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spicyzackhour · 1 year

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Repressed - A series of events

this is the first fic on a series, hope you enjoy!

Chapter One: Soaked

Noah doesn't know how long has it been since he met the blue haired bastard that had bewitched his body and soul

He remembered him popping in the town one day, he also remembers he started to tag along him and his friends at one point, he can't quite remember how this started tho, a side effect of his alcohol based escapades

He remembers however that he offered him a place to crash, seeing as the blue haired twink didn't had an apartment at the time, and Noah just so happened to have an extra room in his house

He remembers all the times Sky has teased him, those are very frequent, almost daily in a way

The two of them come from completely different backgrounds after all, Noah is catholic and an alcoholic mercenary, Sky doesn't drink, nor does he work as a mercenary, he is a painter, but the digital kind, and he is pretty much a non believer

Noah had never judged him on that front, however their different upbringings did made them clash a couple times, specially because Noah haves a complicated relationship with sex, while Sky seems to have a pretty clear idea of what he likes and how he likes it

Sky often teases him, specially around how repressed Noah is and how bothered and flustered he gets at any topic that is sexual in nature

Even normal bodily functions seem taboo to the blonde, his upbringing making him believe that even staring too long at his own body is sinful, and shameful

However that same repression has been a curse for Noah, as he tents to get turned on by the most innocuous of things, and he doesn't seem to have any control on how and when he gets turned on

Before Sky, his approach was simple, denial denial denial

He doesn't have to admit to his desires if he pretends desires aren't real and sex isn't real at all, if he becomes delusional enough he can pull this stunt off and live a very unsinful life!

It has not worked

It has not worked specially because his roommate seems to be a sex addict who brings people in often, and he is so loud with them

How can Noah delusion himself about sex not being real when Sky is having very loud and depraved sex on the room next to his, when the sounds of the intimacy happening next door had given Noah some unexpected reactions on his own body

He has had to do laundry so often, he didn't knew why his boxer briefs would get so humid lately, he just knew that the humidity bothered him too much, so he had to change them over and over, for some reason they tent to get wet when he hears Sky going on his usual escapades on his room

‘’Doing laundry again sparks?’’ Sky asks him ‘’damn, it's the third time this week, what are you doing to your clothes???’’

‘’Fuck off Sky, i just had a huge stash of them piled up in my room’’ the blonde says ‘’i usually forget to wash them, so once i remember i do a lot of laundry’’

a lie, Noah does have a big pile on his room but he keeps just washing underwear cause he keeps running out of those

‘’Alright alright buddy, next time you do a load can you tell me so i can put some of mine in there?’’ Sky asks him ‘’if you are going to go sicko mode on your clothes i at least could take some advantage out of that”

“I guess…” Noah says, an innocent enough request “fine, you should bring some of your clothes then, i havent started this load yet, so you can stick a couple inside”

“Nah, it's ok!” Sky says, a particularly sugary tone on his voice “i still have clean underwear, you know”

It only took that to make Noah’s face turn red, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't had done, his heart racing on his chest as he didnt knew how to play this off

Was it too obvious?? Did he knew about his predicament??, maybe Noah was over thinking the whole thing, the problem with Sky is always that, there is too much plausible deniability on everything he says

“You ok sparks?” Sky says, the nickname a mocking one “you seem to have blown a fuse there?”

Again with the sweet tone, Noah never knows how to respond to that, usually he would get aggressive with anyone using such a patronizing tone with him, but for some reason when Sky does it, it feels playful and inviting, the problem is that Noah doesn't know how to be playful in return

“I… uh… i'm sure you might have dirty underwear in your room” He says as he turns around and focuses on putting detergent on his clothes

His plan is simple, pretend Sky didn't say anything that bothered him, denial denial denial!

Sky has known Noah for a couple months now, the blond man is an interesting fella to say the least

Noah manages himself in life with a very strong bravado, he always presents himself as someone that must not be fucked around with, a manly man if you will

However the day they met he was really drunk, and while Sky has a personal trauma around drunk people, to his surprise the guy was particularly fun to be around

He also was extremely touchy with Sky, nothing that crossed boundaries, but it seems like Noah likes to hold people and be held when he is drunk

Their conversation that day was about something mundane, both of them have an affinity to music, Sky like playing the piano, Noah knows how to play the drums, they were talking about Twenty One Pilots, not precisely the type of music Sky would had assumed Noah would be into

One thing led to another and Noah offered him a spare room on his house, something that Sky was very grateful for as he is not used to living alone

Their living arrangements had been amicable, except on the front of dating

Sky is not really up for a committed relationship at the moment, but he likes hooking up every so often, he also loves having sex, the endorphin rush of an orgasm has become addictive to him

Its because the closeness of sex can be easily interpreted as intimacy, he doesn't need to know more about the person he is having sex with as long as he cums and feels those endorphins hit his brain, and the caresses and touches can replace his need to be emotionally close to others

He is really weary of getting attached to anyone, after all, he always finds a way to ruin his relationships sooner or later, so this hookups are perfect for him

The problem is that Noah seems to be his exact opposite, he is a loner, he is reclusive, and he seems really judgmental of Sky bringing in so many people to have sex with

It could also be that Sky has had sex with his two best friends before, just one night stands tho, none of those turned to a relationship really

However he did noticed that after those, Noah was particularly grumpy and bitter towards him, he doesn't know if its because he had a latent crush on his friends or if its cause he has a latent crush on him

The idea amuses him

He started teasing Noah about his hang ups with sex, it all started as just jokes and attempts on Sky to be funny, but after a while he noticed a very interesting reaction to his teasing

Noah would get flustered and red, Noah’s tanned skinned should had made it more difficult for Sky to notice the blushing on his face, but the reaction was so strong and visceral he was bright like a tomato sometimes

He also noticed that Noah never puts a stop to his teasing, Noah is really strong and direct when he needs to be, if he is not comfortable with a situation he will let everyone know, but everytime Sky had teased him or prove his hang ups, he has just changed the topic or felt awkward, but he has never asked him to stop

Sky is no stranger to repressed guys, he has dealt many times with those, Noah however is peculiar in the way that he seems to be enjoying the teasing in a way, but Sky also notices that Noah is probably not conscious about why that is

It's fun in a way, Sky feels almost like a cat playing around with a toy, a particularly flustered toy at that

His teasing has landed him here, on the laundry room, with a very flustered blonde struggling to add detergent to his clothes

Noah’s hands are shaking, his ears are so red, it feels almost as if he was emanating heat, there is a good foot or so between him and Sky and yet Sky can feel that overwhelming warmth coming from him

This is to fun to ignore, Sky has decided, he will kick things up a notch and see where that takes him

“Let me help you sparks” he says as he grabs Noah’s hands and guides them through the painstakingly boring motion of adding detergent to his laundry “you seem very nervous here”

Sky’s tone is more sultry than sweet, if Noah didn't knew better he would think he was flirting with him, but that’s not possible as people don't usually flirt with him, this is just him overthinking, it's just two roomates washing clothes

Denial, denial, denial

Sky is actually surprised at Noah’s reaction, he didn’t fought him here, he didn't threw a punch his direction, something Noah usually does as he likes to play rough with his friends

He didn't even threw any snarky remarks or even an angry look his way, he went quiet, he is letting Sky guide him through the motion

Noah is tense however, with the closeness Sky can notice that he is breathing quite heavily, and he feels like a goddamn radiator with the amount of heat he is producing, it's incredibly overwhelming

“There! You can do your laundry now!” Sky says as he lets go of Noah’s hands, his tone back to a sugary one as he plays it off as if nothing had happened here “i'm going to sweep my room now, i have a date in a couple hours so i need to tidy up!”

Sky walks away from the laundry room, leaving Noah still shock to his core as he stares at the washing machine too intensely

“If you order any food, let me know buddy! So I can order some too!!” Sky says as he walks away, almost skipping in his walk

He is getting further away from the scene, not even looking at the mess he had created

Noah on the other hand, starts shaking in his spot, as he squats down next to the laundry machine, his underwear is soaked, and he haves no idea why this just happened

#oc #writing #noah #sky #repressed

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whileiamdying · 7 years

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Emily Brontë’s WUTHERING HEIGHTS; Chapter XI

Sometimes, while meditating on these things in solitude, I’ve got up in a sudden terror, and put on my bonnet to go see how all was at the farm. I’ve persuaded my conscience that it was a duty to warn him how people talked regarding his ways; and then I’ve recollected his confirmed bad habits, and, hopeless of benefiting him, have flinched from re-entering the dismal house, doubting if I could bear to be taken at my word.

One time I passed the old gate, going out of my way, on a journey to Gimmerton. It was about the period that my narrative has reached: a bright frosty afternoon; the ground bare, and the road hard and dry. I came to a stone where the highway branches off on to the moor at your left hand; a rough sand-pillar, with the letters W. H. cut on its north side, on the east, G., and on the south-west, T. G. It serves as a guide-post to the Grange, the Heights, and village. The sun shone yellow on its grey head, reminding me of summer; and I cannot say why, but all at once a gush of child’s sensations flowed into my heart. Hindley and I held it a favourite spot twenty years before. I gazed long at the weather-worn block; and, stooping down, perceived a hole near the bottom still full of snail-shells and pebbles, which we were fond of storing there with more perishable things; and, as fresh as reality, it appeared that I beheld my early playmate seated on the withered turf: his dark, square head bent forward, and his little hand scooping out the earth with a piece of slate. “Poor Hindley!” I exclaimed, involuntarily. I started: my bodily eye was cheated into a momentary belief that the child lifted its face and stared straight into mine! It vanished in a twinkling; but immediately I felt an irresistible yearning to be at the Heights. Superstition urged me to comply with this impulse: supposing he should be dead! I thought—or should die soon!—supposing it were a sign of death! The nearer I got to the house the more agitated I grew; and on catching sight of it I trembled in every limb. The apparition had outstripped me: it stood looking through the gate. That was my first idea on observing an elf-locked, brown-eyed boy setting his ruddy countenance against the bars. Further reflection suggested this must be Hareton, my Hareton, not altered greatly since I left him, ten months since.

“God bless thee, darling!” I cried, forgetting instantaneously my foolish fears. “Hareton, it’s Nelly! Nelly, thy nurse.”

He retreated out of arm’s length, and picked up a large flint.

“I am come to see thy father, Hareton,” I added, guessing from the action that Nelly, if she lived in his memory at all, was not recognised as one with me.

He raised his missile to hurl it; I commenced a soothing speech, but could not stay his hand: the stone struck my bonnet; and then ensued, from the stammering lips of the little fellow, a string of curses, which, whether he comprehended them or not, were delivered with practised emphasis, and distorted his baby features into a shocking expression of malignity. You may be certain this grieved more than angered me. Fit to cry, I took an orange from my pocket, and offered it to propitiate him. He hesitated, and then snatched it from my hold; as if he fancied I only intended to tempt and disappoint him. I showed another, keeping it out of his reach.

“Who has taught you those fine words, my bairn?” I inquired. “The curate?”

“Damn the curate, and thee! Gie me that,” he replied.

“Tell us where you got your lessons, and you shall have it,” said I. “Who’s your master?”

“Devil daddy,” was his answer.

“And what do you learn from daddy?” I continued.

He jumped at the fruit; I raised it higher. “What does he teach you?” I asked.

“Naught,” said he, “but to keep out of his gait. Daddy cannot bide me, because I swear at him.”

“Ah! and the devil teaches you to swear at daddy?” I observed.

“Ay—nay,” he drawled.

“Who, then?”

“Heathcliff.”

“I asked if he liked Mr. Heathcliff.”

“Ay!” he answered again.

Desiring to have his reasons for liking him, I could only gather the sentences—“I known’t: he pays dad back what he gies to me—he curses daddy for cursing me. He says I mun do as I will.”

“And the curate does not teach you to read and write, then?” I pursued.

“No, I was told the curate should have his —— teeth dashed down his —— throat, if he stepped over the threshold—Heathcliff had promised that!”

I put the orange in his hand, and bade him tell his father that a woman called Nelly Dean was waiting to speak with him, by the garden gate. He went up the walk, and entered the house; but, instead of Hindley, Heathcliff appeared on the door-stones; and I turned directly and ran down the road as hard as ever I could race, making no halt till I gained the guide-post, and feeling as scared as if I had raised a goblin. This is not much connected with Miss Isabella’s affair: except that it urged me to resolve further on mounting vigilant guard, and doing my utmost to check the spread of such bad influence at the Grange: even though I should wake a domestic storm, by thwarting Mrs. Linton’s pleasure.

The next time Heathcliff came my young lady chanced to be feeding some pigeons in the court. She had never spoken a word to her sister-in-law for three days; but she had likewise dropped her fretful complaining, and we found it a great comfort. Heathcliff had not the habit of bestowing a single unnecessary civility on Miss Linton, I knew. Now, as soon as he beheld her, his first precaution was to take a sweeping survey of the house-front. I was standing by the kitchen-window, but I drew out of sight. He then stepped across the pavement to her, and said something: she seemed embarrassed, and desirous of getting away; to prevent it, he laid his hand on her arm. She averted her face: he apparently put some question which she had no mind to answer. There was another rapid glance at the house, and supposing himself unseen, the scoundrel had the impudence to embrace her.

“Judas! Traitor!” I ejaculated. “You are a hypocrite, too, are you? A deliberate deceiver.”

“Who is, Nelly?” said Catherine’s voice at my elbow: I had been over-intent on watching the pair outside to mark her entrance.

“Your worthless friend!” I answered, warmly: “the sneaking rascal yonder. Ah, he has caught a glimpse of us—he is coming in! I wonder will he have the heart to find a plausible excuse for making love to Miss, when he told you he hated her?”

Mrs. Linton saw Isabella tear herself free, and run into the garden; and a minute after, Heathcliff opened the door. I couldn’t withhold giving some loose to my indignation; but Catherine angrily insisted on silence, and threatened to order me out of the kitchen, if I dared to be so presumptuous as to put in my insolent tongue.

“To hear you, people might think you were the mistress!” she cried. “You want setting down in your right place! Heathcliff, what are you about, raising this stir? I said you must let Isabella alone!—I beg you will, unless you are tired of being received here, and wish Linton to draw the bolts against you!”

“God forbid that he should try!” answered the black villain. I detested him just then. “God keep him meek and patient! Every day I grow madder after sending him to heaven!”

“Hush!” said Catherine, shutting the inner door. “Don’t vex me. Why have you disregarded my request? Did she come across you on purpose?”

“What is it to you?” he growled. “I have a right to kiss her, if she chooses; and you have no right to object. I am not your husband: you needn’t be jealous of me!”

“I’m not jealous of you,” replied the mistress; “I’m jealous for you. Clear your face: you sha’n’t scowl at me! If you like Isabella, you shall marry her. But do you like her? Tell the truth, Heathcliff! There, you won’t answer. I’m certain you don’t.”

“And would Mr. Linton approve of his sister marrying that man?” I inquired.

“Mr. Linton should approve,” returned my lady, decisively.

“He might spare himself the trouble,” said Heathcliff: “I could do as well without his approbation. And as to you, Catherine, I have a mind to speak a few words now, while we are at it. I want you to be aware that I know you have treated me infernally—infernally! Do you hear? And if you flatter yourself that I don’t perceive it, you are a fool; and if you think I can be consoled by sweet words, you are an idiot: and if you fancy I’ll suffer unrevenged, I’ll convince you of the contrary, in a very little while! Meantime, thank you for telling me your sister-in-law’s secret: I swear I’ll make the most of it. And stand you aside!”

“What new phase of his character is this?” exclaimed Mrs. Linton, in amazement. “I’ve treated you infernally—and you’ll take your revenge! How will you take it, ungrateful brute? How have I treated you infernally?”

“I seek no revenge on you,” replied Heathcliff, less vehemently. “That’s not the plan. The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don’t turn against him; they crush those beneath them. You are welcome to torture me to death for your amusement, only allow me to amuse myself a little in the same style, and refrain from insult as much as you are able. Having levelled my palace, don’t erect a hovel and complacently admire your own charity in giving me that for a home. If I imagined you really wished me to marry Isabel, I’d cut my throat!”

“Oh, the evil is that I am not jealous, is it?” cried Catherine. “Well, I won’t repeat my offer of a wife: it is as bad as offering Satan a lost soul. Your bliss lies, like his, in inflicting misery. You prove it. Edgar is restored from the ill-temper he gave way to at your coming; I begin to be secure and tranquil; and you, restless to know us at peace, appear resolved on exciting a quarrel. Quarrel with Edgar, if you please, Heathcliff, and deceive his sister: you’ll hit on exactly the most efficient method of revenging yourself on me.”

The conversation ceased. Mrs. Linton sat down by the fire, flushed and gloomy. The spirit which served her was growing intractable: she could neither lay nor control it. He stood on the hearth with folded arms, brooding on his evil thoughts; and in this position I left them to seek the master, who was wondering what kept Catherine below so long.

“Ellen,” said he, when I entered, “have you seen your mistress?”

“Yes; she’s in the kitchen, sir,” I answered. “She’s sadly put out by Mr. Heathcliff’s behaviour: and, indeed, I do think it’s time to arrange his visits on another footing. There’s harm in being too soft, and now it’s come to this—.” And I related the scene in the court, and, as near as I dared, the whole subsequent dispute. I fancied it could not be very prejudicial to Mrs. Linton; unless she made it so afterwards, by assuming the defensive for her guest. Edgar Linton had difficulty in hearing me to the close. His first words revealed that he did not clear his wife of blame.

“This is insufferable!” he exclaimed. “It is disgraceful that she should own him for a friend, and force his company on me! Call me two men out of the hall, Ellen. Catherine shall linger no longer to argue with the low ruffian—I have humoured her enough.”

He descended, and bidding the servants wait in the passage, went, followed by me, to the kitchen. Its occupants had recommenced their angry discussion: Mrs. Linton, at least, was scolding with renewed vigour; Heathcliff had moved to the window, and hung his head, somewhat cowed by her violent rating apparently. He saw the master first, and made a hasty motion that she should be silent; which she obeyed, abruptly, on discovering the reason of his intimation.

“How is this?” said Linton, addressing her; “what notion of propriety must you have to remain here, after the language which has been held to you by that blackguard? I suppose, because it is his ordinary talk you think nothing of it: you are habituated to his baseness, and, perhaps, imagine I can get used to it too!”

“Have you been listening at the door, Edgar?” asked the mistress, in a tone particularly calculated to provoke her husband, implying both carelessness and contempt of his irritation. Heathcliff, who had raised his eyes at the former speech, gave a sneering laugh at the latter; on purpose, it seemed, to draw Mr. Linton’s attention to him. He succeeded; but Edgar did not mean to entertain him with any high flights of passion.

“I’ve been so far forbearing with you, sir,” he said quietly; “not that I was ignorant of your miserable, degraded character, but I felt you were only partly responsible for that; and Catherine wishing to keep up your acquaintance, I acquiesced—foolishly. Your presence is a moral poison that would contaminate the most virtuous: for that cause, and to prevent worse consequences, I shall deny you hereafter admission into this house, and give notice now that I require your instant departure. Three minutes’ delay will render it involuntary and ignominious.”

Heathcliff measured the height and breadth of the speaker with an eye full of derision.

“Cathy, this lamb of yours threatens like a bull!” he said. “It is in danger of splitting its skull against my knuckles. By God! Mr. Linton, I’m mortally sorry that you are not worth knocking down!”

My master glanced towards the passage, and signed me to fetch the men: he had no intention of hazarding a personal encounter. I obeyed the hint; but Mrs. Linton, suspecting something, followed; and when I attempted to call them, she pulled me back, slammed the door to, and locked it.

“Fair means!” she said, in answer to her husband’s look of angry surprise. “If you have not courage to attack him, make an apology, or allow yourself to be beaten. It will correct you of feigning more valour than you possess. No, I’ll swallow the key before you shall get it! I’m delightfully rewarded for my kindness to each! After constant indulgence of one’s weak nature, and the other’s bad one, I earn for thanks two samples of blind ingratitude, stupid to absurdity! Edgar, I was defending you and yours; and I wish Heathcliff may flog you sick, for daring to think an evil thought of me!”

It did not need the medium of a flogging to produce that effect on the master. He tried to wrest the key from Catherine’s grasp, and for safety she flung it into the hottest part of the fire; whereupon Mr. Edgar was taken with a nervous trembling, and his countenance grew deadly pale. For his life he could not avert that excess of emotion: mingled anguish and humiliation overcame him completely. He leant on the back of a chair, and covered his face.

“Oh, heavens! In old days this would win you knighthood!” exclaimed Mrs. Linton. “We are vanquished! we are vanquished! Heathcliff would as soon lift a finger at you as the king would march his army against a colony of mice. Cheer up! you sha’n’t be hurt! Your type is not a lamb, it’s a sucking leveret.”

“I wish you joy of the milk-blooded coward, Cathy!” said her friend. “I compliment you on your taste. And that is the slavering, shivering thing you preferred to me! I would not strike him with my fist, but I’d kick him with my foot, and experience considerable satisfaction. Is he weeping, or is he going to faint for fear?”

The fellow approached and gave the chair on which Linton rested a push. He’d better have kept his distance: my master quickly sprang erect, and struck him full on the throat a blow that would have levelled a slighter man. It took his breath for a minute; and while he choked, Mr. Linton walked out by the back door into the yard, and from thence to the front entrance.

“There! you’ve done with coming here,” cried Catherine. “Get away, now; he’ll return with a brace of pistols and half-a-dozen assistants. If he did overhear us, of course he’d never forgive you. You’ve played me an ill turn, Heathcliff! But go—make haste! I’d rather see Edgar at bay than you.”

