xianxian (use of this name denotes “I am your loving older sister, have some soup”) Lan Wangji: Second Young Master Lan Lan Zhan (use of this name denotes “I feel affection for you”) Hanguang Jun (use of this name denotes “I respect you, and you are also famously very beautiful”) Wangji (use of this name denotes “I am your older brother and I wish you’d make a friend”) ) • Another primer tumblr by sonickitty with a few where-do-I-find links • Alexandra Rowland explains What Is The Untamed twitter (with pics) • How Ancient Chinese Names Work - Learn from The Untamed Detailed explanation of what's going on with the names (aka Lan Wangji, Lan Zhan, Hanguang-jun) • Dramatis Personae for Modao Zushi the book dw (another detailed who's who/names list) • Names again, Chinese/Mandarin conventions twitter (aka ex the accents aren't necessary, they're there for pronunciation and some explanation of who would use full name/shortened name) • Infographic: birth name vs courtesy name vs title vs respectful address twitter • Quick table / honorifics guide tumblr by cleyra • Mo Dao Zu Shi | 魔道祖师 The various adaptions tumblr by gravitydefyingtears • A list of MDZS FanFic Common Misleading tumblr by kazeki • A conversation about linguistic register, Lan Wangji, and I guess Wei Wuxian can come too tumblr (pretty important text to understand how lwj speaks) • Writing Lan Wangji's speech patterns (aka say the most in the least words) and the follow up Lan Wangji moving into the lowest, most vernacular linguistic register to try and get through to Wei Wuxian tumblr by hunxi-huilai • Using "You/I" vs "Title-as-you" tumblr by hunxi-guilai • Sword names tumblr by hunxi-guilai • Honorifics: jun vs zun tumblr by hunxi-guilai • THE spreadsheet: Mo Dao Zu Shi Character Name Chart, recced by flamebyrd (of who uses what for whom) • Misc Info: • 59 slides of awesomeness by chatcolat. Who's who, plot summary, humor. Beware, so full of spoilers you'll cry if you want to keep some mystery, but! concise recap of what happens in the show to keep the timeline in mind. • Everything about those cultivation sects in ‘The Untamed’ Quick who's who of the various sects (Gusu Lan, Lanling Jin, Yunmeng Jiang, Qishan Wen, Qinghe Nie. Protip: first word is basically the location, second is the sect/clan name). • Reference for Modao Zushi Writers: Chinese terms ao3. "This is to provide a reference for writers who are unfamiliar with Chinese literary conventions or terms used in canon." • Resource list dw: Libitina's twitter links for Meta, Linguistics, Costumes, Food, Edits, Art. • Actual drama title vs English drama title twitter • How "Mo Dao Zu Shi" became "Chen Qing Ling" became "The Untamed" tumblr by hunxi-guilai • Very necessary meta about why the novel/extras seems to have so many sex consent issues and how translating to English potentially gives a very different overall feel to the scene (ex: ExR = "you're too much, you're way too much" becomes chiaki_himura's "you're good, you're too good", becomes bigbadredpanda's "you're amazing, you're the best"). Also, Chinese language enables to shorten sentences which makes stuff implied, 's your job to see context clues.) • hunxi guilai's master list of various detailed topics re-Chinese language/customs tumblr • "Wangxian" is such a clever portemanteau tumblr by untamedconnotations • Song Lan didn’t just say that Xiao Xingchen was “nice-looking,” he basically said that Xiao Xingchen was smokin’ hot except like, in two characters and blanketed with literary respectability. tumblr by hunxi-guilai (this is only relevant because xxc IS the most beautiful person, really and needs to be protected at all cost) • The Unclean Realm isn't "unclean" has in dirty/bad, it's most probably to show the difference of way of cultivating vs the other sects tumblr by hunxi-guilai • WuJi, the love song's fan translation tumblr by iarrod • Timeline: • 59 slides of awesomeness by chatcolat. Who's who, plot summary, humor. Beware, so full of spoilers