#not even brainwashed i think this counts as straight up possession and this is BEFORE the possession actually happened | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bibbykins · 4 years

Text

Heliophilic Rain and His Pluviophile (M)

Yikes, it’s been a hot minute. That’s my bad. I have been having it a little rough with my job and so I’m in the process of finding another one and that among a billion other things is slowing me down. Which makes me wonder if I were to open commissions if anyone would be interested? I also would like to add there is a scene that could be triggering so proceed with caution, please. Either way, thank you for your patience as always, and I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: (Soft) Yandere! Yoongi x Reader Genre: Smut/Fluff

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: possessiveness, yandere tendencies, anxiety, unspoken threat of sexual assault, slight violence, oral, penetrative sex, cock warming, toxic relationship (he's yandere ya kno)

Summary: He was the rain just as you were the sun, both too transfixed with watching each other to get any closer. Few things feel more refreshing than drops of fresh rain on heated skin or the warmth of the sun on a gloomy day. It would be a shame to not indulge in the natural wonders of the world before you.

“Her voice was like the wind. I could listen until it was all that filled me. I could listen until she swept me away into the vast ocean of her presence. I would drown if it meant I would drift back to her. Her voice was like the wind. No matter how much I tried to catch it, I would get carried away. Suddenly, I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Suddenly, home was wherever she said it was, so long as she did so with that voice of hers.”

“His voice was like the tap of rain against a window. He was asking me to go out to see him, but there was something beautiful about the way I knew he wasn’t referring to me specifically. I was a mere onlooker to his presence. Even so, I would catch a cold if it meant I could reach him, even for a moment. I thought this, knowing I would never have the guts to go outside. I made peace with this until the taps on my window turned into knocks on my door.”

——-

The office had an industrial-chic style about it, filled with neutral tones and the clanging of chains for no other purpose except fashion donned upon its employees. The color palette was gloomy and soothing, just how Yoongi liked it, an aesthetic that his employees gleefully shared with him as well. Each morning, Yoongi would look out his office and admire his growing business, eyes never lingering on one place too long, he loved all of the office equally. This much rang true until he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your form.

“She’s like a breath of fresh air, isn’t she?” Hoseok placed his hand on Yoongi’s soldier as he watched you through the glass doors of the conference room you were currently introducing yourself in, “Don’t be too hard on her, she’s competent and hardworking, okay?”

Yoongi could barely hear his friend as he lost himself in the way your eyes crinkled from a genuine smile adorning your face. You were his new host to one of the podcasts his company picked up. From the merger with Hoseok’s company full of his college friends, Yoongi went from popular podcast host and semi-popular producer to a CEO of Min Productions, famous music artists in production and performance, who oversaw the production of music and several podcasts on several topics, and you were what he had initially dreaded.

From the merger, came money, but what also came with it was Namjoon, the PR head of the company Hoseok was a part of, being able to choose one of every five talents for Yoongi to build up, hopefully into fame. Yoongi had just reached his fifth host, the podcasts he chose mostly consisting of music commentary or general life talks from people with aesthetics aligned with his own. However, from the sea of neutral colors and low voices partaking in casual conversation came you.

You were a perky college senior with some light in your eyes still. You were a rare find and had no set style ranging anywhere from pastels to the grunge he was used to seeing, but what never changed was your smile. Your teeth made an appearance at least 10 times a day, judging by the third smile you had just flashed the crew in a two-minute time frame.

Your podcast, however, oddly betrayed your attitude. You ran a sex and lifestyle podcast where you asked questions most people were too shy to throw out into the world pertaining to the unspoken social rules of casual dating and sex. It was interesting, yes, but it didn’t align with the brand Yoongi had been building judging by the synopsis.

The fuss he made to Namjoon ended as soon as he sat down and listened to a podcast of yours.

—–

“I have a formal complaint I would like to file!” You proclaimed as Yoongi found himself listening to your most recent podcast, “Why the fuck can’t I get a sugar daddy my age? It’s almost like… like my age demographic consists mostly of broke-ass college kids living with their parents, in a dorm, or like ya girl, an overpriced apartment and not rich as fuck for no reason. Fucking whack, I’ll say it.” He unwittingly cracked a smile at your charm and sarcasm, “I spent one day on sugarbaby.com and had to watch vanilla straight porn at the number of wrinkly dicks I saw instead of profile pictures. That’s like the most boring porn. So here comes a Patreon plug for the brainwashing I will conduct on myself in case I saw anyone’s grandfather’s penis.” You had an unabashed charm about you that urged him to listen more, maybe just one more episode.

Yoongi found himself listening to your entire discography, even the less promoted music you released once every blue moon, which wasn’t half-bad. However, he couldn’t find a picture of you, most likely because you posted under the alias Sugar Sun. The only pictures of yourself being from behind.

“On this episode of men are trash: men are fucking trash. Hello all, Sugar Sun here, and let’s talk about my day,” Yoongi could feel his intrigue grow, as you kept releasing, your delivery became less forced and more natural, “I don’t talk much in class, believe it or not. I’m a stuttering mess and like two people know my name at my big ass university, so when I do talk and my shit hole of a lab partner yells at me in the middle of a presentation to speak up, I cry, in front of the class. But do I stop the presentation? No, I’m fucking frozen with fear, so I just continue with my tears and the presentation. Bitch, what the fuck I looked like a middle school drama kid doing a monologue in front of her math class for no fucking reason.” You took a deep breath, “In conclusion, I’m sensitive and men are trash. Now, to the podcast.”

You had gained more traction with your commentary on romantic life and general comedy, catching Namjoon’s attention, “Hello again, double S here, with a special announcement. I got like, an actual company to sign me! Wild, I know! I’ll get paid and have meet-ups and stuff, which means you lovely listeners will get to soak in my face and talk to me in person and really experience why the only orgasms I’ve had are self-made!”

—–

“Yoongi!” Hoseok tapped his shoulder, snapping him out of his trance you put him in.

“Sorry, she’s just-”

“Be nice,” Hoseok warned.