“Do you suppose I’m going with that blow burning in my gullet?” he thundered. “By hell, no! I’ll crush his ribs in like a rotten hazel-nut before I cross the threshold! If I don’t floor him now, I shall murder him some time; so, as you value his existence, let me get at him!”

“He is not coming,” I interposed, framing a bit of a lie. “There’s the coachman and the two gardeners; you’ll surely not wait to be thrust into the road by them! Each has a bludgeon; and master will, very likely, be watching from the parlour-windows to see that they fulfil his orders.”

The gardeners and coachman were there: but Linton was with them. They had already entered the court. Heathcliff, on the second thoughts, resolved to avoid a struggle against three underlings: he seized the poker, smashed the lock from the inner door, and made his escape as they tramped in.

Mrs. Linton, who was very much excited, bade me accompany her upstairs. She did not know my share in contributing to the disturbance, and I was anxious to keep her in ignorance.

“I’m nearly distracted, Nelly!” she exclaimed, throwing herself on the sofa. “A thousand smiths’ hammers are beating in my head! Tell Isabella to shun me; this uproar is owing to her; and should she or any one else aggravate my anger at present, I shall get wild. And, Nelly, say to Edgar, if you see him again to-night, that I’m in danger of being seriously ill. I wish it may prove true. He has startled and distressed me shockingly! I want to frighten him. Besides, he might come and begin a string of abuse or complainings; I’m certain I should recriminate, and God knows where we should end! Will you do so, my good Nelly? You are aware that I am no way blamable in this matter. What possessed him to turn listener? Heathcliff’s talk was outrageous, after you left us; but I could soon have diverted him from Isabella, and the rest meant nothing. Now all is dashed wrong; by the fool’s craving to hear evil of self, that haunts some people like a demon! Had Edgar never gathered our conversation, he would never have been the worse for it. Really, when he opened on me in that unreasonable tone of displeasure after I had scolded Heathcliff till I was hoarse for him; I did not care hardly what they did to each other; especially as I felt that, however the scene closed, we should all be driven asunder for nobody knows how long! Well, if I cannot keep Heathcliff for my friend—if Edgar will be mean and jealous, I’ll try to break their hearts by breaking my own. That will be a prompt way of finishing all, when I am pushed to extremity! But it’s a deed to be reserved for a forlorn hope; I’d not take Linton by surprise with it. To this point he has been discreet in dreading to provoke me; you must represent the peril of quitting that policy, and remind him of my passionate temper, verging, when kindled, on frenzy. I wish you could dismiss that apathy out of that countenance, and look rather more anxious about me.”

The stolidity with which I received these instructions was, no doubt, rather exasperating: for they were delivered in perfect sincerity; but I believed a person who could plan the turning of her fits of passion to account, beforehand, might, by exerting her will, manage to control herself tolerably, even while under their influence; and I did not wish to “frighten” her husband, as she said, and multiply his annoyances for the purpose of serving her selfishness. Therefore I said nothing when I met the master coming towards the parlour; but I took the liberty of turning back to listen whether they would resume their quarrel together. He began to speak first.

“Remain where you are, Catherine,” he said; without any anger in his voice, but with much sorrowful despondency. “I shall not stay. I am neither come to wrangle nor be reconciled; but I wish just to learn whether, after this evening’s events, you intend to continue your intimacy with—”

“Oh, for mercy’s sake,” interrupted the mistress, stamping her foot, “for mercy’s sake, let us hear no more of it now! Your cold blood cannot be worked into a fever: your veins are full of ice-water; but mine are boiling, and the sight of such chillness makes them dance.”

“To get rid of me, answer my question,” persevered Mr. Linton. “You must answer it; and that violence does not alarm me. I have found that you can be as stoical as anyone, when you please. Will you give up Heathcliff hereafter, or will you give up me? It is impossible for you to be my friend and his at the same time; and I absolutely require to know which you choose.”

“I require to be let alone!” exclaimed Catherine, furiously. “I demand it! Don’t you see I can scarcely stand? Edgar, you—you leave me!”

She rang the bell till it broke with a twang; I entered leisurely. It was enough to try the temper of a saint, such senseless, wicked rages! There she lay dashing her head against the arm of the sofa, and grinding her teeth, so that you might fancy she would crash them to splinters! Mr. Linton stood looking at her in sudden compunction and fear. He told me to fetch some water. She had no breath for speaking. I brought a glass full; and as she would not drink, I sprinkled it on her face. In a few seconds she stretched herself out stiff, and turned up her eyes, while her cheeks, at once blanched and livid, assumed the aspect of death. Linton looked terrified.

“There is nothing in the world the matter,” I whispered. I did not want him to yield, though I could not help being afraid in my heart.

“She has blood on her lips!” he said, shuddering.

“Never mind!” I answered, tartly. And I told him how she had resolved, previous to his coming, on exhibiting a fit of frenzy. I incautiously gave the account aloud, and she heard me; for she started up—her hair flying over her shoulders, her eyes flashing, the muscles of her neck and arms standing out preternaturally. I made up my mind for broken bones, at least; but she only glared about her for an instant, and then rushed from the room. The master directed me to follow; I did, to her chamber-door: she hindered me from going further by securing it against me.

As she never offered to descend to breakfast next morning, I went to ask whether she would have some carried up. “No!” she replied, peremptorily. The same question was repeated at dinner and tea; and again on the morrow after, and received the same answer. Mr. Linton, on his part, spent his time in the library, and did not inquire concerning his wife’s occupations. Isabella and he had had an hour’s interview, during which he tried to elicit from her some sentiment of proper horror for Heathcliff’s advances: but he could make nothing of her evasive replies, and was obliged to close the examination unsatisfactorily; adding, however, a solemn warning, that if she were so insane as to encourage that worthless suitor, it would dissolve all bonds of relationship between herself and him.

#Wuthering Heights #Emily Brontë #Gutenberg Project

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hornime · 3 years

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trigger happy | sakusa kiyoomi x f!reader

warnings: 18+, sub!sakusa, f!reader, DARK CONTENT (PLEASE DON’T READ IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH THIS), dubcon/noncon, gun play, degradation, orgasm denial, mention of death/murder, descriptions of gore

w/c: 2.3k

a/n: this is my piece for @inarizahki‘s mafia collab!!! thank you sunny for letting me join ( ˘ ³˘)❤ this is essentially a continuation to gun’s out but it can be read as a one-shot. also this is obvious but i know absolutely nothing about the mafia except for boom boom pow pow

you can tell that sakusa is trying to say something, probably cursing you out or threatening you with death the moment he gets out of this situation, but all of his words are muffled by the gun between his lips. he looks good like this, flushed red with anger and arousal, yet completely under your control, lest he wants to get shot.

the two of you are from rival gangs that are constantly engaged in territorial disputes. you’d each shot each others’ friends and allies, hell, you were responsible for the murder of komori motoya. it was a high-stress life, either kill or be killed, and you knew that.

but you also took advantage of that when you could—after all, with stress comes a lot of pent-up frustration, specifically sexual frustration.

and sakusa kiyoomi was the most stressed of them all.

wrenching the gun out of his mouth, you watch greedily as the line of spit connecting his mouth with barrel stretches and breaks in the space between your chests, before pressing it to his heart.

“i’m gonna fucking kill you,” he rasps, throat sore from the metal that was in it just moments before. his eyes are glinting dangerously—that’s how you know he’s true to his word—and almost completely black, the pupils bleeding into his irises. “i’m gonna make you watch as i cut each of your limbs off and let you bleed out onto the floor.”

“aw, but kiyoomi,” you fake pout, tilting your head to the side. “what’s the fun in that?”

he growls as your finger traces between his pecs and across his abs, maintaining nothing less than a venomous glare at you. “i’m serious. i’m going to tie you to this chair—”

“—like that worked out so well the first time—” you snicker.

“—fine. handcuff you to this chair—”

“—kinky—” you giggle.

“stop fucking interrupting me,” he snarls, voice scarily low. “i’ll handcuff you to this chair, take my knife, and watch all the blood drain from your body, and then use your lifeless corpse as a rug.”

you wrinkle your nose, completely unfazed. “gross.”

your finger draws a line along the shaft of his cock, still untucked from his pants from earlier, and sakusa sucks in a breath—it’s subtle because he’s been trained, as have you, to control your bodily impulses in dire times, but your hand feels his lungs push out just the slightest. you smile sadistically; no amount of training can truly suppress the most human desire of them all: lust.

“don’t touch me.” his voice is a little breathy now, the deep bass of it faltering slightly as your hand trails lower, fingers closing around the bottom of his cock. “i mean it.”

“mhm,” you purr. “i’m sure you do. but you’re not really in a position to be making demands right now, are you?”

your hand travels lower to fondle one of his balls, which elicits a shocked gasp from him, one he tries to cover up by coughing.

“don’t,” he grits his teeth, fighting back a groan, “touch me.”

you hum, leaning forward until your lips graze the shell of his ear. he flinches slightly, not able to move much since you're straddling him, but tries all the same to move away. “do you want me to put it in?”

he hesitates and you know you’ve got him, like a fly in honey. if the way his cock is hardening in your grip isn’t enough to confirm that, the fact that he takes a second too long to respond tells you everything you need to know.

“no.”

“aw, you don’t mean that.” you slightly lift your body, cold air hitting your cunt and making you hiss. you grab his wrist and move his hand so that it’s hovering just under your body, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of you. “put it in,” you say seductively, voice sickly sweet like molasses.

“no.”

fed up with his lack of compliance—he’s acting like such a fucking brat—you drop your salacious facade, features hardening and smile dropping. sakusa’s eyes widen in fear as you cock the gun, face filled with such unadulterated hatred that he’s scared you’ll actually kill him. you dig the gun further into his breastbone, eliciting a shocked gasp for him as it burns his chest with a dull pain.

“i said put it in.” your authoritative, and frankly, threatening tone, make his hands shake as one comes to rest on your hip, the other fumbling with his cock.

he inhales, taking a moment to question himself, but, with a quick glance to you, he makes up his mind: you're clearly the one in control here. it'd be in his best interest—especially if he wants to get out of this alive—to obey your every word.

you sharply push the barrel further into his lungs, constricting his breathing for a scary second, before leaving him gasping and sputtering. “don’t make me say it again.”

sakusa frantically complies as you fiddle with the gun’s trigger, letting the cool metal run along his shoulders, across his jugular, and then moving it upwards until it’s snug against the bottom of his chin. his hands rest tentatively on the plush of your hips before pulling your forward so that you’re suspended just above his cock.

there’s a silence—like the vacuum of noise that preludes the deafening pierce of a bullet.

and then you lower yourself down, the two of you moaning softly in the still air as the tension rises to its peak before cascading downwards.

sakusa throws his head back as your soft, pillowy walls glide along his cock, your arousal aiding the process.

he's unable to prevent a breathy moan from leaving his parted lips as your ass settles down on his thighs. you start rocking back and forth, every ridge and vein of his shaft rubbing against you in a way that makes heat pool in your lower stomach.

"fuck, you feel good," he whines, voice high-pitched as you roll your hips. you bite your lip at how quickly he's given in to the pleasure. despite his stony facade, he really is just like every other man—weak and pussy-whipped.

"yeah, you like this? you like this pussy?"

"god, yes," he murmurs, a blissed-out expression on his face. his eyes are hazy and mouth goes slack as you clench around him. "i love it."

you chuckle. "you're such a slut."

his hands come up to grab at your hips and you excuse the action—poor thing's too dumb to obey orders right now.

one of your hands comes to rest on his shoulder, the other still clutching the gun, and you use his body as leverage as you begin bouncing up and down.

"oh, fuck!" he cries, silvery tears beginning to prick the corners of his eyes. he feels like a toy, just something for you to use as you gyrate your hips, and he can't help but enjoy the feeling of being completely at your mercy. "oh god, you're so tight, so wet, i'm gonna fuckin' cum."

"you better not," you snarl, pushing the gun more insistently into his chest. "not until i say you can, whore."

you bite down hard on your lip to stifle what would definitely be an embarrassingly high-pitched whine as his cock fills you whole. it brushes against a tender spot inside you that makes you jerk with a pornographic keen, your fingers flinching over the gun's trigger as you try to keep yourself from pulling it and shooting a bullet straight into sakusa's skull.

at least not yet. you're not done playing with him. maybe another day.

the lewd sounds of skin-on-skin float through the air as you move up and down, sakusa's strength helping you do so when your knees become wobbly. with every thrust of his cock into you, you gasp, letting the pleasure overtake each of your senses. as quickly as you find yourself falling victim to the feeling of him inside you, you know that sakusa's in an infinitely worse state.

he's too far gone to be humiliated by the way he's sniveling, desperately trying to stave off his orgasm to avoid disobeying you. every time you pull yourself off of him so that just the tip is inside, he whines, and every time you bring yourself back down, enveloping him in a squeezing heat, he lets out a broken moan.

the way he's looking is absolutely debauched—he's gorgeous, a splattering of pink blush along his cheeks mirroring the color of his bitten lips. his glossy eyes are blown out wide, locked on the way your tits sway with every movement of his hips.

you take note of his focused gaze, nose crinkling in amusement. "you wanna suck?"

he gazes up at you like you've hung the stars in the sky, pupils practically forming hearts. "please."

he cranes his head to latch his lips around one of your nipples, completely uncaring to the way the new position sends an ache through his front as the gun pushes harder against him. the swirling of his tongue sends muted rushes of satisfaction through your nerves and straight to your cunt, which is getting sloppier and sloppier. you're close—but sakusa’s closer.

"kiyoomi," you purr, hot breath tickling his ear. "you wanna cum, don't you?"

he makes a muffled noise, his mouth still occupied with your tit, as you purposefully tighten around his cock, making his eyes roll back.

"wan' 't so bad," he musters, the words sending vibrations through your soft flesh. "'lease, 'lease, 'll do 'nythin'"

"touch my clit and i'll see if i want to let you."

his reaction is immediate—long, slender fingers unfurl themselves from the crease of your waist and thigh and move downwards. he shivers as the pad of his thumb meets the hot, wet plush of your pussy, shifting to stroke soft circles into your sensitive clit.

"ah!" you can't help but moan as his skin comes into contact with the bud. "right there, fuck, right there."

he detaches from your nipple, a slick string of spit connecting his tongue to it, before feverishly moving to your other breast. he delves into the delicate mound, trying his best to quiet his own noises—needy and pathetic whimpers of pleasure.

rubbing your clit is doing nothing but making his head spin as he scrambles to get a hold on himself—he wants to cum so bad it hurts, but he's grasping the last of his self-control to follow your orders.

moving his thumb just makes you constrict around him as you move up and down—you're like a vice, a hot, wet, and soft vice that's going to milk him fucking dry. you bring your free hand up to tug at his hair and push him farther into your chest, and he digs his fingernails into the meat of his palm to keep himself from cumming on the spot.

even when you're using him, threatening his life, he can't help but want more, more, more. it feels as easy as breathing air to forget everything he's ever been taught in this line of work and just succumb to your hypnotic power and perfect fucking body.

sparks of pleasure singe your limbs as they strike your cunt over and over, the combined sensations of his delicious cock inside you and accelerating pressure on your clit building a peak that will spike at any moment. sakusa flattens his tongue along your nipple while speeding up his thumb and you scream.

"fuck, c-cum for me, kiyoomi. right fucking now. cum in me, you bitch. cum."

sakusa lets out a pornographic noise, his body trembling as he cums on command, abs rippling under the push of the gun, adam's apple bobbing as he gasps to replace the air that's been knocked out of his lungs. you follow suit, the muscles in your thighs tightening around his waist as the tension between your legs snaps and sends you spiraling.

you have half a mind to slacken your grip on the gun—if you didn't, you'd have yet another murder on your hands.

both of your hearts are beating through your chests as you collect your bearings, soft pants swirling around you. you shift forward, forcing some of his pearly cum to drip down his shaft, until your sweaty foreheads are pressed against one another. sakusa peers at you with big, doe eyes.

"that was fun," you remark breathily, pulling the gun away from him and waving it in the air. "we should do that again sometime."

at the removal of the weapon, sakusa lets out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. his head rolls forward onto your shoulder as his neck sags—the exhaustion of sex catches up with him as you begin cleaning yourself up.

you slink away, gingerly crawling up and off of his lap and cringing at the feeling of cum spilling out of your abused pussy. you quickly get dressed, gathering the clothes you'd discarded from the floor, and yanking them onto your body. you're going to have hell to explain when the rest of your group realizes you ditched the mission.

"where're you going?" sakusa's weak and raspy voice catches your attention.

"to kill people," you quip. "aren't you supposed to be doing the same?" he sighs, tucking his cock back into his boxers and zipping his pants.

"yeah, i guess."

you shrug, making your way out of the warehouse.

"wait," he calls. "is this... a truce? you didn't kill me."

"you didn't kill me either. so i guess it is."

he nods, opening his mouth to speak before hesitating. "can we, uh, can we do this again?"

you snort. "if you really want to. no promises that i won't shoot you, though. you got lucky this time."

as he watches your hips sway when you leave, an uneasy feeling spreads throughout his chest.

sure, being in the mafia is hard. but becoming reliant on someone in the mafia, someone you're supposed to be sworn enemies with, is even harder.

if you enjoyed, reblogs + comments are appreciated!

#sakusa smut #sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa x y/n #sub sakusa #sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi smut #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #sub haikyuu #dom reader #kinky.inky #mafia!haikyuu collab

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mydekuacademia · 3 years

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Deku nsfw alphabet please?

My bb BOY

A: Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He is wonderful at aftercare! The second he catches his breath, hes running to the bathroom to get a damp cloth and to throw a blanket in the dryer to warm it up and make your as comfortable as possible. After youre both cleaned up and huddled under the warm blanket, he cuddles you for at least a couple hours

B: Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner)

His favorite body parts of his own are his legs. Hes self conscious of the scars on his arms, and he knows his legs are strong as hell since he transitioned to training them more. On you, he loves your chest, boobs or nah. He adores kissing your chest and lightly tracing the contours

C: Cum (Anything to do with cum)

He is a safe and responsible hero, so he prefers to use condoms. Plus, he cant imagine that the feeling of cum dripping on/out of you is terribly pleasant

D: Dirty Secret

He secretly wants you to dom the hell out of him, but hes way too shy to ask. You know hes a switch, but he tries not to make it obvious how much he likes when you take control

E: Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

The most experience he might have is some heavy petting and grinding in a past relationship. Hes come a long way since UA though, so hes more comfortable with himself and his partner.

That being said, he knows what hes doing. He absolutely researches techniques and positions and stuff before getting intimate with you

F: Favorite Position

He likes cowgirl, missionary, and lotus mostly. Pretty much, he wants to see your face to make sure hes doing everything right (also, access to your chest :) )

G: Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

He can be a little goofy, but hes mostly prettt serious. The most he would do is crack a joke about how awkward it is to change position or something similar

H: Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

The carpet does indeed match the drapes, just a little darker.

The first time yall had sex, he wasnt trimmed at all. To be fair, he wasnt expecting it to happen. After that, though, he was neatly trimmed

I: Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Hes so intimate you want to cry omg. Hes constantly whispering in your ear how much he loves you, caressing your cheek, placing soft kisses on your lips and forehead, checking to make sure everythings alright, etc

J: Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He usually masturbates twice a week or so. Sometimes, hes too shy to ask you to help, or he knows youve had a tough day and just want to chill, so he takes care of it himself. Hell juat duck into the shower for a quick wank and join you in bed afterwards

K: Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He has a massive praise kink. He l i v e s for being told how good hes doing and what a good boy he is. He also lowkey enjoys roleplay where youre a civilian that needs to be rescued and hes your savior.

If he ever tells you about his desire to be dommed, he would LOVE to get pegged

L: Location (Favorite places to do the do)

He prefers the bed, but hes also comfortable with your couch if youre too comfy to move

M: Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Mostly, midoriya gets turned on by how much he loves you. A small peck turns into making out turns into sensual sex. He also might get flustered if you wear something tight-fitting or revealing

N: NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He absolutely wont use his quirk or do anything to hurt you, not even spanking. Also no degredation, humiliation, bodily fluids, etc

O: Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He prefers giving over receiving. After some practice, he becomes a GOD at giving oral to the point that he wants you to come in his mouth before getting to the main event.

He enjoys receiving, he just really likes pleasing you first and foremost

P: Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

99% of the time, hes more slow and sensual. Sex, to him, is more of an act of love than just getting off. However, if hes had a rough day and is frustrated, he'll pick up the pace a bit

Q: Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Not a fan, tbh. He wants to take his time with you. That being said, if you really, really want one, he'll cave. Hes absolutely going to take his time with you later, though

R: Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Izu isnt huge on risks. Hes down to experiment, sure, but he doesnt want to get caught. He might actually die if somebody saw you two like that

S: Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

With as much training as hes done, he has so much goddamn stamina its insane. If he really wanted to, he could go /several/ rounds, each lasting a long time. Hes not gonna overstimulate you though

T: Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He's too shy to buy anything for himself, but hed use it if you gave it to him. Hes most likely to enjoy a strap-on if anything

U: Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He only teases you if hes in a really playful mood. Normally, he wont tease because it makes him feel mean

V: Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He can get pretty loud sometimes, especially when hes close to cumming. Hed let out a deep groan/moan and the occasional curse and maybe cry out your name. Aside from that, his moans are loud enough for you to hear, but not loud enough to worry about the neighbors hearing

W: Wild Card (Random headcanon)

He once found All Might themed condoms and bought them with absolutely no intention of ever using them, but he did end up using them on one occasion when you ran out if the normal ones. He couldnt look all might in the eye for weeks

X: X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Hes lowkey kinda packing. Slightly bigger than average with good girth. He didnt know it was anything special until you came along and told him

Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Pretty average tbh, but he knows how to control his urges and only act upon them when appropriate and reciprocated. As i said before, sex to him is more intimacy than getting off

Z: ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Not fast at all. He can stay awake for hours talking to you or taking notes or doing paperwork or whatever. Unless yall have sex just before bed, it doesnt affect his sleep schedule at all

#midoriya izuku #midoriya x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha x reader #my hero academia #mha #mha x reader #spicy

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teshamerkel · 3 years

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Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

Chapter 18 (19 Pages)

<< First | < Previous | Next >

Training time! Nia and Tobias work on their team combat with Val and discuss Nia’s struggle to use moves.

