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lilgoblinbitch · 2 months

Note

saw your post about rick and daryl, do you think you could write a rick TOWL smut with him angry that you left your post and got yourself injured and he takes out his frustration on you? idk why just had that idea after the recent episode😫

Grimes' Dominion 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

rick grimes x fem!reader

a/n: ahhh omg yes i actually had time to think abt this for a few nights. i added a bit of plot to this because i love me some backstory & descriptions. but anyway i made this pretty lengthy so if u wanna skip to the smut part just look for the '💋'. here is your plotty smut! lmk your thoughts ₊˚⊹♡

warnings: smut 18+, PinV, unprotected sex, oral/face fucking (male receiving), slight bondage, fingering, ass slapping, hair pulling, orgasm denial, degradation (use of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’), language, mentions of blood and injury, angsty angsty angst!, reader is a mother, overall Rick is very rough so you have been warned

It was training day at your post. You had recently graduated from consignee and signed up to become a CRM soldier. It took you six whole years to get to this point. While your agility and militia knowledge were already unprecedented, the CRM didn't fuck around when it came to producing the world's most unrivalled soldiers. It was serious business.

Nearly eight years ago, you trekked a long journey down from your small community in southern New Jersey. You lost everything: your husband, your friends, and the people you lived with and grew stronger with through the grisly and dilapidated post-apocalyptic world. Terrible people – which were apparently becoming more and more common – destroyed your community, leaving very few survivors. It was you and your newborn child who managed to escape safely; you weren't able to go back to see if others had made it out. For almost two years you were alone, and your only hope left was keeping your baby boy alive...

Fast forward two years after the traumatic fallout you managed to escape, you discovered, or rather you were found by, a giant military in Pennsylvania, called the CRM. A military that bordered and protected a whole city of people – 200,000 of them. Out of desperation and maternal instinct, you bargained with the militia in hopes to give your two-year-old son a stable future. The CRM agreed to place your son in a 'nurturing fostering service' within the safe confines of the protected city – known as the Civic Republic of Philadelphia – so long as you swore to abide by the military's code and regulations by becoming a consignee. Of course you agreed, because you were nonetheless terrified of what would happen to your baby boy if you didn't play it safe with this strong force. But for a while you lost it, you couldn't bear not seeing your child – they took him from you. You became defensive of your child, throwing yourself into dilemmas with whoever refused to listen to you. Except no one ever took notice of an angry and hurt mother because the CRM showed little mercy about their policies. And no matter how much force you put into finding hope about getting to your son, you'd always end up falling right back where you left off.

Soon enough you learned from acquiring an acquaintance that not only did the CRM take the only family you had left away from you, they were the ones responsible for destroying your home in the first place.

But now, six years later, you were predisposed to fight whoever and whatever got in your way in order to see your son again. You were a force to be reckoned with.

"No, you're doing it wrong. You gotta follow through, like this—" your sweaty hand maneuvered the heavy spear, sending it soaring through the air at high speed and finally piercing the bullseye of the target. You turned to the soldier beside you, who, to say the least, looked perplexed.

"What?" You huffed, blowing a loose strand of hair out of your face. "Ya give up? Need a break?"

"’Ey! Rogers, I'mma need ya to head back inside. We're gonna start sizing you all up for your new gear."

A brooding and strict man, Sergeant Major Rick Grimes, commanded the young man beside you. "Uh, yes sir," he saluted, then jogged toward the dome-shaped building.

Rick Grimes used to be a consignee like you were, and you even heard stories where he tried escaping at least four times. No one ever fled, or even attempted to, without failing. Escaping the hellhole was like trying to fit your right shoe on your left foot, it was entirely fruitless. But you heard all the stories about Rick, and how he got to become a leader. After the death of Lieutenant Colonel Donald Okafor, Rick was trained to replace his position by virtue of General Beale taking note of his loyalty to the military. Now, Rick was scaling further up the ranks. He was Sergeant Major, and in charge of the post you currently resided in.

You looked up to him, though, not because he was your leader, but because he understood you. He recognized how it felt to have your family ripped from your hands and not be able to do anything about it. You were able to bond with him. Most nights he would invite you to his apartment and the two of you'd spill your guts to one another over a glass or two of bourbon. That is how he got to know you, and see through your clouded demeanor that you kept in check. You were fierce and obstinate, because the place you were trapped in forced you to be that way, and truthfully Rick admired that about you. He was never able to relate with someone as well as he did with you.

Feedback echoed from Rick's receiver and he lifted it to his masked face, stating his position and whatnot. You crossed your arms, waiting for him to give you an order. "Well?"

He turned his attention to you, finally. "We need to talk." His one good hand snagged a hold of your arm and guided you toward a smaller brick-designed building, which you recognized to be the building that housed the high ranking officials like Rick himself.

"What do we need to talk about? And why is Rogers getting his gear but I'm not?" You struggled against his grip, a decision that ended with futility as his clutch tightened when you tried pulling away from him. You furrowed your brows and grunted in annoyance.

"Relax, sweetheart, you're not in trouble. Actually it's quite the opposite." Once again he faced you, stopping in his tracks as you both had reached the air-conditioned building. His grasp on your arm loosened and then reached for his matte black helmet detailed with red outlining. Your eyes darted across the room, taking in the essence of prestige and momentarily locking in on the various framed photos on the walls, which depicted a few recognizable CRM authoritative figures. One particular photo caught your attention, and you carefully examined it, discerning it to be Rick himself with a shiny black name plate decorating the bottom of the frame.

Your gaze finally diverted back to Rick, whose helmet popped off in a swift motion, freeing his slightly disheveled brown and gray curls, and his stern blue eyes – the spellbinding reflections to his enigmatic soul. And this man was undoubtedly a sight for sore eyes.

The silence was disrupted by the shuffling of Rick’s boots, his curt footsteps leading him across the room. He pulled out a chair from the corner and without any trouble picked it up with one hand and set it down across from a dark wooden desk. “Sit.” He motioned to the chair, and then found a seat in the larger, more cushioned chair adjacent to it. Without a peep you sauntered over to the wooden chair and sat, folding your hands on the desk in front of you.

“You gonna keep me on edge or are you gonna tell me why I’m here and not at training and getting my gear?”

His serious eyes bored into yours now, hinting that he wasn’t in the mood for your cynicism. “I brought you in here to tell you that you’re going to become Colonel under my order.”

You scoffed comically and dropped your hands to your sides, gripping the chair with force. “That’s ridiculous. Me – Colonel? Why?”

Rick’s focus never left your unserious face – one that was twisted with amusement. With a slight tilt of his head, he spoke, “Because you’re one of the best fighters and you’re fit to start leading, I know it. And I trust you, so does Major General Beale. We both expect your habitual commitment from now on.” While you were still preoccupied with processing this information, Rick reached into one of his sleeve pockets and pulled out a silver badge, decorated with ‘Col.’ followed by your full name. He slid it across the desk toward you and you scrutinized it before giving him a look of disapproval and sliding the badge back to him. You shook your head in defiance.

“No thanks.”

He frowned and once again his frigid stare taunted you, something you’d undoubtedly gotten used to very much over the past few years that you'd known him. He leaned forward and for a second you could feel the steam emitting from his nose as he exhaled, eyes scanning your face for any signs of possible sarcasm. You were dead serious now, though.

“This isn’t an offer you can refuse. It’s an order,” the sergeant commanded, grabbing the badge reiteratively and this time placing it firmly into your hand. “So take it, and don’t lose it.”

You remained perched in your spot, not stirring any muscle, just studying his face with the badge dancing across your fingertips. Rick was not going to take ‘no’ for an answer. “Now do as I say, and meet me in that meeting room over there, in 10 minutes.”

You snarled and swiftly rose, shoving the badge into your zipper pocket. Without even giving Rick another look you booked it out the door full tilt.

All throughout meeting with Grimes and Command Sergeant Major Thorne and overlooking your shared brigade of soldiers, your mind couldn’t escape the worry you had about your son, and how you were going to escape and find him. Your mind raced as you tried to recollect what the map of your base looked like, so that you could pinpoint which weak spots there were around the perimeter. You recall a little while back which security took which shifts at each area of the southwest perimeter where your complex was, but it wasn’t all that simple since sometimes they’d switch shifts around. However, security officers periodically switched their attention to different areas at a time out along the walls, so you could use that as leverage to sneak your way around and cut a hole in one of the fences–

Nah. That would be too obvious, and dangerously stupid. You needed to really think this through – come up with a strategic plan. So that’s what you were prepared to do after your first night of training as Colonel.

Sweaty and disheveled, you entered your sleeping quarters and kicked the door shut, immediately peeling off your bulky armor and tossing your heavy combat boots across the floor. With a satisfactory sigh, you trotted over to the shower and flipped the handle all the way to the left – you needed a steamy shower to filter out all the stress your body had been loaded with that day. Not only that, the steam would help you think, and you needed your head clear if you were going to figure out how to leave successfully that night.

If you were going to escape – if. You needed to keep that thought in mind, because it sure as hell wasn’t going to be a piece of cake.

Frantically you shoved a handful of essentials into a black backpack – a lighter, duct tape, a pocket knife, flashlight, and a small glock you 'borrowed' from your trip with rick to the armory earlier. After zipping up the bag you threw on your combat boots and your gloves. You checked your watch for the time; 11:48 it read. The moon was scintillating in the sky and beaming with conviction. You took one last glimpse around the room to check if you had forgotten any extra tools or gadgets, and before you confirmed that you were ready to head out, you spotted something on the rusty gunmetal colored nightstand. Inquisitively you wandered over to the table and examined a small, white folded paper. You unfolded it and inside it read, in urgent script:

“Meet me at my place at 11:30 tonight. Need to talk again.

-R.G.”

Too late now. Not happening. Besides, you were sure it was another booty call because for one, on busy task days like tonight, Rick often had a knack for ‘letting off steam,’ which meant fucking your brains out. Sorry, Rick, but my child is more important to me than easing your sexual frustration. And two, it was already reaching midnight…why else would he want to “talk” to you so late at night? Rick was just too obvious.

Speaking of Rick…

The man who shared his bourbon with you for the first time two years ago. That very night he had spilled to you CRM’s legacy and the nightmares behind it. The two of you bonded over your mutual grievance toward the antagonizing militia. Rick spurred hope in you finally leaving and finding your son; if anyone could help you escape it was him. But he changed – his interest in leaving the CRM no longer seemed to exist. After all, he was already climbing his way up the military rank. He was gaining power and respect, and that seemed to be more crucial to him then getting back to his own children.

So, screw him. He had his chance to leave with you, and it already passed – because now you were tiptoeing out your apartment and being welcomed into the darkness of the night.

You were cautious of your surroundings, turning a few corners and eluding one or two officers. You noticed the southwest wall, which didn't look impossible to climb. You discovered a hefty pile of broken shipment container parts – bingo. And that's what you used to climb the wall. unfortunately your endeavor led to you stumbling and hitting both your knee and your arm against the metal object, then landing with your hands scraping against the unforgiving concrete. Fuck. What an idiot you were. Surely someone within about twenty feet of you heard you basically eat shit.

Gritting your teeth and whimpering from the twinge that shot through your knees and hands, you managed to put every fiber of your being to use and push yourself off the ground, only to end up on your ass with a humph. You winced as you peeked at your hands, using the flashlight from your bag to examine how badly cut they were. Blood leaked from multiple crevices in your palms, and you didn’t even bother paying much mind to your bruised knee or elbows because there was no time to dawdle. “Shit. You need to get up now!” You scolded yourself, but as you tried standing up completely, your knees buckled. Well, at least behind this building it was dark enough for no one to see you, unless they heard you already…

Your alert ears picked up the sound of shoes marching upon the solid ground, and you cursed to yourself; someone was coming, but there was nothing you could do because they had already heard you most likely. “Just play dead, or pretend you passed out!”

You heard your name being called out from somewhere behind you.

The pace of your heartbeat quickened drastically, causing your head to spin toward the voice. Well, shit. It was Rick Grimes himself. This time his helmet wasn’t on and he seemed to have abandoned his uniform. He was instead dressed in jeans and that black tee that always hugged his muscles so perfectly–

“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice boomed in your ears as he knelt down to your level, and you shivered.

You wheezed and resumed your pursuit of getting your ass off the wretched ground, to which you failed. Rick noticed the cuts and bruises decorating your injured body and his face softened. He sighed, gathering your belongings, and then in one swift motion he lifted you up off your feet, holding you bridal-style. You bit your lip to stop the tears forming in your eyes; your plan backfired, you got caught, and now everything was out of your control. You felt so stupid and useless.

Rick shifted around with you in his arms, taking one last glance at your injured figure. “Oh, honey. Let’s get ya cleaned up now.”

He had carried you all the way to his room without any hindrances, and the whole time you honestly thought about kicking out of his tight grasp, nailing him where the sun doesn't shine, and booking it out of there. But the way his strong arms cradled you made you melt into him.

Rick lay you onto his large – well, larger than your own – neatly made bed and pulled your shoes and socks off. Before he could reach your pant zipper to pull them down and examine your knee, you slapped his hand away, scowling at him.

“I can do it,” you promised, although of course your trembling hands reaching for the zipper illustrated a paradoxical story. Not to mention, the stained blood and soreness reminded you that you needed to ease up on any further use of them. It felt like carpal tunnel. Damn, that concrete did some damage to you. Your exasperated grunts caught Rick’s attention and he ignored your misleading comment, zipping your pants down and peeling them off himself. The look you gave him could have been detected as either annoyed or demoralized. Either way, your body was weary and your mind still raced with unrelenting thoughts.

Rick brought back a wet cloth and a first aid kit he kept under his sink. Gingerly, he brushed the cloth over your battered hands and then bandaged them up. You let out a few pained huffs while he went to work on your scraped hands and busted knee with his doctor abilities. When finished, his eyes scanned your body, being certain he didn’t miss any other wounds or minor cuts. You, however, were busy ogling him; his beautifully sculpted figure that was outlined by the black t-shirt he wore, and the scruff that layered his defined jaw, and the way his pink lips pursed as his rough hand prodded your exposed flesh – it sent you into a trance.

He adjusted his gaze back to your face, and you snapped out of your trance promptly, painting that stern cast back on your expressive face. You recalled why you were irritated with him in the first place – he prevented you from escaping.

“Y’alright now? Gonna tell me why you were scurrying around past midnight with this bag on you?”

Your hard stare didn’t falter. He tsked at you and grabbed the backpack off the ground, unzipping it, and dumping its contents onto the bed. When he recognized the gun to be one from the armory, it was his turn to scowl at you.

“You better start talking before I get angry, sweetheart.” His body flexed as he folded his arms across his chest, eyes cornering you and making you feel small.

“I was–,” you cleared your throat and sat up with your hands on your bare thighs, “I was going to escape, Rick. I… I need to see him…”

Rick lowered his head to the floor in disappointment, rubbing the bridge of his nose while his other arm rested on his hip. He paced the room. “You knew this was going to happen. We even planned it together, for fuck’s sake!” You pleaded with him, emotion spilling from your lips. You stared at his back, watching the way his muscles tensed. “I have a child I haven’t seen in years and I–”

“Yeah, so do I!” He interrupted, “But that life is over, there is no more escape plan pipe dream. Don’t you get it?!” His pacing ceased, and he waited for your focus to meet him. When it did, he inched toward you daringly, almost wanting you to test his patience. “I got you that ranking because I trusted you and expected you to be cooperative with me in this mission. I was planning on trying to convince Beale to let you visit your boy but that won’t be for a while. I need your trust in this,” Rick’s footsteps approached the bed, his towering figure intimidating you. “Do you understand? Look at me—” his rough hand pinched the sides of your chin to tilt your head up at him.

Your lips cracked open to speak but truthfully nothing could be said in that moment. The tension in the air was heavy and laced with despondency. You choked trying to enunciate words as you felt your shoulders drop, and your heart chugging on. Soon you gathered yourself from breaking down in front of him, masking the persistent commotion going on inside the walls of your skull, and the unabated sense of dread pouring over your body. You nodded your head in compliance and Rick released your chin.

This was a confirmation that Rick was never going to let you get away. And if he did end up finding a way for you to see your boy, living under an unlawful and controlling military organization was not something you stood for. With or without Rick, you needed to escape with your son, using any proper chance that swung your way. But if it was going to be without Rick, you needed to be secretive.

You batted your eyes at him, aiming to give him a reason to believe that you were officially yielding to him. The way you looked under him, all battered and desperate, made a spark ignite in his brain. You belonged in this position – underneath him, following his lead, and obeying his orders. He was going to need to show you how insistent he really was.

Your attention remained undivided. Rick stepped backwards a foot and took in the sight of you – your whole body and the way your thighs begged to be kissed and touched.

“I’m assuming you saw the note I left you, right?” His tone dripping with vehemence and his southern drawl rasping, relaying a yearning to your eager core, which you attempted to ease by clenching your thighs. He certainly did not miss that.

“So you were planning on not only ignoring my note, but being reckless and trying to leave this post and then, what? Risk getting caught and dying and never getting to see your son ever? You need to get your head on right, and I’m telling you this from experience, because it’s never going to work out the way you want it to, no matter how perfectly you think your plan will go.” You gulped and studied your hands, which were thankfully stinging much less. You fiddled with the bandage, until Rick demanded your attention with his authoritative tone.