“Like sunshine.” Yoongi could feel the air enter his lungs as you sat down with a smile, “Like, what the fuck, Hobi?”

His friend blinked, “Woah, shit, what?” He stifled a laugh, “You know, there isn’t a no-dating policy, right?”

“I’m well aware.” Yoongi rolled his eyes, “But there will be if anyone tries anything.” He spoke nonchalantly and Hoseok choked on air at his friend’s obliviousness while the glass doors of the conference rooms were opened, you pouring out from it, waltzing to Yoongi and Hoseok.

“Hello, Mr. Min and Ho-Mr. Jung, I’m Y/n, or Sugar Sun, thank you for this amazing opportunity.” You bowed as Hoseok shook off his bewilderment for just a moment to give you a small bow with Yoongi.

“I look forward to spending more time with you.” Yoongi spoke in his regular gruff voice, the same one that proclaimed to have your hand in marriage just moments before, “I find you’ll be a breath of fresh air to the company.”

“I also look forward to seeing how your podcasts go, you have a photoshoot in a couple weeks, right?” Hoseok smiled warmly at you as you beamed back to him. Yoongi swore the whole exchange was blinding.

“I do! I’m a little nervous, since it’ll be my big face reveal, and I don’t know how well I model.” You giggled and Yoongi found his new favorite song the moment you did.

Yoongi had a tendency to do this, whether or not he wanted to. He was a passionate man. He craved love and could see it coming from a mile away. Despite being one of the seven main heartthrobs of his college campus, he almost exclusively stuck to serious relationships, and he meant it when he said serious. Yoongi was a little, to put it lightly, obsessive. He was a jealous boyfriend, but he did his best to try not to be too overbearing. He was also excessively protective, and the women he dated were grungy free spirits who enjoyed the chase when all Yoongi wanted was to catch them then hold them for the rest of his life. Despite being blinded by his own passion, he could still see when it wasn’t going to last, having accepted to never find a girl to accommodate and sedate him when needed. However, when you looked his way, or he heard your voice, it was something more than a need being filled.

You felt your heart leap out of his chest, trying not to fall into Yoongi’s hands when you first saw him, and here he was, nonchalantly giving you an inkling of a smile. Maybe it was the lack of a solid fuck or a relationship, but you were definitely breaking some HR rules in your mind.

Suddenly, you became aware of the content you dished out. You talked about your sex life often, and he knows you’re inexperienced and terribly horny. You internally punched yourself in the face. He probably thinks you’re so weird. Yet, here you were, a huge fan of Agust D and now Min Yoongi was staring at you.

Yoongi smiled, “Don’t worry, I’ve had my experience with a face reveal or two.”

You returned his smile, remembering the day Agust D revealed his face. The whole world stopped, and you only fell deeper when you looked at his eyes, “I-I remember, I’m a fan.” You looked down shyly before facing him again.

“Funny, I am a fan of yours.” He spoke lowly as Hoseok had long walked away unnoticed.

You giggled stupidly, “A fan?” Your sunny smile beamed at him. He had always preferred rainy days, but if this was what the sun looked like, he could get used to being a little warm here and there, “I can hardly believe it.”

“I’m gone a lot and yet, your voice has a certain factor to it that draws people in. ” He mused as his eyes trapped you, “I wonder where you’ve been all my life.”

Just like that, the bubble popped. The chimes came to a screeching halt. The rose-tinted glasses were abruptly ripped off of your face. The magic cleared, and you were left with the realization that while you had damn near counted every interaction, no matter how minuscule, and he hadn’t cared to remember you until now.

“Here’s my personal cell,” He hands you a pristine card with silver numbers, “Call me if you need anything, and I mean it.” You take the card with a quaint smile that deflates

He’s never noticed you until now, of course. The answer to his thoughts was that you’ve been right here.

Before Yoongi could register the chill in the air without your smile, Hoseok came back, “Hey Yoongs, let’s go, we got a flight in a few hours.“

“Right.” Yoongi breaks eye contact with you.

“Have a good flight!” You smile, not as wide as before, and Yoongi sees it.

“See you Tuesday, y/n!” Hoseok waves.

“Don’t be late!” You giggle and as soon as they both are out of earshot, Yoongi grills him.

“You know her?!” Yoongi snaps as he enters the town car.

Hoseok blinks at him, confused, “Duh? I thought that was a given.” Upon seeing his friend’s puzzled face remain, Hoseok’s eyes went wide, “Holy shit, you don’t remember her?!”

The older male blinked in confusion, “I’ve never met her before?”

The younger businessman threw his head back as he placed his hands over his face in frustration, “She was in our forensics class and our history class last year’s fall semester and the year before!” He was exasperated, “Remember the super genius sophomore?”

Yoongi racked his brain. Last year? He had been dating some angsty theology major. How could he have let himself be blinded by a temporary fling when the love of his life was right there? He could kick himself at this moment. No wonder your smile faltered, you had remembered him, “Liar, you can’t be serious.”

“Dude, she tutors me to this day in history.” Hoseok deadpanned, “All she requires is I buy her meals that day.”

“How often do you guys have study dates?” Yoongi grits out as his friend snorts at the notion of it being a date.

“Your possessive is showing,” He snickered, “My girl is all I can see these days, no matter how cute y/n is.”

“I will end you if you touch her,” Yoongi doesn’t hesitate, “Especially with the way you treat girls,” His face scrunches in disgust before he grumbled, “But how often?”

“Every other Tuesday.” Hoseok smirked, “And you mean used to treat girls.”

Yoongi huffed in agreeance.

—-

“Hello, party people.” Your voice entered Yoongi’s headphones as he leaned back on his hotel bed, “Sugar Sun here, in my bedroom. We’re calm, we’re casual, it is a Friday night and this one goes out to my fellow homebodies.” You switched off to play a song. Part of the contract you signed was that you are allowed to go live whenever you liked to encourage and tend to fans. You explained it was almost a tradition for you to set aside a Friday night in once a month for your fans and Yoongi found in comforting as he lay alone.