It’s two days later when Tobias and Nia finally get the chance to go to the training area. The bite on Nia’s arm from the outlaw was deeper than either of them had realized, so even after a few sitrus berry treatments and a lot of fuss from Maggie, it had been clear Nia wouldn’t be throwing any punches for a day or two.

Their combat-free day was taken up by a tour of the guild for a few kids who lived in the Haven. Other than a pair of bratty rattata sisters constantly trying to run off, it was an admittedly nice chance for the two of them to recoup. Besides, a storm had rolled in as well, rain finally falling for the first time in weeks, so Tobias had no desire to get out anyways. The Haven really needed the bout of rain to pour some life back into the dry forest, but it still would’ve been annoying to have to deal with on a mission.

When Tobias shakes the riolu awake the second morning after their outlaw battle, she gives her injured arm a tentative stretch and flex, and he’s glad to hear that it’s only a little sore. He tries to be a “considerate” partner and ask her if she can train with it instead of telling her to, but he’s relieved when she says she can. He’s been itching for some activity.

The two of them leave for the day with a promise to a worried Maggie that they’ll come back with minimal damage this time. Nia’s still waking up, so it’s a quiet trip down to the training floor as she fiddles with the red scarf tied awkwardly around her neck. It’s the first time Tobias has actually seen her wear it, and something about their matching attire makes him proud. They actually look like a team now, even if the scarf does look weird on her, the collar of fur underneath it so fluffy that it poofs out awkwardly around the fabric. He’s not sure how to tell her to tie it somewhere else without making it sound mean, so he stays silent for now, even if she looks ridiculous.

Nia breaks out of her sleepy stupor when the two of them run into Azami on the way to the training floor, and the tsareena meets their surprise with a laugh.

“Sorry, Spitfire, I won’t be able to train with you today. Just received an urgent mission from August himself!”

Tobias feels disappointment rise up in his chest, but tries not to look put out by the news. He...he didn’t actually want to show Azami his new dragon rage attack anyways. Nia pins back her ears with a quiet, “Oh.”

Azami gives them both a grin. “Aw, don’t give me those yamper eyes! I’ll be around and ready to kick your butts next time you come to train!”

Nia gives her a half-hearted smile. “O-Okay. Good luck!”

“Thanks! You be good for Val, all right, Spitfire?”

Tobias snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

Azami just laughs, giving them a wink before heading off. Tobias moves into the training floor to look for Val, and Nia follows, sending a few not-at-all-subtle glances his way. He sighs, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice when he says, “What?”

Nia runs her paws through the ruff of fur around her neck, trying to tuck it back under her scarf. “I uh. Was wondering why you didn’t tell Azami about your new move?”

Tobias huffs. “Not like she has time to check it out right now anyways.” And it’s not like he cares that much. He purposefully squashes the leftover disappointment in his gut and straightens up. “She’ll see it eventually. Might as well surprise her in the middle of a spar.”

Nia smiles. “Oh! Right! Imagine how excited she’ll be for you!” She’s not wrong there. The tsareena is an almost annoyingly invested teacher.

They reach the back area that Val is usually at, where she’s finishing up a talk with a roselia. When the two finish their conversation, they bow to one another. The roselia turns to leave, and lights up at the sight of Nia.

“Hey, Nia! Good luck with practice today!”

The riolu jumps, surprised, before smiling nervously back and saying, “Th-Thanks, Briar!”

The charmander watches the roselia go, confused. “How d’you know her?” He didn’t even know the Pokémon’s name, and he’s seen her here and there around the guild for at least a few years.

Nia wrings her paws. “W-Well, a lot of Pokémon are curious about the former human of the guild, so they like to introduce themselves. They’re nice, so I don’t mind.”

That doesn’t surprise him. Nia’s a bit nervous by nature, but she clearly likes talking and making friends. Of course the other Pokémon would flock to her with annoying questions about being human. Well, better her than him. He can’t hold a conversation to save his life, even if he wanted to.

“Good morning.”

Val’s quiet voice breaks Tobias out of his thoughts, and he looks over to see Val walking up to them, her eyes immediately zeroing in on Nia’s healing arm wound, scabbed over by now.

“‘Morning,” Nia echoes, smiling. She sounds nervous, and moves her paw up, almost as if to cover the bite marks, before hesitantly dropping it again.

Val doesn’t question it, more than a few old scars littering her own body, and instead says, “Today we will practice team fighting.”

“First,” Tobias interrupts, crossing his arms. “Did you know that Nia doesn’t know how to use moves?”

Val’s usual stoic expression doesn’t change. “I am aware.”

Oh, well that changes the whole tone of this conversation, doesn’t it? Tobias feels anger light in his belly, a growl rolling through his voice as he says, “Then why haven’t you been teaching her how to use any actual attacks?!”

Val doesn’t look offended by his accusatory tone, and that just makes him angrier. “I thought it best to tackle that problem later. I did not want to overwhelm her when she was still learning basic bodily functions and form.”

“And you didn’t think that would be a little dangerous, leaving her so defenseless?”

Nia shoots him a pleading look that clearly asks him to drop it, but he ignores her.

“E-Rank Pokemon are usually manageable without moves. I assumed you would be fine.”

Tobias throws up his arms, the fire in his belly stoking higher, into his throat. “Clearly not! If Nia knew how to use her attacks, maybe she could’ve avoided having a bite taken out of her arm!”

Val still doesn’t seem defensive in the slightest, and instead eyes him with interest. “You’re angry.”

“Of course I’m angry! You let us waltz around fighting outlaws when Nia doesn’t know basic moves!”

“T-Tobias, it’s fine, I should’ve brought it up—“

“No it’s not!” Tobias snaps, turning his glare onto Nia. She shrinks back. “It’s her job to teach us, and moves should’ve been one of the first lessons, especially for you!”

Tobias turns back to the medicham, intent on yelling up at her a bit more (ugh, why can’t she be shorter?!), but she cuts him off with a calm, “Allow me to speak, Charmander.”

Tobias considers going off on her anyways, but then snaps his jaws shut, a stream of white smoke wisping up from his nose.

The medicham looks to Nia and, still with that same infuriating calm to her voice, says, “I apologize. For not preparing you for such a dangerous fight. I underestimated the fierce nature of the Pokémon you faced, and your own capabilities.”

Nia blinks up at the older Pokemon with wide eyes, looking somewhere between surprised and uncomfortable.

“However,” Val adds, dark eyes focusing on Tobias. “You must both understand that with or without moves, you will be injured working as Seekers. It is simply part of the job.”

Tobias frowns. She’s not wrong of course—Seeker teams have one of the highest mortality rates of all careers for a reason. But...

“You still could’ve done your job,” he grumbles, gaze flicking once more to Nia’s arm. He can still hear the riolu screaming in pain, can still feel the unexpected panic lurch in his gut. Not a fun time.

Nia shifts her worried gaze up to Val, a soft smile on her muzzle. “I-It’s fine, Val. Really. Everyone makes mistakes.”

Tobias curses under his breath. The worst part is that he knows Nia is genuine, too. Looks like he’s gonna have to be angry enough for the both of them.

“I still apologize for my oversight,” Val says, voice solemn. She looks to Tobias next. “I understand that you will be angry with me for a while.”

“Let’s just get to training,” he grumbles.

Val nods and doesn’t try to push the issue. The medicham leads them both to the center of the training ring they typically use. “Today we will work on cooperative training. Team fighting.” Before Tobias can open his mouth to snarl a complaint, the medicham adds, “We will also work on your movesets.” The riolu nods, and Tobias settles down again.

“Practicing singular battle techniques is important. But as Seekers, teamwork is key,” Val goes on. “Teamwork in combat especially. We will work on how you can build off of each other’s strengths, and cover each other’s weaknesses. Have you noticed a clash in your fighting styles?”

Nia laughs, sounding embarrassed. “Um, y-yeah. When we were fighting the outlaw, we kind of just...tripped over each other?”

Tobias frowns. Right. They’d moved at the same time, and she’d elbowed him in the ribs. He might have stepped on her paw, too. They stumbled and gave the panpour a huge opening for attack.

Val nods, looking satisfied. “That is what we must avoid. When you are on a mission, you are not two separate Pokémon. You are not just taking turns and trying to avoid each other. You are one team. With practice, you will support each other effortlessly. A cohesive unit.”

Tobias doesn’t object, despite his reservations about having to adapt his fighting style. He’s hung around the training areas enough over the years to have seen teams battling in tandem. It’s frighteningly effective.

Nia shifts on her paws, but her ears are pricked and her ruby eyes bright with curiosity. “S-So how do we practice?”

Val takes a step back and sinks into a defensive stance. “You fight me. Together. Your goal is to land a hit.”

Nia blinks. “W-Wait, wha—“

Tobias doesn’t waste the opportunity, dashing forwards to throw himself claws-first at the medicham. He has some aggression to work out.

But before he can register what’s happening, Val’s sliding around his strike, snatching his arm and yanking him around. She brings her knee down into his back and slams him to the ground, hard enough to wind him. She pulls his arms back and holds them with a single hand, pinning him down, and he can sense her other hand hovering close to his neck. He freezes, struggling to catch his breath.

He can’t see Nia, but he can imagine the startled, wide-eyed expression on her face.

“Being out of sync with your partner could get you killed,” Val says, lightly. “If I had claws, you would be dead. And your partner cannot help, because you are now a hostage.”

Tobias wants to snark a reply, but feeling the medicham’s hand so close to his neck—

He has his scarf on it’s fine he’s safe here—

And then Val is letting him go and stepping back. Tobias pushes himself up on his hands and knees and tries to calm the beginnings of panic that were stirring in his chest. Nia crouches down next to him, hands raised hesitantly, like she wants to help but isn’t sure how. “A-Are you okay?”

“Fantastic,” Tobias croaks, staggering to his feet and glaring at Val. Her calm expression doesn’t change. Nia stands up, too, and the medicham once again falls into a defensive stance. Tobias growls, feeling his lip curl back. Before he can move, Nia’s light touch is on his arm, catching his attention.

“W-Wait. Maybe we should make a plan first? That’s what the whole lesson’s about, right? Teamwork?”

The charmander keeps his acidic stare trained on Val, but doesn’t move. She’s right. He huffs out a puff of white smoke. “Any ideas?”

Nia is silent for a moment. Val patiently waits.

“We could attack her at the same time?” Nia murmurs, voice just loud enough for Tobias to hear. “Try to overwhelm her?”

Tobias eyes the medicham’s wide stance. “She‘s too fast,” he whispers back. “We need something else to throw her off if we want a chance of breaking her defense.”

“Oh!” Nia grabs excitedly at his arm, struggling to keep her voice down. “What about your smoke breath? Like you did in that one dungeon!”

Tobias snorts. “Smokescreen?”

Nia nods. “Yeah! That would throw her off, right?”

“Worth a shot. Let’s go.”

Tobias darts forward, lunging as if to attack Val, but then skids to a stop and hops back at the last second. The medicham makes to grab him, but falters at his sudden change of direction. Tobias takes advantage of the moment to suck in a deep breath, then exhales a giant cloud of grayish-white smoke, thick like fog.

Val moves back, away from him, just in time for Nia to sprint past him. The riolu leaps up with a kick, but the medicham easily deflects it, sending the smaller Pokémon flying past her and into the smokescreen. Tobias growls and charges again, spinning around to slam his tail into the medicham’s legs—

Only to meet empty air, stumbling and almost falling flat on his face with the momentum. He looks up to see Nia come rushing back in through the smoke and missing her target entirely with a punch.

In hindsight, maybe smokescreen wasn’t their best idea.

Val twists to grab the riolu, and slings her away. Nia hits the dirt and rolls back to her feet. She looks up, freezing as Val darts forward and slams a force palm into the riolu’s gut. Nia goes tumbling backwards with a yelp.

Tobias growls and dashes in, determined to just make one solid hit. But Val hears him coming and easily dodges around his messy scratch attack, spinning to kick his side and send him rolling into the dirt as well.

The charmander is quick to stagger back to his feet despite the light bruise he can feel blooming on his side. But Val is no longer in her fighting stance, patiently waiting as the smokescreen clears. Nia coughs a few times before sitting up, wincing.

“Come here,” Val says.

Tobias grumbles under his breath but does as told, trudging back to the medicham with frustration bubbling in his gut. Nia joins him after a few seconds, paw gingerly rubbing at her stomach where she was hit.

“That was better,” Val says, the words not quite sounding like a lie.

“We got destroyed,” Tobias growls.

“I am older and much more experienced than you two. I should be fired if two E-rank Seekers can best me in combat so easily.”

Oh great, now she’s gloating? Didn’t really seem like the type, honestly. Tobias feels his lip curl into a snarl.

“I only say this to explain that I should not be who you compare yourselves to. You are new, and learning. Young. You will grow stronger in time. The most pressing issue for you two is your teamwork. That assault was uncoordinated. Too much so to be effective. Neither of you communicated or built off of each other’s attacks past that first smokescreen, and instead attacked entirely on your own.”

Nia winces, and Tobias crosses his arms, glaring at the ground.

“But that is why you are here. Your teamwork will improve. Before we try again, we will work on moves.”

Nia glances over at her partner. “T-Tobias too?”

“Yes.” Maybe Val can see the complaint on Tobias’ face, because she looks to him and adds, “As well as tactics and movements, you two must become familiar with each other’s attacks. The strength, the range, the stamina needed for each. Understood?”

Tobias is getting sick of the medicham making good points, because he really just wants an excuse to punch her in the face. “Yeah, yeah, fine,” he mumbles. “So what, I just show Nia my moves?”

“Yes, you will start,” Val confirms. “We’ll go from there.” The medicham steps back and crosses her arms, looking at Tobias expectantly.

The charmander never thought he’d admit to missing Azami as his primary teacher, but he’ll take anything over Val’s infuriating calm. Tobias sighs and turns to Nia, who looks back at him nervously. She seems as uncertain as he feels about this whole thing.

“She’s seen all of my moves before,” Tobias says, glancing at Val. “So...”

“Demonstrate,” Val says, nodding. “And then describe. How it feels, how it hits.”

Tobias takes a step away from the riolu, turning so she’s out of the line of fire. Putting all of the boredom he possibly can into his tone, he drawls, “Scratch.” He swipes weakly at the air in front of him, claws flexed. “Pretty self-explanatory. Ember—“

“More detail,” Val commands.

The charmander growls. “Fine. Scratch is a weak move, and it’s just normal type. But I can use it a lot without getting tired.” Tobias looks over to Val, expecting her to object, but she just nods. He moves his gaze to Nia, not surprised to see her nerves have shifted to open curiosity.

Tobias goes back to his demonstration. “Metal claw is similar, but its type is helpful for rock and ground types, especially since I’m weak to them.” He flexes his fingers, calling up the familiar thin layer of metallic sheen to coat his claws, and then swipes at the air again. Nia’s hand shoots up in the corner of his eye, and he raises a brow at how she has her arm raised into the air. “Uh. What?”

“How do you do that?” Nia asks, brow furrowed and ears pricked with interest, mind clearly working on overdrive. “I mean, biologically it seems strange that you’d just be able to change how your claws are structured? Or that you’d even be able to use steel type moves when you’re a fire type.”

Tobias rolls his eyes and steps closer to Nia. He holds his hand out for her to see, flexing his fingers and willing the metallic shine to coat his claws again. “My claws aren’t changing. The metal’s forming a layer on the outside.”

Nia crouches down to be at eye level with his hands, staring at his claws in open fascination. “Can you do it again?”

Tobias knows this’ll get her to stop her line of questioning faster, so he does.

Nia frowns. “Is it like...a liquid? Coming from your fingers? Is it even metal or something that just mimics it? Why—“

“Look, I dunno,” Tobias says, trying not to snap at the riolu. “All I know is that when I want to, I can do it. It hurts Pokémon like a steel type move, so that’s what we call it. Maybe the archive has a book that talks more about the details of it, but I don’t know and I don’t really care.”

Nia shrinks back, not quite looking satisfied, but nodding regardless. “O-Okay. Thank you.”

And with that, Tobias steps back, moving on. Next he demonstrates his ember attack and how he can adjust its power and range, before showing how he can use the fire move on his own metal claw attack to create a more physical fire move. Something like a fiery scratch. Val doesn’t make any more objections, and Nia looks properly interested by everything, so the rest of the demonstrations go smoothly—smokescreen, tail whip, and finally his new move, dragon rage.

Val straightens up at the appearance of the purplish flames. “You learned this recently?”

“Fighting the outlaw the other day, yeah,” Tobias says, catching his breath. Nia notices, and looks concerned.

“I can’t use this move as much as the others,” he explains, shrugging. “Certain attacks just wear you out more. Your stamina can only go so far.”

Nia nods, brow furrowed. He can practically see the klinklang turning in her head. He’s surprised she hasn’t started jotting down notes in the dirt.

“Congratulations on the new technique,” Val says, breaking Tobias out of his thoughts. The medicham’s expression doesn’t change, so he can’t tell how sincere she is. It kind of just makes him mad all over again.

Nia raises her hand again. Tobias raises a brow. “I don’t know why you keep doing that, but it’s weird. What?”

Nia blinks, then laughs, sheepishly lowering her hand. “S-Sorry. Uh, old habit. Um, I was wondering how you learn new moves so suddenly? It seems impossible for your body to one moment not know how to do something, and the next suddenly just...have an entirely new power? B-But that seems to be how your dragon rage worked?”

“Why does it matter?” Tobias asks, exasperated. “We just...get stronger, get enough experience with battling and fighting, and I guess our bodies realize we’re good enough to handle something more powerful. So we learn it. We still have to practice new moves to be able to control them.”

“You question basic facts. Most Pokemon don’t think twice about them,” Val says, looking at Nia with a thoughtful tilt of her head.

Nia’s ears pin back. “S-Sorry, I just—“

“I did not say it was bad,” Val interrupts. “Simply...different. I don’t believe Charmander and I have the in-depth answers you seek. Perhaps the archives or Alistair could assist you better?”

Nia offers a tentative smile. “Y-Yeah, I’ll try that. Sorry, it’s just so strange to me.”

Val nods. “You have said humans are much different than us. But you are here as a Pokemon for the time being. And it is your turn to demonstrate.”

The riolu shoots Tobias a worried look as she rises to her paws. The charmander offers a shrug as he plops down onto the ground to watch, leaning back onto his arms. This should be good.

Nia does as Tobias did, taking a few cautious steps away and sinking into a light fighting stance that almost looks natural by now. They wait. One second. Five. She doesn’t move.

Then, Nia’s tail tucks under herself, and her head hangs. She looks over to Val. “I-I don’t know how to do this.”

“She doesn’t know any moves, genius,” Tobias reminds Val. Nia winces.

The medicham doesn’t look at all ruffled by Tobias’ taunt. Instead, she brings her hand up to her chin. “How do you fight in dungeons, Riolu? Demonstrate.”

“I-I uh. Usually use a branch as a weapon. But I guess the few times I’ve had to fight on my own…” Nia still seems uncertain, but returns to her stance. Then, she throws her fist forward in a punch, and then the other, spinning on her foot to kick at the air. They still don’t look like actual fighting moves, but her form has definitely improved from Val’s training. The riolu finishes her combo and looks over at Val again, nervously awaiting judgement.

The medicham moves to her side. “You are mimicking fighting type movements, but you are not using your fighting type power. That would explain your lack of moves.”

“My...fighting type power?” Nia echoes, tilting her head. “But...I thought fighting like this was my power? I-I mean, Tobias has fire since he’s a fire type, b-but I just use like...physical hits and stuff, right?”

Val shakes her head. “The attacks you are doing now are not moves. Charmander could learn to do them as well. Any Pokemon with a similar body type could. You are simply punching. Kicking. What you are doing now has no ‘type.’”

Tobias grudgingly listens to Val’s words, curious despite himself. Combat has always come naturally to him, so he’s never had to think about any of this, how it works. When he wants to use a move, he just...does it.

Nia looks crestfallen. “But...I thought that’s what fighting types did? W-What’s the difference?”

Val pauses, then says, “Defensive position.”

Nia looks confused, but when Val shifts into a fighting stance, the riolu yelps and hurries to plant her feet, moving her arms up to guard herself. Val strikes with a measured jab of her palm, and Nia absorbs the blow with relative ease, only pushed back a few inches. Before she can move, Val says, “Stay.”

Nia stays braced, expression openly confused, until Val replicates the last move. This time, Nia’s arms almost slam into her body with the force of the blow, and she’s sent skidding back a few feet. The riolu looks up, wide-eyed.

“My first attack was what you have been doing. A simple use of my body. A hit, yes, but not a move. It used none of my energy, fighting or psychic. The second strike was using my fighting energy. Even in a non-effective matchup, you can see how much power such an approach gives.”

Tobias raises his brows, looking again at Nia. She’s been somewhat helpful in dungeons so far even without moves, at least when she’s not frozen in fear. Sure, they’re only E-rank (and climbing higher every day), but still. Even without moves, she hasn’t really been too much of a liability. It’s kind of awesome to hear that if she can get her moves to work, she’ll be much more useful in fights.

Nia frowns down at her palms, deep in thought. “How do I use that energy, though? It’s not the same as aura, right?”

“Correct. Your aura is entirely different. It can be used for moves, but it is not the fighting energy needed for most of your attacks.”