you'll cry if you want to keep some mystery, but! concise recap of what happens in the show to keep the timeline in mind. • A google spreadsheet, via mihanada's GoDC timeline wip (Year/Event/Notes/Ages/...) • MDZS Timeline, that meta AO3 post on speed by TheWickling. Useful if you want all the details, a bit difficult to navigate/understand when you just landed in the fandom. Still very useful. • And the sequel: On Character's Ages ao3 "A collection of meta on the possible ages for different characters in MDZS and what ages they would be during key events in the timeline." • Modao Zushi, birthdates/timeline dw Dirthdates starting with 0 = wwx's birth year. Succinct & useful. • Maps • Fan made mdzs / untamed worldmap twitter • Places of The Untamed - Where They Are in The Real World • IRL sect locations reddit • Google Map of clan locations in Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation tumblr • Lotus Pier really is one of the most underrated but beautiful places. twitter • Gifsets and images: - Mo Dao Zu Shi / The Untamed drama character guide! deviantart picture = name, who's who in pics. - The Untamed sect sigils - In Which LWJ Gives Not A Single Shit, A Thread #LanWangji #WangXian #cql #TheUntamed SPOILERS for most of the show twitter - The various stages of hairstyles + accessories twitter - SongXiao are in love, got married, are living happily ever after,(FITE ME) twitter by shenweiss - Realizing that wwx is wearing lwj's silk undershirt and the follow up: Qiren's face when he notices xD twitter - gingersnapwolves's Untamed tumblr tag - thewickling's mdzs tumblr tag - hunxi-guilai's cql tumblr tag - compilation of wangxian just being gay and making everyone feel like a third wheel twitter by weiwxngji - wwx swoons a lot and he's gorgeous twitter - Alexandra Rowland explains What Is The Untamed twitter (with pics) - grinding ink requires great patience, often represents that one is willing to wait for another’s feelings twitter - sad compilation of wangxian gazing into each other’s eyes that no one asked for, you’re welcome twitter - This frontal view of Wei Wuxian laying on Lan Wangji’s lap is everything. twitter - Lotus Pier really is one of the most underrated but beautiful places. twitter - Sometimes you see something, a picture, a video, just a snippet of a short moment, and you SEE the love. twitter - CQL’s working title was hot murder husbands twitter (this is amazing) - Lan Wangji just looks a thousand times more intimidating with golden eyes twitter - #TheUntamed’s spinoff webmovie #FatalJourney posters twitter (yessss, nhs, one of my fav) - Don’t you love how exactly 0.5 seconds of this video is Lan Zhan explaining that only spouses are allowed to touch the headband and the rest of the entire 2(!) minutes is a complication of Wei Ying touching it anyways... he said I wanna marry you. twitter • Fic Recs: - DW guest Post: Untamed Fic Starter Pack (a few fics for each subject (ex post canon, juniors centric, ...) - Twitter thread starting with Alexandra Rowland asking for fluffy MDZS/Untamed fic recs. (good new-fandom starter too!) - That twitter thread collecting a list of lady-centric Untamed/MDZS fics Which, good, because as much as I love the fandom, once again women don't exactly come out on top. How many are still alive at the end? I can think of one previously Jin sect lady, but that's it on top of my head, soooo. - Libitina also has posted a lot of mdzs fic recs dw - A "they're students in lockdown and socially distancing" WangXian ficlet tumblr by besanii And bonus: a capybara enjoying a good scritch because I love those dog-sized guinea pigs, seriously, that twitter account is my daily dose of cuteness Also, have some guinea pig on a cutesy bridge PS: I thought that this would be fast because I didn't have that much info to collect at one place, buuuut. It's been 5 hours and it turns out that I did lol. Still, if you have anything else of potential interest, don't hesitate to leave a comment, please :D