“This is the last time I’m gonna ask you to cooperate with me. Keep that in mind,” he warned. Your front teeth bit into your pouty bottom lip as you struggled to make yourself look uncritical of his “plan.” Rick’s eyes targeted your every move as you, this time successfully, propped yourself up and off the bed, bending down to grab your pants which were sprawled out next to your feet.

💋

“What were you gonna talk to me about, y’know….if I ended up showing up earlier?” You flipped the pant legs so that they were no longer inside out.

“I was gonna do this—” Your heart quickened as he neared you rapidly, his arms finding themselves exploring your body and causing goosebumps to multiply across your vulnerable skin. He dexterously greeted his lips to yours, catching you by surprise. The man was quick with it.

You melted into the kiss while his hands continued to trace your curves, eliciting longing whimpers from your throat. You craved his touch.

Breaking away from the kiss, the Sergeant gave you no time to protest, spinning you around so that your back was facing him. Taking your jaw prisoner in the tight clutch of his hand, his hot breath fanned against your ear, making the hairs on the back of your neck come alive. “Originally I was going to fuck you gently, make you relax from your big day—” His hand slid to the middle of your back and he forcefully bent you over on the bed, scoring a small grunt from you. He took your pulled back hair into his hand and with a tantalizing tug of it, he pushed his clothed hips against your bare ass. “But now I’m not gonna be so easy on you, because you decided to go and put yourself in danger. Well, I’m gonna have to punish you instead of reporting you, hm? For your own sake…”

Your heat practically leaked through your panties and down the inner part of your thighs. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you loved when he was rough with you. It stirred you up with the perfect concoction of salaciousness and angst. Still, your alacrity temporarily repressed your aroused state and you barked back at him, “All I want is to see my son…you have no goddamn right to take that from me, Rick,” you cried, with your trembling hands supporting your upper body as he gripped your hips.

Rick delivered a firm slap to your ass cheek, then promptly straightened you up and turned you around to meet his sifting stare. You gulped, feeling submissive under his touch. You watched the way he contorted his face in vexation and you abruptly felt overpowered by him.

“In case you’ve forgotten you are under my command, and if you disobey me I have every right to correct you where I see fit,” he eyed your pout, huffing, “and I fucking told you already – you have to be patient, it’s gonna take a while.”

The hope you had was dwindling slowly, even though you really wanted to trust him. It almost felt like putting your full trust in him was equivalent to playing with fire. You couldn’t tell the difference between the two anymore. But ultimately Rick was right, you were under his command and the very least you could do at this moment was take his word.

His leer intensified. “Get on your knees.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and felt the command jolt through your body with a cogent nudge. You conformed to his request and scrunched your face in slight discomfort from your bruised knee making contact with the floor, but it was still tolerable. With urgency he unbuckled his belt and wasted no time in freeing his thick, throbbing length. The sight of his cock was not something foreign, as you’d slept with him many times; but the way he was so much more ambitious in getting his cock inside your mouth and feeling you gag around him, made you squirm.

The restless man bucked his hips forward, enjoying the way your soft pouty lips hugged his shaft so magnificently. You moaned softly, the vibration inciting a groan from Rick as he grabbed at your hair. “Gotta do more than tha’. I know you know how to be a good slut f’me.”

You took his whole length in your throat, feeling spit drip down your chin as you choked. You started to bob your head back and forth, becoming accustomed to the size of his dick and how it collided with the back of your throat incessantly. He took it upon himself to grasp your head and guide you up and down as his hips pushed against your needy mouth. Your tongue traced the veins that protruded across his length, as your head quickened its pace. His grunts echoed in your ears and you prepared for his sweet release when you apperceived the twitch of his cock against your tongue.

“Fuck, yes…good slut,” Rick sung out as he thrusted thrice more, shooting his thick warm seed down your throat and riding out the remainder of his orgasm. He pulled out and stared intently at your lips licking up the remnants of his juices while panting. His hand patted your head in approval. “You think you deserve to cum tonight?” He taunted, his hold on your hair taut. You didn’t respond, but instead observed the way his muscles flexed when he lifted his shirt off his back, and how he flattened his hair back with the palm of his hand. You were getting wetter by the second, shifting your thighs in anticipation.

You stood up, tracing your hand over his bicep and fluttering your lashes at him enticingly. He smirked, recognizing that look to be your calling for him to fuck your brains out. Your hands reached down to lift your own shirt off, but he swatted them away in protest, throwing the shirt across the room hastily. All you desired was for him to make love to you, to comfort you and promise you that everything was going to work out, and frankly your sore muscles from training could use as much appreciation as they could obtain. But love-making wasn’t on the agenda for tonight.

Rick flopped you onto the bed, and effortlessly your panties were torn off and thrown next to your shirt. He kneaded your tits with his hand then bent over top of you to hungrily kiss your lips. Your fidgety hands stretched up to tussle through his hair but he broke from the kiss to pin both your hands above your head, rousing a dissatisfied whimper from you. The carnal man bent down diligently to grab his belt and release your hands for a moment, before grabbing your wrists and securing the belt around them. Bondage wasn’t necessarily unfamiliar to you but you had never expected Rick to ever want to partake in it with you. Nonetheless, your core ached further for his touch. His hand went back to pinching your sensitive nipples, while keeping his ferocious eyes locked onto yours, and lowering his head down to your throbbing heat. The lewd mewls escaping your parted lips sent Rick into a frenzy. You bucked your hips up in an attempt to get him to do something, to give your desperate parts the treatment you longed for, except he just remained concentrated on the way you jerked and crumbled beneath him – he wasn’t even touching you anymore, and yet he had you folding already. How pathetic you looked.

“Rick, please do something!” Your pleas left him unphased. The only thought in his mind at that moment was how rough he was eventually going to fuck you.

Finally, his finger swiped up your soaking folds and came into contact with your swollen clit, giving it a soft pinch, stimulating a ribald whimper from you and inducing your back to arch off the bed. “What d’you want, sweetheart?” His husky tone intimidated you.

“Need you, please. ‘M lonely,” You sniffed, overworked from all the teasing. He cooed in a mocking manner, and with two fingers he plunged into you, sending you into the clouds.

“This sweet pussy needs attention, dun’it?” He curled his fingers upward, activating that sweet spot inside your squelching sex. With his thumb he circled around your sensitive bud, accelerating the speed of his thick fingers inside your tight, wet hole. Bliss clouded over you, and your head lulled to the side.

Rick hissed, dissenting your lack of eye contact. He yanked his fingers out all the way, giving a slight tap to your voracious cunt. “Nuh-uh, eyes on me.” The glazed-over look you gave him was enough for him to give in and slide his digits back into your heat, this time being merciless by the way he finger fucked you with racking momentum.

Your walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers, legs syncing with the rhythm of your swirling hips. Rick sensed your orgasm approaching – he ascertained that you didn't get to reach its peak by ceasing his thumb's labor and plucking his drenched digits out of your weeping center. Your sensual clamors didn't go unnoticed; instead he hushed you, and bringing his mouth near your ear he rasped, "I decided that you don't get to cum yet. Not till I feel like it."

Rick really loved tossing you around, especially tonight. He arose, untying the belt around your wrists – almost as if he was showing mercy, but that thought was surpassed as he effortlessly flipped you around so your bandaged hands were gripping desperately onto the sheets, as if that'd prevent you from losing your grip on reality from what was about to go down.

Your begging hole cried for his further attention, causing you to become more agitated by the second. That is, until you felt his hard cock slap against your ass cheek, and his hips striking the back of your shaking thighs. The grumpy commander pressed his leather-sling gloved fist slightly against your upper neck, just enough pressure to ensure you stayed where he wanted you. You didn't plan on leaving, though – not until he fucked you to your heart's content.

He could take a picture right now, the way your ass pushed against his solid member so hysterically, as if your pussy lived to be stuffed by his cock. In that moment, it did. Rick grabbed his cock and lined it up with your welcoming entrance, collecting the condensation on his tip.

"God, just fuck me–"

One rigid thrust was all it took for you to fully engulf him. Your eyes rolled to the ceiling, stars eclipsing your vision while his thrust followed another one, this time much deeper. Your whines bounced off the pale room's walls, alerting Rick, who hushed you with a growl, "Shutch'er mouth, the whole building's gonna hear ya." A third thrust ensued, with the sound of his pelvic bone smacking against your backside and the echoing of your sodden cunt being governed by his greedy shaft. The wet squishy insides of your walls hugged Rick so magnetically, he almost gave in right there.

His pace picked up with each ram of his hips, and his assault to your clit. Your grip on the sheets tightened, bandages likely slipping off but that wasn't a concern. Shy whimpers were trapped inside your mouth as you gave it your all at keeping your lewd blubbers and cusses at bay. Your soft, muffled cries continued as he pounded into you strenuously and tirelessly.

"You're not gonna try to leave again, not ever." The thumping of his hips on your ass and him fucking you into the mattress was all too much for your brain. "I won't fucking let you."

You felt fuzzy. The dauntless rebel attitude you once had vanished, and now your were a blubbering hot mess under a relentless leader. His bulging biceps flexed as his leather arm continued pushing on your neck, the other hand groping your hip and then going back to flicking your clit as his cock rutted into your core. He fit you like a puzzle piece.

Your walls were pulsating and you sensed your climax approaching quickly. "Oh, fuck, Rick!"

"Don't you even think about it. So help me god, if you do..."

Rick's demands only filled you closer to the brim with pleasure, and you weren't assured how much longer you could hold it. His thrusts became sloppier and sloppier, indicating that he was probably close too.

"Mmmph–" You focused on grasping desperately at the sheets again, trying to fixate on the way the soft fabric felt against your hands and your face which was pushed into the bed.

Rick groaned out, whispering filthy affirmations as his pounding became more jagged and his grunts more urgent. "Wanna fill ya up, but you don'need another baby, not yet."

One last press against your clit and the band finally snapped, your juices releasing all over his cock, and his orgasm causing him to grasp your hips roughly as he used your dripping hole to help him ride out his own orgasm. He pulled out, releasing onto your back with a few strokes of his slippery member.

The bottom half of your body gave in finally, collapsing and being suffocated by the plush mattress. Your eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open. He truly fucked the energy out of you.

"You gonna try that shit again with me?"

With half-lidded eyes you simpered and muttered, "Not without you."

125 notes · View notes

ritens · 15 days

Text

∞ Arisen & Pawn Character Introductions

Original template by @arisenreborn

Probably will come back to edit this at some point. I wrote it while numbed out of my mind from medicine.

♛ THE ARISEN:

NAME: Raures AGE: 123 (whatever that means) RACE: Elf PRONOUNS: he/him PREFERRED VOCATION: Magic Archer FAVORED GIFTS: fish, selfmade things FAMILY: no longer in the picture. They fell to the dragon.

POSITIVE TRAITS: gentle, keeps his word, patient, hard-working NEGATIVE TRAITS: stubborn, huge flirt, gullible LIKES: fishing, exploring and gathering materials for various craft projects. DISLIKES: rainy muddy days

1. What was their life like before becoming Arisen?

Rau lived with his parents away from other elves. They preferred a more simple but labor-intensive life among humankind’s common folk. Father was a hunter and taught Rau the way of the magic archer. Mother was a mender with a great knowledge of medicinal herb usage. Humans taught Rau archery and thief skills for wilderness survival. He also learned their language.

The family moved towns and villages every 10 years to conceal the aging differences between the two races, essentially avoiding the possibility of becoming chiefs or other figures with higher responsibility.

Raures became Arisen in an attempt at buying time for his parents to escape the burning village. The attempt was unsuccessful but the dragon deemed him worthy.

2. How do they handle being Arisen, and the responsibilities that come with it?

He is mourning the family he lost but even so he does his best to move forward and do what is expected of an Arisen despite his pawn’s chagrin. He doesn’t fully grasp what he’s doing, just feels like he has to.

3. What are their thoughts on Pawns in general?

Pawn rights activist. He finds all of them to be quite cute.

4. What's their relationship like with their main Pawn?

Rau opted to “adopt” an existing pawn to be his main instead of shaping his own perfect image of a pawn to avoid bias. The two have a lot of opposing opinions on matters and Rau has no idea that Lane already has a bit of his own will which he's maintained from master to master throughout his conscious life.

Raures sees Lane's episodes of fear and paranoia as normal pawn behaviour, but treats his companion with care and respect no matter what may come up. He is very fond of Lane and forbids the pawn from traversing the rift to other worlds to assist other Arisen who may call upon him. He doesn’t want Lane to end up as brutalized as he was when Rau first met him.

5. Do they have any interest in being Sovran? What are their opinions on the politics of the world in general?

He’s too much of a farmboy to care much about what goes on in the life of the rich and noble. The prospect of being Sovran seems exhausting to Rau, but if need be, he would take on the role. But avoid spending much time at the palace. It’s also likely Lane would hold him back from all this mumbo jumbo anyway.

6. Who are their love interest(s) and/or closest friends?

Rau’s closest companion is obviously his pawn. He doesn’t form lasting relationships with people aside from the local baker. And he indulges in short lived dalliances now and then.

7. What drew them to their preferred vocation? Do they have history with it?

He keeps pursuing the way of the Magic Archer as a way to honour his elven roots but isn’t bound to just one vocation. Survival asks for many skills and he hones whatever he can.

8. Do they have any hobbies? Any way of relaxing between all that monster-slaying and traveling?

Suck and fuck. He enjoys fishing a great deal which is a rather fruitful hobby as it’s fun and it provides food. Rau has been making birch skin baskets and other tools since childhood. Originally picked up the craft to avoid buying these items in bigger cities as travel by oxcart often ends up being catastrophic. Now as an Arisen who is constantly on the move, he makes the baskets and leaves them as gifts for the villagers he happens to visit.

♟︎ THE PAWN:

NAME: Lane AGE: appears young adult RACE: human PRONOUNS: he/him PREFERRED VOCATION: Thief FAVORED GIFTS: soft warm clothes, bread INCLINATION: Calm

POSITIVE TRAITS: clever, creative, humble, observant NEGATIVE TRAITS: withdrawn, fearful, unreliable, low self-esteem LIKES: bread, Raures, afternoon naps DISLIKES: stale bread, being manhandled, loud people

1. What was their life like prior to being summoned by their Arisen?

Lane served many Arisen. His first was Amaury from Gransys who summoned him in the shape of their deceased brother. The pawn ended up a tad corpse-like in appearance and while it didn’t bother Amaury at first, it eventually resulted in them becoming uncomfortable once they accepted the fact their real brother is gone for good. By that time Lane had already developed his own bit of will, and sapped enough of the Arisen’s spirit to also develop Amaury’s negative emotions (and even a streak of their golden locks of hair). Lane ended up killing his own master out of fear during an argument.

He didn’t return beyond the rift afterwards and became a street rat who survived by using his strider->thief abilities to steal from people.

Plagued by aimlessness the pawn answered the summons of other Arisen in other worlds who would order him around, sometimes harshly and cruelly. But the pawn desperately desired a sense of purpose and so he went with the flow, ignoring his human aspects as best as he could.

2. What is their opinion on the Arisen? How do they view their relationship?

Lane was stunned when he first saw who had summoned him in Vermund. The face of his second Arisen from ages past in a different world. The first Rau had summoned him and made Lane his main pawn in a similar fashion. He was Lane’s favorite master. But, unfortunately, he fell in battle against the dragon.

As Lane learns more of this Vermundian Rau, he gets more and more determined to prevent the same outcome that his former master was fated to meet. Lane selfishly and desperately clings to Raures and does everything he can to get the Arisen to settle and let someone else take the wheel of the cycle.

3. Is there anything about the Arisen they find troublesome?

The pawn is very much bothered by the Arisen’s frequent visits to the Bordelrie though he won’t say a word about it. The Arisen does get treated to a cold shoulder for it though.

4. What is their specialization and is there any story behind how they cultivated that skill set?

Raures taught Lane elvish language as a bonding exercise. But now Lane uses the skill to listen in on conversations he has no business knowing about.

5. Do they have any thoughts on the politics of the world and their place in it as a Pawn - or how Pawns are treated?

He accepts things as they are for the most part but has his low moments where he wishes more people treated him as something other than a resource.

6. Does their journey with the Arisen change them in any significant way and how?

Though he himself doesn’t realize it, Raures helps Lane calm down and open up to the joys of life outside servitude. Lane learns what fun is, what friendship is and what it means to love unconditionally. He begins to stand up for himself.

7. Is there a reason they chose their preferred vocation?

Lane is a thief in the literal sense of the word. He had to get by while Masterless and he did so by stealing.

8. Do they have any hobbies or preferred past-times?

During his time on the streets post-Amaury Lane picked up drawing with coal on cobblestones and has since moved on to other mediums and continues to hone his art skills. He usually scribbles sceneries and detailed drawings of plants, but lately has been toying with human silhouettes as well.

#dragon's dogma 2 #arisen-rau #pawn-lane #TRIED TO DRAW #forgot rau's markings...

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sunflowersandsapphires · 6 months

Text

Everything the Same

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 2

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around.

warnings: Swearing, mild violence, descriptions of Frank's nightmares, non-graphic depictions of eating disorder (reader doesn't eat much and it's noticed, that's literally it)

a/n: Writing this chapter gave me butterflies. It's very fluffy. Please enjoy. As always, I love comments and feedback!

w/c: 4.4k

As the weeks passed, and as Frank continued to learn more about you, his infatuation only grew. He learned that you had introduced yourself to nearly the whole building at this point. He found out that you would bake cookies for Gladys in 2B every few weeks when her grandchildren visited and that you were a fan-favorite of the young couple on the fifth floor who claimed you were the only person besides themselves who could get their unruly toddler down for a nap.