“S-So how do I use that energy? How do I…find it?”

For a few moments, Val is silent. And then, to Tobias’ surprise, she frowns, crossing her arms. “I do not know.”

“What?” Nia yelps.

“I have never encountered this issue. Most Pokémon automatically know these things. It is instinctive as we grow. I am unsure of how to lead you to it.”

“But...” Nia trails off, a quiet whine slipping from her throat. “But I need to learn this to be a good fighter, right?”

Val doesn’t respond, and that in itself gives them both the answer. For a few moments, it’s noticeably tense. Val seems stumped, Nia looks like she’s near tears, and Tobias feels incredibly uncomfortable with the emotionally charged atmosphere.

Then, Val sighs. “Do not fret. Azami may have more helpful ideas for you. For now, we must continue our training regardless.” She looks over to Tobias. “Ready?”

The charmander rises to his feet and moves to stand beside Nia, glancing awkwardly at the riolu. She sniffs wetly, but he can’t tell if she’s actually crying or not.

“The next exercise will not require moves. You will spar with each other.”

Tobias’ attention snaps away from Nia so he can look up at Val. “What? What’s the point in making us fight each other if we’re on the same team?”

“I believe you will find it helpful for learning different styles of combat. Especially so for you two, who take very different approaches to battle.”

Tobias supposes he can kind of see the good in that. He shoots Nia another furtive glance. The riolu has her head down, eyes glued to the dirt as her paws fiddle with her scarf. She can’t hide her emotions to save her life, but he hasn’t seen her this openly upset since Afon’s Cap. Would it even be worth fighting her when she’s like this?

“Go,” Val prompts, stepping away to watch from the sidelines. “No moves. Make gestures as placeholders. Just no real damage.”

Tobias shoots Val a nasty glare. Like he was actually going to hurt his partner in a spar. He knows how this works. He moves to stand a few feet in front of Nia. The riolu doesn’t react.

“Nia,” he says, trying to keep his voice level. Casual.

The riolu visibly swallows, swipes at her eyes, and finally looks up at him. The fur of her cheeks is damp and the red of her eyes is brighter than usual, especially with her scarf making them pop. She exhales, and it shudders and catches. But she still sinks into a defensive battle stance with a sniff, and hesitantly nods. Tobias reluctantly follows her lead, preparing for a fight. It’s not like they’re friends or anything, but he still doesn’t wanna fight Nia when she’s crying. Just seems kinda low, even for him.

“Begin!” Val calls.

#pmd #pokemon mystery dungeon #pokemon #medicham #charmander #riolu #pmd seekers of soul #tesha draws #tesha writes

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missfay49 · 4 years

Text

Who is Orange?

Disclaimer: Please enjoy? Accept? Beware? This… Thing that started out as character analysis and turned into a deranged fanfic, because I experienced a literal revelation mid-way through free writing. I did not clean this up much because I’m still reeling from the theory implications myself. I cursed a lot.

What does Orange Side represent?

What do we know?

Orange is a “Dark Side”, defined as being one of the Sides hidden from C!Thomas.

The other Hidden Sides were Janus, Remus, and Virgil.

All the Hidden Sides were hidden due to a key aspect of their character that C!Thomas had to first acknowledge and then accept. Virgil required C!Thomas to acknowledge that he had heightened anxiety and accept that anxiety isn’t inherently wrong, just a different form of information that can be processed. Remus required C!Thomas to acknowledge that he had intrusive thoughts and accept that those thoughts don’t make him evil; they’re just thoughts. Janus required C!Thomas to acknowledge that he was capable of lying and accept that acting “selfishly” sometimes isn’t just okay, but actually critically important to managing stress.

What are the common themes here?

Confronting the reality about ourselves instead of pretending some traits don’t exist.

Understanding ourselves to be more complex than ‘good’ and ‘evil’.

Addressing mental health.

Orange Side is still hidden, but we can expect him to be something C!Thomas doesn’t want to (or isn’t ready to) acknowledge. Something that would be difficult to accept about oneself. All Hidden Sides fall under the jurisdiction of Janus, so let’s take another look at him.

In “Can Lying Be Good?” we get a lot of information about what Janus’ purpose is:

Roman: It you really don’t want to know something, he… can keep our mouths shut.

Logan: You don’t want to believe it. That’s where his power comes from. Things that you want to believe. Things that you wish were true. And things that you wish weren’t.

Deceit: What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

This all means that Orange Side is something that would cause C!Thomas distress to learn and something he subconsciously wishes weren’t true. This is not new information to most of you: the spin-off interpretations of Apathy and Pride are widely popular fandom theories, traits that are typically viewed as negative in large doses.

But the Hidden Sides being seen as something negative isn’t their only defining characteristic. They typically involve an aspect a mental health, involve societal expectations, and... what is it...

Janus is the umbrella over all the other Hidden Sides, sheltering and obscuring them from view. He is the gatekeeper in a very literal sense. What is he gatekeeping?

What is it? What is it what is it, why? What does he do? What seems bad but isn’t? What can he do? What issue is actually useful? What’s useful what’s useful WHATS USEFUL WHATS USEFUL?! WHY DOES IT HAVE TO USEFUL?

shitshitSHITSHISTHISTSTs

I KEPT ASKING MYSELF, WHAT’S USEFUL? WHAT TRAIT COULD IT BE THAT APPEARS BAD, BUT ISN’T BAD, IS ACTUALLY USEFUL. ANIEXTY WAS OKAY BECAUSE HE WAS JUST LOOKING OUT FOR US. LYING WAS OKAY BECAUSE HE JUST WANTED TO PUT C!THOMAS FIRST. INTRUSIVE CREATIVITY WAS OKAY BECAUSE DARK IDEAS OPEN UP NEW PATHS.

But the whole GODDAMN POINT is ACCEPTANCE!

You don’t HAVE to be useful to be accepted. You – yuo just BE. YOU BE!

PEOPLE don’t have to prove their Usefulness to you before you can treat them with respect. Our WORTH does not depend on what we PRODUCE. YE GODS, THE COGNITIVE DISSONANCE I JUST BROKE-

~~~

C!Thomas comes back from his self-care stay-cation. He’s ready to start production, he is rested and refreshed. BUT JUST LIKE EVERY PREVIOUS DILEMMA, it isn’t Good enough, Original enough, Fast enough. He’s done everything right, why is it still wrong? He’s accepted his anxiety, he’s accepted that things aren’t just black and white, he’s Accepted That It’s OKAY to have Dark Thoughts, he Has ACCEPTED SELF_CARE. Why Isn’t IT ENOUGH?!

“Fuck it.”

C!Thomas spins in his chair, looking at a man that looks just like him, but not quite.

“What?”

“Fuck it. Fuck them.”

“You sound like Remus,” Thomas jokes. He’s lying, of course. He’s nervous. The Side looks like a normal guy, but something about him is unsettling. The unidentified Side just presses his lips together, unimpressed.

“Um, ef w-who, exactly?” Thomas asks, but part of him already knows.

“All of them. Every person who isn’t you. Every person who expects something from you.”

“Now, you sound like Janus.” Thomas looks back at the computer screen, but the Side’s retort has him spinning around again.

“Janus is a short-sighted pseudo-rebellious minion of a capitalistic society, just like the rest of them.”

“Uh, excuse me?!”

“Isn’t it obvious? They’re all obsessed with Success. Whether they want to play by the rules, or manipulate them, or break them, whether it’s making money or pumping out good deeds, they’re still just trying to make you be successful within the framework of a system that prioritizes production over a human life.”

Thomas just stares for a moment before he can find his voice.

“Who are you?”

“Dude, seriously?” He waves his hands, palms up and presenting himself. “I’m Achilleus. I’m your motivation.”

~~~

Take a deep breath and follow me down the research black hole, where every topic I looked up was more and more terrifyingly appropriate:

Freedom

noun

the power or right to act, speak, or think as one wants without hindrance or restraint.

Self-Determination

noun

the process by which a person controls their own life.

Autonomy

noun

(in Kantian moral philosophy) the capacity of an agent to act in accordance with objective morality rather than under the influence of desires.

Autonomic Nervous System (because i believe each Hidden Side is closer to the subconscious)

noun

the part of the nervous system responsible for control of the bodily functions not consciously directed, such as breathing, the heartbeat, and digestive processes.

Inherent Value

“inherent value in the case of animal ethics can be described as the value an animal possesses in its own right, as an end-in-itself” – Animal Rights – Inherent Value, by Saahil Papar

Intrinsic Value

“Intrinsic value has traditionally been thought to lie at the heart of ethics. Philosophers use a number of terms to refer to such value. The intrinsic value of something is said to be the value that that thing has “in itself,” or “for its own sake,” or “as such,” or “in its own right.”” – Intrinsic vs. Extrinsic Value, by Michael J. Zimmerman and Ben Bradley

“Finally, his sense of respect for the intrinsic value of entities, including the non-sentient, is the Kantian notion of the inherent value of all Being. This is based on the notion that a universe without moral evaluators (e.g. humans) would still be morally valuable, and there is no reason not to regard Being as inherently morally good.” – Technology and the Trajectory of Myth, by David Grant, Lyria Bennett Moses

Motivation

“Another way to conceptualize motivation is through Self-Determination Theory … which is concerned with intrinsic and extrinsic motivation. Intrinsic motivation happens when someone does something for its inherent satisfaction.” – Second Language Acquisition Myths: Applying Second Language Research to Classroom Teaching, by Steven Brown, Jenifer Larson-Hall

Capitalism

“The flowery language of the United States Declaration of Independence would have you believe that human life has an inherent value, one that includes inalienable rights such as “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” But in America, a major indicator of value is actually placed on being a productive member of society, which typically means working a job that creates monetary revenue (especially if the end result is accumulated wealth and suffering was inherently involved in the process).” – The Diminished Value of Human Life in a Capitalistic Society, by Seren Sensei

Religion

“At the heart of the debate between Calvinism and Arminianism lay the insurmountable chasm between God’s sovereign election versus human self-determination.” – Sovereignty vs. Self-determination: Two Versions of Ephesians 1:3-14, by Reformed Theology

Mythology

“In Classical Greece, Achilles was widely admired as a paragon of male excellence and virtue. Later, during the height of the Roman Empire, his name became synonymous with uncontrollable rage and barbarism… He chooses kleos (glory) over life itself, and he owes his heroic identity to this kleos. He achieves the major goal of the hero: to have his identity put permanently on record through kleos…

“But is this really an accurate characterization of Achilles' pivotal decision? Is he really driven to sacrifice his life by an obsessive quest for honor and glory? One scene in the Iliad suggests the answer to both questions is no.

“When Achilles leaves the battlefield after his dispute with Agamemnon, the Trojans gain the upper hand on the Greeks. Desperate to convince their best warrior to return, Agamemnon sends an envoy of Achilles' closest friends to his tent to persuade him to reconsider his decision. During this scene, Achilles calmly informs his friends that he is no longer interested in giving up his life for the sake of heroic ideals. His exact words are below:

“The same honor waits for the coward and the brave. They both go down to Death, the fighter who shirks, the one who works to exhaustion (IX 386-388)…

“Not only does Achilles reject the envoy's offers of material reward, but he rejects the entire premise that glory is worth a man's life.” – making sense of a hero’s motivation, by Patrick Garvey

Achilles (/əˈkɪliːz/ ə-KIL-eez) or Achilleus (Ancient Greek: Ἀχιλλεύς, [a.kʰilˈleu̯s])