#the untamed #resource #dreamwidth blog post #writer info #references

5 notes · View notes

hbostolemysoul · 5 years

Text

Dear, Eugene Roe

" I miss you."

You stare down at the parchment on your desk, a pile of crumpled papers lay scattered close to your bin. With a sigh, you look over at the mess. You had lost many things since Gene left all those years ago. Mainly your aim, your smile, and if you thought too deeply about it, your heart.

That last realization caused a deep dark abyss of pain to reopen in your chest.

There were so many words left unsaid between the two of you.

Gene had never written you. Granted the letters Gene's Ma' received where brief, and far in between.

You spend many a night sitting on the porch with her. Tears falling down her full cheeks. Few words would be said between you two, but her hand was always grasped in yours.

You think having someone else around who cared for Gene as deeply as she did helped to put her at ease. Or at as much ease a mother could be in while her son fought overseas.

It was on your walk home that you found the resolve to finally write and send that letter you had been putting off for far too long.

Running in heels was not the greatest idea, but the discomfort was blinded by your need to reach out to him.

Kicking your shoes off while running upstairs caused you to stumble a few times. But the pounding of your heart in your chest kept you focused on the task at hand.

You sat down at your desk, heaving and breathless, but no less determined.

And as if the Lord himself was guiding your hand, all the forgotten words and promises began to fill the paper.

Once completed you immediately folded the letter and sealed it in an envelope. Refusing to re-read any part of what your heart had poured into that letter.

Knowing that if you did, it would end up with the dozen other unsent letters in your drawer.

As you handed the postage to the clerk you couldn't help but look at the bundles of letters that were to be sent overseas.

Tears began to prickle the corners of your eyes and to save face you left the postage office without a word.

Your feet seemed to have a mind of their own, and soon you found yourself following a long forgotten path towards the pond Gene and you used to play at.

Taking your shoes off you sat on the rickety dock. A wave of peace and sadness overwhelmed you.

This was the spot he first told you he was enlisting with the Paratroopers as a Medic.

Reliving that moment you could feel the pain, fear, and anger wash over you once again. But you never showed that to Gene.

An easy, but forced smile found your lips as you leaned against him.

"Try not to die. Okay?"

He let out what could be considered a chuckle, it never met his eyes though.

He was a serious boy. Always had been.

Seeing him smile, or laugh at you or at your expense had always been a goal of yours.

He shipped out to basic the next day.

Sitting on the dock you could see the orange hue of the sunset reflecting on the water. It was almost peaceful. It was almost easy to forget that a war was taking place. It was almost easy to forget that Gene would not come and join you at the dock. Things had changed.

2 months later.

Gene sat in his fox hole, freezing and exhausted. As Easy's medic, the survival, and needs of the men in his company would always come before his own.

Blood and dirt had seemed to permanently stain his hands. A dark reminder of the lives he had failed to save. He had long ago given up the hope that they would one day be clean.

"EUGENE ROE"

It was almost comical to see the heads of his comrades pop out of their holes as they all pointed the nervous looking messenger towards him.

Gene's face always seemed to be in a permanent frown these days. The messenger cautiously walked over to Gene's foxhole. It was clear as day that the young soldier had not seen many battles.

"Sir, this letter arrived for you"

With shaky hands, the Private handed the letter over and then promptly scurried to other fox holes delivering other letters.

Eugene sighed and turned the envelope to the front. He froze.

With gentle fingers, he traces the return address and your name.

For longer than he would like to admit he just...holds it. He wipes his fingers on his coat, trying and failing to remove the grime that seems to have become a part of him.

The first line read simply.

"Dear Eugene Roe, I miss you"

It feels like every thought or feeling he has ever had about you is bubbling to the surface. Much too quickly for the stoic medic to feel comfortable.

But he continues to read, regardless of the pounding in his chest, or the increasing sweat gathering on his palms.

"Your Ma' has not heard from you in a while. She understands. We all do, but that does not stop us from missing you.

I often think back to the final night at the dock. As silly as I may sound. I wish I could have been brave enough to share with you how I was feeling. I still do not feel brave, even while writing them down on paper.

I feel that this would be one of those moments where you would be trying not to laugh at me and my girlish ways. I can almost picture the small upturn of your lips and your dark eyes dancing with humor. I wish I could have seen more of that before you left.

I know that any words of 'comfort' I try and write would be futile...but I am going to try anyway.

You are my best friend. The person I think about before I close my eyes at night, and the first person I think of when I wake.

I do not expect that sleep has come easily to you in these trying times. I just hope that wherever you are, and whatever you are facing, that you remember that you have people who love you, and who think about you every single day.

I love you, Gene.

I always have, and I am so sorry that I am dropping this on you now. I wish I had been brave enough to just tell you before you left. I try not to regret many things in life. But not telling you that I love you is one of them.

I understand if you do not feel the same way. I just want you to know that no matter what happens I will always be here for you Gene.

All my love, Y/N

Ps. Try not to die. Okay."

Gene stares at the letter. Re-reading the letter more times than he cares to count.

The envelope slips off his lap and a small photo falls out.

A small smile grace's his serious features. The photo was taken a few months before he left. The two of you were covered in mud from the pond. Holding each other close with wide grins on both of your faces. He can almost hear your melodic laughter, and less melodic squeals as you tackled each other into the mud.

He tucks the letter and photo back into the envelope. Tucking it safely into the inside left pocket of his uniform.