Even Reggie, who was quite possibly the only person more crotchety than Frank himself, had a soft spot for you after you’d helped him find his lost cat.

He wasn’t quite sure how he, a mass murderer, had befriended the manifestation of sunlight, but he couldn’t complain. You kept his pantry stocked with unique and, honestly, sensational pastries and kept his spirits high with your gorgeous laugh and constant smile. The truth was, you were the best thing to happen to him in years and Frank wasn’t prepared to let that go—despite his more rational side desperately asking him to leave you the fuck alone, for both of your sakes.

He shoved the warning bells aside, once again convincing himself that a simple friendship wouldn’t be too dangerous for either of you. Besides, you seemed to enjoy his company as much as he did yours, which made no sense to him but who was he to question the choices of an angel such as yourself.

An angel who was endearingly demanding (I’m not demanding, Frank, I’m insisting) that he sit down to have lunch with her and her coworkers after they closed up shop.

The cafe was quickly becoming a safe haven for Frank, even on days when his mood was especially bitter. Anyone with common sense would be able to determine that you worked here. Everywhere he turned, there were touches that you had clearly added to the cafe. A sensory sensitive area complete with weighted throws and fidget toys, beautiful arrangements of local wildflowers in the windows, soft upbeat music playing from the speakers.

Once, when he’d gotten there right as the store opened, he’d been lucky enough to catch you singing along. The sight of you dancing through the kitchen, using a wooden spoon as a faux microphone as you belted out the lyrics to the song playing overhead, had carried him through the rest of the week. With the hope that he could bear witness to the event again someday, he’d basked quietly in your glory, making his presence known after you’d finished your performance.

While your shop served a damn fine cup of coffee, it was your presence and the knowledge that you had purposefully crafted this space for those you cared about that kept him coming back.

Which is how he found himself being interrogated by your coworkers as you finished up behind the scenes. Frank hadn’t intended to strike up a conversation with the bakery’s other employees, but they seemed overjoyed to share embarrassing stories and tidbits about you, and Frank greedily indulged. Apparently, you baked homemade dog biscuits for the local shelter once a month, which seemed on brand. You had a complicated relationship with your family, but you were close with your siblings. You were loyal and fiercely protective of the people you loved. Every word out of your friends’ mouths made Frank’s heart grow fonder of you.

“So, Frank,” The flashy one, Leo, smirked at him from across the booth they were currently seated in.

“Pete.” You corrected from behind the counter as you grabbed food for everyone. Frank had made up some cock and bull story about a rabid ex-girlfriend who was looking for him and asked you to call him Pete in public. A blush crept over his cheeks just thinking about how stupid that sounded after the fact.

“Sorry, Pete,” Leo corrected. “How did you become friends with our loveable chef here?”

“My dog broke into her place a while ago. Fell in love with her. Clearly, I had no say in the matter.” He grumbled, smirking a tiny bit as you spun around, hands pinned to your hips, an incredulous look on your face.

“‘Had no say in the matter’, who was knocking on my door at 11 pm yesterday because he was hungry and I said I was cooking. Sure as shit wasn’t Max.” You huffed, Frank’s sly grin growing. It didn’t take much to work you up but, fuck, if this wasn’t one of the cutest displays of frustration he’d ever seen.

“He’s a man of good taste, you’re the best cook there is, Princess.” Leo snorted, giving Frank a knowing look.

Frank’s brow furrowed. “Princess?”

“It’s the nickname we gave her.” Your grumpy coworker, Stacy, said with little emotion as she plopped down beside Leo. “Because she acts like a damn Disney character.”

Frank laughed as you started sputtering, trying to dispute the allegations. “You do act like a Disney Princess, sunshine. Is that such a bad thing?”

You huffed with an exaggerated frown, plopping yourself in the booth beside Frank, who pressed his shoulder to yours in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

“Oh god, has she even told you about her baby animal acquisition talents?” Leo chuckled at your growing embarrassment.

Frank barked another laugh, “The fuck does that even mean?”

“It means, that if there is a hurt, scared, or young animal within a 5 mile radius, it will find her.” Stacy had a small smile on her face as she snatched one of the sandwiches you’d set on the table. “I swear, she’s got like a magnetism.”

“It’s cosmic, really.” Leo agreed, already halfway done with their sandwich. “This one time, she found a hummingbird outside the cafe. Poor thing was wrapped in cobwebs, couldn’t fly. She sits there and meticulously unwraps it, and, after it could fly again, the bird chooses to sit in her lap for like an hour like they were old friends.”

“People literally approached her on the street once to ask if she could help them rescue baby bunnies. There was a whole mess of people, they chose her.” Stacy pointed out, smirking as you buried your face in your hands.

Frank nudged you with his hip. “Hey now, don’t be embarrassed. It’s cute.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “You really think so?”

“Yah, sunshine. I do.”

“Not to mention, your wardrobe is like 100% dresses.” Stacy sniggered, polishing off the food on her plate.

“And, you are so graceful yet so clumsy.” Leo continued.

“And—“ You waved a hand, cutting Stacy off.

“Ok, I think we are done embarrassing me for the day.” Clapping your hands together, you started stacking plates. Frank frowned, seeing the small sandwich you took for yourself remained mostly untouched.

“Who are we supposed to embarrass then? Pete?” Stacy rolled her eyes.

“I’d really rather you didn’t. He’s very sweet and I’d hate for you two to scare him off.” You wound your arm around Frank’s much larger one, rubbing it gently.

“‘M not sweet.” Frank grumped, graciously allowing you to retain a hold on his arm.

“Aww see!! Look at that grumpy face.” You poked his cheek and he growled softly, still not taking his arm back. Giggling, you squished in closer to him. “Sorry, Pete. I’m just teasin’”

Untangling yourself from him, you got up to take the stack of plates to the kitchen. The loss of contact exposed him to the blasting AC, and the chill made his scowl deepen.

“Pete,” Your voice rang out from the kitchen. Waltzing back into the front room, you grinned at him, tilting your head with a question. “Walk me home?”

Basking in your bright glow, Frank forgot how to speak for a second. “Uh, yah. Yah, I can do that, Sunshine.”

Dutifully turning off the lights and hanging up your apron, you gave a twirl around the counter—giggling at the way your dress spun.

“Disney. Princess.” Stacy whispered emphatically to Frank, smirking at his wide eyes and forgotten scowl.

Frank pushed himself up from the booth and opened the door for you. “Thanks, sweetheart.” You squeezed his shoulder before walking through the door.

The two of you maintained a good pace, as you walked the few blocks back to your apartment building. You were giddily chittering away about new recipes you wanted to try your hand at and, as much as it pained him to admit it, Frank wasn’t listening. At the very start of your trek home, you’d grabbed his hand so that the two of you didn’t get separated in the midday crowds. The heat of your palm against his pushed everything else away. Your skin was unbelievably soft, and your fingers threaded through his as if they were created with his hands in mind.

“Frank?” Your voice broke him out of a daze. He took in his surroundings, blushing when he realized you’d reached your shared building already. He was so gone for you already. You could’ve pulled him across state lines and he would’ve happily let you.

“Frank? Are you ok?”

“Uh, yah. Yah I’m ok. Just tired.”

Your pristine brow furrowed and his heart sank, hands longing to cradle your face and smooth the crease that had settled on it. “You’re tired? Did my friends and I wear you out? I’m so sorry!” You’d taken both of his hands now and he had to focus a significant amount on the words he was forming.

“Nah, I just don’t sleep well. It ain’t your fault.” He shrugged, noticing how small your hands looked around his. You squeezed his hands gently, prompting him to meet your concerned gaze once more.

“You sure you’re ok? I know that I can drain people’s energy—“

Frank drew one hand out of your grasp, nestling it against your jaw. “I’m ok. You—you make me happier than anyone has in…a long time. If people make you feel like you’re exhausting, find new people, yah?”

You chuckled, averting your eyes but leaning into his tender hold. “Yah. Ok, Frankie.”

“C’mon. Let’s get you home, darlin’.”

Hours later, a shrill ringtone pierced Frank’s tranquility. Tossing his book aside in a huff, he picked up the call.

“What do ya want, Curt?” Frank's voice had more of an edge than it should have, but the thought of Curtis and David gossiping about his shitty moods was enough to push him into one.

“Damn, nice to hear from you too. Didn’t see you lurking at group today, wanted to check in and make sure you hadn’t gone and gotten yourself killed.” The man on the other line sounded equally annoyed.

“Unfortunately, I am still breathing. That all ya needed?”

“Christ, Frank. You’re making it really hard to want to be your friend, you know that?”

Frank sighed. “‘M sorry, Curt. I’m ok. Promise. Not holin’ myself up in my apartment or anythin’. I know it ain’t easy stickin’ with me.”

“It’s all good. Come to group next week, will ya? I know it’ll be…tougher than usual. I’m here for you, don’t forget that.”

“I appreciate it, man. I—yah, I’ll be there.”

“Good. Seeing your ugly mug will make me feel better before my date.”

“She didn’t dump your ass yet? You're treadin’ water, man.” Frank chuckled.

“Yah, yah. I don’t know, Frank. She makes me happy. That’s what it’s all about, you know?”

Frank smiled to himself, hearing your giggles somewhere in the back of his mind. “Yah. That’s great, Curt. ‘M happy for ya.”

“Thanks, Frank. See you next week then?”

“Yah. I’ll be there. Bye, Curt.”

She makes me happy. His friend’s words echoed in his ears. Before he could set his phone aside, an idea formed. He swallowed his nerves and dialed the number.

Curled up under a blanket on your overly squishy couch, you could feel your eyelids growing heavy as you tried to focus your attention on the screen in front of you.

Reruns of some 90s sitcom flashed past your glazed eyes. You were tired, but it was barely 7 pm! Letting your head fall against the arm of the couch with a dull thunk, you chided yourself. You knew exactly why you were exhausted at this early hour. The stress of the move a few weeks ago combined with your recent family visits had pushed you backwards into old, less healthy habits. God, you needed to eat something, but your stomach remained silent.

You rubbed a hand over your eyes, pulling out your phone to stimulate your brain further. Your heart did a somersault as you noticed the text waiting unanswered on your screen.

Frank: Hey, I ordered too much pizza. You hungry?

Well, wasn’t that a wonderful offering from the universe. Grinning, you swiped open your phone and typed out a response.

You: I could eat. If the offer still stands, of course.

It didn’t take long for another message to pop up.

Frank: The offer always stands for you, sunshine.

With a giggle, you lifted yourself from the couch, running out the door and down the hall to rap your knuckles gently on Frank’s door.

Though you and Frank hung out pretty much daily now, this would be the first time you’d hung out at his apartment. Not that you hadn’t seen it before, he often invited you along on walks with him and Max, but you were eager to really take the place in. A person’s living space can tell you so much about them—and you were dying to learn more about the beautiful, grumpy person living next door to you.

As if your train of thought had summoned the very man, you heard heavy footfalls quickly pacing before the door opened. Frank’s face was ruggedly handsome. Deep brown eyes that always seemed to be observing above a crooked nose and a magnificent jawline beneath a thick beard. His wavy dark hair was growing longer by the day and you longed to run your fingers through it, to see if it was as soft as you imagined.

Currently, the sea of black strands was hanging loosely around his face after a day of living whatever life it was that Frank lived. When his gorgeous ochre eyes settled on yours, his expression softened which made your heart sing. Your excitement quickly drifted south as his gaze roamed over your body. Before you could dwell on that fact too much, a scoff-like laugh startled you from the daydream.

“All dressed up for me, are ya Princess?” Frank’s lips were barely upturned but his expression was impressively smug.

Looking down at your outfit with a frown, you pulled at the hem of your oversized crew neck which nearly covered the soft cotton shorts you wore.

“Hey! When you invite me over after business hours, you get what you get. I wanted to be comfortable!” Your frown became a dramatic pout.

Frank laughed harder. It was impossible to take you seriously when you were so goddamn cute.

“You know what, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll order my own pizza.” You huffed, sticking your nose into the air.

As you turned to go, a calloused hand shot out to grasp your wrist.

“I’m just kiddin’, sunshine. You look beautiful, as always.” Staring into his eyes, you felt heat creeping up your neck as you realized the compliment was genuine. Pushing away the embarrassment that always overtook you when someone commented on your looks, you rolled your eyes.

“Sure, sure. Bet you say that to all the girls, Castle.”

The amusement fell from the large man’s expression. Frank tugged your wrist gently, drawing your body into his with ease. His free hand came up to cup your cheek, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity you hadn’t seen from him before. “I mean it. You’re beautiful, honey. Amazes me every damn day, hand to God.”

Taking in a sharp breath, you swallowed the lump of emotion in your throat. “Thank you, Frank. That, uh, you don’t know how much that means to me.”

Frank’s porcelain skin darkened with a blush. “‘S the truth.” Clearing his throat, he stepped backwards into the apartment, gesturing for you to come in.

You curtsied clumsily, grinning at him. “Why thank you, my liege.”

Smile returning to his eyes, he shook his head as you nearly tripped with the action. “Christ, sit down before you break somethin’, ya goof.”

You giggled, happily taking his hand as he helped you sit down on the couch without incident. Breathing deeply, your smile widened at the sight of a scented candle on Frank’s mantle. Stifling another giggle, you let your gaze drift over the space in front of you, absorbing every detail you could about your new friend.

The room was simple: very few decorations, only necessary furniture. That much was not a surprise, the emptiness of Frank’s apartment was apparent to anyone who caught half a glance past the doorway. Once inside, though, you noticed the details that made this apartment so vividly Frank that you couldn’t help but explore a little.

There were very few pictures in the apartment, but two frames stood next to the burning candle above the fireplace. One was the smiling faces of two children, a boy and a girl, laughing openly at something behind the camera lens. The next was the same kids seated in front of a beautiful woman on a picnic in a park. The woman was smiling at the camera while the kids looked off to the side.

Gingerly brushing a finger over the frame, you found your thoughts wandering. Frank didn’t talk much about his family, but two weeks ago you’d noticed the ring hung around his neck. It didn’t take much time for you to piece together who he was, the name “Frank Castle” was nearly impossible to find on the internet these days (someone very dedicated had taken up the task of clearing this man from the digital world), but you’d lived just outside of the Kitchen when his trial was the only thing everyone wanted to talk about. Though your curiosity grew by the day, you tried to respect his privacy by not digging into his history.

His hesitation to talk about it was enough to signal to you that his memories were not all positive, so you hadn’t pushed—hoping that he’d feel comfortable enough to share his experiences with you on his own terms. The world had taken so much from Frank Castle, the least you could give him was his autonomy.

Moving on from the photos, you shook your head to clear the images of Frank facing all of these horrors alone. You’d do your best to keep him company going forward.

Hidden in an alcove near his bedroom was a beautifully crafted mahogany bookshelf, practically bursting with novels. Walking over to the magnificent piece, you began running your fingers over the worn spines of books by Steinbeck, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, and the like. But, what stood out to you was the substantial collection of feminist novels and volumes of collected poetry.

You heard a deep rumble behind you. “Ya gonna eat anythin’ or are ya too busy snoopin’?” Frank’s exaggerated grouse made you chuckle. His large hands balanced a pizza box and two beers.

“I absolutely had you pegged as a ‘classic lit’ fan, but bell hooks?” You looked at him inquisitively, prying the beers from his hand and plopping yourself back on his worn couch.

Frank simply shrugged, setting the pizza in front of the two of you. “She’s gotta different perspective than me. Sometimes it’s necessary to think about someone else’s view of the world, I guess.”

“I absolutely agree. Talking Back is one of my favorites.” You smiled at him, heart spinning as you noticed a blush creeping up past his beard.

Frank forced his mouth back into a scowl, refusing to dwell on the way his chest lightened after you expressed your approval for some of his more “controversial” literature. Throwing open the top of the pizza box, he snatched a piece and shoved it in his mouth to avoid looking at you.

“You know, Frank, I’m starting to think you might have ordered this pizza for me, specifically. I seem to recall raving about the #3 from Capizzi when we passed the building last week.” You raised an eyebrow at him before grabbing a slice, closing your eyes as you practically inhaled it.

Opening a beer, Frank didn’t turn to face you. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Aww, you like me, don’t ya, sweetheart.” You poked Frank’s shoulder, making him growl. Giggling once again at his persistent grouchiness, you snatched another slice of pizza. “Don’t be embarrassed, I like you too.”

Frank refrained from smiling, eyes glancing towards you as you ate happily beside him. He was goddamn relieved that you’d accepted his offer. Not just because it meant he got to bask in your presence yet again, but also because there was no way the few bites of sandwich he’d seen you eat earlier was enough to satisfy your gorgeous self. He wasn’t quite sure why you ate so little, but he’d be damned if you starved on his watch.

Startling slightly as your thigh pressed against his, he heard your melodic voice prompt him yet again. “Which classic author have you enjoyed the most?”

“Dunno. Depends on the day. Recently, I’ve liked Hemingway. But he’s—dark.” Frank’s brow furrowed, worried that his honesty would reveal his demons and scare you away.

“Makes sense that you’d like him then, you grumpy Gus.” You snorted, beaming at him as he rolled his eyes. “Just teasing. He’s a great author, despite the blatant sexism. Hills Like White Elephants is an incredible piece. It was on my mind for weeks the first time I read it.”