Achilles realizes his own inherent self-worth, thereby freeing himself from the expectations of others; societal or otherwise. Only once we are free can we find the balance between our own needs and the needs of others in a way that breeds neither anger nor resentment in either.

~~~

But that’s... that’s just... a theory. Huh.

#sanders sides theory #orange side #orange side theory #sanders sides #character thomas #cursing tw #swearing tw #dark sides #the others #janus sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #orange sanders #caps tw #name theory #long post #missfay #my writing

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vampylovesaliens · 3 years

Text

Pariah - p4

-echoes

Her father’s bow was still too large for her, heavy and difficult to hold steady as she took aim at the target he’d built at the base of a grassy knoll a fair distance ahead. But T’chendris-hlau was growing to be every bit as stubborn as her parents combined, and so she refused his help, determined to steady her aim on her own as she hauled back on an arrow. Just as her muscles began to protest the effort of maintaining it, she released the string and the arrow whistled across the meadow to embed itself with a crunch into the thick hide cover of the target. It was quite a bit off-center, but considering her earlier attempts hadn’t landed at all she was pleased with the improvement.

Kh’azu-hlau was similarly pleased, the warmth of his emotion reaching her even before the audible rumble of approval rolled from his throat. She could tell there was criticism--she could hear the murmurings of it in his mind, but it was the stuff of habit, his experience lending to his eye for detail. But those lessons were secondary to his desire to praise her now for her progress, and as she returned to where he sat he reached up to give her tresses a playful tug, his mandibles pulling back to give her a smile. “Well done, child. You’re determined--that’s good to see.” “Do you think I’ll be ready to Hunt with you by the time you heal?” She took a seat beside him, gesturing to his leg. He’d returned from one of his outings with a deep gash, dangerously close to the artery running through the limb. It was the first time she’d seen him truly wounded, worse than the few scuffs and scrapes that were more or less typical when he would return. He rattled irritably a moment, eyeing the dressing that covered his injury. “We’ll see. You’re still young, daughter; some prey is still beyond you.”

She started to protest, certain that she was ready to handle anything bigger than the small critters she now regularly hunted both alone and with her mother, when a flicker of movement caught her eye and she looked away to follow it, blinking curiously. There, among the hills, stood another Yautja. In the bright sunlight that made her albino eyes struggle to focus it was little more than a silhouette standing there stock-still, watching them from a distance. “Taka, it’s--” The words caught in her throat as her vision adjusted finally, the face of the Yautja in the field a hollow ruin, blood still dripping down his front though it never seemed to reach the ground, one broken mandible still attached, twitching weakly.

Kh’azu-hlau reached out, catching her arm and pulling her back to face him, letting her bury her face against his chest with a frightened hiss. “Calm yourself, child. It is just an echo.”

“A w-what?” She mumbled, unwilling to lift her face for fear the gruesome sight would be there where her father’s face was. “What happened to him? Who is he?”

“You and I bear a great gift, yes?” He smoothed a thumb over the edge of her crest, a soothing rattle humming in his throat. “...Well, in some ways it is also a curse. The echoes are part of that. This is our punishment, the way it balances itself. To use this gift as a weapon makes an echo of its victims, so we never forget, and never grow too comfortable in wielding it.”

“So..you did that to him?” She finally looked up, glad that it was her father’s face still that greeted her. He regarded her solemnly for a moment before nodding, his claws brushing along her tresses again. “Yes. And I would do it again, even knowing he’d leave an echo behind.”

She stared at him for a moment, trying to understand. Then she allowed her gaze to shift, looking out into the meadow. The dead Yautja was gone, the grass swaying lightly under the breeze. But the image remained clear in her mind, settling into an uneasy pit in her stomach that lingered even after they packed up their things to return to the camp. It chased away her appetite, even, leaving her to pick mildly at her food while her parents spoke, their words distant as she remained lost in her own thoughts. As the dead Yautja remained there in her thoughts there were details that were becoming familiar. A brand on his armor--it had once been emblazoned on his crest too, but that part of his skull had been destroyed. She had seen it before somewhere.

That evening as she sat, idly carving a bit of clay atop the hut’s roof, she felt a prickle down her spine that made her blood run cold. She lifted her gaze slowly, knowing what she’d see even before her eyes fell on the figure who stood at the edge of the camp, bloodied and silent, the edges of his form slightly blurry but the details within still starkly clear. She swallowed hard, her mandibles tight across her teeth as she forced herself to face the terrible figure. Yautja did not flee from the visage of death, her mother told her--death was part of the Hunt, the other side of the journey that was life. And it was her father who had killed him; the least she could do was to face him and understand the ‘echo’ that he had become. And then she remembered.

They had traveled all together to a trading post somewhere on the planet--it was not often that T’chendris-hlau herself got to go anywhere, so it had been a thrilling little adventure. They had not been the only Yautja visiting the trade hub though, which had set her father in particular on edge. He grew tense and gruff, keen to get his business handled quickly and get the supplies they’d come for without dawdling. T’chendris-hlau noted the difference between her parents; her father’s evasive and hostile manner contrasted with her mother’s almost bold indifference, her back straight and eyes fierce as she regarded their kin in passing, keeping her daughter close with a hand on T’chendris-hlau’s crest. They were clanless, she knew that much--not that it really meant anything to her--but her mother’s clan emblem was still obvious on her brow and it commanded respect, if nothing else.

She had not been allowed to go near the other Yautja, who were only stopping for a refuel of their ship and to grab some extra supplies, much like they were. She could only watch them anxiously from a safe distance, waiting while her parents loaded their own cargo. The other Yautja made her nervous anyway; the way their eyes focused coldly on her and her father--it made her feel as if she’d committed some terrible crime despite never seeing them before, despite being only a child still. Their minds, as much as she dared to touch in curiosity, roiled with dark feelings that made her afraid. Her parents had told her than she and her father were strange among their people, that their difference, their gift, their mutation, was something regarded with fear and uncertainty by the rest of their people. Kh’azu-hlau had long since accepted his status as an outsider and even embraced it now. But T’chendris-hlau did not know enough to have done that for herself yet, and to have her own kin despite her on sight was not something any child could comprehend.

But as she waited she noticed something, another child among the group that was still getting their affairs in order. A pup around her age, she could only roughly guess--he paced away from the others while she watched, picking up a stick and experimentally swinging it as he moved alongside the wall of the docking bay, play-sparring with his shadow. T’chendris-hlau rocked back on her heels, torn by a yearning for companionship and the urge to obey her parents. The childlike yearning won out in the end and she cautiously trotted away to approach the other child. His eyes flashed warily when she appeared, timid and awkward as she bowed her head in a greeting, but he was young--too young to understand that she was wrong--and so after the initial surprise at her unexpected appearance he broke the stick in half and tossed part of it to her, the two of them easily engaging in a playful battle.

For a moment she felt a warmth in her, a sense of...almost relief, in a way--she only had her parents, after all. She had never had a friend outside of them. And while they had only just met it was impossible not to think that maybe she and this other pup could find a way to be friends even with distance between them. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad if his clan only got to know her own fam--

The illusion was shattered all too soon, the clack of their sticks having drawn the wrong attention. She only had a moment to notice the large figure approaching before a great claw backhanded her, sending her small and fragile form flying against the wall while the great Yautja bellowed furiously. “Away from my pup, little freak!” There may have been more to follow but she didn’t hear it, the Yautja promptly struck down as her mother appeared with a howl of rage, bodily tackling the other female down. T’chendris-hlau curled up tight, her head throbbing from the strike she’d been given, and she peered through the narrow space between her arms to see the pup she’d been playing with being ushered away to rejoin his clan. Nearby the enraged snarls and bellows of her mother and her attacker told her they were still embroiled in furious combat, but she couldn��t tear her gaze away from the jagged blade that sprouted from the end of a spear, held by one of the other clans’ warriors. He drew it back, ready to skewer M’tendris as she fought the other Yautja who dared to strike her child, and T’chendris-hlau lifted her head to call a warning to her mother as she realized what was about to happen.

It never did, though. Instead there was a strange...warping sensation, as if the world around her shook and then was steadied again, a deep thump that was half sound and half sensation rocking her, followed by a hideous crunch and a spray of glowing blood that spattered the ground alongside her. But before she could even look, her father’s arms were around her, lifting her from the ground and barking a stream of curses that were lost in a cacophony of horrified and infuriated snarls that faded behind them as he bolted for the ship. Whatever had happened, M’tendris had used it as a chance to get free of her own battle, the rage in her eyes replaced with a strangely shaken expression that only softened when Kh’azu-hlau pushed their child into her arms once they were aboard the ship, taking his own place at the controls to get them away from the port as quickly as possible.

The echo now stood there before her, the gory crater that had once been his face evident of how his life had halted. He’d been ready to kill her mother--who had only been fighting to defend her child in the first place, and so her father had killed him first. T’chendris-hlau grumbled uneasily as it all fell into place, tearing her gaze away finally to look back at the clay block in her hand. This echo was tied to her somehow--she’d been there when he died, and so her mind was linked to the event as her father’s was. The solemn tone in his words still stuck with her, that he would do it again if he had to. She had a sudden sense that it was not a new event for him, and with that came a morbid curiosity.

How many echoes existed that she COULDN’T see? Never had he indicated that he saw things that troubled him, but she had noticed times when his mind seemed more reserved, his thoughts harder to reach and too blurry to interpret. She thought of his injured leg, and how he evaded the topic when she asked how it had happened. Was whatever--or WHOever--that had wounded him now just another echo?

#my writing #pariah #Frost #T'chendris-hlau #yautja #avp #alien #fanfic #JESUS ITS BEEN A MONTH #SORRY

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pamphletstoinspire · 3 years

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Third Sunday After Epiphany by Father Francis Xavier Weninger, 1876

“Lord, if Thou wilt, Thou canst make me clean.”–Matt. 8: 2.

The leper of whom we read in today’s Gospel believes that Christ has the power to heal him, and he is not mistaken; Christ, stretching forth His hand, said: “I will, be thou made clean!”

What leprosy is to the body, that sin is to the soul. Many of the children of the Church, many who call upon Jesus, are covered with this leprosy. They believe in His Power and Will to cleanse them from sin, and yet they are not cleansed, and why not? Because they do not earnestly will it.

It often happens that the sinner, while apparently desirous of conversion, has in reality not the will. And why? That is the question we shall answer today. O Mary, thou purest of the pure, pray that we may be filled with a true desire to be cleansed from the leprosy of sin, through Jesus Christ our Lord! I speak in the most holy name of Jesus, to the greater glory of God!

“Lord, if Thou wilt, Thou canst make me clean,” cried the leper. How much more natural it is for us children of the Church to address Christ in these words, since we know so much better than the leper in the Gospel who Jesus is, and why He came into the world.

The leper did not doubt that Christ possessed the power to heal him, but he was not certain of Christ’s willingness to perform a miracle. In regard to the leprosy of sin, we have no reason to doubt Christ’s willingness to cleanse us. For this He came into the world, for this He sacrificed Himself on the cross, for this He gave His blood and life, for this He established His Church. Do not the Apostles teach us to say: “I believe in the forgiveness of sins?” To give us a remedy against sin, Christ called us to His holy Church, freed us in baptism from the inherited leprosy of our nature, and gave us access to all the Sacraments, those fountains of grace for the purification of souls.

Verily then Jesus is willing. If we are not cleansed, in whom lies the fault? In ourselves. The sinner is wanting in real sincerity and in the earnest desire of being cleansed. And why? Because he feels his own misery too imperfectly. He is not sufficiently disgusted with sin; he is not thoroughly penetrated with fear at the consequences of sin.

The leper was disgusted with himself. Leprosy is, as is well known, a revolting disease, and everyone is careful to avoid those who are stricken with it. But what is such a disease compared to the disfigurement of sin, which makes us resemble Satan in repulsiveness? Not only mortal, but even venial sin is leprosy. Not a moral fault but is more disgusting to God than all the ulcers and sores in the whole world.

Could the sinner but see himself, were he aware of how his soul is deformed by sin, how intense would be his desire, how great his haste to go to Jesus and beg of Him to be cleansed. Unfortunately, the sinner is seldom thoroughly conscious of his deplorable state. He generally believes that his moral condition is not so bad, and, regarding his sins as human weaknesses, consoles himself with the thought that there are others who are worse. He fails to consider God’s horror of sin, the disgust of the angels and saints, who have reason to be ashamed of him if he regards himself in communion with them, or perhaps even calls them his brothers and his sisters. He does not realize that the sight of his sins drives away his guardian angel, all angels, in fact, and saints. He never thinks of the misfortune into which sin has precipitated him, robbing his good works of all merit, and rendering him unable to earn anything for heaven; how sin has opened the gates of hell, so that he is liable at any moment to fall into the abyss, where he must bewail in eternal torments those sins which he here committed with so little concern.

He who stains his soul with many venial sins can not consider how these prevent him from lessening the flow of divine grace, diminish his merits, how they augment the debt that is to be paid in purgatory. Moreover, he can not reflect on the danger his waywardness exposes him to of falling into grievous sin. The consequence of this thoughtlessness is that the sinner hastens not to seek Jesus, and to approach Him in the person of His minister to receive, after sincere repentance, the forgiveness of his transgressions.

Secondly.–The sinner goes to confession and apparently is desirous of being cleansed from the leprosy of his sin, but in reality he is very indifferent. How few of those to whom sin has become a habit–a class of sinners who especially resemble the leper–examine themselves conscientiously before confession on the number of their mortal sins and the circumstances that affect the nature of their transgressions. The leper feels day and night the misery of his disease, and knows every place where it has settled. The habitual sinner does not take the trouble to consider the evil of sin on his soul, and hardly deems it necessary to examine his conscience. Why? He is not really in earnest to be converted.

If it were a bodily illness he would immediately send for a physician, and explain minutely all the symptoms of his disease; but as the condition of his soul is a matter of little concern to him, he gives but a superficial account of its state, and not unfrequently makes a bad confession. It but seldom happens that a habitual sinner accuses himself fully and freely without aid from the priest. Jesus stretched out his hand and touched the leper. The priest should spiritually do the same to the sinner by his words, but as the sinner has not thoroughly opened his heart, the priest is not able to touch the affected parts and heal them by words of advice.

The sinner confesses, but he has not the earnest desire to make a frank and open declaration of his faults. He is satisfied with a lame, cursory accusation, hoping that the confessor will impart a speedy absolution, and not trouble him with many questions. He is not anxious about the future, how he may avoid relapses, anticipate temptations or combat them, when they do assault him, with effectual weapons.

The sinner, moreover, has not the determination to use the proper means to obtain grace and to advance in the ways of virtue, namely, prayer, spiritual reading, the reception of the Sacraments.

Happy are you, O sinner, if you are conscious that you are, earnest in your desire to be converted, to avoid all occasions of committing sin, and to resist temptations, so that you can truthfully say before Jesus and his minister: I will. Christ will say the same to you. And if you unite your will with His, do not doubt that you will be cleansed from the leprosy of your sin through Jesus Christ our Lord! Amen!

THE LEPER–THE FAITH OF THE CENTURION

Once when Our Lord was coming down from a mountain, followed by a great crowd of people, He entered the city of Capharnaum. At the city gates there was a poor leper, who, bowing down profoundly, addressed Jesus and cried out: “Lord! if Thou wilt, Thou canst make me clean.”

Leprosy is a very filthy, disgusting disease. The whole body is covered with a false dry skin like scales, so that the person becomes a most hideous and loathsome object. In the East and in this country, too, leprosy is considered contagious, and the laws of sanitary boards separate people afflicted with it from those that are well, and will not allow lepers to come into the cities. This picture is but a very insignificant description of leprosy. You must see it to know how loathsome it really is.

When you read the description of leprosy think of that other kind of leprosy of the soul, for sin is the leprosy of the soul, and is as filthy and more so than the leprosy of the body. Yes, it is the leprosy of sin that makes the soul a horrible sight before God and the angels. The leprous souls that live in so many human bodies in cities and villages are not subject to any laws. They can remain where they please, and still we know that nothing is more contagious than the leprosy of sin. Thus it is that sin is continually growing and spreading, until we find it in every nook and corner of the world. How rare it is to find youths not infected with some vice or other! How few are untouched by this contagion, or who have preserved their baptismal innocence!

If you are already covered with the leprosy of sin, ah, then cry out: “Lord, you see how miserable my condition is! Heal me–cleanse me. You see that my mouth is infected because such bad words, blasphemies, and curses are continually flowing from it. You see, O Lord, that my body and my senses are infected with this terrible disease, for it induces the soul to commit the sins of impurity.” If you pray in this manner, humbly and confidently, you will hear in your soul the consoling words, “Yes, I will help you to overcome that vice. I will forgive you and give you the grace of remaining good.”

But Our Lord adds: “Go and show yourselves to the priest.” The priest is the minister of God. He will extend his hands over you, and you will be made whiter than snow. You will start up into a new life, in which you will acquire again the merits of your good actions, which would never have been any benefit to you unless you had thus repented. From slaves of Satan you will become adopted sons of God, co-heirs with Jesus Christ.

But remember well, my beloved children, that you must have a good will. St. Augustine says that God cures all evils, but only those which we really want to be cured.

The unhappy leper really wished to be healed, for he realized the sad condition he was in, and Jesus immediately extended His hand and touched him. We admire the power of Christ, for at once the whole body was healed. It was again full of vigor and health. Jesus did not give him time to burst out in sentiments of wonder, exultation or gratitude, but said: “See thou tell no man, but go, show thyself to the priest.” The man obeyed, and as he went he could not help letting people know what Jesus had done for him. The fame of this miracle spread about the country and drew many to look for help from Our Lord.

There was in Capharnaum a centurion, a soldier and a heathen, whose servant lay at the point of death. He came to Our Lord and laid his trouble before Him: “My servant lieth at home sick of the palsy, and is grievously tormented.” “I will come and heal him,” said Our Lord. But the centurion did not expect so great a favor; he repeated those admirable words: “Lord I am not worthy that Thou shouldst enter under my roof, but only say the word and my servant shall be healed.”

These words are so applicable to all poor sinners who are about to receive the visit of the Lord, that the Church has borrowed them and uses them three times when communion is to be given. “We should repeat them with a heart full of confusion, because even though we possessed the purity of an angel and the sanctity of John the Baptist, we would not be worthy to receive in our heart Our Lord Jesus. Therefore ought we do all in our power to be free from sin, that we might be the less unworthy to receive Jesus in the great Sacrament of His love.

There are few young people who are so impressed with the sublimity of this holy Sacrament that they approach it with sentiments of respect and veneration. On the contrary they generally go without proper dispositions. They do not endeavor to excite in themselves the sentiments of devotion and love of God which are required to make a good communion.

But there are many, too, who are unworthy to receive Jesus in their heart because their souls are blackened with crime. They defile their tongues with impure conversations, and they dare to receive on them the body of Christ. They defile their bodies with impurities and into these they dare to introduce the Holy of holies. They give scandal and they wish to receive Jesus.

They go to confession and if the priest refuse them absolution because he sees no signs of amendment, they go to another, who is easier, so that they may get through. How blind such young people are! They do not comprehend that they are making a bad communion.

Go, of course, frequently to communion, but do so with a pure heart, and free from sin, full of humility, reverence, and love. When the time approaches for communion, call on the angels, the archangels and all the holy spirits, and beg of them to accompany you to the banquet of Our Lord.

When Our Lord heard the humble words of the centurion He was struck with astonishment and said, “Amen, I say to you, I have not found so great a faith in Israel.” It was certainly a great act of faith, and that was the reason it drew on the centurion that commendation which the Lord seldom gave. The centurion trusted in the power and goodness of Our Lord. He knew, too, that it was not necessary for Our Lord to come to his house. He knew He was God, or at least had the power of God at His command. For this faith and trust Our Lord broke forth into unusual praise.

Even among faithful Christians it is rare to find those who really trust in God. They put trust in their friends, in their own smartness and strength, but they do not remember that they have a God at their command to whom they may go with all confidence. We trust too much to our friends in many things and even prefer them to God. Here is a young man who, meeting his companions, goes with them to lunch. It is Friday. The young man refuses to eat meat, but his companions persuade him. “Oh, eat it! What wrong can there be?” He yields, and the sin is committed.

Another meets a companion on the street. “Where are you going?” “To hear a sermon,” is the reply. “Oh, don’t be so foolish as to sit there to listen to such an insignificant preacher. That is good enough for doting old people or pious women. Come, let us go to the theatre. You will see nice things; you will laugh and be happier there than in church.” He goes out of friendship for his companion. He witnesses the derision of his religion, or immoral scenes; he sees many things that please the eye and stir his sensuality. He hears many improper things; his mind is filled with loose sayings and bad thoughts, and all this has happened simply to please a friend. You see then how obsequious you are to your friends, but of God and Christ you make no account.

When Our Lord had said the words of commendation to the centurion He added: “Many shall come from the east and the west and shall sit down with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven, but the children of the kingdom shall be cast out into the exterior darkness.” God is merciful to all; He calls all; but they must have the faith of the centurion. Then He turned again to the centurion and said, “Go, and as thou hast believed so be it done to thee.” That same moment the servant was healed, and when the centurion arrived home he found the man perfectly restored to health. Just reflect a moment on these words of Our Lord. “The children of the kingdom shall be cast out into the exterior darkness; there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” Terrible words; but which will prove as true to many Christians as they were to many of the Jews. Not a day passes but many infidels and idolaters come to the faith, are converted, and enter the kingdom of God, while many Christians born in the faith, brought up and educated in it, perish miserably in eternal damnation. A damned soul once returned to the earth and asked whether there were any good people still on earth, for he had seen such innumerable multitudes going to hell that he thought there could not be one left.

St. Bernard understood so well the misery of those who went to hell that he used to say, “If out of all the human race, who number thousands of millions of souls, it were known that only one was to go to hell, I would tremble with fear lest I should be that miserable one.” O, my dear young people, let us make up our minds that we will not be of the number of the wicked Christians who will lose their places in heaven which were marked out for them from all eternity had they remained faithful. Are we, the sons of the kingdom, we, the adopted sons of God, to be excluded from our future heritage in heaven and thrown out into darkness? Oh, since the Lord has been so good to us that we have received the grace of being born in a Christian family, let us beg also the grace to remain faithful to Christ and love Him so dearly that we may enter the heavenly kingdom which is ours by right. At the same time knowing that many places are left vacant in heaven by bad Christians, let us beg Our Lord to send His light to the east and west and bring many to occupy these seats of glory.

#3rd sunday after epiphany

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anninhiliation · 5 years

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I’ve Had It

A/N: Listen I am at work and you guys keep reblogging this photo so fuck all of you guys I have to write a memo that is a day late and what am I doing instead? Expressing my tingly va-jay-jay because of this idiot chicken nugget Im going to shave his beard myself and rip out that fake earing and throw it down the drain. CHRIS COME GET YOUR GIRL

Masterlist

As soon as I heard the hotel door close shut I shoved Joel onto the bed.

“Ay!” He called out as he tripped onto the mattress

“Listen to me, and listen to me clearly” I hissed as I climbed onto his back locking him in between my thighs. I grabbed his dark curls and tugged lightly so his head lifted up. “I have had enough of you and your shit. You wanna play? Well, I don’t play very nice boy” I ended in a whisper as I licked the shell of his ear.

Joel let out a soft groan as I marked his neck with light purple clouds hitting all of his weak spots.

“Strip” I demanded as I climbed off of him

“W-” He went to protest as I shot my hand up around his neck

I gave him a light squeeze as my eyes filled in lust

“Joel you wanted to play games all night, well I’ve had it!” I growled

I noticed his pants tighten as his bulge started to protrude around his jeans. As he gulped under my grip and began to unzip his pants.

“Good boy” I cooed as I released my grip letting him pile his clothes on the hotel floor