Your taste in music was so unbelievably cute, he couldn’t help but smile at the lo-fi song, “And we’re back, hello all here and all who are joining as I speak. Today I took a tour of the studio my actual podcasts will be recorded in and holy shit, they seem to actually take me seriously as a personality and even artist, so expect some tunes soon.” Yoongi smiled at this, you don’t even know your potential, “I’m looking at the chat now to see if there are any questions, and- oh, yes, I did meet my boss. Yes, the iconic Min Yoongi. He is as dreamy as they say, but I have actually met him before.” Yoongi sunk a little further in shame, “Did he remember me?” You read from the chat, “No, of course not. I’m a voice, but no one will know me if I don’t use it.” You sighed out and he felt his heart clench. He was such a fucking idiot. “Which I don’t much beyond this mic. Am I scared to say this now that he’s my boss?” He held his breath a bit, “No, I doubt he’s listening. He said he was my fan, but he could just have said that to be a nice guy.” You laughed, a hint of sadness evident, “What a fucking disaster I must seem like if he were to, huh?” The sadness in your voice more prominent, “If he is, hi Mr. Min, please erase this from your memory, as well as my sophomore haircut.”

The live went on as normal and Yoongi drifted to sleep to the melodious sound of your voice for the remainder of the flight. However, even in his dreams, you were just out of reach, and he couldn’t begin to put into words how much it killed him.

—-

You don’t know how you got here. You looked around at the shabby setup. This "photography studio” looked a lot, and you mean a lot, like it was a half-assed school set not long ago. You scoffed, throwing your hands up incredulously when you caught sight of a black couch. You really hated your manager.

The jackass was assigned to you and you were too scared to say how uncomfortable he made you. He treated you like a child, but the way he looked at you was too adult for your taste. He was constantly texting you and asking for photos of your face, which you were constantly rejecting. To top it all off, he wants you to call him Big Brother, not Oppa, Big Brother. You opted for Big Bro instead, since he won’t give you his name. No, to top it all off, he booked your photo shoot with a “friend” of his to “save the company money”. He asked you to show up in a dress no longer than your knees and you felt dumber and dumber as time went on for doing so.

You stood in the middle of this studio-warehouse apartment waiting for this great photographer to show up. As you stood here, your initial thought was “how fucking ridiculous is that” but the longer you were there and the more you studied the ropes that were no longer as well hid, something in your stomach began to turn.

You were in actual fucking danger. This situation could not be a funny story if you didn’t live to tell it. Your eyes darted from different red flags in the room. A spot of dried blood scratches on the cheap wallpaper, bare plaster marks against the beige wall, a poorly-concealed camera you hadn’t noticed until now. Your chest squeezed when your phone vibrated.

You could get out of here! All you had to do was send an SOS.

Hoseok: Good luck in the photoshoot from my other half and I!

You smiled lovingly at the snapchat from the male, the more permanent girl in his life with a smile on her face and an encouraging thumbs-up. They were evidently on a date, finally, so there was no way you could call them to come get you. You would hate to bother them.

Mr. Min: Let me know how the shoot goes.

You faltered over the message. He was professional as ever. Would he think less of you if you abandoned a shoot like this?

Yoongi agonized over the three dots that stared him down. He had to remind himself to blink as he watched the minutes tick by that felt like hours. What the hell were you typing?

It had been about a couple of weeks since you’ve been under Yoongi’s company and all had been normal. Your routine was the same, and so was his. Except for this time, you two would exchange polite texts on what the other would do.

Sugar Sun: Great song as always!

You would always send exclamation points or some sparkle emojis, even a sun here and there. Yoongi found himself unable to shield his cheesy grin at the texts you sent him. You were always the first person to praise his new work. He found himself craving your praise more and more, but he forced himself to remain professional.

Mr. Min: Loved your live.

He always used punctuation despite using fragments which somehow added an aura of professionalism that he effortlessly radiated in person. Nevertheless, you would always send back a sparkly thank you which made Yoongi melt. He prided himself on not overstepping boundaries by attempting to control your professional life. His self-restraint proved quite strong as he held himself back from taking you out to lunch or giving you special treatment. This restraint was put to the ultimate test when he found out you were assigned Hyungin as your manager. He was an unfortunate employee with constant reports that would ultimately be rescinded by the female employees.

He was a disgusting piece of shit, Yoongi deduced. Hyungin was the brother of the management agency contracted by his company, per Namjoon’s damn insistence, and he was itching for that contract to end, and soon. Yoongi had to physically hold himself back when he found this information out, trying to respect you by not meddling or keeping tabs on you.

His resolve was a very thin string that was tugged and tugged as the days went on with Hyungin having total control over your schedule and an excuse to contact you 24/7. You were a strong girl and had not made a report. He had to respect that.

Your lip began to twitch, a movement you quickly halted as you shook the fear off. Maybe you were overreacting. Maybe you were being stuck up. You weren’t like Yoongi, maybe you had to photoshoot in shabby places.

You: I’m kind of scared…

You shook your head, erasing the message and locking your phone. You huffed, it was 30 minutes past the scheduled time. Surely you had the right to leave? You heard the back door open and could feel the bile lurch in your throat.

Something was very wrong. You were not overreacting. There were several heavy footsteps and as they thudded through the warehouse, nearing your reaching form, you could not deny the quaking fear that traveled through your veins like electricity.

One? Two? No, four sets of steps. The uneven rhythm proved as much, too many for a measly photoshoot. Too many for you to take on all at once. The correct amount to hold you down. The correct amount to-

“Little sis, are you here?” A sickening voice called out and you realized the steps stopped with only his continuing.

He was trying to surprise you.

“Come on, dear, let’s get to know each other.” You could hear the predatory smirk on his face and you choked on a horrified breath as the fear pricked your skin and pierced your lungs.

You were choking on your own horror.

“Come out, come out,” He called and you were frozen, absolutely fucking frozen.

Run.