“Not familiar with that one.”

“It’s one of his short stories, just a little thing about a woman being ‘persuaded’ into an abortion. Definitely not the best pro-choice stance, but the symbolism is unique and it comments on an interesting dynamic of some relationships. It’s one of the only stories I actually remember from school, besides The Yellow Wallpaper. That one I can never forget.” You shuddered, turning your attention back to your pizza.

“Don’t think I’ve read that one, either.”

“Oh Frankie, you have to read it. It’s dark as fuck…you’ll love it.” You grinned at him slyly, making him smirk.

“You really are somethin’, ya know that?” Crossing his arms, Frank raised a brow as you cackled gleefully.

“So I’ve been told. Someone’s gotta be a pain in your prickly ass, though.” You let your head fall against his shoulder, looking deep into his eyes.

Stomach flipping at your affection, he gave into impulse and rested his forehead against the crown of your pretty head. “Better you than anyone else, sunshine.”

He could feel your brow pinch as your nose scrunched with a smile. Your soft lips pressed a kiss to his shoulder before you pulled away. “Seriously though, you have to read that one. It’s such a mind fuck. I swear I still have nightmares about it.”

Frank let out a breath, body melding into his mattress. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, you were easing the day to day pain he had grown accustomed to. You’d stumbled into his life on a whim and he was holding onto you for dear life.

Though very few people had ever seen it, Frank’s loyalty meant he fell for people hard. The pain of losing his family made it easier to push people away, to shelter that part of himself, but you’d scaled those walls without breaking a sweat. You were pure sunshine, golden and heavenly, bringing life and love to those around you. He just hoped that he wasn’t the Hades to your Persephone.

Falling asleep that night should not have been as easy as it was, but your presence had soothed his nerves. Breathing deeply, he replayed the sound of your laughter in his head until he drifted off to the image of your smile painted on his eyelids.

Unfortunately, the peace you'd shrouded his apartment in was shattered by his subconscious.

The nightmare started the same as always. A hazy view of his bedroom, lit by the sun shining through large windows. As he opens his eyes, there’s a figure in the doorway. She’s slender with dark hair and as she steps closer, her face sparks recognition. Maria.

His late wife climbs into bed, pressing loses to his limbs. He feels his body startle awake as his eyes settle on her smiling face.

But it’s no longer Maria.

Sitting in his lap, grinning back at him beautifully is you, his adorably kind neighbor.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” It’s your voice, not Maria’s, that makes him shudder with the familiar phrase. Before the dream can continue, the setting morphs.

You’re in front of him, chained up like one of his Cerberus targets, blindfolded and gagged—struggling ferociously against your restraints.

He hears his voice echoing across the cavernous space. Trying desperately to calm you while fighting his own shackles.

“It’s ok, darlin’, it’ll be ok. I’m right here. Right here, babygirl.”

A malicious laugh washes over him and you go eerily still, tears streaming silently down your cheeks. A figure rounds your taut limbs, hand wandering over your figure. Frank growls, pulling with all of his strength.

“Leave her alone, you son of a bitch, or so help me I’ll—“

“You’ll what?” Billy Russo’s torn up face stares back at him, eyes glinting with power and rage. “Hmm she sure is a gorgeous little pet, isn’t she? How the hell did she end up with a monster like you?” Billy’s marred hand rubs your jaw making you whimper. He tugs off the fabric covering your eyes and they immediately fall on Frank, more tears cascading over your pretty face. Next to come off is the gag and you choke out a sob.

“Go on, sweetheart. Ask him to save you.” Billy smirks, looking between the two of you.

“Frank,” Your voice is hoarse and it kills him to hear such pain in it. “Frank, please! Please help me!”

A cold steel barrel presses to your temple. Billy’s fingers flex over the trigger as he tilts his head toward you in false sympathy. “Sorry, little pet, but he can’t help you. It’s his fault you’re dead.” A gunshot rings out and Frank screams, eyes ripping open as his body rapidly separates from sleep.

The nightmare replayed in his mind over and over the first night, your desperate pleas for help, the feeling of your warm blood spattering across Frank’s face. His mind’s manifestation of his former brother was right, he was going to get you killed. But the thought of pushing you away was just as hurtful.

He was so fucked.

Tag list: @cheshirecat484 @xxdrixx @smhnxdiii @mattmurdocksstarlight

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle imagine #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x you #the punisher netflix #the punisher #the punisher imagine #the punisher x reader #jon bernthal #marvel #jon bernthal fanfiction #my writing #fc #gray skies

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astrojulia · 1 year

Text

To All my Air Placements People

-Or for those who have already read "just feel"

One thing that really bothers me about the astrological community is their relationship with emotions and those who identify as "air people." As an Aquarius dominant, I try to absorb the best of every word, situation, and perspective, as it is my nature to see reason and to consider things from multiple points of view. I don't see a problem with using words like "manipulative," and I'm not particularly concerned with being politically correct.

However, one issue I can't ignore is the way that air moons and people are often described as having difficulty feeling emotions. The common refrain is, "You don't feel, you just think." This creates a lot of subtext, such as "You should just feel and not think," "How will you survive when you realize you can only feel and not think," and "You overthink and don't feel."

I know that this kind of post may not be popular, as people tend to prefer direct solutions rather than philosophical discussions. Additionally, many people become overly attached to astrology, which I don't quite understand, as someone who practices greco roman paganism and views the stars as simply giant balls in space guided by the Gods. However, my goal is to help air people who may be feeling bad due to these descriptions and depreciating themselves unnecessarily. I want to provide them with the tools to live their lives in their own way, without relying too heavily on astrology. If possible, I also hope to change the mentality of the astrological community regarding air people. Or maybe I just want to help myself, who knows?

In this post, I will use my knowledge and concepts to explain why the concept of feeling can be misunderstood, how air people experience emotions, and, most importantly, how to work with your feelings.

Have you ever questioned how emotions work and why we experience them differently in different situations? Fortunately, neuroscientist Lisa Feldman has been working for 25 years to explore these questions, and her book "How Emotions Are Made" provides a scientific way to understand how our bodies process emotions. I will explain the main ideas in a summarized way.

While the amygdala is often regarded as the brain's emotional center, it is not the only part of the brain responsible for emotions. In fact, emotions are not solely processed in the brain, but throughout our whole body via neurons. Studies on monkeys who had their amygdalas removed showed that they temporarily lost the ability to feel fear, but eventually regained it. This suggests that our emotions are not simply regulated by a specific part of the brain.

Instead, emotions are processed when neurons in our body are activated and send signals to our brain. Our brain then processes these signals to determine what the emotion is and how we should respond. For example, the smell of a bakery may cause our mouth to water and make us feel hungry, while waiting in a surgery waiting room may cause us to feel anxious and lose our appetite. Physiologically, both situations trigger the same neurons, but the emotional response is different because our brain takes into account the context.

In other words, our emotions are not simply a reaction to stimuli but are influenced by our environment and our own interpretation of the situation. By understanding how emotions are made, we can gain a better understanding of ourselves and how we respond to different situations.

Drawing upon my esoteric knowledge and delving deeper into the data, have you ever wondered how neurons "communicate" and signal to the body that something is happening? The answer lies in the air. Yes, the gas we breathe in is linked to our emotions. It travels to our brains and is processed in a way that best suits the situation. Interestingly, people with different elemental signs have their own unique ways of dealing with air, which means that the gas they expel is processed differently. However, some may argue that water is the element that deals with emotions. While this may seem like an esoteric concept, I have my own explanation for it.

Neurons are present throughout our body, and the part that is referred to as our second brain is our viscera, especially our stomach, which is ruled by Cancer. Our hormones also play a crucial role in our emotions. It is a well-known fact that we don't think clearly when we are aroused, and our reproductive system, which is ruled by Scorpio, produces a significant portion of our hormones. Our feet also have a plethora of neurons connected to our emotional world, and they are ruled by Pisces. Therefore, water signs are adept at managing their emotions as they work well with this part of the body and process their feelings more quickly. Furthermore, in astrology water rules the emotions, in others studies it can be the air, or even the water rules the material.

Let's delve deeper into the subject and discuss our emotions in more detail. We need to think about them, even if it's just for a second, before we can truly feel them. While this may come naturally to us, it is something we learn as we grow older. When information is transmitted to the brain, the first thing it does is to search for a similar sensation or situation from the past to determine the appropriate response. To demonstrate this, take a look at the picture and try to see something. Then, check out the next one…

Pulling for my esoteric part and exploring more data, you know how the neurons “move” and say to the body that something is happening? By gas. Yes, air. Our emotion is linked with air, that gas goes to our brains and it will be processed in the best way for the situation, and air people have their unique way to deal with air, so that gas that is expelled will be worked in a completely different way for the air people than all the others. But is it not water who deals with emotion? Esoteric saying, yes, but I have my own explanation for that…

Neurons are on our whole body, and the part that is called our second brain are our viscera, principally our stomach, ruled by Cancer. Our hormones work a lot with our brain, and everyone knows how we don’t think too well when we are aroused. The part that produces a great part of our hormones is our reproductive system, ruled by Scorpio. Have you ever seen the amount of techniques focused on stress and negative emotions on our feet? From massages and acupuncture, our foot has a ton of neurons connected to our emotional world, and it is ruled by Pisces. So why are water people good with their emotions? Because they work well with that part of the body, they sign rules and process their feelings quicker, but do that better with their specific part.

Now we can go a little deeper in the subject and talk in more detail with our feelings. We need to think about them, even for a second, before really feeling, but that should be easy for everyone because it is natural and born with that… Yes, it is natural but we aren't born with that… We learn how to feel as we age. When the information goes to the brain the first thing it does is to search for the same sensation and the same situation in the past to know what to do. I can give you an example of how we actually just work with things, with our memory and prediction of what is going on. Look at the pic and try to see something, after that click in the link and I will heal your little problem:

Now that you've seen it, you can't unsee it. The black and white one will make sense now. This is how emotions work: we need to experience a situation to truly understand it. Emotions are complex and we often need to go through a situation more than once to really comprehend what's going on. However, if you put an air person in an environment they already know, they won't have a problem with their emotions.

Now that I've explained how we misunderstand emotions and how they actually work, I'm going to share my knowledge to help my fellow air signs in the best way possible. This is what I've learned to become the best version of myself.

When we feel something, our system works like this: we feel a sensation in our chest, and that information goes to our brain, which tries to put a word to that sensation. Once we find the best word to describe the sensation, it goes back to the area to check if it's accurate. If it's not, the process repeats until we find the best description. So, how do I work with this? I have a lot of emotion names in my memory, so I don't waste time explaining how I feel. Yes, I feel a lot (Pisces Jupiter, Scorpio Mars..), but no, I don't feel the same way as you. Allow me to introduce you:

The Wheel of Emotions

Yes, that is how I do my s***, I take some time in my life to see that wheel and verify what I was feeling in that moment, how I can improve myself, and knowing that I’m not such a bad person, I’m giving you more than 80 feelings explanation here, hope you like. You can see that the main feeling connect with each other.

Fear: an emotion experienced in anticipation of some specific pain or danger (usually accompanied by a desire to flee or fight); an anxious feeling; a feeling of profound respect for someone or something.

Horror: intense and profound fear; something that inspires dislike; something horrible; intense aversion

Dread: fearful expectation or anticipation; be afraid or scared of; be frightened of; causing fear or dread or terror

Mortified: suffering from tissue death; made to feel uncomfortable because of shame or wounded pride

Nervous: of or relating to the nervous system; easily agitated; causing or fraught with or showing anxiety

Anxious: eagerly desirous; causing or fraught with or showing anxiety

Worried: afflicted with or marked by anxious uneasiness or trouble or grief; mentally upset over possible misfortune or danger etc

Insecure: not firm or firmly fixed; likely to fail or give way; lacking in security or safety; lacking self-confidence or assurance

Inadequate: lacking the requisite qualities or resources to meet a task; not sufficient to meet a need, not welcome

Inferior: one of lesser rank or station or quality; a character or symbol set or printed or written beneath or slightly below and to the side of another character; of or characteristic of low rank or importance

Terror: an overwhelming feeling of fear and anxiety; a person who inspires fear or dread; a very troublesome child

Hysterical: characterized by or arising from psychoneurotic hysteria; marked by excessive or uncontrollable emotion

Panic: an overwhelming feeling of fear and anxiety; sudden mass fear and anxiety over anticipated events; be overcome by a sudden fear

Scared: made afraid

Helpless: lacking in or deprived of strength or power; unable to function; without help; unable to manage independently

Frightened: made afraid; thrown into a state of intense fear or desperation

Love: a strong positive emotion of regard and affection any object of warm affection or devotion a beloved person used as terms of endearment.

Tenderness: a tendency to express warm and affectionate feeling; a pain that is felt (as when the area is touched); warm compassionate feelings

Compassionate: share the suffering of; showing or having compassion

Caring: a loving feeling; feeling and exhibiting concern and empathy for others

Peaceful: not disturbed by strife or turmoil or war; peacefully resistant in response to injustice

Satisfied: filled with satisfaction; allayed

Relieved: (of pain or sorrow) made easier to bear; extending out above or beyond a surface or boundary

Desire: the feeling that accompanies an unsatisfied state; an inclination to want things; something that is desired

Infatuation: a foolish and usually extravagant passion or love or admiration; temporary love of an adolescent; an object of extravagant short-lived passion

Passion: a strong feeling or emotion; the trait of being intensely emotional; something that is desired intensely

Longing: prolonged unfulfilled desire or need

Attracted: direct toward itself or oneself by means of some psychological power or physical attributes; be attractive to; exert a force on (a body) causing it to approach or prevent it from moving away

Sentimental: given to or marked by sentiment or sentimentality; effusively or insincerely emotional

Affectionate: having or displaying warmth or affection

Fondness: affection or liking for someone or something

Romantic: conducive to or characterized by the expression of love; of, characterized by, or suggestive of an idealized view of reality; person with romantic beliefs or attitudes.

Joy: a feeling of great pleasure and happiness rejoice

Enthralled: capture the fascinated attention of

Rapture: a feeling of intense pleasure or joy; a state of being carried away by overwhelming emotion; a state of elated bliss

Enchanted: influenced as by charms or incantations

Elation: an exhilarating psychological state of pride and optimism; an absence of depression; a feeling of joy and pride

Jubilation: a feeling of extreme joy; a joyful occasion for special festivities to mark some happy event; the utterance of sounds expressing great joy

Euphoric: exaggerated feeling of well-being or elation

Enthusiastic: having or showing great excitement and interest

Zeal: a feeling of strong eagerness (usually in favor of a person or cause); excessive fervor to do something or accomplish some end; prompt willingness

Excited: in an aroused state; (of persons) excessively affected by emotion; marked by uncontrolled excitement or emotion

Optimist: a person disposed to take a favorable view of things

Hopeful: an ambitious and aspiring young person; having or manifesting hope; full or promise

Eager: a high wave (often dangerous) caused by tidal flow (as by colliding tidal currents or in a narrow estuary); having or showing keen interest or intense desire or impatient expectancy

Proud: feeling self-respect or pleasure in something by which you measure your self-worth; or being a reason for pride; having or displaying great dignity or nobility

Illustrious: widely known and esteemed; having or conferring glory

Triumphant: joyful and proud especially because of triumph or success; experiencing triumph

Cheerful: being full of or promoting cheer; having or showing good spirits; pleasantly (even unrealistically) optimistic

Jovial: full of or showing high-spirited merriment

Blissful: completely happy and contented

Happy: enjoying or showing or marked by joy or pleasure; marked by good fortune; eagerly disposed to act or to be of service

Amused: pleasantly occupied

Delighted: greatly pleased; filled with wonder and delight

Content: being pleased and satisfied (feeling content) or making someone else feel happy and at peace with things (contenting them)

Pleased: experiencing or manifesting pleasure; feeling pleasurable satisfaction over something by which you measures your self-worth

Satisfied: filled with satisfaction; allayed

Surprise: the astonishment you feel when something totally unexpected happens to you a sudden unexpected event the act of surprising someone

Moved: being excited or provoked to the expression of an emotion

Stimulated: emotionally aroused

Touched: having come into contact; being excited or provoked to the expression of an emotion; slightly insane

Overcome: To feel something very strongly. It is usually used in a positive way

Speechless: temporarily incapable of speaking

Astounded: filled with the emotional impact of overwhelming surprise or shock

Amazed: feeling or showing great surprise or wonder

Astonished: surprised, amazed, astonished or bewildered

Awe-Struck: filled with feelings of fear and wonder: filled with awe

Confused: mentally confused; unable to think with clarity or act intelligently; perplexed by many conflicting situations or statements; filled with bewilderment; lacking orderly continuity

Disillusioned: freed from illusion

Perplexed: full of difficulty or confusion or bewilderment

Stunned: filled with the emotional impact of overwhelming surprise or shock; knocked unconscious by a heavy blow; in a state of mental numbness especially as resulting from shock

Shocked: struck with fear, dread, or consternation

Dismayed: cause (someone) to feel consternation and distress; to cause to lose courage or resolution (as because of alarm or fear) must not let ourselves be dismayed by the task before us; upset, perturb were dismayed by the condition of the building

Sadness: emotions experienced when not in a state of well-being the state of being sad the quality of excessive mournfulness and uncheerfulness

Despair: a state in which all hope is lost or absent; the feeling that everything is wrong and nothing will turn out well; abandon hope; give up hope; lose heart

Grief: intense sorrow caused by loss of a loved one (especially by death); something that causes great unhappiness

Powerless: lacking power; impotent

Neglected: disregarded; lacking a caretaker

Isolated: not close together in time; being or feeling set or kept apart from others

Lonely: lacking companions or companionship; marked by dejection from being alone; characterized by or preferring solitude

Shameful: (used of conduct or character) deserving or bringing disgrace or shame; giving offense to moral sensibilities and injurious to reputation

Regretful: feeling or expressing regret or sorrow or a sense of loss over something done or undone

Guilty: responsible for or chargeable with a reprehensible act; showing a sense of guilt

Disappointed: disappointingly unsuccessful; sad or displeased because someone or something has failed to fulfill one’s hopes or expectations

Dismayed: struck with fear, dread, or consternation

Displeased: not pleased; experiencing or manifesting displeasure

Sadness: emotions experienced when not in a state of well-being; the state of being sad; the quality of excessive mournfulness and uncheerfulness

Depressed: filled with melancholy and despondency; in a state of general unhappiness or despondency

Sorrow: an emotion of great sadness associated with loss or bereavement; sadness associated with some wrong done or some disappointment; something that causes great unhappiness

Suffering: a state of acute pain; misery resulting from affliction; psychological suffering

Agony: intense feelings of suffering; acute mental or physical pain; a state of acute pain

Hurt: any physical damage to the body caused by violence or accident or fracture etc; psychological suffering; feelings of mental or physical pain

Anger: a strong emotion a feeling that is oriented toward some real or supposed grievance the state of being angry belligerence aroused by a real or supposed wrong (personified as one of the deadly sins.)