I devoured the sight in front of me, of his perfectly toned body all on display for my eyes and my eyes only. I approached him and intertwined my fingers with his soft locks as I kissed him. Our lips molded together as Joel’s hands grabbed my body and explored. He firmly gripped my ass as I tugged on his locks, giving me full control of his mouth as he let out a soft moan. My core pooled with arousal as I pushed him to the bed, straddling his lap and assaulting his sweet spots. Joel yanked on the belt of my jeans trying to undo them as I sent him on a cloud of pleasure. I smirked as he struggled against the leather material, finally caving in and removing my belt myself but only to tie it around his wrists.

“Y/N!” He whined as I looped the extra material around my hand, giving me access to move his arms around as I pleased

“Be a good little fucktoy, and stop whining” I cooed stroking his beard with my thumb

He pouted as I lifted his arms up and pushed him to lay on his back

“Good” I whispered as I wiggled out of my jeans and slipped my hand in my underwear teasing my soaked folds

“Wanna taste?” I purred as I stuck two fingers inside of me and pumped, ensuring he heard how ready my entrance was.

He nodded, as I pulled out my fingers and slowly shoved them into his mouth He moaned as my sweet juices danced around his taste buds.

“Fuck” I groaned watching him suck my fingers clean

I pulled my fingers out of his mouth and pushed my underwear to the side. Straddling his waist I aligned his stiff member with my soaked entrance. I sunk down at a pace of my liking and once I was fully adjusted I went as fast as I could. One hand balanced on his lower abdomen as the other held on tightly to my belt. I leaned down, and passionately kissed him letting out all of my desire and lust out of my system. Our bodies began to form a light glow as our moans increased and the sound of smacking flesh grew louder. A knot formed in my lower abdomen as I felt him twitch inside me.

“You better not cum unless I give permission” I warned as I grinded my hips, sending a new sensation through his body

“I can’t hold it much longer” I whined as I let go of the belt and massaged his balls

Joel squirmed under my touch as he struggled holding back his bodily functions.

“Fuck cum for me baby” I moaned as I pulled out of him and enveloping him in my mouth.

Joel let out a string of curses as his warm salty liquid pooled in my mouth. As I swallowed his load, I crawled back up to him and hovered my core over his lips.

“Taste me” I instructed as his tongue licked my arousal.

My eyes rolled back as he devoured my nerve endings edging my knot to untie. My thighs shook around his head as I grabbed his curls and tugged. I was sent seeing the stars as he swallowed my orgasm, and cleaned up the excess. Panting, after I came down from my high I loosened my belt and let his arms free. I climbed off of him and cuddled into his chest.

“I should piss you off more often” He joked

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indecisivebreadpeas · 4 years

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I was watching The 10 Plagues Scene on YT (The Prince of Egypt was personally the shit for me as a kid) & me being a Hollow Knight fan & reading this comment:

“Fun fact about the plagues: They weren’t actually just random. They were intended to target the alleged gods of which Egyptians worship (examples being the god of the river [river turns to blood] and the cow god [kills livestock]). The final plague was actually meant to target the emperor himself (death of firstborns) because Egyptians often treated the pharaoh as a god himself. The killing of firstborns was to show that he and the royal family are not, in fact, invincible and that the Lord’s power and authority surpass that of Ramses. Anyway, just a fun fact.” -Matthew Castanares 2 months ago

& including the whole Infected Radiance Theory I thought: “What if the Radiance’s infector could & decided: ‘I’m gonna make infections &/or disaster that makes each Higher Being feel helpless & powerless!’” That AU...it scares me, but I’ve got an idea for every Higher Being. (I’m still in the “every character shall suffer!!!” phase).

The Radiance: Just like the OG infection, it starts off in the mind, but bugs are theft of the ability to dream, in any way, meaning they’re also theft of the ability to have desires, goals, ambitions, etc. Their memory is also corroded, everything down to the names of different colors, intelligence itself. Plus if we go the no memory corroding route, they may do things off of instincts while wonder “why am I even listening to my instincts?”

Nightmare King: Same as the Radiance, but w/ nightmares instead, & if I’m correct, Nightmare flames are the result of remaining nightmares from those of fallen kingdoms, making Hallownest, co. & maybe even other kingdoms like Pharloom (should it fall unless it already did, I’m mostly keeping myself from info about Silksong) incapable of providing Flames for the Nightmare Heart.

The Abyss Creature: Assuming they’re the higher being of Lifeblood, let’s do a disease that mutates Lifeblood Cocoons, Lifeseeds & their assumed mature form into a species that will suck any bodily fluid of other species & even their own for survival plus they populate at an impossibly rapid rate that trying to eradicate them only delays them overcoming Hallownest & their neighbors.

Unn: The infected Lifeblood creatures are definitely messing them up big time, but what if we had one or more species of apsid hatchling sized bugs rapidly populating at a rate that’s slower to every species that’s consuming every green in their sight. What if instead/at the same time, some poison was sent through the dirt, water, &/or acid killing off Unn’s people & plants?

The White Lady: Using the White Lady=Fungus Theory, I’m thinking she & the Queen’s Gardens plants both somehow gain a poison that not only gets them harming each other when they should be helping each other grow but both poisons from themselves & each other are killing them off slowly & painfully. What if we also gave the White Lady the ability to feel the Queen’s Garden’s plants pain via the poison too because she already interacted w/ them or someway else?

Pale King amigos!: I’m assuming as a whole he’s basically the higher being of soul. Almost every being needs soul to even live. I’m thinking that live bugs loose the ability to physically use their body while their soul gains sentience but it only has instincts, habit, control over the host’s body & nothing else, the person is fully conscious, & can only watch & themselves as they’re trapped in a body they no longer have control over.

Lord of Shades: I’ve got nothing, + there’s the fact that the Radiance’s puppeteer & Lord of Shades may be ancient enemies, though, she could be referring to the vessels especially w/ them being the Pale King’s children, I feel like that part of the theory is inconsistent or maybe I’m not recalling something. If they are ancient enemies, there’s the question of if they would commit such action against them in the first place.

Bonus: Godseeker, Gods of Thunder & Gods of Rain

Simple for the Gods, it’s immense drought on the latter + contamination to the bits of water that does say sike to the drought.

As for the thunder peeps, mass wildfires maybe? Or maybe lava suddenly comes from the ground almost killing them or Godseeker.

Godseeker, everywhere she goes suffers what was put upon them & the Gods + years are needed for the curse to lessen

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

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Burn (Tales From The Heart)

Fandom: One Piece Rating: Teen Warnings: injury, blood Characters: Law, Penguin, Shachi, Bepo

Law looked at the building in front of him with a sinking feeling. While clearly nowhere near as decrepit as it had been, the signs of a fire were obvious, tarpaulin pulled over bits of blackened exposed rafters. Some of the windows were boarded up, the white walls above them smoke-stained.

An unpleasant sensation settled in his stomach, which twisted itself in knots. A hospital was a well-defended and well-cared for part of any town. The fact that it had been burnt down made Law pause, wishing his memories of where Cora-san had taken him were clearer so that he could avoid those islands completely. He had no recollection of the place, but he found it hard to believe they'd coincidentally landed on one island in the entirety of North Blue whose hospital had burnt down for a reason other than upsetting Cora-san.

It had been a few years since then, the hospital's state a clear indicator of the island's struggling economy, and Law's tell-tale white splotches had faded away considerably, so it was unlikely he would be recognisable. Still, he didn't want to linger.

"No messing around," he told the other boys. They looked affronted, as if the very idea was preposterous. Law wished it was, but they did like to explore sometimes. He wasn't interested in any explorations here. A glance was shared between them and he waited for the inevitable questions – what was this place, how did he know it, why didn't he want to linger?

They never came, instead he was given two understanding nods from the teenagers. He'd forgotten that sometimes they realised when not to ask questions – a good thing in this case, as he didn't know what he'd have told them. They deserved the truth, but it still hurt too much to recount.

He spared a moment to remember the disaster with the white lead statue and wondered if they'd put anything together from that.

"Just the supplies, then we leave, then?" Penguin asked instead and Law nodded, pulling away from his thoughts and turning away from the sight of the hospital. "Got it."

They headed for the marketplace, where wares were plentiful and prices cheap. Maybe if they charged more they'd be able to fix up their hospital.

"That hat!" a man's voice exclaimed as they entered the main square. Law ignored it despite the clenching in his gut. "It's that boy's hat!" he flailed, sounding terrified.

"The white monster!" a woman's voice joined in and Law couldn't help the flinch. Hands rested on his shoulders lightly and he moved to dislodge them before realising who it was.

"Boys, get away from him!" the first voice said. "He's infected, you'll die!" There was panicked screaming, and Law ground his teeth.

"What the hell sort of nonsense are you spouting?" Shachi demanded, and Law felt the hand on his right shoulder tighten its grip.

"Sound the alarm!" he man continued as if Shachi hadn't spoken. "Call the Marines! Call the authorities!" The cries caught the attention of everyone in earshot. "The White Monster is back!"

Time seemed to stand still, just for a moment, the words echoing in the air and tormenting Law as his mind was thrown back to sitting in the doctor's office, listening to a man who ranked his own skin above an ill child.

The illusion shattered when two fists collided with the man's face, sending him flying backwards. People screamed again.

"How dare you?" Penguin demanded, and Law vaguely registered that the hands had gone from his shoulders. The two older boys moved to stand in front of him, seething. The man wiped his face with his sleeve. It came away bloody from his now broken nose, and he screamed.

Law was getting tired of the screaming.

"Let's go," he said, turning away from the man on the ground and the woman now hovering anxiously by his side, dabbing at the blood as if she'd never seen a broken nose before.

"W-what are you-?" the man blubbered, his voice thick. "No! Stop! Please!"

Law whirled back around to see that his order had been completely ignored by the other teens, who had descended onto the defenceless man with a vengeance. The sight was the same as when he'd first met them – two teenagers angry at the world and taking it out on anyone weaker than them. Only this time their victim wasn't a mink, but a so-called doctor.

This time they were capable of killing, and as Law watched he realised that was exactly what the two were intending. The woman had scrambled back, her fear greater than her desire to help, and Law saw her eyes flicking around nervously, as if she was waiting to be ambushed.

She was waiting for Cora-san to appear. A part of Law relished the fear, watching two of the apparent medical profession panic as they reaped what they sowed for not doing their jobs when they'd had the chance, even as his heart clenched.

Then he caught sight of Penguin and Shachi's faces, twisted with an ugly rage that didn't look right on them. They should be smiling and laughing, keeping his spirits up because that was what they did. They weren't killers – they had killed, but it was always for self-preservation. Law didn't want his nakama turning into cold-blooded murderers. Especially not when their first kills had sent them into a shock that had taken them days, weeks to shake. He was certain that even now, they had nightmares about it, because despite everything they'd been through, everything they'd done, underneath the surface they were still kind and gentle.

Looking at their twisted, furious faces now, Law could see none of that. There was no trace of the grins they usually wore in a fight, as if they were having fun. There was no resigned look as they reluctantly ended a life because it was do or die. Just faces twisted into snarls of anger as they cursed and spat at the bloodied form beneath them.

It felt like a punch to the gut. A haki-coated Lao G punch to the gut.

This wasn't right. They shouldn't be so hateful, and the nagging sensation that if he didn't stop them something would irreparably shatter drove him to action, lunging forwards and grabbing them by the backs of their collars. Bigger, taller and enraged, pulling them back took more strength than he had. He was fairly certain they only stumbled back because their clothes were throttling them, and the fact that he'd had to do that to them was a douse of cold seawater to go with the gut punch.

"Let go!" Shachi snarled, his voice perfectly matching the ugly hatred on his face. Law never wanted to hear that from him again.

Penguin was wordless, vicious noises more at home from a rabid bear than his nakama's mouth making themselves heard as he threw himself forwards again, causing Law's shoulder to lurch painfully.

"Stop!" he shouted, seeing the limp, bloody form of their target on the ground, unresponsive even as his assaulters were bodily hauled back as best Law could manage. No-one took the chance to run to his aid, not even the woman cowering nearby. Disgusted that they would even abandon their own, he gritted his teeth and jerked his nakama backwards, catching first Penguin and then Shachi with a hooked foot around their ankles and causing all three of them to crash to the ground. Law's lungs deflated as Shachi's elbow caught him, and a breathless cry followed as the full weight of both teens crashed on top of him. "Stop!" he wheezed again, taking advantage of their brief stunning to wrap his arms around them more firmly. To his immense regret, the only way he could force them both to stay still was a chokehold, his arms hooked around their throats, and he bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to bleed in an effort to hold back the tears.

Fingernails scrabbled at his arms as both teens reacted instinctively to the attack, clawing at him mercilessly for several long moments as he fought to keep them subdued, all the while battling with the wrongness of the situation. Every fibre of his being wanted to release them, to stop hurting them as they gasped for breath and bit and scratched at every part of him they could reach, but he couldn't.

If he let go, they'd finish what they'd started, and lose something precious. They'd break, and it would all be Law's fault.

"L-law?" Penguin gasped, the first word he'd spoken since beginning his beatdown. Law needed no further persuasion to lessen his grip, letting his nakama breathe again but unable to let him go completely in case he rampaged again. Shachi was also lessening the fight, and Law didn't know if it was surrender or impending unconsciousness, but he slackened his grip on him, too.

"Stop," he said again, hoping they were in the state of mind to listen to him now. Despite his weakened grip, neither made a move to get up, and Law took a chance, releasing them completely. "We're leaving," he told them, carefully extracting himself from underneath the pair. They stayed still for a moment, just breathing, and Law watched them nervously, ignoring the shocked silence of their onlookers. Still no-one had gone to help the unconscious man.

"Yes, Captain," Shachi said, and he sounded resigned. Defeated. The ginger staggered to his feet, rubbing at his throat lightly. Besides him, Penguin mirrored his actions, and this time when Law began to lead the way back to the Tang, they followed.

The island natives parted for them silently, stumbling over themselves in their haste to get out of their path. Law ignored them, infinitely more concerned for his now silent nakama. Did they hate him now? The duo were never silent. Not like this.

"I'm sorry," he said, the moment they were back on the Tang, Bepo watching them with unconcealed worry but keeping his distance. He reached out for them, his hands stopping halfway at the blank faces. "I-"

"No," Penguin interrupted, breaking the silence. He sounded almost like Law was used to, almost normal, and part of Law dared hope that everything was okay. "I'm sorry." Now he sounded sincere, almost severe, and Law's heart dropped. This was it. This was the tipping point, where he'd pushed them too far, hurt them.

Arms wrapped around him, a crushingly tight hug, and Law froze as the older boy buried his face in his shoulder.

"They hurt you," Penguin continued, his voice muffled. "I couldn't do anything."

"We couldn't do anything," Shachi corrected, the ginger suddenly there in Law's personal bubble and wrapping his arms tightly around him, too.

Law felt his eyes water. The idiots. Compete and utter idiots. Barging into his life and his heart and staying there and forcing their way into situations they didn't belong just to help him.

There was a warmth at his back and all around him as Bepo joined in the hug, nuzzling at his cheek gently. The mink didn't know, couldn't know, what had happened and yet he was there, reliable as always.

"I never asked you to," he muttered into their hats. You do more than enough already. The unspoken words hung in the air, and Law let the silence stretch. Nothing had changed. They hadn't crossed the line of no return. Their humanity was still intact, as it should be. As it would always be, if Law had any say in the matter.

Law was their captain. Of course he had a say in the matter.

"You're not murderers," he told them, his voice stern even though he could feel it trembling on his tongue. The hats pulled back far enough that he could see their faces. Both were tear stained and his gut churned. "There's a line between killing for survival and killing for killing. Don't cross it."

They blinked at him numbly, and Law kicked away the memory of his early time as a Donquixote Pirate, when he'd charged over the line only for Cora-san to pick him up by the scruff of his neck and bodily throw him back.

Behind him, Law heard Bepo make a confused sound, unable to fully muffle it.

"Killing… for… ki-" Shachi sounded out slowly, as if testing the weight of each word on his tongue before letting it escape his mouth. "For… ki-"

"Gods," Penguin breathed, comprehension dawning in his eyes. His legs buckled, and Law lunged forwards awkwardly to try and catch him as he fell. Penguin was heavier than Law could comfortably hold, and for the second time that day he ended up on the ground, holding his nakama. He heard a matching sound from Shachi, and his eyes flicked over long enough to see that Bepo had caught the ginger, lowering him to the ground with far more gentleness than Law had been able to achieve.

"I… we…" Penguin garbled. Shachi started to hiccup, the ugly, painful sound of someone unable to breathe properly because there were tears in the way. "We…" His hands were trembling, his whole body shuddering, and Law knew then that everything had sunk in; the heavy realisation that they'd been about to throw away their humanity, to become murderers, not just survivors.

"It's over," Law said, because he was never good at words, could never make people feel better. "You didn't. Bepo," he called, gaining the immediate attention of the mink still holding Shachi, letting him wipe tears and snot in his fur because Bepo was good like that.

"Captain?" the mink asked, one paw firmly entrenched in ginger hair. Shachi's hat lay abandoned on the deck and Law wondered if that was a trick for successful comforting.

"We need to leave this place," he said, and watched as Bepo hesitated, looking down at his nakama before gently nudging him towards Penguin. Unsurprisingly, the pair melted together, clutching at each other as if they were the only things keeping each other afloat in a sea of emotion, and Bepo gave them one last concerned glance before disappearing to the control room.

Bepo's sudden absence didn't make Law suddenly proficient in comforting. He knelt in front of the pair, awkward and wooden as he sorted through everything he knew, trying to find something appropriate, anything.

There was nothing. None of the books he'd read, none of his life experiences, had left him with any inkling what to do in this situation, how to make things better. He couldn't heal mental wounds, couldn't heal emotional wounds. All he knew was the body, how to stitch it back together so that it could keep going.

His eyes landed on the other boys' knuckles, bloodied and bruised. They were hurt, although it was clear to Law that their physical discomfort had yet to register in their minds at all, too busy tying themselves up in what-ifs and whys and everything that came with a mental crisis (and wasn't it funny that Law knew what they were like but not how to cure them?).

It was small, insignificant. In amongst everything else they needed it didn't even register on the list of priorities, but Law was a doctor and insignificant it might be but it was something. And something was better than nothing.

"Inside," he ordered, trying to soften his tone and internally wincing when it came out sharp and brusque. It was enough to catch their attention, their heads jerking up to look at him with too-blank eyes (and Law knew it was bad when he could tell Shachi's eyes were blank even through his shades). "Infirmary," he clarified when they didn't move immediately. For several long seconds they still didn't move, and Law chewed the inside of his cheek again, wondering how to get them to listen.

Then they moved, slowly unfurling themselves and finding their feet in a jerky, uncoordinated fashion, like a new born animal unsure of its place in the world. They followed in silence as he led the way, the stillness alleviated only by the background hum of the Polar Tang as her engines roared to life.

They slumped onto the beds when they reached their destination, and Law wasted no time in taking hold of Shachi's right hand, dabbing at it with disinfectant to clean away the blood before wrapping it gently yet firmly with white gauze. Something flickered behind the shades as he started to work on the left hand, and as he finished, both hands flexed loosely.

Penguin's hands were in the same shape, and Law treated them just as tenderly, because he couldn't heal their minds but he could heal their bodies, and he'd do anything to stop feeling so useless.

"Law," Shachi said as he finished with Penguin, and he looked at him because Shachi didn't sound like he was crying anymore. "Thank you."

For what, Law wanted to know. For putting them in a situation where their rage had almost destroyed them? For standing around like an awkward puppet as they fell apart, unable to help?

He said nothing, jumping as bandaged hands wrapped around his own securely.

"We won't make that mistake again," Penguin promised. "We won't be murderers." There was an awkward, pregnant silence, and for once Law knew what to say.

"I know."

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #heart pirates #tales from the heart #tsari writes fanfiction #trafalgar law #penguin #shachi #bepo

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buttercup-of-kaer-morhen · 4 years

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Of Thorns and Buttercups

~Ch 4/?~

(Beauty and the Beast AU, Kiiiinda. It has definite elements of the original story cause I’m a sap for Fairytale AUs. I hope you enjoy. Also shout out to @sophiakuso1 for being my beta. Here you can find Beginning or Previous) I asked my beta for help writing this chapter's summary and she gave me "Jaskier has an ADHD day". Thank you my dear. Very helpful. Or Jaskier tries to help figure out how to break a curse with nothing to go on while Geralt is nowhere to be found.

Primary Tags: Beast! Geralt, Belle! Jaskier, Memory Alteration Via Curse, It really only affects Jaskier right now Also on AO3!

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“Does this mean I can stay?” Jaskier called after the retreating beast. The only response he got was a door closing in his face, metaphorically speaking seeing as he was a few dozen yards away from it, which was as good as a yes in his books. All in all though, the situation had worked out remarkably well. He wasn’t dead or likely to be maimed and the Beast had the bard’s company to keep him entertained now that it was apparent Jaskier couldn’t leave. It was a win-win as far as he was concerned and, seeing that there was no one else in the present company, he could continue to occupy the room he had chosen last evening. Which reminded him, he was only mostly dressed and still standing dumbly at the edge of the garden with all his things in his arms. Right. Well, as lovely as the crisp winter air was this fine… dawn, he’d rather be inside where it was a little cozier or at least fully dressed.

Hurrying back inside, he decided his first few tasks should be to put his things back in his room and finish dressing, as well as tidy the room so as not to be rude. He may have been a surprise and maybe even an unwanted guest, but he wouldn’t be an unkempt one. Upon entering the room however, the hearth was lit, the curtains to the bed drawn, and the linens were made up neat and tidy. Which surprised Jaskier, but the beautifully tailored cornflower blue doublet with cutely embroidered little yellow buttercups, matching breeches, and a delicate white lace chemise completely baffled him. He couldn’t help the soft smile that played on his lips. For as gruff and cold as the beast was, it would seem he was awfully kind and sweet. Perhaps the sudden insistence on the bard’s departure had to do something with concern over his well being. Perhaps the curse? He had felt like he had been watched all night but the Beast wouldn’t have let him sleep soundly for as long as he had if his reaction from earlier was anything to go by.

Jaskier thought over several ideas about the curse as he got redressed in the new clothing but nothing settled right with him. He needed more details but he was now fully determined to help the gentle beast. Getting information out of his stoic companion may prove to be tough, however, so there was always the second option. Snooping! He was terribly good at it, almost as good as he was at fooling people into believing he was a bumbling buffoon before ripping the rug out from under them for his own personal gain. He may be foolhardy with a dislike of bodily harm but he was quick witted and silver tongued. Both were qualities that could prove useful now.

Once dressed, he was ready to go find answers. He briefly debated whether or not he should grab his lute, but the constant itch to play had dulled as the pain in his heart grew, so he left without it. Knowing where to start was rather tricky, however. The gardens were enchanted ,but obviously there was something going on in the keep as well. Then there was always the tail from the night prior that disappeared around a corner further down from his room. It couldn’t have been the Beast’s Jaskier thought. The pelts were different. His Beast’s pelt was white as lilies or fresh fallen snow while the tail had not been. It was silver like a moon lit lake with dapples of gray and black on the surface.

He decided a strange creature was always the way to go and if he got into trouble, he knew he could call for help. If the beast wanted him dead then he would have killed him already. Letting a monster or wild animal kill him seemed rather contrary to his actions. So, off he went down the hall. He looked high and low, squeezed through broken doors and under debris, as little as there was, but came up short. No magical looking artifacts, or sigils on the walls or floors, and certainly no other living beings to be seen. He couldn’t even find a measly journal or letter to boot. Just dust, old lavish rooms, and literature that was rather unextraordinary. He huffed as he scuffed the heel of his boot on the stone floor in disappointment, backtracking the way he had come. The Beast was also nowhere to be found which made his spirits drop further. The bard hoped he wouldn’t be avoided the entire time, it would be awfully lonely.

Deciding his next stop was the magical gardens, he picked himself up and bolstered his thoughts. The day was far from done, and there were still places to look and time to ingratiate himself with the other fellow. Now Jaskier realized that it may take a while to look through the grounds but he had underestimated just how big they were. The front was already large as it reached from the house to the treeline in a few dozen yards, but the garden around the back was almost maze-like and he wasn’t sure he could see the treeline from near the back entrance. The back also held a variety of flowers that hadn’t appeared in the front but there was no rhyme or reason to what was planted. Most nobility had an aesthetic they wished to achieve with a very particular color scheme, which the front gardens had, but which the back garden lacked completely. There were only fourteen flowers, as far as he could see, that bloomed all over the place. No others. No order. It all proved to be a very odd sight. Perhaps they had some kind of use or significance? Off hand he knew the blue hydrangea symbolized a frigid heart apologizing and the yellow Asphodel meant I’m sorry, which he may or may not have made use of, but he couldn’t remember the others off the top of his head. The only reason he bothered to learn the symbolism of botany, which was not a popular art across the continent but it did exist and was rather interesting, was because it was an aid to lend depth to his prose and lyrical tales… and it came in handy when trying to charm a person of higher status than he, but their magical or alchemical properties still eluded him. There wasn’t much need for that knowledge earlier in life, which he was regretting now. There were some books inside if he remembered correctly so he could gather a sample of each flower and see if any lady squirreled away a journal with writings of flowers which he could use to look them up. Thankfully, the canary yellow cloak he grabbed, which had rested conveniently by the entrance, had rather deep hidden pockets. So, away he went, carefully collecting flora for later use.