You stood up, breaking into a sprint that was a hair too slow. You felt a calloused, obscenely rough handgrip your forearm with a vigorous force and you screamed. He was squeezing, and at this rate, your bones would surely snap, “Not so fast, little girl.” He stood next to you, breath pungent with halitosis. From peripheral vision, you could see his five o'clock shadow and you realized the size difference and the lack of camera. You couldn’t stop screaming, mimicking every cell in your body that seemed to yell,

RUN.

Just like lightning, you struck him with your head, harder than you knew you could stand. His nose gave you an all too satisfying crack and his grip loosened enough for you sprint again, this time more than quick enough to keep going. You heard the clamoring of footsteps and eventually, all you could hear was the sound of the wind as you turned corners you had no familiarity with, running until your legs could no longer carry you.

Your legs finally shook you down to your knees in a part of town you barely recognized. You had passed through here once before as a freshman in college sight-seeing. It was a tourist spot and you exhaled on the sidewall as people stepped around you.

You heaved a breath that you swore you had been holding for hours with a small victorious smile. Your eyes scanned the area of regular people and your hands shaking brought attention to the purse you thankfully still had.

Without thought, you ripped it open, using your phone to call the first person you could.

“Y/n?” His voice was gruff, as if he was whispering whilst trying to talk normally, “Is everything okay?” He seemed confused, you had never called him before.

“Can you… uh…” You faltered after realizing the strangled sound you made, voice raw from the screams you let out, “…please come get me.” You nearly whispered.

“Send me your location, I’m on my way.” Yoongi didn’t miss a beat before adding, “Stay where you are, don’t go near anyone.” He ended the phone call and you followed his directions, dropping your pin. You sighed in relief as you took refuge on the sidewalk, draping the cardigan in your bag over your shoulder, securing it around yourself.

Yoongi shot up from his office chair, looking at his employees mid-powerpoint. His marketing team turned into ice at his gaze. His eyes were much darker than a moment ago, and his jaw was like stone, “I have an emergency to attend to, we will proceed at a later date.” The room nodded stiffly as their boss walked out, all of them unaware why, having been too scared to even try to listen to his phone call.

Never in Yoongi’s life had he sped so recklessly. You were 10 minutes away and something was wrong. Your voice had never sounded so vulnerable. He had never heard it that quiet before. You were in a plaza of popular building, and if you had a photo shoot today, this would not be near any studio at all. His blood boiled at the thought of anyone taking away your light.

He slammed on the brakes when he caught sight of your shrunken form on the sidewalk, your head jerked up at the sound as your entire body jumped. Why were you so scared? Your face had a small streak of makeup on the side of your face and his skin only flared as you scurried into the car and Yoongi began driving to a more familiar side of town.

“Please don’t take me home.” You pleaded, unable to face him due to the shame.

Yoongi chose not to prod, for the time being, only nodding in response as he drove. He could see you stare out the window at the passing building and he watched your shaking for curl into the car seat. He settled on this resolve of leaving you alone all the way up to the inside of his apartment until your lip quivered as you plopped down on the couch, eyes unwavering from its spot at your feet. Then, you began to cry. No, not cry, sob, sob your hardest and just like that, a single tear snapped the ever-thinning string of restraint he had left.

You were pulled into Yoongi’s chest as sobs racked through your body, you clutched his shirt as you soaked it with tears of fear, relief, joy, and you couldn’t stop. Hell, you could barely breathe. Even so, Yoongi held you as his expensive dress shirt crumbled under your grip and stained with your mascara and eyeliner proving not to be as water-resistant as you hoped. His grip was unwavering and when a hand went to stroke your hair, you could feel oxygen reach your lungs again.

“It’s okay.” He breathed, “You’re safe now.” He fought the urge to clench his jaw again as you gripped his shirt harder.

Your breathing began to even as he whispered soft words into your ear until your eyes couldn’t cry anymore. The both of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, clinging onto one another as he felt the softness of your cardigan against his hands. You eventually broke the silence with a meek, “I’m so sorry."

"Why is that?” He spoke softly, his last intent was to scare you.

“I ran away from the shoot, and I know it’s not professional but…” You shivered, “ He didn’t have a camera.” Yoongi could kill somebody, “He had three other guys with him.” Someone, no, all of them are going to have to pay, he concluded. Nobody involved would leave the ordeal with their lives intact. They would lose everything for trying to take his sunshine away, for making your light falter, for even a moment.

He ripped himself from you, to sternly meet your eyes, “Do not apologize for the swine you encountered.” Your eyes only reflected sorrow, “You’re alive, and that is what matters most, okay?” You nodded.

“You’re not mad at me?” Your voice cracked against your will as you looked up at Yoongi, eyes glassy and begging for reassurance.

He visibly softened, “No, Sunshine, I could never be mad at you.” You nodded in understanding, “But will you let me fix this for you?”

Maybe you should have known from the beginning. You looked at Yoongi, so eager to be your saving grace, eyes intense with intent, and yet his touch was so soft. A man in love was a dangerous man, you once read in a book. Yet, never in your life have you craved such a man before, and if Yoongi’s rage mixed with infatuation could measure close to love, you would take it. He was powerful, he was kind, and he was pleasing to the eye. He was offering you the world in that one question.

“Please.” You cast your pride aside, “They don’t deserve mercy.” An angry tear went down your cheek, “I’m so tired of trying to brave it, doubting myself, denying myself any chance of help.” You could feel the tear trickle with hot fury, “I’m so fucking sick of relying on myself.”

Yoongi was quick to catch the tear with the softest hand you’ve ever felt, “I’m here now.” He spoke with the utmost confidence.

Your relationship with Yoongi from that point for the next couple of months was interesting, to say the least. You had somehow moved in upon his request, him rationalizing it by saying they knew where you lived. Granted, he wasn’t wrong. Hyungin knew where you lived, but within two weeks he and the monsters you encountered were promptly locked in a very dangerous maximum-security prison. You decided not to dwell on how they took such a shitty deal with a well-deserved long sentence.