Disgust: strong feelings of dislike; fill with distaste; cause aversion in; offend the moral sense of

Contempt: lack of respect accompanied by a feeling of intense dislike; a manner that is generally disrespectful and contemptuous; open disrespect for a person or thing

Revolted: to turn away with disgust. transitive verb.: to cause to turn away or shrink with disgust or abhorrence; to experience disgust or shock

Envy: a feeling of grudging admiration and desire to have something that is possessed by another; spite and resentment at seeing the success of another (personified as one of the deadly sins); feel envious towards; admire enviously

Resentful: full of or marked by resentment or indignant ill will

Jealous: showing extreme cupidity; painfully desirous of another’s advantages; suspicious or unduly suspicious or fearful of being displaced by a rival

Irritable: easily irritated or annoyed; abnormally sensitive to a stimulus; capable of responding to stimuli

Aggravated: made more severe or intense especially in law; incited, especially deliberately, to anger

Annoyed: aroused to impatience or anger; troubled persistently especially with petty annoyances

Exasperated: greatly annoyed; out of patience

Frustrated: disappointingly unsuccessful

Agitated: troubled emotionally and usually deeply; physically disturbed or set in motion

Rage: a feeling of intense anger; a state of extreme anger; something that is desired intensely

Hostile: don’t want to talk to people, be around them, or even have them near us

Hate: the emotion of intense dislike; a feeling of dislike so strong that it demands action; dislike intensely; feel antipathy or aversion towards

And now we’re done, my biggest goal in this post as I already wrote, is to chance that point of view of the air people, but the most important part is to take off that bad sensation from you chest, my air fellow, that I feel and know that existent every time you read that you’re emotionless and don’t now how to feel the things in the right way. Thank you for your and kisses from the sea.

#astrology #astro notes #astro observations #aquarius #gemini #libra #air placements #sun in astrology #moon in astrology #mercury in astrology #venus in astrology #mars in astrology #esse texto simplesmente me rendeu 58740 caracteres

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ineffable-endearments · 7 months

Text

Deep dive into The Coffee

The following is primarily about the symbolism of the Metatron's coffee.

Once I started thinking about it, there's a lot of cool stuff going on there (depending on whether you think, you know, symbolism is "cool," but I do!).

I think it points toward certain interpretations of what the characters are feeling and what their motivations are, but it isn't about the coffee itself affecting the plot beyond the obvious (it's a love-bomb the Metatron is using to seem friendly).

I was thinking about The Coffee as a sort of shadow version of the Fruit of Knowledge and wondering: why the heck would you choose coffee for this symbolism? It's obviously a very common, non-suspicious beverage in Soho, but surely they could come up with some creative reason for the Metatron to come bearing pretty much any edible item. Out of all the foods and beverages in the world, why coffee? Why not, for example, fruit, or Eccles cakes, or meat - or, for that matter, tea, or cocoa, which we already know Aziraphale enjoys?

But it does make sense. And it also makes sense that it's not just a cup of coffee, it's an oat milk latte with a dash/hefty jigger of almond syrup.

Here, I'll be making the big assumption that the Fruit of Knowledge is relevant to Aziraphale as a metaphor - as something he would consider desirable but forbidden. He was supposed to be guarding it in Eden ("technically, I was on apple tree duty"). And Crowley, with his red hair like the apple, has spent the past 6000 years trying to impart the knowledge of "good" and "evil" to Aziraphale, who in turn has desperately wanted Crowley and also considered him off-limits. Crowley is Aziraphale's Apple of Eden.

Here are a few observations about The Coffee, contrasted with the Fruit of Knowledge and, in some cases, the ox ribs.

The coffee is heavily processed - Fruits, including the apple in Eden, exist straight from the natural world in a form that you can pluck from a tree and eat almost whole. Meanwhile, coffee has to go through a lot of processing between the time it's a coffee berry (also a fruit!) and the moment it's recognizable as the beverage so many people immediately reach for every morning. There's a long, often-unethical production chain there, involving many people.

The oat milk latte with almond syrup is further complicated. The apple is plain and straightforward - it simply is Knowledge in fruit form. It's "pure." The coffee was already heavily processed to become coffee, and now multiple other ingredients have been added. A fancy latte beverage involves the preparation of the milk and the syrup in addition to the coffee beans.

There's a lot going on behind the scenes here. There may, as Crowley pointed out, have been a lot going on behind the scenes in Eden with the Apple purposely placed for the humans to see, but it still feels like there's significance to the difference between a thing that springs from the ground as a food item and a thing that has to be processed over and over before it's ready to consume.

Maybe the point is that the Apple of Eden did exactly what it was said to do from the beginning - gave Adam and Eve Knowledge one way or another - whereas the coffee is a heavily-altered, almost unrecognizable version of the truth.

The coffee is heavily sweetened with additives - This is the real important part for me. Fruit is, broadly speaking, naturally sweet. This obviously varies from piece to piece, as anyone who's sorted through a pile of fruit at the supermarket would know, but the most widely-understood appeal of fruit as a concept is its sweetness. Without any other input, we could guess the Fruit of Knowledge was pretty sweet, too.

Meat, ox ribs, are very different from fruit, obviously. Savory and a bit salty. But they are another food item with broad appeal.

Coffee, particularly espresso, is naturally bitter, to the point where drinking it black is often an acquired taste. The Metatron picked a particularly sweet type of milk and a sweet-flavored syrup.

He had to sweeten his deal a lot to make it palatable to Aziraphale.

The coffee is not "of the flesh" - There are no animal products listed in the ingredients to the Metatron's latte. It's vegan. Oat milk is plant-based. Almond syrup is a plant flavor, likely made with sugar, also a plant. Coffee is a plant.

Aziraphale's other major culinary experience this season? The one where he become more worldly, more of-the-flesh? Yeah, the ox ribs. Meat. The latte is, I suspect, the Metatron's subtle rejection of that worldly pleasure.

The coffee is not Aziraphale's usual preference - We've never seen Aziraphale drink coffee before. We've seen him drink wine and tea and hot cocoa and champagne and sherry, but never coffee; in fact, Crowley's espresso order seems to be set up in contrast to Aziraphale's taste. And when the Metatron brings it to him, Aziraphale initially hesitates. To be fair, I do read his enjoyment of the latte as genuine. I don't think he was lying when he said it tasted good. But he only drinks it after an awkward push from the Metatron.

The coffee contrasts with Crowley's espresso - Season 2 is bookended by espresso beverages. At the beginning, Crowley enthusiastically downs an absurdly hype-inducing, bitter concoction of six espresso shots all in one gulp to prepare for whatever weirdness is waiting for him in the bookshop. He doesn't seem to care either way about the taste. At the end, Aziraphale hesitantly sips his heavily-diluted, sweetened espresso under social pressure. He does admit he likes the taste.

Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death - The Metatron points out the name of the coffee shop, which possibly sets us up to consider that a choice between anything and death isn't really a choice at all. He also muses that people are very predictable for always choosing coffee over death. This is all done outside of Aziraphale's awareness. Maybe that's because the coffee vs death thing is more about the Metatron's underlying motivations - to coerce and force Aziraphale to accept his role in Heaven no matter what - than about something Aziraphale is consciously aware of.

So, since I'm theorizing that the coffee is a metaphor for the Metatron's offer, here's what I think it's hinting toward.

Aziraphale's emotions and motivations:

Aziraphale didn't start that conversation with any interest in what the Metatron was saying. Coffee's not his order. This didn't start out as a successful temptation, per se. It was a coercion that appeared harmless on the surface (drink the coffee/entertain the conversation to be polite).

Now that they've had their conversation, Aziraphale did like some aspects of the Metatron's offer. That part is a successful temptation.

If we assume Aziraphale really liked the coffee and then run a parallel to the Metatron's offer, it's not hard to see what sufficiently "sweetened the deal" for him: the offer to bring Crowley to Heaven. The Apple of Eden, Crowley, gave Aziraphale the knowledge of good and evil; the sweetened coffee - the suggestion that Heaven could change its mind about Crowley - once again obscured it.

All that stuff about Heaven being the side of Truth and Light and Good came out because Heaven appeared to be changing its mind about Crowley. Crowley is kind of symbolic of everything on Earth for Aziraphale, so presumably, if it can change its mind about Crowley, then it could do things better for Earth, right? Heaven's good intentions must have been sincere after all.

The Metatron's offer and underlying plan:

The Metatron has a complex plan. He's manipulating a lot of people, not just Aziraphale.

The Metatron is using sweetness to conceal a bitter plan that he knows Aziraphale will find unpalatable (separating him from Crowley).

The Metatron is going to present going to Heaven as a choice, but it isn't really one.

For some reason, the Metatron does need Aziraphale back in Heaven, and it's easier if he comes willingly, perhaps if he believes it's his own choice. They're not going to send a bunch of disguised Archangels to abduct him this time.

The Aftermath

So, Aziraphale has been taken in by the coffee, the Foisted Fruit, although the Metatron was not actually giving him a choice at all. Aziraphale botched the philosophical talk, but his choice has probably put off something worse.

Note that in the Final Fifteen, Aziraphale essentially tries to present the same temptation he fell for to Crowley: we can be together in Heaven.

But unlike what Adam did with Eve, Crowley rejects it, because he sees right through it. Instead, he counters with the truth about Heaven and the truth about his own feelings, both in verbal form and with a kiss, once again reprising his role as the Serpent of Eden and the Apple of Knowledge.

Aziraphale, having already swallowed the belief that Heaven is capable of changing, feels Crowley's attempt to disillusion him is a betrayal, an attempt to stop him from doing Good. Notice how when Aziraphale touches his lips longingly after the kiss, he finishes by looking angry and wiping, as if to dismiss what's been shared with him. But you can't un-eat fruit. And you can't be un-kissed.

The Metatron comes back while Aziraphale is clearly having a crisis of conscience. Try as he might to wipe the kiss away, it happened. And he heard the things Crowley said. And he keeps glancing toward Crowley.

This is a tricky moment in the Metatron's plan, because the sweetener he used to get Aziraphale to "drink the coffee"/accept Heaven is no longer in there with Crowley out of the picture. He rushes in and pushes Aziraphale to start his new job, dismissing Aziraphale's excuses. The fact that the Metatron needed Aziraphale without Crowley was the bitterness in the plan that he had to disguise with sweeteners.

Aziraphale, left without sufficient time to think, resolves to simply not think about his first choice, the choice that just walked out the door.

And then, at the last second, to ensure Aziraphale gets in that elevator, the Metatron reveals that the next step in the Great Plan is the Second Coming. Why reveal it at the last second, when Aziraphale is going to get on the elevator anyway?

Because it's the clincher. The Metatron knows Aziraphale won't be able to resist trying to make a difference.

He needed to divide Aziraphale and Crowley. He needed to get Aziraphale's hopes up about being able to make a difference with Crowley first. Then he needed those hopes dashed harshly so that Aziraphale would be at a loss, susceptible to joining Heaven to find a purpose again, now that Crowley is out of his life and the bookshop is being looked after.

And now, by emphasizing Aziraphale's knowledge of Earth and telling him the plan to destroy it at the same time, the Metatron gives Aziraphale a whole new purpose: thwart the Second Coming.

This has been the "predictable" part that the Metatron was scoffing about in the coffee shop. He knew that chain of events would happen. He knew Crowley would reject any suggestion of returning to Heaven, and he knew that would leave Aziraphale upset and vulnerable enough to be swept away, and he knew saving Earth would matter to Aziraphale.

THIS is the moment Aziraphale realizes he's choosing between coffee and death. He has to choose the coffee, of course.

But Crowley has rejected Heaven. He hasn't rejected Aziraphale. He's still there.

And Aziraphale looks back at Crowley the instant he's told Earth is in danger again. You can be confused, but you can't un-eat the Apple of Knowledge. He hasn't forgotten.

There is an alternate reading here: Aziraphale lied about enjoying the coffee, and he is also lying about his beliefs about Heaven being genuinely good, and he recognized that he was choosing between coffee and death way earlier, during the conversation when the Metatron brought up Crowley. I like that reading, too, and it would indeed change the flavor of some of the things that happen afterward.

But either way, we reach the same point at the end of the episode. That grin in the elevator? Maybe that's Aziraphale realizing he's going to have to be unpredictable, just as Crowley said he could.

#good omens #go s2 #good omens 2 #good omens 2 spoilers #good omens spoilers #go s2 spoilers

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five-rivers · 6 months

Text

Ancestral Chapter 20

A shorter chapter today. Written for ectober 2023 day 26: cult.

“What– How? How could you possibly do that?” asked Danny. “How could you even be sure it’d show up on a– In a ghost’s clothing?”

“What?” asked Matthew. “The Key?”

“Yes, the Key,” said Danny. “It’s supposed to do that?”

“Yes,” said Gwensyvyr. “I helped create the enchantment myself. It isn’t the only one on the key.”

“The compass part?” guessed Danny.

Gwensyvyr nodded. “There is already a construct of magic in it, and that makes it so that it stays with the one who carries it, if they should become a ghost, until it is touched by a syvyr of our line.” She shrugged. “I could show you the schematic, but I fear it would not mean much to you.”

“I mean…” Danny trailed off. “Probably not. I guess. But… why? And is it a new key, or–?”

“Oh, we could have done that. In some ways it would have been easier. But, no. This is the same key, brought from a distance.”

“But… why?”

“Because it is in the nature of those who fight to die, and sometimes far from home,” said Gwensyvyr. It would be… ill advised to leave any Key in the hands of the enemy.”

“Danny,” said Jazz. “What are they saying?”

“Oh,” said Danny. “Oops.” He quickly summarized the conversation from the point where he’d stopped acting as a go-between.

“What did they mean by the ‘last Key?’” asked Jazz. She seemed to be the only one put together enough to really ask questions. “Vivian, do you know?”

Vivian shrugged and shook her head. “That’s just what they said.”

“I don’t like that,” said Matthew. “There are other Great Gate Keys, but they should be… they aren’t out and about where anyone could get them.” He bit down on his lip then started typing on his phone.

“So,” said Eugene. “Who were they? The people who…”

“I don’t know,” said Vivian. “Evil bastards.” She blinked tears from her eyes that vanished as they fell.

“I have a thought of who they might be,” said Gwensyvyr. “Or who they might originally have been. It is suspicion, only, mind, and to understand you must learn a history that has been forgotten.”

Everyone leaned in again, as if that would make them hear better, faster. Danny saw hands on knife hilts and fists bunched in clothing.

“You remember, Dannyl, Yazmyn, what I have said before: all kinds of people leave ghosts. The House of Dyrys has old enemies. Enemies as old as I am.”

“The viking kings,” said Lewis. “The ones who killed your husband.”

Gwensyvyr raised a finger. “A little too fast, grandson, but, yes.” She let her finger fall back to the surface of the table with a tap. One that, by the flinches, everyone heard, not just Danny. “It is difficult to speak of even now, and there are rites older even than myself which I have tried to follow, though the years flow like sand in a glass. Needs must.

“You know some of my story. I was born on Myz, near what is now Sy Roch. Then I was called only Gwenn, for my hair was as white then as it is now.” She touched one of her braids, pulling it back behind her ear. “We were not one country, then. Nor were we even nine countries. There were few raiders in those days, and no one desired to be beholden to another. Yet even so, there were things we had in common. Language, names, rites, knowledge, and the knowledge that is beyond knowledge. So when a priestess of the sacred pool came from Myrgyn to seek a successor for one who had passed, it was considered a blessing and an honor.

“There were nine of us. Three for the pool itself. Three for the spring that fed it. Three for the apple tree that grew on its banks. They were wondrous things. Their magic was apparent by sight alone. They glowed with it. Some days, when the stars were right and the correct sacrifices were made, the surface of the pool would glow green, and become a door to the beyond. A drop of the water of the spring in the mouth of the living might cause one to see spirits. A drop in the mouth of a dead body might cause it to seem to live again for a time. A drop in the mouth of a spirit - or mere proximity - might cause them to be seen and heard and other things besides.”