In the middle of the collecting specimens, a nasty little thistle caught his finger as he went to pluck it. A drop of scarlett welled up on his fingertip before he placed the finger in his mouth and used the other to pluck the offending sprig. The shock of the sudden pain was only matched by the surprise that nearly stilled his heart for a beat as he righted himself. To his right, a lynx with a pelt that shined like liquid silver stood just down the path leading into the garden maze. If that wasn’t a big sign screaming freaky magic or cursed creature, then Jaskier would eat his fucking lute. As strange magical things often did, it didn’t seem inclined to make things easy for him. It suddenly took off down the footpath away from him, and he was forced to inelegantly scramble after it. “W-wait!” He tried to call after the animal but it either didn’t understand or it elected to ignore him. He skidded around corners and stumbled over gravel to stay within eyesight of the fur ball of energy. It felt equivalent to the time he had tried to catch the wayward family cat of a countess he had been rather fond of at the time and had instead made a rather marvelous spectacle of himself. He had felt like he was finally getting some of the ground between them to shorten but in his excitement, his foot caught a patch of ice that sent him toppling over and by the time he scrambled to look up, the beautiful lynx was gone. A well of disappointment filled his ribs as he knelt there in the snow, trying to regain his breath. Why couldn’t he be of any use? The thought had something in his heart twisting in old pains. Would he really be of any help to the Beast or would he just be in the way like he was back home? There was another time in his life that he vaguely remembered of him trying, fruitlessly it would seem, to be of help but it was so muddled in his memory that he couldn’t fully recall.

Disheartened, Jaskier eventually got his feet under him and slowly picked his way out of the maze from the way he came with only damp, cold clothes to show for his efforts. With how heavy the snow fall was, he couldn’t even find any mark or indication of which ways he needed to turn to come back, if he so had the desire. In the spring, it might have been a lovely place to spend hours wandering through with a beloved or chase one another through in the way of a romantic overture, but now it just felt like a cold tedious exercise in futility. It was like if you were trying to navigate the cold heart of the one you knew would never choose you. At first you have hope but with every dead end, your heart breaks more, and you eventually have to give up because you’re cold, wet, and alone, with no one to hug you better. Sadly this seemed more common than not in life. The heart always yearns for something it could not have, so to soothe it, you settle for cheap thrills and single nights of sweet lies. Oh how terribly morose he had become in life and obviously these were observations that had nothing to do with him personally. So lost in his mournful rumination, he had not realized how late in the day it had gotten until he finally emerged from the maze. The sun was already past the middle of the sky and Jaskier wondered if he was just going daft or if the days and nights were also magical in how they passed. He doubted he could unravel the complex mysteries of every magical occurrence found in the place. Not that he wanted to, since he had already had his hands full with the curse. He pushed the thought away to question at a different time.

With low spirits, Jaskier trudged around the other side of the keep he had not taken earlier and stumbled upon a stable that looked to be in good condition. Curiosity once again pulled him forward and had him peeking inside. To his surprise, there was a lone beautiful chestnut mare, which brought a smile to his lips. Ducking in and closing out the cold behind him, he went to the horse's side. “Oh Roach!” He found himself happily exclaiming as he pet her neck which earned a soft whinny, only to stop short puzzled. Did he just call the lovely animal by a fish’s name? Why on earth would he… And now that he thought about it, how would he recognize this horse out of all the others he had seen or met in passing? He did not own a horse but still something about her pulled up memories that he couldn’t seem to reach out and touch, but which carried a fond feeling nonetheless. Perhaps she reminded him of another horse from his past that was connected to whoever he was currently having trouble remembering. If the way his heart strings tugged tighter at the thought was anything to go on, he assumed he guessed correctly. But why would he remember the horse instead of the human…? Unless the horse was the more pleasant of the two but he doubted it. Regardless, this could not be that horse. Just one that looked similar. “Oh my dear, I do truly apologize for calling you by another’s name.” He whispered as he continued his gentle stroking and slowly rested his forehead against her. The sweet thing huffed before leaning into him. Slowly he furled his arms around her neck lightly and hugged the wonderful companion who indulged him in his need of comfort. “My darling, I fear that I may not know what to do now… I’m not even sure if I can win over the dear beast of the keep…” He sighed woefully, his voice unusually small for how he was. The mare however seemed to be having none of his self pity as her head bobbed and she nickered reproachfully, but in what he assumed was an encouraging reproach. He huffed a short laugh and looked up at his new friend with a smile as he pet her neck in thanks. “You’re very right. I can’t give up after only the first day! I have plenty of time to figure things out and hopefully get the Beast to accept my help.” He said with new conviction, his spirits rising once again with the new encouragement. As a side thought, the bard never expected a beast would need a horse for any reason but perhaps it had gotten lost and was given a home here by the kind gentleman. It looked to be well taken care of though; clean stall, full fresh food, and blankets to keep away any chill that came with the fall of night. As Jaskier made his way to leave, he promised to visit again soon and he made a mental note to bring a treat of some kind as thanks.

Crossing the courtyard to the house reminded the bard of how his clothing was soggy, and his elbows and knees were stained from the fall. He felt guilty because the Beast had left the lovely garments out just for him and he had yet to thank him. Not wanting the embarrassment of running into the other in such a state and having to explain that he had already ruined the kind gift, he quickly made for his room to get changed. Once he was inside then he could breathe freely again. Safely in his own chamber, he draped the borrowed cloak over the chair belonging to the small desk in the corner beside the fireplace and turned to find his pack to rummage for something decent to put on. To his surprise however, an outfit of midnight blue fabric with silver trimming laid on the bed. The fabric was thick but soft to the touch, and had a lovely brocade pattern of astrological symbols on it and small pearls dotting it like stars in the pattern of constellations. The chimese was a soft, dove gray, there were new boots of black, buttery leather, and fleece stockings to pull the whole ensemble together. It was such a beautiful set and he felt a little choked up at the thought that the Beast was giving him such nice things. Perhaps there was an expectation he would wear it for dinner? That meant the Beast wanted to eat together! It had the bard all the more resolute in trying to help. It was nice to receive something though. Usually he was the one always trying to give gifts to buy even a fraction of attention from young ladies of higher breeding. The only gifts he ever got were coins, or food and drink in exchange for his performance, or the threat of injury for having chased away his woes with the wrong person in one night of lonely passion. Ah, there were those sullen thoughts again. Jaskier waved them away as he washed up a bit at the small wash basin in the room and folded the soiled garments, putting them to the side to deal with later, before slipping on the lovely new clothing. He checked himself in the mirror before heading for the discarded cloak again. Intent on unraveling their secrets, he drew the cuttings from the pockets and carefully, thankful for the fact that they were mostly intact. If there were none to be found though, he supposed he could always just put a bouquet together for the Beast. Perhaps the gentle fellow just adored those particular blooms. Perhaps that was why the flowers were everywhere. The thought had Jaskier chuckling. The great big beast hunched over the flowers in the spring as he gently tended to them. The bard wondered if he would be there come the next spring to witness it. It almost sounded idyllic. He could see himself in a simple life similar to that. A cottage by the sea, flowers filling the garden, and his loved one tending to the flowers as he played soft music. A silly dream for a hopeless romantic, he would admit, but everyone was allowed just one, weren’t they?

With a sigh, he looked at the arrangement in front of him. He had grabbed the devilish little thistle that had snagged him. It looked to be a zinnia, though he knew nothing about the flower. It was a purple cluster of flowers of some kind, and a pink flower that went from soft pastel at the tip of the mouse ear shaped petal to a darker pink near the base. His knowledge of flowers was lax compared to his other, finer artistic knowledge and lessons of etiquette but he thankfully had the ability to name some of the flowers. Oddly enough, he felt like he had some practise identifying and picking medicinal flowers but he once again came to a wall in his own memory. Realizing it wouldn’t work well to try looking up flowers he had no name for, he added a plant identification reference book to his list of texts to find. He hoped in the vast space there would at least be an equally vast library of some kind that would conveniently have what he was looking for. Leaving the florets carefully laid across his desk, he left the room once again for his next search. The rooms in this upper part of the wing were particularly useless once again, aside from the small pocket journal of The Language of a Gentle Heart: Secrets of Floral Arrangement which was most likely written and titled by a starry eyed lady who needed a hobby. He found it questionable at best, but upon closer inspection, it was revealed to be a compilation of notes which were cross referenced from other sources with the meaning of flowers. Then the second small journal was more like a manual which the writer entitled The Art and Language of Flora for the use of Assassination and Deception and found under a mattress, also dubios but eye catching regardless. There was also still no sign of habitation of any of the rooms, which meant the Beast really didn’t live in this wing, or he had not been to his room at all and was hiding somewhere in the castle. Both scenarios were equally as likely at that point. Deciding to check elsewhere, he debated if there was anything of actual use in the other, more decayed wing of the keep before figuring that it’d be his last place to check if he really could not find everything he needed in the lower rooms of the fortress.

On the lower level, Jaskier first found the kitchens all the way down past the dining room he had been in the night prior and down a set of stairs. The kitchen was obviously well used but maintained and cleaned. The kitchen led to packed larders and pantries, brimming with food which, astonishingly, all looked fresh and not in the slightest bit old. Giving up on the kitchen, he briefly ducked his head back into the dining room and found his memory was correct. It only held the partially set long dining table, the fireplace, and occasional bits of decoration to liven it up. Next to the dining room was a private cabinet for the men and a boudoir for the women. Why they had the need of two separate, gender specific rooms to let honored guests relax in was beyond him. The only mildly interesting things held within were a smattering of tapestries, trophies, and ceremonial/decorative armor pieces, as well as various apparatuses to toil away time with, such as looms and such. All of them were nice, but not so useful. Jaskier moved onto the final room on this side of the main staircase. All he wanted were books. Just give him books! The door had been stubbornly shut but he had managed to wiggle through the crack he had opened. Beyond the large opulent doors a great hall, or at least what was left of one, laid. The throne was overturned, tables were splintered heaps, and the tapestries and banners were sliced to ribbons, rendering the crest unidentifiable. It sent a chill down his back so he quickly departed from that venture.

Crossing to the other side of the stairs, he ventured on, undeterred by the lack of progress he had made so far. Starting at the far end again, he was surprised to find a servants passageway that led up and down. Going up, he found himself in his wing of the castle and huffed before heading back down. The pathway down looked dark and damp, which didn’t seem very appealing, but he was committed so he grabbed a nearby light source in the form of a candelabra and descended. It was as damp and uninviting as he expected, but he did find a small room in the dark undercroft, obscured slightly from view, which had him wondering whether that was intentional or not. Opening the aged door, he found a stillroom of sorts. Dried plants that looked like they were left and forgotten, hung neatly around the room. There were suspicious jars and vials Jaskier specifically did not touch, but more importantly there were hand drafted journals and reference texts on medicinal plants and alchemy. He grabbed The Botanist’s Companion to The Identification of Flora, and something that had no real title but inside was filled with alchemy and lists of ingredients with their common uses. Elated to find something hopefully useful, Jaskier headed back up with his bounty and used the servants passage to drop off the books on his desk before continuing his search of the lower rooms. He also replaced the candelabra in its rightful place, of course. Next to the secret stairs, there was a large bathing house where the tubs were stored, and hot water flowed into basins for collecting. He guessed the warm water was just another magical occurrence of the place. There was enough space in the place however to just set up a bathtub and designate the room as a place to clean up if he so wished to. It was definitely a place of interest for a later time, but practically useless to his current venture. There was then a solar specifically used by the private family to withdraw to, if Jaskier remembered correctly, but about as interesting as the boudoir or the private cabinet. With only two doors to go, Jaskier felt some anticipation even with how tired he was becoming from all the running earlier and the searching.The first of the two, to his absolute delight, was a grand music hall filled with instruments of all kinds and collections of scores he could plunder through at another time. There was even a massive harp of artistry far beyond any he had seen, that was hard to find today. Most wanted them portable for ease of use but this one sat squarely where it was. He had never played a harp like it and would mostly spend hours slowly easing his way through learning the beautiful piece but it looked majestic where it stood. He didn’t have the time to mess around though but he did swear he’d be back. The sound of a string being plucked in the empty room behind him as he turned to leave only hastened his exit. The final stop--at last--revealed a library. How he managed to not find this place sooner was beyond him. He was here now though, and that's what truly mattered. The one issue, however, was that the library was in fact intimidatingly expansive. Not only could someone not read all of these books in a lifetime but it was also a major fire hazard in the bards eyes.

Sighing in the face of his daunting task, Jaskier first tried to figure out if there was any kind of categorical system similar to what was back at the Oxenfurt College Library. To his luck, there was, but it was nothing like the complex system he had to learn. Whoever built and organized the library went with the simple method of organizing it by genre which made finding the reference texts all the easier. Although most scholars would sneer at such organization, Jaskier found it charming as he strolled through to find the reference texts and educational tutoring books for young nobles. Sifting through that section of shelves proved tedious but prolific. He found a wide range from books on the upbringing of a proper young lady to more academic texts on plants taught to young women and men alike. What he had been searching for however were books he had seen at Oxenfurt but never touched. The Herbarium and Antidotarium which were nestled amongst the rest of the books. All the books were handwritten and illustrated obviously, but these were beautiful in comparison to some.

Gathering the two books he found, he brought them back up to his rooms. It was a start, and a very good one at that. Sadly, he wasn’t able to find any nefarious magical looking grimoires, but he could get somewhere with this… Hopefully. He set the new books neatly down with the others on the desk, and was meaning to take a seat to get started, when two thudding knocks came at his door. They weren’t so hard as to be a furious pounding, but not gentle either, and it had him only the tiniest bit concerned. He went to the door after a moment of hesitation, intending to open it, when a familiarly rough voice called out. “Are you not going to eat, Bard?” Displeased confusion had Jaskier almost panicking just before he yanked the door open. Right! The beast had left the outfit as his intention to dine with Jaskier! He had been so busy searching that he had completely forgotten.

“Very kind of you to worry and come fetch me.” He responded, trying to flash his most charming ‘I totally didn’t forget plans’ smile up at the Beast.

The Beast grunted and shifted from one foot to the other, directing his gaze away. “...It was getting late. That’s all…”

“Not to worry, I was just on my way down. Got caught up with something, is all! It is nice to head down together though.” The smaller man smiled, enjoying the opportunity presented by the Beast to start a good friendship between them! He grabbed hold of the darling fellow’s arm and tugged him along to their awaiting dinner, not giving him a chance to reconsider after Jaskier’s unfortunately rude tardiness. By the heavens above him, he will break the ice between them.

Getting him there and seated was easy but as they sat at opposite ends of the ridiculously long table, Jaskier suddenly found it hard to find the words to start the conversation rolling. Who needed a table this long?! Dinner looked lovely, however, and he could easily use it as a way to fall into a comfortable food induced silence. However, yet another problem presented itself in the form of all the food being in the center of said ridiculously long table and the lack of servants. Jaskier considered options of how to fix this dilemma when the food suddenly started coming to him, or at least the dishes with the food did. Jaskier may or may not have yelped but in a very dignified manner if he did say so himself. He would admit it was not on the list of his finer moments, but it did seem to get an amused snort out of the Beast, although his mask of stoicism was still firmly in place when Jaskier looked at him. Nevertheless, the amusement still danced in the other’s gem-like eyes, and Jaskier almost wanted to clap happily at the small victory, but was smart enough to refrain. “Everything’s enchanted.” A deep rumble pulled Jaskier out of his mental victory celebration.

“What?” He questioned dumbly. Good job. Real smooth, he internally berated himself, holding back a blush.

“All the furnishings… They’re enchanted.” The Beast clarified again, as if he were speaking to a child, but twitch of his brow belied the amusement of the fact that Jaskier had somehow not noticed.

“Oh...Oh!” Jaskier processed the information before sighing in relief. “I am very glad to know this place isn’t haunted or filled with things trying to frighten me to death.” He joked but the thought had crossed his mind originally. “Why… Why didn’t they just move in front of me? Why only when I wasn’t watching?” He couldn’t help but ask the question out of interest.

The Beast shrugged. “Maybe the enchantment has some weird rules when it comes to people not affected by the curse… Or they could be shy, although they’re not technically alive. They move like puppets with no strings…” The grumbled explanation was a little stilted and clumsy, but endearing in a way. It was almost as if the other was unused to speaking to anyone. The thought alone made the bard pity the Beast. The idea of ghostly puppeted furniture was still not very comforting though.

“... Hmmm, unsettling but I suppose it’s good to know. Thank you Beast.” The comment had the other’s shoulders sagging a bit, and Jaskier immediately knew he somehow misstepped. After mentally slapping himself, he tried to salvage things quickly. “Thank you by the way.” He flashed a shy smile but this only elicited a noncommittal hum while the Beast continued to look anywhere but at Jaskier. “For the, um, clothes… It was kind of you.”

The Beast silently seemed to either ignore the words or chose not to comment as he began piling food onto his plate. Well, Jaskier supposed that was his way of dismissing the conversation, so the bard followed his example and began to serve himself. Eating, contrary to what Jaskier had thought before, left them mostly in a stilted silence. Although the Beast was large and disproportionate to the size of the cutlery, he managed to eat cleanly, but with no grace. Many people, Jaskier knew, would have been utterly scandalized by the situation, but he found himself thinking it was charming in a weird way. The bard thought he may have a second chance to reignite the conversation once they finished eating but, to his dismay, the Beast finished before him and promptly left. Now alone, Jaskier berated himself for fucking up. He felt the silence weigh in on him, the comfortable warm feeling that came with the other’s company at the beginning now abruptly gone. It left him feeling woefully abandoned to be honest. Not very hungry suddenly, Jaskier elected to retire early for the evening.

Back in his chambers, he tried to start his work. The first step being to identify the ones he was unable to, obviously. The pink mousy petaled ones turned out to be cyclamens while the cluster of purple florets were hyacinth after a bit of searching. Somehow, looking at the deep purple of the hyacinth made his already uneasy stomach, from how dinner ended, turn. He frowned, remembering the violet eyes of a witch who, although beautiful, only inspired what felt like terribly negative feelings blooming in his chest. He sighed, pushing back in his chair and crossing his legs at the ankle. If he had to guess, it might have been jealousy that took root. It was an unkind feeling and he knew she had done nothing really to inspire such feelings, at least as far as in his mind, but his chest felt otherwise. He remembered the terrible first meeting and the barbs and jabs from early in their acquaintance but he also remembered the playful insulting and occasional companionable chats when they crossed paths later down the line of their affiliation. Then something happened and it only left a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn’t for the life of him remember the details. He realized it wasn’t jealousy then but a moment of recognition of the fact that he would never be enough while she was. He wasn’t the one wanted, and it left him rather empty and tired from trying so hard. He sighed again as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back. He was too tired from everything that happened earlier and the low humor he now found himself in wasn’t conducive to work, so he shut the book he had been using and set everything aside so he could ready himself for sleep. He stripped of the handsome garments and folded them carefully into a dresser for another day. He chose out a large black tunic from his pack that seemed too large to be his, but put it on because it soothed him in a way he couldn’t fully understand. Nonetheless, he appreciated it. He drew the drapes closed and settled in for the night, feeling cold even with all of the blankets. The night was deep and long, but Jaskier tried to sleep away the dour thoughts and unease in his heart.

#geraskier #Witcher #the witcher #witcher netflix #fanfic #geralt x jaskier #gerlion #Beauty and the Beast AU #beast!geralt #Buttercup's Writings

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babysackville · 4 years

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Sunday 31st October 1824

8 40/60

Breakfast at 9 ½ - Sat ½ hour with Mrs Barlow in her room and at 10 ¾ took Cordingley and set off for Mr Way’s Chapel in the Champs Elysees (Marbeuf Chapel) – walked there in about ½ hour – very pretty chapel 2 reading desks 1 on each side of the pulpit did the duty one officiating as clerk – Mr Way himself (I suppose it was) preached 55 minutes from the lesson of today Ephesians 5.18 ‘Be ye full of the holy spirit’ – a very striking sermon having not at all tired and kept up my attention the whole time walked back in ½ hour and got home at 2 - Then called and sat a little while with Mlle de Sans – her friend Mme de [Young] with her – plain but seems to have [quickening] and talent – it seems she was quite taken with me – talked away and gave an account of Mr Way’s Sermon – went to Mrs Barlow at about 2 ½ and staid with her till 4 ½ -

Miss Barlow shewed me her drawer of little presents she had had made I think the girl likes me. Very quiet to Mrs Barlow before her child but rattled away for about half hour before the child, she is thirteen came in

Dressed and sat down to dinner at 5 ¼ Mme Carbonnier and Mlle de Sans and M de Boyve and his son and M de Cologue and his son went to the French Opera – Mme de Boyve gave us words to write out on bits of card to be given for arranging sentences au bien des mots [good notes] wrote about a hundred out and came up to bed at 9 ½, 1 hour eating grapes – From 10 20/60 writing 3 ppages and the ends and finished a letter to my aunt - then wrote all the above of today – ½ asleep over it – a drop or 2 of gentle rain as I came from church but soon over and otherwise a find day tho a little threatening 2 or 3 times F.62 at 1 35/60 pm –

Mr Way began his sermon thus ‘it has been observed by philosophers that nature abhors a vacuum’… and he went on to shew that as each element had a tendency to expand itself and fill all things water to deluge the world as it once did and fire to consume it as it inevitably would hereafter and would now [treasure] up in the bowels of the earth for this [purpose] so the holy spirit had a tendency to fill all things and was aptly characterized by the [expression] spirit or air because air was that which actually did pervade everything and which was most difficult to drive out – it has been the great difficulty of philosophers to produce a vacuum to which they had merely been able to approximate – Here Mr Way proceeded to observe he did not mean to say that God resided ‘essentially’ in his creations no! it was a mathematical axiom ‘the less could not control the greater – the part could not control the whole’ but that the holy spirit imparted by God might continually expand itself like the natural elements so as to occupy or fill the creature entirely – every [influence] had a tendency to extend itself – and I understood the sense of the preacher to be that God had a tendency to complete his work of good and the devil had a tendency to complete his work of evil – men talked of natural religion – the most revered divines harangued upon it – he had heard them himself but it was an absurdity – there was no such thing as natural religion –

God has made a [declaration] to Adam and without this who could prove there could have been any religion at all – all the false religions were as old as Adam for how soon did we read in Genesis, yet all the earth was filled with violence – the world would be destroyed again when the measure of its [iniquity] was full and then would be when the measure was full of the dreadful sin, the sin of denying the divinity of Christ as it was now done by a sect who were formerly not much heard of but whose numbers were now increased – the speaking of Adam and of our happiness and holiness having depended entirely on his keeping one single commandment Mr Way observed that he has been created as full off the spirit of God as it was possible for a creation to be (said I to myself does he mean as full as when the higher angles were!) but his will was left free and he incurred the curse that dying he should die and receive the promise of the [seed] of the [woman] &c – Now as natural [order] was the separation of the soul from the body so the second [order] or spiritual [order] was he did assume us nothing more or less than the separation of the spirit of God and the words of our saviour on the cross ‘my god my god why hast thou forsaken me’, had no force at all if they did not mean the separation of the spirit of the Godhead which had dwelt in our saviour bodily from the soul of the man Christ which was an offering for our sins and died for them, that is, was separate from God during the period (I suppose the preacher meant) between the crucifix and resurrection – speaking afterwards of our saviour saying to…. Art thou a master in Israel and Knowest not these thing –