Pulling a cigarette from his pack he lights it and looks up at the sky. For once the stars are visible. No longer blocked by the smoke from the war.

"I love you too"

He whispers faintly into the night air.

(This was NOT supposed to turn into such a long piece...but I guess inspirations hits when you least expect it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

#band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers #eugene roe #doc roe #doc roe x reader #doc eugene roe #easy company #wwii #someone please give doc roe a hug

168 notes · View notes

mytearsrricochet · 5 years

Text

color icon tutorial

ok i’m not super great at making icons but an anon requested a tutorial for my icons so i will post my process! it’s good for beginners i think (even tho i have been making these icons this way since 2016 lol)

you’ll need:

Photoshop CS5 or higher (I have CS5 which is quite old, I know, but I pirated it many years ago oops)

relatively hq pics to make icons out of

a psd (if you need some, tumblr.com/tagged/psd is what i periodically check for some).

an action (preferably sharpening action, since that is what i use)

a texture if you want

you, yourself, and you, and i guess this tutorial

i’m going to be making this as a beginner’s tutorial so it’s gonna go about as in-depth as one can be! it’s gonna include a lot so feel free to skip a lot of it if you are already pretty well-versed in photoshop or icon-making.

ITS SO LONG IM SO SORRY IT IS SO VERY IN-DEPTH I’VE EXPLAINED EVERY POSSIBLE THING I COULD’VE

but also if you have any questions at all, please let me know. i love teaching people stuff.

example of the icons that i make:

Hi hello welcome

Ok, so first open up Photoshop. I am using CS5.

You will need hq pics of whatever you plan to icon. I do 99% Taylor Swift, so I use taylorpictures.net for all my icon needs. Make sure they are of semi-decent quality, they don’t have to be amazing since we will be shrinking them down to a very small size so much of the quality is gonna disappear anyway but like, make sure you can at least tell the subject from the background distinctly (you’ll see why later).

This is the picture I am using for this tutorial (and will post icons separately):

Open this in ps (File > Open > the picture)

Ok so now it’s the actual tutorial lol

1. Crop the image

We are not going to crop it to 100x100! Select the Crop tool and set the dimensions to 300 px x 300 px--MAKE SURE THAT YOU TYPE IN PX AFTER YOU TYPE IN 300, OR ELSE IT WILL CONVERT TO CM AND THAT WILL NOT WORK FOR THIS!

Next, crop the picture you want as much as you want--as long as you get what you want in the icon. For these kinds of icons, you just want to focus on one item--like Taylor, for example--instead of multiple (not Taylor and her backup dancers since this isn’t what my icons look like and you won’t be able to do that very well on a beginner level). Crop that to a 300x300 px size and click the check mark on the top bar to finalize it.

If your pic is hq enough--meaning a larger picture--it will probably look super small. That’s ok, it’s just proportional to the old picture. Go to the right side bar and select the Navigation tool.

If that tool isn’t there, you will just have to go to Window and select Navigator, and it will bring that up for you.

See where it says 100% in the picture right there? It will likely say something like 25% or whatever if you just cropped it, so change it to 100% which will bring it to full size.

Cool! now it should look like this:

2. Use the Quick Selection Tool

Go to the left sidebar on Photoshop. Depending on which PS you have, it might look different. This is what mine looks like. Regardless, the icon should look relatively the same I believe across all Photoshop versions. If it’s not there, you might want to left click and hold down on some of the icons and see if it is an alternative option (it should be there already--but it is grouped with the Magic Wand Tool just in case).

This tool has three options in the top bar: free select, add, and subtract. Start with the middle option: add.

This will allow you to choose which parts of the picture you want to select to cut out for your icon. You can change the selection brush size, but I always keep it at 3px because it keeps it really precise.

Drag your mouse over the area of the image that you want included in your icon. This tool will automatically choose parts of the image that are similar--for example, Taylor’s blonde hair will like all be selected around the same time, but the pink/blue background will not be, since it can tell that those are starkly different colors and thus two different objects in the picture. It should have a crawling ants moving line around the areas of the picture you want to select. If you go outside of what you want included in your icon, that’s ok! That’s why the subtract option is there. Just select that--to the right of the Add option--and go over what you do NOT want in your icon to get rid of it using the Subtract tool. You might have to go back and forth between those tools in order to get exactly what you want in the final product.

I can’t show you my final outline for Quick Selection since it goes away when I screenshot, but after you’re sure you got what you want in your moving ants line, it’s time to finalize it.