Definitely a portal, then.

“The tree bore red apples and green, as you might see on any tree, but it also grew apples of gold and silver. The silver apples could heal any ailment. The gold granted power.”

Gwensyvyr paused. “It was a matter of great importance that the pool and its gifts be guarded. Some few could be granted to any who asked. But even something as small a bird or a fly that fell into the pool, or a worm that ate of an apple, could become a horror. Evil, vile things would come from the pool as often as the good, or they traveled from elsewhere to seek it out for their own ends.”

“You were doing what I do in Amity,” said Danny, before he could stop himself. “You were guarding a portal.”

“I’m not altogether sure what you are doing in Amity,” said Gwensyvyr, “but it would not surprise me if it were so.”

Danny ducked his head, feeling eyes on the back of it. Everyone was looking at him. He knew it. He was going to have to explain that in more depth before too long.

“But when I was not much older than you, the vikings came. They came with great ships, with weapons, and with their own magic-weavers. And, of course, we fought back. We had our own weapons, we had our magic, and the sacred pool at our backs. For some years, this was enough. And yet even these things could not stall our enemy forever. Not when he had been eying the riches of Myrgyn and the bounty of the sacred pool. One by one, my sister-priestesses were killed, and I ran to the only escape I had available.”

“The portal,” said Danny, starting to see where this was going. He swallowed back nausea.

“Yes. The pool. I was not fast enough. With one foot in the pool and one on the shore, I was felled by an ax. But I fell forward, and that was sacrifice enough. The pool granted me its gifts, and by extension, life. But I was so very weak, and when I crawled from the pool, the raiders were still there.

“They did not recognize me as one they had slain - who would? They had not even truly seen my face. Instead, they took me as a slave for themselves, and took me to the one who had led them. The one who, in those days, thought to make himself a king.”

“He called himself Erik the Dark in those days, though I learned enough of him later to know that had not always been his name. But Erik was a name for kings, and so he took it. In this age, you might know him by another.

“Pariah Dark.”

#danny phantom #ectober #ectoberhaunt #ectoberhaunt 23 #ectoberhaunt23 #ancestral fic #ectober 23 #ectober 2023

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utilitycaster · 8 months

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#this is SO real#wbn#there's a strange determination to sort everyone into either witches OR wizards and not just. townsfolk. people.#and to a degree that is where the story has led us (ame has been leaning much heavier on the spirit side of her communication role)#but the mortal world is just as complex and deserving of attention and sympathy as the spirits#and it's almost bizarre to treat everything suvi says as empire fodder rather than legitimate frustration and confusion at a world that#has been closed off to her#'you get what you get' has been taken so far out of the context in which she said it for example#yes I believe she has the incorrect viewpoint imo but there is so much nuance in how suvi doesn't want people to be hurt and wants to-#be able to control that. and how the spirits represent an absolute lack of control with the ability to do whatever they want#(for the most part)#and her fear and even occasional disdain of that is from a further place than empire propaganda#it's from her desire to have control and knowledge of her surroundings. to be able to Know everything#and the spirits laugh in the face of that very idea#and it's not entirely invalid of her to be frightened of that!!!#it's the wizard the witch AND the wild one!!#suvi would not be there if her viewpoint was not valuable if very very flawed#her end goal should not be to become ame because like she said. she's a wizard and she Knows magic!#there is virtue is her strategy and determination and logic#but people seem to favor ignoring that to smooth over the nuance and hope for her to realize her wrongs soon#sorry this was a giant ramble lol

@thespoonisvictory (not putting this on the post bc it's already a long one) Yes to all of this! Like, I think first and foremost people are ignoring that she is a 20 year old whose parents died for the citadel when she was a very young child and that this has been her only home since then and if she did a sudden about face "oh I was wrong about everything" it would be just as fragile and biased as her current worldview; while epiphanies and turning points are real, true and lasting change is ultimately a process and I don't trust an ideology that is adopted as a rapid about-face rather than an ongoing exploration.

The firesides make it clear that she and Ame are in fact very similar people; both will often ultimately do what they want despite personal danger or dangers to others in the party, both genuinely do care a lot about common people but both are at times deeply ignorant of the privileged positions they have held from a very young age (even though Suvi will throw her weight around, the realization that Galani would not have been given the same second chances has absolutely rocked her); and both are extremely out of their element in this story! I think it's also worth keeping in mind that we're in the "so wizards have really fucked up badly here" arc. There's plenty of time to explore the idea that, for example, one corrupt witch could do some pretty significant damage. The main thing that divides Suvi and Ame is what they were taught, and yeah, Suvi is frightened and unsettled by the world of spirits that Ame has been taught to respect and understand and that she never has. I think it's also really worth keeping in mind that Suvi knows that Eursulon's life here is in part because she broke rules she had no possible way of knowing, and I can't imagine she - a person who is all about knowledge and rules - has truly found a way to live with that yet.

For what it's worth I find it fascinating that the meta about Suvi is by and large fairly harsh criticism, and the meta about Imogen is "how dare you speak ill of my 28 year old baby daughter", and also that meta about the imperial wizards in WBN is largely "fuck them bitches, they trapped a god and everything they do is wrong and bad" but there's plenty of meta about the imperial wizard in Critical Role that goes "well he sucks as an individual but his plan is pretty cool actually" because I see a lot of parallels and I know there's overlap in fandoms. It does genuinely feel like people just see the word "god" or "empire" and react without actually listening to the other thousands of words surrounding it.

#for reasons of honor i cannot publicly provide my other thought here re: imogen and suvi but check back on sept 9 #or dm me #anyway. i love suvi very much and a lot of the meta about her is like. i don't care if you criticize her #she is a lot of negative things she is impatient and arrogant and unwittingly uncaring and yeah she supports an imperial force #but so much of it is just suvi empire so suvi bad be like ame. like it's not even good anti-imperialism bc it's so shallow #wbn spoilers

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freshlybakedspiderbread · 8 months

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ive always wanted to talk a bit about how i feel about the connection between Yukari and Merry because i love the endless parallels and thematic connections (like everyone else on the planet 😁), but wondering if it was ever 'worth' it since i may just be spouting a lot of what is already considered 'common knowledge' among hifuu aficionados. Not to mention i think my thoughts on it are somehow both really messy but also crystal clear. 😐 Well whatever! Its my own head anyway so i'll try not to worry and am gonna attempt to elaborate even if just a little on this post, which may not be entirely coherent due to sleepy, post-medicine fatigue.

i feel like over the years i may have started to become reflexively more 'against' yukari = merry fandom, although 'against' is probably too strong and its much more complicated than just "i dont subscribe to that theory" because thats not even entirely accurate!

it is of course a classic and really cool idea of the Merry one day becoming Yukari has been and continues to be thoroughly explored by many many fans for moving, tragic, bittersweet, or thought provoking work. I love Absolute One-Way Street, and also Dream and Reality among many other works like it 📖

but i also think its a little stiffling to think of that as the one and only story to tell about them? Now its possible that the sentiment im about to express isn't actually common and im actually just making up a person to respond to, but i think taking the teasing connections between Yukari and Merry and treating the idea of them being the same individual as the absolute obvious truth is a bit of a limiting perspective.

Of course everyone is entitled to their own opinions and headcanons! but i want to make a case that when it comes to touhou and especially hifuu in particular, there's also a richer (and possibly deliberate on the author? who knows!) point to treat it more abstractly.

Maybe they are the same person. Maybe one day Merry becomes Yukari, or Yukari becomes Merry. Maybe they're different people. Maybe they come from the same lineage. Or maybe one is a clone of the other grown in a lab or made with a magic spell.

None of that is as important to me as the the roles they serve in their stories. touhou has always had themes about the gap and the bridge between fantasy and reality by taking place in a world where fantasy seeks refuge from reality, and hifuu goes much further in that theme by taking place in a reality that has completely left behind fantasy. That parallel is really cool to me and its embodied perfectly by both stories having a purple-clad blonde girl with the means to poking their toes into the boundary between fantasy and reality.

In the fantastical world of touhou, one serves as gensokyo's powerful (if frustrating, shady, annoying, disagreeable) protector with allies that she watches over (and sometimes manipulates) with her great power, all to preserve their little wonderworld. And I think its sooo compelling how zun introduced hifuu in the music cds and designed a very similar-looking character, who lives in a stifled reality lacking in imagination, mostly spends her day chasing after even the smallest traces of dreams with a partner whose own small logical world expanded with infinite possiblities upon their meeting...

In the last few cds, Merry's powers may be growing stronger and i get why feeds the implication she's becoming something other than human. But my take on that has always been its more of a sign that she and Renko are already outliers in their world simply for daring to believe there is more to the world beyond facts and logic. I dont expect their story (assuming zun ever brings them back. we havent heard what theyre up to since 2016....) to ever end with both or either of them becoming a youkai or vanishing to gensokyo, because frankly that wouldn't serve any purpose for the themes hifuu has been about, which is embracing fantasy while living in a world that has abandoned it.

trying to remember what my point with this post is.... Oh right its that I think all these themes about the nature of gensokyo or the state of reality in hifuu are only made richer when you think about how they contrast with one another. And by extension, I think Yukari and Merry are both richer if you think of them as conceptual and thematic counterparts in two different stories on the opposite end of a similar spectrum, before thinking about what literal or objective connection they might have. Subjectivity definitely means more than objectivity in this case!

#touhou #hifuu #yakumo yukari #maereverie hearn #< - my personal take on merry's name btw n_n #keep thinking i could use a tag for when i just ramble about touhou but at the same time its freeing to just let it out and about #like yeah my rambling can just occupy the same tag as all the fun pictures on my blog. thats fine!

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nadiawritessomething · 9 months

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Part of my analysis of Miles G. One of many takes.

I. Start

Today, I want to talk about the teak "42 Miles is actually almost the same as our Miles, just serious in the moment because of suspicion"

And, okay, I understand why people want what they want, considering it an "unexpected plottist" and something "fun" just as much as they want something more simple and twisted at the same time, but now I'm going to explain a little bit why I think they can't possibly be incredibly similar or identical in character in my personal opinion.

Before I start, let me explain: I'm just as absolutely sick of Miles G's idea of a "cold emotionless hard abuser" because it's just as completely wrong, and even much worse. I just don't like it when people go to extremes and I want to analyse the character a little bit from the point of view of my small knowledge of human psychology.

II. "Don't judge a book by its cover"

Let's start with the premise that Miles G, or 42, as I'll sometimes call him, is not like the man we've been shown. And this is true.

We have the director's words that "we can't judge a book by its cover", the fact that there were many discussions on this topic in interviews with the film's authors, and, finally, the official information about Miles G. being a vigilante, which first appeared in the art book and was confirmed during #WilesWeek on Twitter with concept art and test animation that was posted even earlier.

But, with all that said, I don't think it's a hint that 42 is a completely different character. It's just a hint that he's much more complex and multifaceted than he seems at first glance, and that he has his own negative and positive traits.

Because in those three minutes, he looks too cold and serious, which gives rise to all these y/n fanfics about a cold abuser and a cruel destroyer of all life. This is the reason why many people (including me), before more official information came out, thought he was a villain.

And all these facts, shown above, do not point to his opposite character, but simply hint that he is not a villian, that he is much more complex than this concept, and is striving for justice and honour.

III. A different world

Now, let's talk about that in terms of psychology and obvious facts; yes, 1610 and 42 are the same person, and yes, some parts of character are innate (i.e., for example, some babies are quieter than others almost from birth, some are louder, and some like different kinds of toys), and so the different versions of Miles must have something in common. But a VERY large part of a person's character is formed in society, with the people and society around them and the world in which they grow up. And this is an aspect that is incredibly different in 42!Miles and 1610!Miles.

While our Miles lived in a world where he had someone to protect, a full family that loved him incredibly, initially had a circle of friends at his old school (until he transferred, of course, because the fact that 1610 has no friends left in his universe is one of the main conflicts of the second part), and generally lived the life of a normal Brooklyn teenager, the life of his alternate version seems to have gone to Hell from the very beginning.

He lived and grew up in a world full of crime (because, judging by the concepts of 42 Earth, thieves have been there for a long time, at least 5-10 years, having their own casinos, buildings, businesses all over the city. And, judging by this, 42 had to become Spider-Man to stop it when it was already there, just not as strong as it had become)

Also, judging by his Spanish accent, he lived (and raised) mostly with his mother, which suggests that 42 lost his father at an early age, much earlier than 1610 lost his uncle Aaron.

And, in a world full of crime and trauma, medical work is in great demand, more than ever, and so Rio42 is likely working overtime so that he can see his son (whom he obviously loves very much and was with him all the time) less often than they both would like.

And let's not forget the fact that 42's life was literally stolen, taking away so many chances to protect his loved ones better than he could. Lately he replaced what was stolen by doing the best he could, but don't tell me that such a life would not have affected his psyche and character as he began to form his identity further.

IV. We have our three minutes.

And let's talk about the last three minutes of the film, which, of course, are designed to confuse us, but they couldn't have been designed for that purpose alone. The person depicted there is still Miles G., yes, in a certain stressful situation, but the words he says are still his.

And here we see, one - he's really very traumatised by the death of his father, and Jefferson is the issue that interests him first and foremost, confirming my headcanon that he puts family and his own interests above everything else.

Two, he makes a clear distinction between his father and our Miles' father, which he explicitly says, most likely because his father's death is one of his main motivations for doing what he does and he does not want to give himself false hope.

Three, he doesn't want to let go of our Miles and sees nothing wrong with intimidating him and showing him who he is. Which probably tells us that a) he needs 1610 for something, because he clearly doesn't plan to kill him (then he could have done it much earlier, but he just knocked him out), b) he really does everything solely within his own interests, which are not yet known - good or more twisted (I don't say "bad" because that would be wrong). And, in addition, c) he does indeed use different methods and cannot be as innocent as commentators on the Internet sometimes say.

(Also, we have a few frames of the comic that was shown before the punching bag scene, and it's Miles and Miles G./Uncle Aaron talking about who the "real bad guys" are)

V. Man is created by the world

I say all of this to get to my theory that people raised in different worlds and families (in integrity) cannot have absolutely identical characters, even if they are the same person in the multiverse. Miles G. is not as manless and cruel as we are shown, but living in a world full of crime forces him to sharpen and change his concept of morality, different from that of "our" Miles. It is not "crueler", just, in my opinion, more radical in certain aspects.

(That doesn't mean he'll kill innocent children and women, no, never in his life, but he'll kick the bad guys' asses as much as he can according to how much they deserve it. And yes, in my vision, he can kill a person if he sees it as the only way out of a situation, especially (and usually) if that person is a criminal).

Now, before I conclude, let's address a few points that people are making as a counterpoint to my point and explain why it can't still work without Miles and Miles G. being identical people.

VI. A Vigilante

"But he is a vigilante, and they are always very good people!"

Yes, he is a vigilante. And "vigilante" is an incredibly broad term. In fact, a vigilante is a person who takes the concept of justice and the eradication of crime into his own hands. That's why Spider-Man, in its classical sense, is also a vigilante.

But the concept of "justice and eradication of crime" is as broad as the concept of an individual's morality. For example, Batman is also a vigilante, and he has more brutal methods (which is why it is quite logical when Miles G. is compared to him in this concept, and not to Spider-Man). Again, I'm not saying they're bad, and Miles G. definitely brings a bit of calm and peace to this burning place with his actions, but everything has a price. And 42 is paying it.

VII. A loving mother

"Okay, but they were both raised by Rio!"

Yes, and she definitely wouldn't have let her child grow up the way she is portrayed in these "x reader" works. That's another reason why I really condemn them.

I'm not saying that Miles G. is all steely and impenetrable in his true character, although he most likely wants to appear that way to society and his enemies, almost blending in, but that's still not who he is. He is incredibly in love with Rio and would destroy anyone for her in a heartbeat, on the rare nights they are together, Miles watches melodramas on TV with her, he loves comics and designing tech stuff, he has a simple and silly sense of humour, and he is more than capable of being clumsy and silly in moments when things don't go as he expected and are out of his control. He is a HUMAN being, and he has his own beautiful, warm personality traits that make him come alive in my head.

Rio, despite the fact that she doesn't see her son that often and is very exhausted at work, has done a wonderful job. Most of these serious, broken character traits that Miles G. has in him have been nurtured by society, by the universe, not by Rio. (Well, maybe Aaron's influence has played a role, too)

And one more important part about this tie-in. Jefferson also raised Miles, and please don't pretend that this had no influence on him. It was from Jefferson and his easy going nature that Miles got (and learnt partly too, which is important) was from Jefferson, who is a bit more straightforward in this regard.

Rio, in contrast, is also willing to literally kill for her family, and at times her character is more abrupt and radical in moments that personally affect her (just look at the moment with B in Spanish). This doesn't take away from the fact that she is a wonderful, warm, loving mother and a very kind-hearted person, but why wouldn't she teach Miles to respond fairly to people who have hurt him or those he cares about? I'm sure 1610 Miles had this lesson too, but in a slightly different way, because Jefferson, as a police officer, sees the matter from a more working, official and "legal" perspective. It seems to me that while Jeff is a "tell other people or call the police if someone is being mean" type of parent, Rio is a "just punch them in the face" type of parent.