Some things were above your pay grade, and you made peace with it.

Even so, he didn’t stop there. He could no longer stand on the sidelines anymore. That line blurred beyond recognition the moment he held you in his arms. He was essentially your new manager, stating he owed you at least that much after letting you fall into the hands of such a monster. Thankfully, the releasing of official statements and press conferences were received well. The victim-blaming for the nature of your podcast kept to an obsolete minimum. Your face still had not been released upon your request and you were able to move on, the media no longer covering the story as the sentencing was sealed.

The months passed in a flurry of Yoongi being awfully vague each time you asked about his personal life. He was constantly home outside of work, which you didn’t mind, but you didn’t want him to put his social life on your accord. You also had much less confidence in his infatuation for you then you did a couple months ago. Every time you tried to make a move, which meant a small brush of physical contact, he was not responding. The last time he gave you affection was the hug during your breakdown. The most you got out of him were a couple of head pats.

Like that did anything for you.

For crying out loud, you ran a sex and lifestyle podcast with no sex from the hot man you lived in the same home as.

Hell, the most emotion you see from him is the purest politeness you have ever encountered.

“Hello my listeners, welcome to the obligatory virginity talk.” Your voice was crisp in the mic as Yoongi laid in his bed, headphones in, listening to the newly released podcast. He was still a loyal listener, despite you living in his guest bedroom. He still could not get enough of your voice. If anything, he craved you more and desperately held himself back. He loved having you with him, but never did he think he would have to turn to rubbing one out during your more racy episodes or when he heard you pleasuring yourself in the dead of night.

Not even his thoughts could satiate him with you right there, and yet, out of reach.

“It has come to my attention that many of you think I’m a virgin, not that it’s an insult..” He could hear the smile in your voice, “Alas, I am not, but that doesn’t change my hand being the most impressive thing my pussy has seen, I’ll tell you what.” You giggled at this, “No, I take that back, my magic wand is my BFF.” Yoongi shifted, wondering if you had your toys in your room. He had sent for all of your things after all. God, he could already feel his dick hardening. How pathetic you make him at the very thought of you fucking yourself silly, eyes rolled back, vibrator against your clit. He huffed, shaking away the thoughts, “ Anyhow, let’s talk trends I am late to, rare, I know, but what’s this whole spelling coconut with your hips riding someone business?” You pondered, “I haven’t ridden someone in a good while, and my dildo can’t tell me if it feels good, so I’m at a loss here.” You sighed almost longingly, “God, I miss getting fucked, but also romanced,” You groaned, “It’s been a rough as fuck dry couple of months, which didn’t bother me for a while considering… you know, but the world keeps turning and I stay alone but moving on…” You droned and Yoongi went into overdrive.

Did you seriously want to fuck someone? Like someone else? You were living with him now, why would you feel the need to have relations with anyone else? His fists clenched at the very concept. You couldn’t be talking for show, you were say too genuine. Before he could even stop himself, he marched over to his bedroom door, ripping it open.

Only when he did had did he realize that you were in front of him, hand raised to knock on the door, “Oh, hey.” You gave him a smile as you slowly retreated your raised arm, “I was just gonna see if you wanted to watch a movie with me?” Every so often you both would have a movie night in which you would try to understand his feelings with small touches and ultimately fail. Nevertheless, you enjoyed his company. Today, you were buying into an article’s advice and watching a scary one. Not that you were terrified, but you were a jumpy person.

At this rate, you couldn’t tell if you were horny or just wanted affection.

Both, probably.

Your crush on Yoongi had only worsened throughout this whole experience to top it off. He was hot and kind who could blame you? And yet, he never made a single move as if he had no interest. God, what if he didn’t have any interest?

Your heart sank for a moment, “If not, I think I was gonna try to go out-”

“No!” Your eyes widened at Yoongi’s panicked tone when he cleared his throat, “I mean, I want to watch a movie, so you don’t have to go out.” He muttered and you nodded slowly. He could not have you going out, not after what he heard. You were craving other people. He couldn’t bear the thought.

“O…kay…” You smiled a bit, “Well, I picked a scary one if you think you can hang.” You gave him a sly smile before going to make popcorn.

He smiled as he watched you prance to the kitchen. You were so beautiful and fun and everything he’s ever needed. All that was left was for you to be his, but he didn’t want to scare you away. He had to be a gentleman. He had to wait for the right time. That’s what Jin, Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung said. The only issue was that he had no idea what the hell that meant.

“You know, Mr. Min-”

“Yoongi.” He was quick as ever to correct you, “Please.” He sounded more desperate than usual and you nodded.

“Right, well I was just going to say that you have absurd taste in snacks.” You said with a chuckle, “All I ever see in you cupboards are coffee.” You wistfully sigh, “I need to go grocery shopping.”

The sound of you being so domestic-made Yoongi break into an ill-concealed smile as he settled onto the sofa, setting the oddly scary movie you chose up, “I can take you on Saturday.” You nodded when you finally found a bag of chips and sat next to the man of your affection with a cushion between the two of you.

You really couldn’t say what the movie was about, you had only seen it between the gaps in your fingers all while Yoongi watched it with a straight face. When it ended he said a short goodnight as always, except something in you, lurched out.

“Actually, I think I may go out after all.” You swore you followed your mouth’s lead as opposed to the opposite. You just said shit and had to go along with it. Fuck, you didn’t want to go out. You wanted to stay home and be scared that there was a ghost in the closet, but now you had to get ready and shit.

“Why?” Yoongi stopped, hand gripping his door handle much harder than usual.

You were taken aback by the question. It was valid, you supposed. But was it? How do you even answer that question? “Well, it’s been a while since I've… ya know…” You clicked your tongue, suddenly too shy to say,

“Had sex?” It was so blunt, and his eyes pierced through you and yet, you could feel your core tingle.

You were nothing but a sputtering mess, “W-W, I-I, Mr. Min-”

“Yoongi, y/n.” He spoke through gritted teeth as he stalked over to you. Despite the unconscious steps back you were taking, the couch brought you to an abrupt stop.