Remember, this tool effectively cuts out the selected portion of the picture from its background.

3. Refine Edge

On the top bar, click the big rectangle button that says Refine Edge. It will bring up a window that looks sort of like this, but I have settings adjusted the way I like:

You can change these settings any way you’d like, but I generally stick with this. It’s also okay to mess around with them and see how you feel. If you don’t want to do that, you can just use my settings and edit anything you don’t like later.

Click OK to cut.

This has pretty much removed the background from the picture and only left what we cut out and a transparent background (hence the checkered background--that is space that doesn’t actually exist). You can also see some shadow from the background around her arms and hair, which we can delete out later very easily. That is a result of the settings from Refine Edge, which is why some people choose to lower the Feather bar so that it doesn’t include as much shadow--which is good for many pictures since a lot of these are straight cuts, but this can occasionally cut out part of the icon you want to keep or make it look weird since you want just a little space to mess up when it comes to the Quick Selection Tool.

Bonus step if you want a selective colored icon:

Some people like really vibrant icons that include re-coloring. I’m not very good at it, but what I do (and it sometimes turns out well--this is typically the way people do it, though they are less sloppy than I am) is select a color from the Swatches at the right that is similar to the one that they want to paint over. For example, if I wanted to make Taylor’s hair more yellow/gold and vibrant, I will choose a yellow. Select the Paintbrush tool. On the top bar, the Opacity will likely be set to 100%, which will basically color right over the picture and look weird. Set the opacity to something very light--mine is 20%--and paint over the part that you want to color. Make sure you do this in one stroke--if you paint over her hair with 20% opacity once, let go of the mouse, then go over it again, it’s gonna start building up and becoming more opaque!

You can also completely recolor a picture this way, like if you wanted Taylor to have entirely pink hair, you can use this same method but choose the pink you want instead of a similar yellow. This can be very difficult and tedious, so I don’t typically selective color my icons, though occasionally I do because I love those icons with obnoxiously vibrant colors.

4. Open texture/create new background.

Ok, so I do both of these things depending on the background I want. I have some textures saved such as this that I use for icons:

I didn’t make it--it’s pre-made by another artist on tumblr from whom I downloaded their texture pack. You can make backgrounds like these too, but I’m not very good at them.

SO you can either File > Open one of these pre-made backgrounds/textures, or you can make your own.

In order to do that, you can do File > New and change the settings to width: 100 pixels and height: 100 pixels. Under Background Contents, choose White. That’s very important! You don’t want transparent, it doesn’t help us. That brings up a new window on Photoshop next to the picture we’ve just cut out, just a small white square. You can paint that whatever color you’d like. Use the Paint Bucket tool and choose a color from the Swatches section on the right. This will make the background completely one color. However, if you want a gradient, you can do this several ways, but I do it like this:

Click that, go to Gradient, and mess around with the Gradient options and see how you like the background. Here’s one I made, for example:

Boom! Background for icon. I will use this since I made it for this tutorial so yeah it might not look amazing but here we are.

IF YOU USED THE TEXTURE I JUST POSTED OR YOU KNOW THE TEXTURE YOU ARE USING IS NOT 100x100--THE ONE I POSTED BUT DID NOT MAKE IS 200x200--THEN YOU NEED TO RESIZE IT TO 100x100.

You can do this by going to Image > Image Size and changing the 200 pixels x 200 pixels (or whatever is there) to 100 x 100.

5. Duplicate layer

Now it is time to combine these two images we’ve created. Go back to the original picture we worked on--mine is Taylor at the BBMAs--and go to the right sidebar. You should have two copies of this image now: Background and Background Copy. Background Copy is the cut out picture we are using for the icon. Right click on Background Copy and select Duplicate Layer...

This will bring up a window that asks what you wanna do with this layer.

Select the dropdown under Destination. Currently, the Document selected is the image we are already on (my Taylor pic was saved under 056.jpg) but we want to click the dropdown and select the pic that we are using for the background. In my case, it’s titled Untitled-1 since I didn’t change the name. Yours probably is too. Select whatever your background image is saved as and click OK.

Now go to the background image or texture that you just selected--your cutout should be there, but you can probably juuuust barely see it! That’s because your picture is about 3 times bigger than your background.

6. Resize layer

Use the Select tool--the very top icon on the left sidebar--and make sure Show Transform Controls is selected on the top bar. If it’s not, you’ll know--because you won’t be able to resize the image.