VIII. Results

And so, my final thesis for those who have read this bloody essay to the end: Miles G. and our Miles are neither "the same" nor "opposite". They are different, and only BTSV can tell us exactly how different. Until then, everyone can see things differently, and you should understand their opinion as well as mine (as long as it's not stereotypical, racist, or makes you want to throw up your dinner)

Thank you for reading!

#miles 42 #miles morales #across the spiderverse #atsv #aaron davis #rio morales #jefferson morales #miles 1610 #character analysis #theories #my thoughts #wiles week

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mask131 · 1 year

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Roman gods are not Greek gods: General intro

I keep repeating it again and again: for years and years we have been told that “Roman gods are just the Greek gods with another name”, but it is a lie. The concept that the Roman pantheon is just a copy-paste of the Greek one is… Well, it is true, I can’t deny it. The Roman gods were copies (not to say rip-offs) of the Greek gods. We can say truthfully “Jupiter is the Roman equivalent of Zeus” or “the figure of Ceres is based on the one of Demeter, from Greek mythology”.

However, this concept is also false by many ways – or rather, it is the exaggeration and simplification of an actual cultural fact, which in turn leads to a massive misconception of what Roman deities were. You can’t say “Juno is the same goddess as Hera” or treat Aphrodite as if she was identical to Venus. As a result, if someone with knowledge of Greek mythology starts studying the Roman pantheon, they will immediately feel comfortable due to spotting a lot of common ground and things they know already, but the more time they will spend in the world of Ancient Rome, the more they will feel like aliens in a foreign land due to the many specific differences, unusual divergences and bizarre local traits of the Roman gods.

Anyway, I have been talking about this over and over again – and I finally decided to make a series of post about it! To truly talk about the differences and specificities of the Roman religion/pantheon/mythology compared to the Greek one. To do so I think I will go by the Olympian gods, which are the most famous of the Greek gods, looking at their Roman self to see how they differ from the Greeks.

BUT BEFORE ALL! A general introduction. A general introduction to specify some context points about Roman history, religion and culture – points that are actually quite important to understand why Roman gods are like they are.

POINT 1: Roman gods are copies of Greek gods.

That’s a fact: as the Romans built their civilization, culture and religion, they looked over at their neighbor, the mighty Ancient Greece (that soon would become just a part of the vast Roman Empire), thought their gods were really neat, and decided to “adopt” them. As a result, they took back the main and most important Greek Gods, and gave them Roman names and temples. Zeus became Jupiter, Poseidon became Neptune, Hephaistos became Vulcan… The legends, symbolism, attributes and relationships of the Greek gods were brought over in the Roman religion, and this is why nowadays everybody says “The Roman gods are Greek gods by another name”. HOWEVER…

POINT 2: Roman gods were transformed into the Greek gods

Roman gods were not “invented” to copy the Greek gods as many would believe. The Roman gods existed long before the Romans decided to Hellenize their religions. They were the Italic deities, formed and born out of the many previous communities and civilizations that lived and existed in Italy before the rise of Rome: we are talking about the Etruscans, the Sabines, the Albans, all the Latin people. And this early Latin religion had its own gods, often very unique, which formed the proto-pantheon of Rome, its religion in its early days.

When the “Hellenization” of the pantheon happened (in fact the very use of the word “pantheon” is anachronistic since it was a Greek concept the Romans brought over), what the Romans did was that they looked in their local religion to see which gods corresponded to the Greek deities, and then reshaped their own gods to look more like the Greeks. As a result, yes, the Romans didn’t “copy-paste” the Greek gods, because it would imply that there was nothing before them – rather, the Romans did a full makeover of the original Latin gods so that they would look and act more like the Greek gods.

However, the copying process was far from perfect: the Romans kept around many of their important gods they could not find equivalents of (such as Janus), had to completely invent new spots in their religion for gods they did not find equivalents of in their own cults (such as Apollo), the newly formed Greco-Roman gods still kept primitive Latin and Italic particularities that led to a divergence from their Greek model ; and finally, the Hellenization of the Roman gods led to massive shifts in divine relationships and positions, that also led to conflicts in characterization (such as Saturn, who was an important and benevolent deity, and that the Romans had to equate to a non-religious villainous figure, the one of Kronos).

POINT 3: Romans were farmers and soldiers

The pre-Roman civilization(s) was an agricultural one. It was a community of farmers of various kinds, living in the countryside and the wilds, and who relied heavily on plants, crops, the cycles of nature… And this led to a lot of the early Latin deities being nature or agricultural deities. Then the early Roman civilization gained geographical and political power through wars and conquests, and another big social group was introduced: the military. So, the Romans gained gods more focused on weapons, soldiers, armies, victory and defeat. And these were the original Roman gods, the core Roman religion: agricultural gods and war gods. Even after the Hellenization, even as the Roman gods became copies of the Greek gods, they kept this intense focus on either nature/agriculture, either the military and everything that came with it – such as politics. But with the advance of the Roman Empire, a third element could be included: urbanism. The Greek civilization was spread across numerous islands and state-cities, and it relied on a shared language, a shared religion, shared customs. The Roman civilization? It was all about Rome. It was about living in Rome, having the customs of Rome, being born in Rome. It was all focused around this one city versus the rest of the world, this one city that became the center of the world – and as a result, the Roman gods also reflected this aspect of the civilization by becoming very urban and city-focused, more than the Greeks. God of the farmer, god of the soldier, god of the city. This is why the Roman gods are more naturalistic, militaristic and urban than the Greek gods.

But this all leads to another massive difference in religions that I will talk about in my next point (which is in fact just a continuation of this one)

POINT 4: Roman religion is rituals. Just rituals. Tons of rituals.

Roman religion is a ritualistic religion. The “farmer and soldier” mindset on which the Roman religion was based led to a very… let’s say pragmatic, down-to-earth religion, all centered about rituals. In fact, this ritualistic nature is precisely the reason why Roman religion thrived in the Antique world until the arrival of Christianity. Given it was ritualistic in nature, all you needed to do to be “part” of the religion was to simply practice a set of rituals for the gods. Offerings, sacrifices, festivals, temple-building…

The Roman religion didn’t rely on something like a dogma or a belief. It was all about the acts, the rituals, about a regular worship – but not about a specific faith. This is why, as the Empire grew, new gods from foreign lands kept being added to the pantheon; and this is why the Roman religion kept syncretizing itself with other cultures, and why the Roman empire could allow the conquered nations to keep their religion as long as they practiced the Roman cults alongside it and recognized them as just as valid.

Because Roman religion was all about practicing rituals, and as long as you practice the rituals, the gods are pleased, and as long as you practice the rituals, even if you do not believe in them, you are part of the religion, of the community and of society that go alongside it. Roman religion was very social (again, the “urban god” part). This is why it was so lax and inclusive when confronted to gods and worships different from its own. And when Christianity arrived… They were confronted with an entirely different model. A dogmatic religion, a religion based on belief and faith – a religion that, as such, could not work in the same syncretism-and-expansion project ; a religion that excluded all other religions as “false” and “incompatible” with their own worship. Christianty wasn’t just about honoring a god by rituals but about believing in a god in such a way you couldn’t admit anything that would contradict your beliefs… Cue to the Roman persecutions of the Christians.

Anyway, I got carried away here. The important thing is: Roman religion is a ritualistic religion. And the consequence is that the Roman gods were, for a very long time (and still were, until the end), ritualistic gods. The reason the Hellenization of the Roman gods worked so well was because the early Romans did not have any… “mythology”. They did not have any myths. Look at the legends forming Roman religion: 90% of them or so are Greek in origin. The purely Roman legends are a minority, and mostly tied to actual historical facts. Early Romans did not think of the gods as creatures with personalities or humanity, and even less as beings able to have adventures or be the characters of stories! For them the gods were abstractions and personifications, entirely centered around rituals and offerings and specific festivals – forces of nature and manifestations of a ritualistic power. But the Greeks were storytellers, and when the Romans saw this extensive, carefully-crafted universe of legends and tales, with each god having specific relationships and personality, they gobbled it up and imported it all to fill their own void when it came to myths.

Even then, it is something you will notice if you look at the Roman gods – even after their Hellenization, they still stayed extremely ritualistic. Take the epithets of the gods. In Ancient Greece, these epithets usually depicted the essence, appearance or power of the gods, and were used in a quite poetic way. In Ancient Rome, the epithets of the gods almost always describe the different aspects and functions of the gods in religion, each nickname or title being about one of the jobs of the god or what a deity does. No “gray-eyed”, “white-armed” or “fast of feet” in Rome, oh no, we are talking of things like “Purifier”, “Protector”, “Judging”, “Ruling”. Similarly, a god in Ancient Rome is defined first and foremost by the rituals, festivals and religion around it – the myths and legends are just fancy ornaments and pretty stories. Which leads to a lot of minor or secondary Roman gods having no tales or personalities of their own, and being solely defined by a specific rite or festival. Ritual first, myth later.

[ As an addition, if you want some temporal indications, the Hellenization of the Roman pantheon is said to have “finished” somewhere between the third and second century BC, the third century being the most talked about due to it being the century of Enius’ record of the “twelve great gods”, obviously based off the twelve Olympians of Greek mythology. But the Hellenization was actually said to have started at quite an early time, due to the Greeks interacting frequently and having some religious influence over the main civilization that preceded the Romans: the Etruscans, whose religion served as a “foundation” and “basis” for the future Roman religion. This light-Hellenization of the Etruscans is thought by certain to be a “proto-Roman Hellenization”, an indirect and minor Hellenization of the early Roman religion that paved the way for the “true Hellenization” of the Roman gods later on. We are here talking mostly about the Greek colonies founded during the 8th century BCE in Sicily and meridional Italy (the 8th century being the same century at the end of which Rome was founded): the colonies of the Euboeans on both sides of the strait of Messina; the founding of Syracuse and Taranto by the Dorians; or Sybaris, Metapontum and Crotone by the Achaeans. Apparently this colonized part of Italy was even called “Great-Greece” by the Ancient Greeks, the same way we have Britain VS Great-Britain).]

EDIT:

I was asked about the sources I used for my “Roman gods are not Greek gods” series, and so I will add them below. In this time of massive misinformation, actual sources are always dearly needed. Note that I literaly just pulled them off my shelves to write quickly those posts - these posts are NOT deep-down, scholarly, expert dives on the Roman religion. I am just a person who enjoys talking and reading about this and wants to share basic knowledge.

So, beyond looking at Wikipedia articles (because Wikipedia does have a lot of useful info, when properly sourced) and at Theoi.com articles (they are mostly about Greek texts but they do have a lot of Roman extracts, sometimes exclusively Roman ones), I mostly use for these posts three French books of mine. While each has been a reference in their time, each one is incomplete or flawed in a way and so I need to use them simulatenously, plus a side fact-check, to get things right.

Source 1: “Mythologie générale” by Félix Guirand - it has an entire section about the religion and mythology of Ancient Rome. Advantage: Very complete and very scholarly. Disadvantage: It is old, and thus aged badly in some ways (some points later discovered to be false for example).

Source 2: Dictionnaire de la mythologie grecque et romaine, by Joël Schmidt. Advantage: As scholarly as the previous one, but more recent. Disadvantage: It is a short dictionnary meaning it keeps every article as concise as possible and doesn’t offer much, even though it goes straight to the point.

Source 3: Edition Atlas ‘ La Mythologie (book-form of the Atlas collection “Mythologie”). Advantage: It has two full and extensive parts for both Greek and Roman mythologies, with different articles for each deity (one for Hermes, one for Mercury ; one for Hera, one for Juno), meaning they take their time exploring each deity on its own. Disadvantage: It is meant to be for a non-scholarly audience, so it has a bit of vulgarization to it ; plus the book-form lacks many of the articles in the originally published collection, and while I do have some of those extra-articles, others are missing.

#roman gods #greek gods #roman mythology #greek mythology #roman religion #roman gods are not greek gods

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fioras-resolve · 8 months

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please talk about rock paper scissors 2 and game design

okay, so Angie Nyx's Rock Paper Scissors 2 is a game i've been wanting to make since high school. functionally it's a bunch of rock paper scissors variants, but conceptually it's a lot deeper than that. see, at that point i was getting into fighting games, and i wanted to capture the dynamic of reading into your opponent without the execution or reaction barrier. i figure that since fighters already have an rps dynamic (you know, strike > throw > block > strike), i could just do a variant on rock paper scissors.

i bounced that idea around in my head for a few years, before i realized a couple weeks ago that i can just make a pdf of it. it hasn't gotten as many downloads as i'd like, and i'm realizing the unique problem of trying to make a multiplayer game as an indie dev. but it's been fun as hell playing with my friends, trying out different rulesets and seeing what works. and i'm learning a lot about game design in the process, and that's what i wanna talk about today.

Ruleset 1 -Win Condition: Win once with each throw, or three times with a single throw.

the first thing i wanna say is that rock paper scissors is kind of boring. my least favorite part of playing rps 2 is any time i have to play rps 1. what this means is that playing a completely balanced game, or even a balanced round, isn't particularly interesting gameplay. like, the start of the match, where every option is weighted equally, feels very arbitrary to play. it feels like i'm just flipping a coin and seeing what comes up. later on in the match, when there's actually some points, this ruleset becomes more interesting. it's about pursuing your own goals while preventing the opponent from pursuing theirs, and trying to catch them in that pursuit.

or, maybe not? i won this ruleset once with a random number generator. i didn't tell my opponent i was using rng, but it still calls into question whether this is really a game of skill. i think there's this common conception of competitive games as a test of who's better at the game, but what does it mean be "better" at a game like this? the conclusion i've come to is that competitive games are about outplaying your opponent, not being strictly better than them. the better player can sometimes lose, and that's often what makes a game like this exciting.

Ruleset 2 -Win Condition: Win three rounds -You can't use Rock twice in a row -You have a Gun you can use once a match, that doesn't win or lose to anything

this is an experiment in what i'll call disadvantaged state. like, if you throw rock, you can't use it again next turn. you have to use either paper or scissors, and the opponent has options for either of those. moreover, if the opponent throws scissors, there's literally nothing you can do to beat that. they actually have a completely safe choice, and safety is an important concept in this game. because if they go scissors, my only option is to throw scissors. but they can get a bit greedy and try to push an advantage, and i can try to read that option with paper, at the risk of losing to scissors. one player clearly has a leg up on the other, but both players are involved in trying to predict the other.

outside of dis/advantage, what the rock restriction does is make both players afraid to use rock. it's an innate risk, which gives people a bit more reason to use scissors. when i played with this ruleset, both of us were incentivized to use scissors, and kind of leaned on it with the knowledge that both of us would be afraid to use rock. scissors does become a safer option, and if both players are too scared it puts them in a deadlock. but, disadvantage isn't the worst thing to come out of using a throw, so eventually we did ease off.

one more thing i wanna point out here is about the gun. basically, the gun has two uses here. you can either throw it in disadvantage to get out of it free, or you can throw it in neutral to bait out a rock. i think this is just a cool game design feature, but it also does speak to the idea of safety with a kind of absolute safety. i feel distinctly vulnerable once i don't have a gun to play. it's similar to like, burst in a fighting game? it's your get-out-of-bad-situation-free card that you've gotta use sparingly. good stuff!

Ruleset 3 -Win Condition: Win three rounds -Can't use Rock twice in a row, but winning with Rock wins the match instantly -Gun puts the opponent in disadvantage

this is an interesting one, and it's a ruleset i find really compelling. rock is the ultimate risk/reward. it's both risky and safe to use scissors. now, different players will respond differently to this, but in my experience players don't tend to win the match with rock. maybe me telling you this will give you an idea if you decide to play it yourself. i'd say this is the most intellectually compelling ruleset i've made. like you'll definitely have highs and lows with this, and probably a lot of disadvantaged states that put you in a unique position.

and i will say, playing this actually gave me a bit more clarity when it comes to neutral. because pure rps is compelling at the end of the match, when it's down to the wire and both players are a single win away from victory. it stops being boring and starts being tense, because it's an explicit consequence of how both of you have played.

Ruleset 4 -Win Condition: Win 3 rounds -Winning with Scissors wins the match instantly -No Guns

i was tentative about trying this one out. i figured that it would be too arbitrary, that an rps without disadvantage wouldn't have any interesting dynamics. i was wrong, it's amazing! one match i lost immediately. one match i just kept playing playing scissors, losing to rock three times in a row, and then my opponent was like "surely she won't do it again" before picking paper and losing immediately. one match where my headmate highwind played instead of me, she realized the opponent was really relying on rock, and so decided to play paper twice in a row, which worked. she then went scissors and won. it was pure chaos, and we embraced that chaos.

what this really did for me was prove that what makes rps 2 good isn't just the dynamic created by disadvantage. the problem with rock paper scissors isn't the dynamic of three options vs. three options, it's that there's no meaning to any of these options. rock paper scissors 2 works because every throw has a distinct meaning. different throws will mean playing it safe, or going for a read, or trying to get out of a bad situation. it's this meaning that gives you the sense that you outplayed your opponent, even in a game where skill is a nebulous concept. fighting games work because they aren't just rock paper scissors, because every option has a different purpose and meaning. and when it is a 50/50, when it is just a game of rock paper scissors, it's a result of everything that happened before. i look forward to seeing what else i learn from this game, and i hope you try it to get something out of it.