“R-Right, anyways, I-” You shut your mouth when Yoongi hovered over you with his presence alone.

“Say it,” He glared daggers into your form, “Say my name.” Before you could even open your mouth Yoongi groaned, slamming his hands on the couch on either side of you in frustration, “God, why do you want other people when I’m right fucking here?” Your mouth was agape at this, “I’m so sick of holding myself back.” He cursed, body pressing against yours.

“What do you mean? Other people?” You mustered and Yoongi let out a chuckle void of humor.

“I listened to your podcast about wanting to be with someone and getting romance and…” Yoongi seriously thought you had been referring to anyone but him? Him? Seriously? The hot man in the place you live? You couldn’t stifle your laugh which caused his rant to falter, “How is this a laughing matter I am-”

“So fucking dense.” You giggled, “I’ve wanted you to at least look my way for the past three years, and you seriously think I want to be with other people?!” You sighed, “I live with you for fuck’s sake, and you won’t touch me!” Now, you were letting your frustrations out, “I brush your hand, I touch thighs with you, I-I scare the shit out of myself hoping you’ll at least hold me!” You heaved a breath, “And all you do is stay still!” You let out a frustrated yell, “The most attention I got from you was when I was almost attacked, is that what I need to do to draw sap from a fucking rock?!”

Yoongi flared at this, “Don’t ever think about putting yourself in danger.” He pointed at you, “I couldn’t take it, and I can’t take you not being honest with me, I thought you never noticed-” He was being a hypocrite, but he didn’t care.

“How could you say I don’t notice you when you straight up forgot I existed until this year?!” Yoongi was the one dumbfounded this time, and you took your chance to push past him, “I will go out tonight because I deserve-”

You couldn’t even breathe the next syllable before your back hit Yoongi’s bedroom door, his hands pinning your wrists above your own, the man breathing heavy. The air was thick with frustration as he gave you a stern look, “You deserve the world, I know,” The anger in you began to dissipate at his sincerity in his words, “And I am so in love with you, that I don’t think I’m worthy of giving it to you,” Your breath hitched at this, “But I don’t care anymore, because I would sooner kill someone before they put their hands on you, I’m sure you know I mean business, Sunshine?” You nodded, every cell in your body springing to life as Yoongi drew his lips closer to you, “So?”

You blew out a shaky breath with an equally shaky smile, “L-Love me? I-"

"Say you love me, and I’ll do it.” He was more rushed this time, urgent almost, “I’ll stop holding back, and I will give you all that you deserve and so, so much more.” He was almost pleading.

What the fuck do you know about love? What does it look like? Sound like? Is it the way Yoongi smiles at your dumb jokes in the morning? Is it the way his voice sounds through the walls as he practices newly-written lyrics? He was a good man to you. He was an attractive man. He could give you the world, and all he wanted in return was your love. Could all of this be love? Could it be the way he’s made you feel the past couple of years, especially the last couple of months?

Well, why the hell wouldn’t it be?

“I love you, Yoongi.” You breathed against his lips and he didn’t miss a beat in closing the gap so not even air could come between the two of you.

Electrifying all over again, but so, so different. This wasn’t fear. This was lust lighting a fire within you that Yoongi only stoked further as his silky tongue tangled with yours in a flurry of repressed emotions and endless unspoken confessions. His mouth attached to your neck and you let out a moan, quickly going to cover your mouth.

He ripped your hand away almost instantly, “You’re rarely this shy when you’re in your room, why deny me your sounds now?” He growled against your ear and the pure sex in his voice only made you moan louder. He was the rain you had admired from afar, but now he was pressed against you, and holy shit, were you getting wet.

“Yoongi, I don’t know if I can wait, I want to cum so fucking ba-ah!” You yelped when his hand went to cup your sex under the long shirt you always wore. You were on your tippy-toes, too sensitive to press your full weight onto him.

“Such an innocent-looking girl with such a nasty mouth.” He squeezed you in his hand and watched in glory as your eyes rolled back, “Since you’re a fan, I’ll be nice.” He teased as he got onto his knees, dragging your panties down with him to the floor.

“Oh shit.” You let out a breath that was quickly stolen when his tongue pressed against your entry. He lifted your leg, placing it over his shoulder as his mouth lapped at your clit and you lost yourself in the feeling, moaning mindlessly.

“You taste like deliverance.” He mumbled against your pussy and this only made your eyes roll back at the eroticism in his words. You couldn’t even keep track of what he was doing anymore.

All you could do was feel. His tongue fucked you into oblivion as he held your hips still, determined to make you come with his mouth, and his mouth alone. He let out a lewd suck and you quivered at the sensation and action. He knew how to play you and please you that you did. His tongue entered you again and he let out a delicious moan which vibrated against your folds, “Fuck, you sound and feel so fucking good!” You cried out as his tongue made thick strokes against you that only sped up expertly as he moaned into you, “Can I cum, Yoongi?” You asked, a smart girl, he concluded. He smirked against you, full intention to deny your request until, “Please, my love, I want to cum in your mouth like a good girl.” You begged pathetically and he couldn’t refuse you. You had him wrapped around your finger and hardly knew it. He got to work quickly, tongue entering you again only to flick upwards and you groaned at this. Groans were quickly replaced by increased screaming as he stiffened his tongue and licked all around your sex. You began to scream his name like a mantra as you tighten around the muscle and came the hardest you ever had.

You slumped against the door, chest heaving, “You okay, baby?” The nickname from him elicited a tired smile. You looked down at the man, lips glossy as he licked them. He sat back on his calves and you wasted no time in diving at him on the floor.

Before he could react, you gripped him through his sweatpants and smiled when you realized he was rock hard, “Can I please ride you?” You looked up at him through your eyelashes and he knew he couldn’t possibly say no.

“Your wish is my command, sunshine.” He growled when you straddle him as he sat, legs spread and back against the back of the couch now. You gave a less than innocent smile as you reached for his member, delicate hands wrapping around him, only to pull it free and closer to your entrance, “Condom?” He questioned.