Mr Way observed many of our masters in Israel knew no more of the operation of the holy spirit – he did not mean to say the spirit dwelt bodily in anyone - no! It had done that only in Christ but it was breathed into us as God breathed into Adam the breath of life – it was the breath of life, it was life itself – That former and then latter [rain] was the [rain] before seed time and the [rain] before harvest time which regularly occurred in that country which all the imagery of scripture was taken – and the former [rain] meant the outpouring of the holy ghost at Pentecost where only a few received it, and the latter [rain] meant the 2nd advent of our saviour when all the faithful should be gathered together and should receive the holy ghost and the harvest of Christ’s church should be got in – That time might be known to be approaching by the wickedness now in the world and by the improvement in Christ’s church – he said he spoke of the whole Christian church collectively not Protestant church or the Roman Catholic or any other individual church but of the whole collectively – and tho there was so much wickedness yet there never was a time where there was so much virtue in the world as at present – About midway his sermon speaking of the tendency of Satan to complete his work of evil someone happened to whisper and Mr Way requested they not to talk, begging that they would refrain, if not out of respect to the minister then out of respect to God in whose temple they were assembled &c &c. Speaking of the worlds definition of good sort of men and good men said how different it was from the scripture definition – which spoke of a ‘good man filled with the holy ghost’ – but even the children of grace in this world were contended with a little, with moderate influences of the spirit and moderate attempts to be good &c &c for they were not so wise in this way as the children of the flesh who (such was the preacher’s sense tho not his words) ran after the gaining of their desires greedily – This reminded me of the parable of the unjust steward and of the manner in which our Lord commended him – for he was wise in his generation in so much as he gave his whole mind and strength towards the attainment of his object whereas the children of light are more lukewarm and toil less diligently –

In asking Cordingley (my servant) how she liked this sermon, she well observed it was rather too learned for her – she had heard him once before and he has spoken to somebody for talking in the same manor as he did this morning – Mr W-[Way] had a large fortune - half ruined himself in building churches and converting the Jews – would have done so currently but being a little flighty at times his friends have taken the management of the fortune out of his hands – for an account of the wealth vid line 15 of the last page –

E.. O. one or two very little drops just perceptible

(Diary reference: SH7MLE80068)

Fun Fact: The Marbeuf Chapel was founded by Revd Lewis Way. In 1824, it was the first Anglican Church in Paris

#1824 #october #place vendome #paris #anne lister #mr way #ephesians #sermon #marbeuf chapel #cordingley #maria barlow #jane barlow #mme de boyve #mme carbonnier #mlle de sans #anne lister code breaker #gentleman jack

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allthelittlethingsihavetosa-blog · 5 years

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Aww Shit...{w/@V_Bloodletter}

Vishous

I was in hideout motion and it was all going rather well. Wrath knew of my location, I had imparted that info to him before I left. But the rest of the Brotherhood was clueless to my whereabouts. And for now I planned on keeping it that way for a while. I needed the seclusion, the down time away from people, all people, even the Doggen. Although I did bring a male Doggen with me to my new residence. As of yet I hadn’t decided if this was going to be a full time thing or just until I finally finish pulling my head out of my ass. But for the time being I didn’t need to make that decision. I made sure that I could be reached when needed and that I was on the streets when it was my time to work patrol. It was imperative that I stay low-key right now. No one else needed to understand that but myself. I had managed to stay away from the Manse as well as my Penthouse. Although I had it all wired to feed into my system here in the middle of BFE. And that was why I was able to have a front row seat to all the wondrous things that Doc was up to at the Commodore. The night she decided to break into my place, an alarm went off and at first I was up and ready to demat to the high-rise but then I saw who it was. So I grabbed a bottle of Goose along with some beef jerky then sat back and watched the show. That was up until the end and I knew that Doc wasn’t really hurt or did any extreme damage to my property. Although that didn’t diminish the fact that she intruded where she had no business intruding. And that shit would be fucking dealt with. I wasted a few minutes in gearing up and locking my place down before I vanished into thin air. When I came to form on my balcony it was like the place knew I was there. The glass doors slid open gracefully, black pillar candles lit up to full flames and as I stepped inside the doors closed and locked down.

Piper

::Every inch of my body ached in so many ways I couldn’t figure out what sound to make first, so in a exhale of breath they all came out at once. I chuckled darkly catching my breath again before I finally let my eyes open to take in my surroundings now that the sedative had released me from it’s grip, I hadn’t forgotten where I was by any stretch of the imagination. It was more to check that no one was waiting with a weapon close enough to do damage. Scribe knows Vishous could be the one doing so for all I knew, rightfully so given what I’d just done to his penthouse and his trust by my intrusion. I shifted my position a simple inch which caused nothing but sheer pain to radiate outwards but I needed to get out of this fucking tub then figure a way out of this place before the man himself showed up to exact revenge only to find the neighborhood doc half dressed and covered in blood waving at him like some retarded seal. The image alone had me laughing to myself as I found my feet and stepped out of the tub to tuck my gun back into its holster. Before I gazed into the mirror and gave myself the once over. My wounds weren’t healing as fast as I liked which meant the daggers were laced with more than just a heavy sedative, he was a sneaky bastard I’d give him that. He liked to torture more than I gave him credit for. Just when you thought you were safe and far away you’d realize he still had you. I took another minute to gather myself before I’d start working on an desperately needed exit plan. It was then I noticed the candles scattered throughout light up almost on cue with the sound of the locks I’d known to the the remaining windows slam into place. There was only one person who could make such a thing happen without setting off the alarms I had earlier::

Shit. Shit. Shit.

::There was no way I could run and hide anywhere in this penthouse that he couldn’t find me, I wasn’t going to turn this into a cat and mouse game for many reasons. The biggest one being, he wouldn’t tolerate it anymore than I wanted it to happen.. I swallowed the contents of my stomach that had suddenly decided that now was the best time to crawl their way up my throat. Cautiously I half wondered if I should at least pretend to be surprised? Or act like I would have in the past and played the foolish stupid doc but I couldn’t. I did this of my own free will. I knew what I was doing every single step of the way and I wasn’t, for once, going to let that scare me.::

You watched me the entire time didn’t you?

Vishous

I leaned my shoulder against the bathroom door frame and watched as Doc tried to collect herself, at least somewhat. With a tatted brow cocked, I shook my head and still I didn’t speak. I pretty much knew if I spoke right now, none of it would be without cursing or growling and who knew what the fuck else. I would never bodily hurt Doc. She was family. But she also betrayed me and my trust. Even though I had no desire to step foot in my Penthouse, that didn’t mean that it was open to any fucking person that wanted to trespass on my property. Actually it pissed me off more with the fact that I even had to come here when I didn’t want to. I glanced around before letting my eyes finally settle on the female. “What do you think?” Again I just shook my head and pushed away from the wall, to stand fully up. “I will go with sixty seconds of whatever excuse you have for doing what you did and then…” My shoulders came up in a nonchalant shrug. “And then you stay a safe distance from me until we get you back to the Manse, to Wrath and Rhage. They can deal with this fucking shit.” I didn’t even attempt to hide the frustration and anger from my tone. What would be the point to? Not even my Brothers had ever tried or thought to not only come to the Commodore but to destroy my property and break into it.

Piper

::My first immediate thought was at least he gave me sixty seconds, it was shortly followed with an inner cringe by just the thought of Wrath and Rhage knowing what I had just done. I felt a bone deep shudder follow before I even opened my mouth to speak my peace::

I’m not going to make excuses, Vishous. I have two valid reasons for coming here.

::I was trying not to get frustrated at the looks I was getting or the anger that was flowing off the brother in waves thick enough to push me over, he had every right to be giving them. For now my only choice was to speak what I had to say and hope that he saw that it wasn’t in some malicious intent that I came busting in. I didn’t move from where I stood just pushed my shoulders back a little and stood to face him a little more, hoping he’d at least appreciate the gesture::

You just left, Vishous, without a single word to anyone. That in itself is none of my business but it was something completely out of character in all the years I’ve known you. I run, you don’t. You stand and fight till you’re bloody and raw then you fight harder. So when I went to find you, to ask you for help and no one had seen you in weeks, yeah I came looking for you. Besides Rhage, you’re the one person I’d sacrifice everything for. The guards you left in place weren’t exactly going to let me in, you weren’t answering your cell and panic had set in. If you were up here in trouble what would you have me do? Leave you?

::I stopped talking at that point, there was nothing else I could say I was exhausted and I ached in places that I didn’t even know I had. Punishment was coming no matter how hard I prayed otherwise. I wasn’t going to beg for for it to be any different.::

If or when I get a change I’ll ask Fritz to make arrangements to have everything fixed at my expense however you wish it to be done. I wouldn’t change what I did, Vishous and I’d do it again without fail.

Vishous

I made my way into the living room, obviously watching Doc as she stumbled her way from the bathroom. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on or why she was here or what the hell happened to her. I shook my head and shot a text message to #Fritz . ‘At the Commodore, send a car to pick up the Doc ASAP and she will need medical treatment.’ I slipped my phone back in my pocket and headed to the bathroom again. It took a few moments to retrieve the first aid kit and to retrieve a bottle of Goose from the kitchen. Once I had everything that I needed for the situation at hand, I went back to where Piper was and started barking out orders. “Sit down…” I shot a glance around the spacious room and shrugged. “It would appear that my table is the only suitable place to have a seat.” I had emptied my Penthouse out almost completely over a year ago and to date, I still didn’t want to be here. But unfortunately I had no fucking choice in the matter. I placed the kit on the flat surface and started unpacking the few items that I would need. “I contacted #Fritz and he will be sending a car to pick you up soon.” I didn’t want to delve too deep into the things I was being asked. Answering questions was not high at the top of my list right now or any time for that matter. But this was Doc and she deserved some info. I blew out a breath and gave a dead look. “I needed to go MIA. I had given Wrath a head’s up on what I was doing. But yeah, no I didn’t post it on the Brotherhood bulletin…” I shook my head, glanced at you for a moment. “Next time maybe I will shoot you a text to let ya know that I am on the lamb. As for your question, my eyes are everywhere. Never doubt that.”

Piper

::I moved somewhat slowly towards the table nearly jumping out of my skin when I heard the order barked at me, it wasn’t so much the order it shook me from the haze I momentarily found myself in again. Then once again I found myself staring at Vishous as I sat on the table before him, hating myself for the millionth time since I started this adventure. Once I heard his confession I knew exactly how he felt, it was why I ran, why I left.. All he wanted was space, plain and simple yet I forced him out of that in some foolish attempt to find him on my own. I glanced down at the kit, cautiously pushing it away before placing my hand on his and finding his gaze again.::

I deserve every ounce of this pain I’m feeling right now, Vishous and you can cancel Fritz. I have a ride downstairs that if I leave here Rhage will fucking kill me for. I mean, even more than he will for the rest of this shit. Which he will and Wrath? Fuck me, those two are going to ...I don’t even want to think about it. So, no, Vishous, you don’t owe me any explanations as to why you left, Guess just remember I’m a little more emotional than the rest of them?

::I chuckled hoping to ease the tension in the room but failed horribly, the pain it caused nearly knocked the air right out of me. I took a chance and punched his shoulder, before I even another cautious joke. He was taking things a little too lightly for my liking. It was all too weird.::

As for your security, I’d like to know what the fuck you had those daggers laced with. Also, I’m pretty impressed. I expected explosions and fireworks but you came with nothing but stealth.

::I glanced at Vishous again, arching a brow::

You’re being far too quiet. Too reserved, Vishous. If this was anyone else you’d have torn them a new one by now. I destroyed your penthouse, your trust. Yet you’re sitting here trying to tend to my wounds?

Vishous

I snorted out a grunt and shook my head. “I assume that your ride downstairs is Rhage? Because yeah, I’m not letting you bail out with anyone else tonight. No fucking matter how irritated I am with you right now.” I flinched at first when I felt you rest your hand on mine and I had to remind myself in the next breath that it was okay...For the moment. “No, I don’t owe you any explanations but for now, I will tell you that I am good with where I’m at. The Manse and all that goes with it, you make sure that they are all good. And if you need me, I will work...a little better on replying to messages.” The corner of my lips turned up in a half grin. That was doing pretty good for me, considering that I had no desire to be within the city. “As for the rest, no.” I looked at you sitting there and narrowed my eyes a little. “Come now, do you really think that I will let you or anyone make repairs to this place? No, I will take care of it myself and obviously beef up my system that you completely destroyed.” I gave you a pointed look. “Right now, I need to be quiet but no fucking matter how pissed I am at you for destroying whatever property I have or even betraying me, you are my friend and we will deal with it. I might not want to speak with you or see you for a while but that doesn’t mean I’m cutting you out of my life.” I nodded at the barrage of marks covering the areas that I could see. “Show me where to start.”

Piper

I can handle however you want to deal with me, V. Quiet or loud or hell even throwing things at me, I just couldn’t handle you cutting me out completely. That would probably kill me. Just like it would if any of the others did and I shouldn’t have done it you when I left without a word if I would ever return and for than I truly am sorry. As for my ride downstairs being Rhage..

::I paused for a moment closing my eyes as I sat up a little straighter despite the burning pain it caused, he’d have to look at the gashes no matter how much I protested otherwise. I’d also have to confess that I did this without letting anyone else know and I already knew Fritz was probably letting my male know of my whereabouts and condition as we spoke. That was going to be a conversation I knew I would have to sit and simply take without saying a single word.::

Rhage has no idea I’ve left, I mean I did leave a note that told him but whether he's actually found it yet is unknown. I can tell you one thing, he’s going to be a whole lot more agitated than you are, also a fuckton more vocal about it, he was actually the reason I was looking for you. Or at least the scalier part of him was. You should probably take a look at the wounds where those damn small daggers that lined the railing got me, they didn’t go too deep but whatever they were laced with are making it really hard to stay awake and don't even get me started on the pain right now. The rest I can handle later or have someone at the manse look at.

Vishous

I just shook my head and gave a chuckle. I glanced at you a moment before I went to work on cleaning each bloody wound. “I see some things never change. You running out and doing things that you shouldn’t be and of course doing them on your note while leaving a note behind.” My grin widened a little when you mentioned about parts of my security system that did cause you some issues. “At least I know that it all wasn’t a fucking a waste. And yes, you are more than likely right, you will hear much more from Rhage than you will from me.” I snorted out a grunt once i cleaned most of the blood away and started in with bandaging the areas. “That is not a yes or a no as to who is picking you up…”One black brow rose almost to my hairline and I locked my diamond eyes on your face. “What exactly do you mean that you came looking for me because of Rhage? I know I have been MIA and no, I am not living within the Manse but I do still keep nightly contact with Wrath. And nothing has been said or relaid to me that there is an issue with any of the Brothers. So yes, you will need to explain what the hell is going on.”

Piper

I am fully capable of taking care of myself, if this doesn’t prove that face than I don’t know how the hell else to prove it to any of you. I mean I could have gone out hunting Lesser or something but I chose to do this.

::I hissed out a breath, glaring at you when the disinfectant hit some of the larger wounds. Sometimes I wanted nothing more than to be looked at as more than just the Doc but I guess that day wasn’t going to be today, besides I wasn’t about to argue with the man whose house I just broke into or who was currently helping me out. Besides, Vishous so far hadn’t torn my ass apart when he rightfully could have. Sighing I bit down into my lip to suppress the slight twinge of shoulder pain as I sat up straight again::

There is nothing wrong with him, I just have a few questions or maybe I’m more curious? The beast seems to be acting a little weird around me, not like I want to eat you weird but the complete opposite. Infact…

::I nearly jumped clean out of my skin glancing over my shoulder at the doors when I heard the pound coming from the opposite side, groaning loudly:

You weren’t by chance expecting company were you?

#TBC

#AwwShit

#PiperHart #Piper #SLS #Vishous #BDBMisfits #BDB

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rebelliousenjolras · 6 years

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night and day. (pt. II) (jack thompson x reader)

pairing: Jack Thompson x Reader summary: After years of working in solitude, the reader is sent an urgent message from her cousin, Daniel Sousa, begging her to come to New York to work on a case. Once there, she learns that she will have to play pretend wife to none other than Jack Thompson, the arrogant Chief of the New York S.S.R. Although they are at first night and day in differences, a series of events neither could foresee radically alters the course of their lives forever. word count: 1601 trigger warnings: Minor violence a/n: here it is, part two! i hope you enjoy. feel free to drop me a message/ask with your thoughts. x

II: A NIGHTMARE OR A FAVOR

5 MONTHS EARLIER

Crack.

And with that, you broke your third bone of the evening. You winced at the sharp pain in your arm, counting to six and a half silently in your head, and tried to resist the urge to pass out, like every nerve ending in your body was screaming at you to do. You pushed yourself up into a sitting position, every movement agonizing. You tried your best not to jostle your two broken ribs in the process, but it was useless. Every intake of breath, every twitch, sent a shooting pain to your very core. That would be a rather unpleasant healing process, you knew, but now was not the time to think of such things. You’d be lucky if you made it as far as a hospital room.

Standing across from you was the cause of your bodily destruction. This force came in the shape of a man, just over six feet tall and wielding technology far too sophisticated and deadly for his blackened soul. He went by Harvard W. Tivvs, though you were positive that name was an alias, adding impersonation to the long list of sins he’d committed across his lifetime.

Tivvs aimed the device--your brain was too muddled to remember its title--at you once more, this time directly at your leg. There was no time to react. You let out a guttural scream, much to your dismay, as you felt the bone in your thigh slowly snap in half. Your entire body was hot, too hot, and your head was on fire. Perhaps you were burning away into nothingness; it wouldn’t be the first time one of Stark’s inventions had an unforeseen complication… But no, there were no flames to be seen, no smoke smoldering from your skin. You were simply being broken, from the inside out.

“Had enough, darling?” Tivvs snarled, twirling the piece of machinery nonchalantly between his fingers, a sharp contrast to the hatred in his tone.

You let out a sound somewhere between a hiss and a growl and spat in Tivvs’ direction. Although it didn’t do much good in the way of defense, you knew the action would offend his sensibilities. A woman, daring to mock him. In the time that it took for Tivvs to recharge the weapon you’d dragged yourself another few inches across the floor, every centimeter sending a fresh wave of pain through your body.

You scrabbled wildly at the floor in front of you, hardly able to see through the darkness tugging at the edges of your vision. Finally, your fingers made purchase on a smooth metallic object, and you managed to turn yourself around just far enough to see Tivvs approaching. You would have rather been standing, in order to even the plane between you and Tivvs, but a crouched position would have to do. You aimed your semi-automatic at him, unable to see the bullet collide with his brain before you succumbed to the darkness that had been threatening you. Your head hit the ground, and all you could see were the crossbeams on the ceiling of the warehouse.

You weren’t scared, though, that you’d failed to send Tivvs straight where he belonged. After all, you were (Y/N), one of Chicago’s finest S.S.R. agents, and you never missed. You only hoped one of your fellow agents would find you before the darkness claimed you for good. You had contemplated death many times, but you’d always hoped it would be with a spray of bullets and an explosion or two. Dying inside a musty old warehouse just wouldn’t do.

And so, you held on, more out of sheer spite than any real desire to live.

The ringing of your alarm woke you immediately. You sat up with a quiet gasp, arm wrapped around your midsection as you wheezed, trying desperately to work out where the danger was. It took several moments for your breathing to slow enough so that you could realize that you hadn’t, in fact, been tortured by Harvard Tivvs, that no-good thief, while you slept. That incident had taken place three months ago, a bridge and two towns over. Your heartbeat slowed as you absentmindedly reached beneath the blankets, just to confirm that your leg was indeed still intact.

Satisfied that it was, and that you were sporting no other unexpected injuries--there was still a healing bullet wound on your left arm, but that had been accounted for the night previously--you laid back down in bed. You were covered in a sheen of sweat, and your head was already throbbing, and yet you hadn’t even truly begun the day yet. If this was to set the tone for your morning, you’d rather have just stayed in bed. However, the idea of going back to sleep made you shudder.

If the days were long, the nights were longer still.

Regardless of your feelings on the matter, or perhaps once again in spite of them--these days, most of your actions seemed to occur out of sheer contempt for life--you swung your legs out of the bed and pulled on your robe. Your eyes drifted to the letter on your bedside table, the only object littering the wooden surface, and sighed. Your name was printed neatly on the front in a handwriting that you knew well. You had the note practically memorized, at this point, given the number of times you’d read it. The edges were torn and dusted in fingerprints from where you’d worried them as you pondered the contents time and time again.

Fancying another read, as if it would somehow change your mind, you plucked it off the nightstand, unfolding the worn paper to reveal the words that had caused you so much grief over the past three days.

Dear (Y/N),

I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m writing to you instead of calling. And to be honest, oh-so-lovely cousin of mine, I was sure you’d laugh and hang up, or perhaps curse me out, if I tried to explain myself over the phone. So, I’m wagering that your curiosity will win out over your obstinacy as it usually does, and you’ll at least give me the time of day before shredding this into little pieces.

What I’m trying to say, (Y/N), is that we need you. I need you. This isn’t one of those “Gee, we could really use your help” sort of situations. We need you like we need air to breathe. This case… I can’t explain it here. We’re being watched, we feel certain.

I’ll put you on the next flight out to New York, set you up in a nice hotel, room service and everything, if it’ll get you to come. Please at least consider it, (Y/N). A whole lot of lives are depending on us.

Call me as soon as you can. I’m anxious to hear from you, regardless of what your answer is. It’s been far too long… I miss you.

All my love,

Daniel

P.S. I’m sure you’re also wondering why I’m writing to you from New York instead of LA. I’ll explain that all as well. Just give me a call. -D

You brushed your fingers over the signature, smiling at the way that Daniel still slanted his D’s, even after years of his mother forcing him to practice calligraphy as a child. Your smile faded, however, as your eyes drifted to the luggage in the corner of your cramped studio apartment. Although you’d refused to let Daniel stick you on the next flight out--you did have some affairs to get in order before you went gallivanting off to New York--he’d pushed for you to come as quickly as possible. You’d only been able to procure three days during your haggling with him.

Although Daniel had promised to tell you what was going on when you spoke on the telephone, he’d still been incredibly vague, insinuating that there was a possibility his wires had been tapped. He’d informed you that he and Peggy Carter--a legend among women soldiers, you were anxious to meet her--had begun working on a high-profile case, and it had taken them back to their old stomping grounds in New York City. They needed someone with your particular skill set, he’d said. Daniel never begged, but this time, there had been a distinct pleaing edge to his voice.

So, of course you’d said yes, how could you not? You had a cousin in Daniel, and it was that kinship alone that kept you from hurtling right off the edge of the earth. With no soul left alive to claim you as son or daughter, and no siblings to boot, you and Daniel were all that the other had. And as long as oxygen filled your lungs, you’d be damned if you failed Daniel Sousa.

You’d stalled long enough. You began dressing in front of the mirror, unpinning your curls and fiddling with them until they framed your face. As you were slipping on your blouse, you caught sight of the scar on your arm and scowled. Yes, you’d recovered from Tivvs’ attack, but he’d left his mark. The bone-breaking device that Howard Stark had created--The Pulverizer, he’d fondly dubbed it--occasionally had its side effects. And so, you were left with a red ring around your arm, exactly where the bone had snapped. Howard thought it unlikely that it would ever fully disappear.

You sighed for the second time that morning and buttoned your jacket before slipping on a pair of flats. Plane rides were uncomfortable enough as it was, and you’d be damned if you had to sit with your ankles crossed through the entire ordeal. You looked around the tiny apartment a final time, making sure that you had everything you could possibly need for the trip. You were quietly optimistic that you could wrap up this case within a week, and return home with no further damage.

However, it wasn’t as if you had much here, both personally and professionally. The Chicago branch of the S.S.R. were the unfortunate souls that claimed you, something that they wouldn’t soon let you forget. You were a woman, an inferior, and you’d have a difficult time forcing one of your fellow agents admit that you were a war hero, just as they were. But, regardless of the lascivious stares and offensive words your male coworkers threw your way, you refused to leave Chicago, even though Daniel had been asking you to move to New York for years. You could fade away into the bustling streets, slip into the shadows, forget your name, your mind, your heart--at least, what still remained of it. Another faceless dame in the crowd, forgotten, unnoticed. And you’d have it no other way.

#jack thompson x reader #agent carter #agent carter fanfiction #marvel #daniel sousa #edwin jarvis #ana jarvis #howard stark #peggy carter fanfiction #fanfiction #steve rogers #marvel fanfiction #jack thompson #captain america #x reader

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