#game design #gamedev #game theory #fighting games

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yallemagne · 1 year

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The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is not a case of DID

Criminally, I have not been posting about Jekyll and Hyde, and that's strange because I've spent years obsessing over this story whereas I read Dracula just a year before Dracula Daily went big. To be frank, though, I did become obsessed with Jekyll and Hyde not from the book but rather Wildhorn's musical, which should be grounds to burn me at the stake as a heretic, but ya know, once I had a brain cell to be critical of the media I liked, I started seeing the flaws in that adaptation. And most adaptations.

Spoilers kinda - because while many people already know the twist of Jekyll and Hyde... they don't actually know the twist of Jekyll and Hyde.

EDIT not even a day later: Well, this inspired a big reaction. I'm sorry. I guess I was right not to express anything about my thoughts on the book.

EDIT multiple days later: you know, fuck 'em. *spits in your coffee and projects mental illness onto your meow meow* I'm not sorry for shit.

This will be subject to some minor edits because I don't like being unclear.

The idea that Jekyll is fully good and Hyde is fully bad just detracts from the whole point of the novel. In the novel, a well-loved and respected philanthropist is secretly an awful-tempered, violent man, and he gets away with his crimes with his wealth (and use of alchemy--). In most interpretations, Hyde is a fully-formed entity separate from Jekyll but in the same body. This is commonly seen in inaccurate depictions of dissociative identity disorder, and as such, many misunderstand J&H to be a case of DID. It really isn't, and to depict it as such is to submit to the same pitfalls as other ableist pieces of media seeking to daemonize mental disorders.

I do not have DID, and while I feel I have a slightly higher understanding of it than your average joe, take what I say with a grain of salt, do your own research, and consult with actual people with DID if you can.

J&H, at a glance, looks like DID, even with knowledge of the book. Jekyll is so repressed that he created a new personality, right? Not exactly. The Glass Scientists (a comic adaptation) kind of tries to play it this way, but they miss the mark, really (I wanna make a post about that one specifically). In the book, Jekyll is a fifty-year-old man, and Hyde is only a recent development. DID typically develops in childhood as a result of continued trauma. Say, a child is continually abused, and to cope with that abuse, they isolate the memories of the abuse into what is called an "alter", another personality. A system may comprise of many different alters, and every system is different, sometimes some alters may not know the others exist. Unfortunately, this fact is often used to demonize systems. "What if one of the personalities is evil???" people ask. And that is what people think J&H is: the answer to that what if.

Now, I know the ending of the novel, but I have not read it yet. So, I know the events and the explanation of J&H's case in summary but not word-for-word. Simply, Hyde is not an alter. He's a mask. All the things that Jekyll wishes he could do but can't do while retaining his squeaky-clean reputation, he does when he is Hyde. I'd compare Hyde less to repressed primal male urges or evil alternate personalities and more to intrusive thoughts.

In his day to day, Jekyll is faced with many choices to make when faced with inconveniences. When bumped into in the street, Dr. Jekyll would never push the offender down and trample them! And he certainly wouldn't harm a member of the House of Commons for asking directions! But that doesn't stop that nagging voice in his head that tells him he should. Now, I'm not saying actual voices, that would be misrepresenting a whole other mental disorder, but many people have intrusive thoughts (again, I encourage doing your own research, I do not advocate for demonizing mental illness, unintentional or otherwise). These thoughts can be very overwhelming, especially in a world where Christianity vilifies having such evil thoughts.

I'm in the camp that says Jekyll is a bad person. He is not bad simply because he has intrusive thoughts, but because he went so far as to find a way to act on a whim with no consequences for himself. Hardly even a stain on his conscience. He was there when Hyde trampled that girl. He was there when Hyde brutally murdered Sir Danvers. He was Hyde. And he hardly feels remorse, only frustration at the threat of being held accountable.

Now, people don't like when their main character isn't wholy good, especially when he serves as a sort of audience surrogate. But guess the fuck what Jekyll isn't the main character. And guess the fuck what most of the poor adaptations of J&H cast him as the main character because no one knows how to be subtler than making the title of their work the main character.

Anyway, is there a point to this? Who knows. I just must say that I find Jekyll to be a far more interesting character if you play into the fact that he's not "good". He uses Hyde as his own scapegoat. He may act on every violent urge he wishes while wearing an impossible disguise, let that mask take the blame, and put it up whenever he's had his fix. But that's the fun part: he'll never have his fix, and that's why he's an intriguing character full of such nuance greater than "there are two wolves inside of you".

#all that typing to make a two wolves joke #jekyll and hyde weekly #the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #uh what does this count as? a rant?#i'm not very angry #it's funny I have so many thoughts about j&h I could do like a full analysis on all the versions I've seen and yet I'm like #*uhhh Utterson's my baby girl I guess*

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justkending · 2 years

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Everest. Chapter 13.

Series Summary: She was done and retired. After Thanos and after the battle of a lifetime, she had called it quits and had distanced herself from the Avenger lifestyle. But word finds her that someone from her past is in danger. What the journey entails was never one she wanted to face nor one she saw becoming her reality again. The rollercoaster that comes with fighting evil odds arrives on her doorstep not leaving much room for a no…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2500+

Chapter 13:

"So she stopped a terrorist attack?" Bucky breathed out as Tony gave graphic details, one after another, of what really happened with Marley and the people who had captured her.

"I believe it was why she felt she needed to be the one to sacrifice herself," Tony nodded. "A way to make up for all the lives she felt responsible for."

Bucky took a minute to process.

"Ok, to summarize," Steve scratched his beard, speaking from his position across the table in a conference space before proceeding. "The bomb that Marley detonated was programmed to go off in the most populated city in the US, which is, of course, here."

"Yes."

"In the bomb was a chemical that would have gassed the city, target and affect anyone with a possible mutant gene, and caused the gene to surface upon inhaling the chemical serum."

"Yes."

"Therefore, creating a city full of mutants whose powers can range from anything Marley was capable of to... Well, really any form of power or enhancement." Steve paused, rubbing his temple. "And considering most people can barely handle an inkling of power of their own, we could have created countless new enemies within a 20-minute span of it detonating."

"Yup," Tony confirmed again. "Convicts in their cells to babies laid down for their nap. Anyone with the gene would have been affected."

"All because they wanted to create an army of mutants for themselves," Bucky added at the end, staring at the files Tony had displayed on the hologram above.

"No one has any form of creativity anymore. The bad guys of the world really need to come up with some more original plans," Tony scoffed, pulling a pen he had been chewing out of his mouth and pointing it to Steve. "Which brings me to my next game plan."

"First, explain to me why Y/N being left out of knowing this new information was important," Bucky asked.

"It's not necessarily this information I'm worried about," Tony shook his head, going to a table and grabbing a paper file. "It's the coordinates Friday found that I worry about her getting her hands on." He handed off the manila folder.

Bucky took it. "What if they've already moved? It's their MO when we were trying to find them before."

"Yeah, but I found their headquarters," Tony crossed his arms with a proud smirk. Bucky gave him a look. "I tracked some of where their intel was going and coming from. Badda-bing-badda-boom, one spot, was a common denominator for a majority of them. Under a ton of locks and keys, of course, but I'm good like that." Nat cleared her throat from where she had been silently glaring at Tony, and he waved her off. "Ok, Romanoff is good like that. I just supplied the advanced technology that got us there. The point is we have it and everything we need to take them down now. Fully wipe them out."

He stared into the room, Sam, Steve, Bucky, and Nat looking at him unimpressed, but truthfully, it was just their resting face when dealing with Tony.

"Great. Now, you've yet to enlighten us on why Y/N still can't know about this," Sam questioned this time.

"I have years of experience with this woman... I think that's enough knowledge and intuition to know that when Y/N wants vengeance, she gets it. Usually, she has some form of resistance when it comes to completely wiping people off the face of the earth. But something tells me with how hard she took Marley's death, on top of thinking she exterminated them the first time, and it came to bite her in the ass... She's going to make sure the job gets done this time. People involved with it will feel that pain a thousand more times than she did."

"You think she'll kill them all?" Bucky asked.

"We would hope that's all she did," Tony nodded. "And to keep her record clean and conscience clean, I can't let her get this information and risk leaving all her morals behind."

"Her actions wouldn't be on your shoulders if she did," Nat spoke up, feet propped on the table still.

"Can't say I'd agree with that," Tony hummed nonchalantly and flicked a few fingers on the screen, pulling the hologram into a compact metal box he had taken out of his pocket.

"I'm assuming we need to suit up then?" Sam sighed, standing and stretching.

"Correct. Meet in the hanger in twenty minutes," Steve confirmed, standing with him.

________________

"Was the area affected when Marley detonated the bomb? Any surrounding towns get any residue of the chemicals?" Steve asked.

Everyone who could join the mission circled the table in the middle of the jet. Sam, Natasha, Tony, Bucky, and Steve were the only ones in on it. Wanda and Vision were out of the loop for now. Clint was back home. Peter had school... The map for their infiltration hovered over the counter and spun in a slow circle to give all angles of their entrance and exits.

"Don't believe so. The location where it was discharged was hundreds of miles away from any kind of civilization. Plus, it would have only mattered if it was in a 30-mile radius. Apparently, they didn't go further in their experimentation on that. Because of how far underground the weapon was contained, it didn't get distributed the way it was made to," Tony answered. "Another reason Barnes here can't suddenly fly or shoot lasers out of his eyes."

Bucky shot him a glare. He had told him he couldn't go into the pit due to its depth, and whatever remnants of the serum had been dispersed in the air wouldn't have made it to him with the rubble keeping it contained for the most part. That and if it had happened to hit him, nothing came out of it. No tests came back weird from his initial check-up after they got home.

This was believed to be a manageable takedown. Sure, the entire organization would take some time as a whole to destroy, but the head honcho would be just another Tuesday for the Avengers from what they had gathered.

"And Y/N didn't tell you where she was going?" Sam asked, turning to Bucky after Tony moved back to the pit and Nat and Steve moved to check weapons and such.

"No. She left, saying she couldn't tell me. She had to figure some stuff out on her own," Bucky answered, still looking at the hologram before him.

"Figure some stuff out?" Sam resaid, hurt and disappointed in his voice, just like Bucky's when he saw her grabbing her bags. "I can't believe- Did she think we couldn't help her with it?"

"I don't know," Bucky answered honestly. "I don't think that was her intention, but it doesn't sting any less."

He looked up to his friend and saw the slight pain of the truth.

"What about Wanda and Vision?" Sam asked after a moment. "Why not bring them into the loop?"

"They wanted out of this life. Tony's granting that wish by keeping them oblivious," Bucky shrugged, moving to go get changed as they were approaching the coordinates. "And Wanda's just as connected to Marley's death. He thought it was a safer bet this way, too. Don't ask me, though, because I'm against most of his reasonings."

"It's Tony's funeral next when she finds out he left her out of this," Nat sighed, walking past them to the other side of the jet.

_________________________

It was a short flight. Tony had picked the fastest plane he had, and they headed out earlier than planned. Two hours later, they landed in a remote forest just a mile or two away from the Chimera group's supposed setup.

"This is it?" Nat said in the coms once they had surrounded the building. "This place sticks out like a sore thumb for a group that's stayed off our radar this long."

"I gotta agree with Romanoff on this one," Sam replied.

"This is it, ok. I promise," Tony groaned. "Have I ever been wrong?" Before he could regret what he said, he interrupted what he knew everyone else would have had a word to say about. "Forget I spoke. Ok, is everyone clear on the plan?"

"Bucky and I are toward the east corridor, and it's quiet," Steve said with a hint of suspicion.

"Nat?" Tony asked.

"Quiet over here too. The place seems abandoned. Did we miss them?"

"Last time, Y/N and I had to go down quite a few flights of stairs before we found people, but I figured it would be different with this being the headquarters, Stark," Bucky noted, peeking around where he and Steve were stationed.

"Friday, sweep the building for me, will you?" Tony sighed.

There was a pause as Friday began her scan and got back to them in seconds.

"Multiple heat signatures detected about 294.3 meters down, sir."

"So we have some moles, it looks like," Tony snarked. "Ok. You guys know what to do."

__________________

They indeed knew what to do, but sometimes plans don't go as planned.

They were close to being outnumbered. Steve and Nat were now in a corridor together, fighting off three different enhanced beings who were raining down their powers on the duo.

Sam was up in the sky with two other enhanced as one shot lasers out of his eyes, a jinx Tony had gotten ridiculed on, and the other controlled the wind in his vicinity, making it to where Sam's only plan of action was to dodge and fight the new currents whipping him around.

Bucky and Tony had somehow ended up in the same room and were fighting off a group of agents. They were lucky not to be confronted with any enhancement yet, but they were slowly becoming outnumbered in the chamber they were trapped in. And it was hard to tell who was an average human or one that could easily rip them apart with the right look.

"Damn it, Stark!" Bucky shouted as he punched another man straight in the chest, sending him back against a wall before another jumped him. "I told you you made this out to be too simple of a plan and mission!"

"We've handled worse," Tony argued, flying up with a guy on his back, causing him to make a sick crack in the concrete ceiling before blasting another person who was coming at him.

"Doesn't mean we have to come with one hand tied behind our back," Bucky growled, pulling a pistol from his thigh holster and shooting a few rounds, not missing.

"What do you mean one hand tied behind our back? We're handling this perfectly!" Tony chuckled nervously.

Even in the midst of swinging a right hook and kicking, every second he put another person down, Bucky managed to send a death glare Tony's way for the comment.

Then... The agents slowly spaced out, and Bucky and Tony froze as everyone stopped fighting suddenly and moved out of the way. Taking a second to catch their breath, they stayed ready for whatever was coming next. Something didn't sit well with the two as the few agents that were left went robotic and looked to the wide entrance of the room.

"Uh, Stark..." Bucky huffed in, barely labored as he stiffened in his spot.

"Yeah, I see it too," Tony cocked his head, landing back on the ground, and sauntered apprehensively to where Bucky was.

A young woman walked out from the crowd, robotic like her peers, but her eyes were glued to Bucky and Tony, whereas the others seemed to be staring ahead at nothing.

"Tony," Bucky said again, raising his gun, finger off the trigger even if the weapon was cocked.

"Hey! Children of the corn!" Tony spoke sternly, pointing a shock blaster meant to taze towards the girl. "Stop with the creepy stares. Where's the big boss?"

Bucky couldn't help the eye roll and jaw clench from his question. "Simple enough. Maybe they'll point us in the right direction," Bucky rolled his shoulders, keeping his stance taunt.

"I'd rather ask than shoot," the billionaire responded. "Come on, kid, don't make me repeat what I've been doing to your friends here," he said toward the young blonde-haired woman as unconscious bodies already littered the building. The charge in his suit's hand made a whirring sound.

The girl continued to give a blank stare, but in a fast second, her hands fisted at her sides with a white grip on her knuckles. Before either of them could react, Tony's suit buckled up, and his arms tightly fell to his side as if a rope had been wrapped around him a thousand times.

Bucky's arm was twisted and turned behind his back and of zero use as his control of it was completely ripped away from him.

"What the hell- '' Bucky grunted at the immediate reaction, causing him to stumble in his balance and fall forward. His non-metal hand was the only thing keeping him from falling face-first.

"This isn't good," Tony groaned as his suit got tighter and tighter. He let out a 'psh' sound as he was boa-constricted into his suit.

Bucky turned to see Tony's whole suit was rendered useless. And he was stuck in it.

"Friday! Eject!" he shouted, but it was no use. The only thing opening that suit was a vibranium crowbar or the girl's mind constricting it.

"Steve! Nat! Sam! We need some help here!" Bucky shouted into the comms and then groaned in pain as the arm bent uncomfortably and almost unhumanlike.

"We're a little tied up," Nat replied in between hits. "Literally."

"They have us cornered in a solid concrete room. We can't get out!" Steve was in the same state of exhaustion.

"Sam?" Bucky questioned. No answer. "God damn it, Sam! The one time I want you to talk!"

Even if Sam had said something at that point, Bucky wouldn't have been able to hear it over his own scream, and his arm bowed in ways it wasn't supposed to.

They were screwed. The Avengers had finally lost a battle. Not because they couldn't fight but because they came unprepared and took the wrong precautions.

Lights began flicking, and the ground shook beneath them. As if things couldn't get worse...

"Please tell me that's an earthquake and not another one of them," Tony huffed in between difficult breaths.

The whole group, minus the girl who kept her focus on the metal-enhanced men, turned to another entrance as if feeling something Bucky and Tony couldn't.

"I doubt that's an earthquake..." Bucky mumbled as he heard something coming from the dark hall but couldn't see anything. Screams and thuds sounded and grew closer.

Then, every light in the building went out, some shattering in the glass covers they were in.

"Bucky! Are you guys ok? What is that?" Steve shouted.

"Not us," Bucky answered.

"Sam?" Nat seconded.

Still no answer.

Even with his enhancements, he couldn't see anything besides the outlines of the people already in the room. He tried to use the distraction to get his arm loose or at least grab for a weapon with his arm that was free, but it was close to no use with the vibranium material being manipulated.

He patted around his squatted position, remembering a knife he had tucked in his boot, but knew it was equivalent to one bullet. His only shot and only weapon now.

Taking a deep breath as the sounds of anguish and torment sounded closer, he focused his senses to use his aim as his last resort. Even if he could hinder what was coming, it'd possibly give Stark enough time to get everyone out.

Just as he planned to throw it in the dark toward the girl who was keeping them incapacitated, the lights came back on, and the last person he was expecting was standing in what one could only describe as fury and raw power.

TAGS:

Everest Tags: (if I missed you in tags, comment on this chapter to let me know:)

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