The square you are seeing (that isn’t the picture) is the layer we just duplicated onto the background, aka the icon. You’ll want to hold Shift and select the bottom right part of the image to resize to whatever you would like visible in the icon--it could be the entirety of the picture we cut out, or just part of it, if you realize you like how only part of it looks. Either way, you need to hold Shift while you do this, or else the image will NOT stay proportional, and it’ll look all wonky. Hold Shift the entire time you are resizing. This is what mine looks like:

You can see I both resized it and moved it a little to the right--you can use the Select tool to move it, but that might move it way too much since it does it incrementally, you can just use the arrows on your keyboard and move it by pixels which takes longer but is way more precise.

You can still see the shadows from the background on the icon, so select the Eraser tool (if the shadows bother you or you don’t like how it looks) and zoom waaay in. You want to be careful with the Eraser tool! (Also make sure Background Copy is still selected so you don’t accidentally erase the background. If you just have Background Copy selected while you erase, it will only erase whatever is part of that layer, it won’t bother the background).

While zoomed in, erase the pixels that are obviously discolored from the rest of the image. You can zoom in and out to check how you like it as it progresses.

Here is mine after I used the eraser tool on any parts of the image I thought were bad! It should lay on the background naturally.

Now that we’ve figured that out...

7. Sharpen/action

Now is the time to apply an action! Please sharpen your icons. You want them to look good on your blog or others blogs, and in order to do that, you need to sharpen them.

If you already have actions uploaded, cool! If you don’t know how, well, I sure am going very in-depth here so you’re in luck.

Download an action from any photoshop resource (or tumblr.com/tagged/photoshop-action is where I look occasionally). You will have to load them onto your Photoshop now. Click the button that looks like a movie Play icon on the right sidebar. This will bring up the Action list. Photoshop likely has pre-made actions for you, but we don’t use those because I never taught myself how to use those so maybe you can use them, I don’t know. I just use ones I download from Tumblr.

Click that little dropdown menu and click Load Actions...

This should bring up a file opener and you can select the action that you downloaded for this icon. It will download it into Photoshop and will now always be there--you don’t have to load actions every single time you want to use them. If you load them once, they should be there for the rest of forever.

Scroll down to find that action and select it. Now, make sure you still have Background Copy selected. I don’t care about applying an action to the background, just the copy, which is still our image that we cut out. Click the Play button on the Action list--pictured above on the very bottom of the screenshot, next to the Circle and the Folder icon. This will apply the action to the background copy. (Hint: if the Play button isn’t available, it’s probably because your action is in a folder. Click the dropdown of the folder and click the first thing under it--that should be the action and it will apply it).

There it is with the action applied! It’s muuuuch sharper--perhaps a little too sharp, but that’s ok, it won’t look bad on people’s blogs.

8. Add a PSD

To apply a PSD, File > Open and choose the PSD you want to use. I listed above where I find most of my PSDs, just download one you like. You can choose 100 different ones and try it out if you want. I use the same one for everything, by @toxicpsds (I believe it’s #6). This should open a third window with the PSD over a sample image (thanks to the artist!). You just have to select the PSD layer--not the image with it--and Duplicate Layer and put it on the image that we have produced thus far. It is the same process as when we took our cutout and put it on the background. (The PSD is probably under a group--mine says Group 1--so just select the group in its entirety--shift-click it if you need to).

You can tell the background is also lighter. If you don’t want the color of the background affected by the PSD, select Background Copy and the PSD together, right click on one of them, and select Merge Layers. This will put the cutout and the PSD in the same layer, which should take the PSD off of the background and revert it back to the color we had before. However, I really like what the PSD did to the background, so I will keep it this way.

I am finished now with my icon!

9. Save it for Web

To save the icon to be able to post on Tumblr, go to File > Save for Web & Devices, which will bring up a window like this. It might look a little different since I have my settings a certain way, but whatever.

(Sorry this looks weird here, it’s just what happens when I screenshot. I’m not a tech wizard).

Your pre-saved things might look different, but make sure you are saving a a PNG-24 for the best quality. Just make your settings look like this, basically, then click Save.

There she is! All done!

If you have any questions, let me know! I tried to be really specific, but I’m not sure what level people are on Photoshop (probably better than I am) so just ask if I need to clarify anything!

#icon tutorial #tutorial #*mine

60 notes · View notes