“Pill, I need to feel you, fuck.” You panted, against logical judgment, but it was lost when you pressed the head against your own entrance, “Shit.” You ground against Yoongi as his head lolled back.

He could hardly handle it as your hips twirled, the tip just outside your entrance. Finally, he had enough, and with strong hands pulled your hips to fill you to the hilt. Your mouth popped open in shock and pure masochistic delight as the pain only added to the high of lust Yoongi gave you, “Sorry, baby girl, I knew you would feel so fucking good.” He emphasized this with a thrust up, “Plus, I could hardly resist being deep inside you immediately.” He growled in sadistic pride as your face twisted in pain and pleasure.

“Hurts so good.” Your hips moved spastically, chasing another high with Yoongi deep inside you. Not once did you lift your hips. You wanted to stay full, and Yoongi was more than happy to oblige, “So good, I wanna stay like this.” You moaned out as he sucked on your neck, hands going under your shirt to grip your breasts with a fevor you craved.

“You feel like heaven.” He grunted against your neck as he littered it with hickey after hickey. You were his and the way you squeezed around him and clawed at his shoulder only spurred him further.

Yoongi could feel himself twitching inside you and this only made you gasp as you gleefully squeezed around him, “Yes, yes,” You sounded like a prayer to him, “Cum inside me, I need it.” You were nearly screaming as he began to thrust into you at a rapid pace.

“Yeah? You want me to paint those pretty walls white, hm?” He teased you despite the strain in his voice, “Fuck it right into that pretty pussy of yours, no mine.” He grabbed your hips, working your body for his own high, “This is my pussy, isn’t it?"

"Yes, it’s all yours, Yoongi!” You yelled and with that, he groaned as he came, ropes of cum that you could feel as his hips made good of his promise to fuck it into you. You milked him as you squeezed tighter before coming undone as you came with a scream that sounded like the next symphonic masterpiece to the fucked out man inside you.

You huffed a small chuckle against his neck as your curled your form around his, “So needy.” He teased as he went to remove himself inside of you only to be met with a squeeze from you that made him curse, “You’re gonna kill me, I swear.”

You giggled, “I like how you feel inside of me.” You shrugged before shivering at the empty feeling only to gasp when three fingers were shoved into you. You wiggled in glee, “Fuck.” Your breath hot against his neck.

"You just like to be full, huh baby?“ You nodded shyly, "You’re perfect.” He chuckled as he used his other hand to stroke your back.

—-

“Announcement time, my dear listeners” You spoke in the studio, trying not to sound like it was through gritted teeth. You counted your blessings that you were alone, “As you know, your dear old Sugar Sun has promised a face reveal and I-Min Yoongi!” Well, mostly alone. You heaved a breath as you came against his mouth for the third time.

The man between your legs looked up at you, eyes way too innocent, “What? I’m waiting for my part.” He spoke nonchalantly despite the wetness on his lips.

“I’ll never get there if you keep making me cum and start over.” You glared and the man shrugged, “I got far enough, right, babe?” You pouted and watched his resolve crack, “Honeypie?” You pleaded and he faltered, “Love of my life?” He grumbled as he sat up next to you in front of the mic.

“Fine, go ahead.” He licked his lips.

“…and I decided to go a step further.” You smiled as the man next to you held your hand, “I will be doing a photoshoot to reveal my face and my collab partner to an upcoming song and my boyfriend…”

You looked to him, eyes twinkling, “That would be my cue.” He placed a quiet kiss on your head, “My name is Min Yoongi or Agust D as some of you may know, and I look forward to my career and life with this little piece of sunshine.” You giggled at this.

“So cheesy.” You gave him a bright smile nonetheless, “Crazy news, I know, but I secured the fucking bag, my dear listeners, he’s never getting rid of me."

You were joking for the most part, but you didn’t know how right you were. You would not be away from him any longer. You were his sunshine, his little songbird, and his world all at the same time. He needed you like he needed to breathe. Now, you were his. You were his sunshine despite the rain he embodied. The rainbow between the two of you was too intoxicating to even bear the idea of giving it up. Even for a fraction of second. You were his. Every moment, minute, second, everything would be together. He was yours now and forever just as you were his. Blissfully and eternally in love.

"I’m too crazy to let go now.” You laughed as he kissed your temple affectionately.

So was he.

Buy me a ko-fi (it would make my day)

Masterlist

#yandere bts #yandere yoongi #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi smut #bts oneshot #bts yandere au #yandere bts smut #bts #bts fluff #yoongi fluff #min yoongi

829 notes · View notes

mittensmorgul · 5 years

Text

Because this is the sort of thing Fandom seems to have forgotten over the years, here’s a partial (off the top of my head) list of the times that Dean and Cas have locked themselves (and loved ones) up for Their Own Good™:

2.14: Sam’s possessed by Meg, and Bobby ties him up in a devil’s trap (Sam is saved via exorcism)

3.03: Sam’s cursed after losing the rabbit’s foot, and Dean leaves him behind and goes off to get back the rabbit’s foot to un-curse Sam (that goes greaaaaat)

4.14: Dean thinks Sam’s been compromised by the siren, and shuts him out of the case, but SURPRISE! It’s actually Dean who’s been compromised...

4.18: Dean believes that Chuck’s prophecy that Sam will be compromised by Lilith will come true, and stashes him in what he believes is a safe location (SURPRISE, prophecy is tricksy, and the safe location is anything BUT)

4.20: After learning that Sam gets his powers through drinking demon blood, they lock him in Bobby’s panic room to detox. Cas, following heaven’s orders after a fresh round of torture/brainwashing, lets Sam out to go drink more demon blood... Bobby says the treatment is killing him, and Dean replies, “then at least he’ll die human.” So.

5.14: After Famine tempts Sam into killing and drinking a few demons, they have to lock him up in the panic room for a second round of detox

5.18: It’s Dean’s first go at being locked in the panic room, because Sam (and Cas and Bobby) are afraid that he’s about to run off and say yes to Michael. So it’s not compromised YET, just imprisoned for being obstinate.

6.07: Dean ties Sam up and has Cas evaluate him (hello, soulonoscopy), and discovers his soul is missing. Dean is upset about this and wants to leave Sam tied up/locked down/whatever, but Sam casually demonstrates that they can’t keep him bound by escaping his restraints. interestingly, kinda similar to how Jack couldn’t be held by the Ma’lak box...

6.11: Bobby figures out Sam is up to something (oh, killing him!) and traps him in the basement. Sam... escapes via trickery, but Bobby and Dean manage to get him tied up in the panic room, where he spends a relaxing ten days recuperating after Death shoves his soul back in.

6.16: Bobby is chained up while possessed by the Khan Worm. They know electricity is a cure, and eventually force the thing out.

6.20: They trap Cas in a ring of holy fire to interrogate him about what he’s really up to. They don’t like the answers...

6.22: Sam’s wall is broken, and he’s laid up in the panic room hallucinating a weird road trip while Dean and Bobby are out trying to stop Cas from cracking Purgatory.

7.01: (eta WHOOPSIE HOW DID I FORGET they summoned Death to kill Godstiel... but he was too powerful and escaped. But they did get Death to help set up a possible way to send all the souls back to Purgatory... which didn’t entirely work, but this is A BIG ONE for this list)

7.17: Dean literally has to have Sam committed to a hospital where he’s told he’s dying (because of a chronic case of the Hallucifers). Cas fixes it, but then they have to leave him at the hospital with Meg standing guard, for the purposes of “mutually assured destruction” should Cas not get better.

9.10: After trapping Sam/Gadreel, they tie him up and let Crowley poke at him to try and evict the angel. Crowley ends up going in for a rescue mission after Gadreel insists he will not freely leave.

9.23: After attacking Gadreel at the end of 9.22, Dean earns himself a trip to the dungeon. He’s falling to the power of the MoC, and Sam and Cas lock him up... but he summons Crowley to help him get free, and takes the First Blade with him.

10.02/10.03: Demon Dean is locked up in the dungeon while Sam performs the demon cure on him. Dean escapes and tries to kill Sam, but Cas stops him. The cure eventually works.

10.09: Dean flat-out asks Cas to kill him should he ever go darkside again...

10.14: Dean once again warns them that they may need to kill him and/or lock him up before he goes to kill Cain.

10.23: Dean was prepared to exile himself (with Death’s help) and kill Sam, but whoopsie... and then Rowena finishes the spell to remove the MoC and Bad Things Happen.

11.02: Cas is chained up while under the attack dog spell, which he escapes from until Rowena eventually removes the spell in 11.03.

11.18: They summon “Casifer” and trap him in holy fire, with the intent to expel Lucifer from Cas, but it goes poorly

11.23: Dean agrees to “be the bomb”

12.16: Claire, knowing she’s been bitten by a werewolf, agrees to be restrained to have the risky cure administered, knowing full well she might not survive. She does.

12.21: Mary is chained up and “not herself” due to BMoL brainwashing. Dean goes into her mind to undo the damage.

13.14: Whoopsie, they let Donatello the soulless prophet get corrupted by the demon tablet, and lock him up. He still nearly manages to kill Dean in this state. Cas strips the information they need from his mind, leaving him brain dead. He eventually gets better...

14.11: Dean builds the drama coffin, fully prepared to fling himself and Michael into the ocean for an eternity.

And this isn’t even counting temporary “locking up for their own good to stop them interfering in something” (like in 5.20 when Sam locks Dean in the bathroom while he interrogates Brady), or “tricking the other into being left behind so they could do something the other didn’t approve of” (like Dean running off in 2.13 and chasing down the creeper Sam was ordered to kill by an “angel” while Sam performed the exorcism). This is just straight-up “my loved one is compromised or otherwise Not Themselves and being locked up for their (and everyone else’s) safety.

#spn 14.19

78 notes · View notes

katedoesfics · 5 years

Text

Breath of the Resistance: Chapter 35

Gunshots rang out. Link counted them; one… two… three-four…

Sidon was at his side. He pulled Link to his feet. Link leaned against him for a moment, watching as Dorian’s body dropped. Kohga’s spirit flew out of Dorian before his body landed on the ground and he swirled through the air frantically.

Link dashed over the ground, swiping the Master Sword up with him as Kohga changed direction, flying erratically towards it. Kohga headed straight for Link, and Link thrust the sword in the air as Kohga approached, slicing the apparition up the middle and it burst above him. Spectral-like dust scattered and rained down, disappearing in mid air, and the world fell silent.

From behind him, Link heard Dorian groan. He turned as Sidon hurried to Dorian’s side to inspect the damages. Link let his eyes scan the scene. The Sheikah soldiers were returning to their feet, their hands rubbing at their heads. They looked around at each other, slightly disoriented as they came out of their trances. Zelda stood off to the side of the canyon, the gun still in her hand. Even from the distance where she stood, Link could see her arms were shaking, the gun loose in her hand like she were about to drop it. Link dropped the sword and hurried to her, taking the gun from her shaking hands.

“I tried not to kill him,” she said, her voice shaking. “I thought… I thought I could just… just stop him...”

Link pulled her into his arms. “You’re fine,” he said. “Dorian is fine. You did perfectly.” He pulled her tighter and glanced back over at Dorian. He was leaning against Sidon. Two of Zelda’s shot must have missed, by the other two were hits. One looked to have grazed his right leg just on the outer thigh while the other hit his upper arm. Sidon said something to him and Dorian nodded. Dorian turned his sorrowful gaze to Link, then averted his eyes.

“That was insane!” Riju’s voice said. She bounded up to Link and Zelda. “Did you see that spirit? It had Dorian possessed, alright!”

Link guided Zelda down the canyon where Teba and Yunobo waited. Riju trailed excitedly behind them, and Sidon and Dorian followed slowly as Dorian limped along.

“Take her to Kakariko,” Link said to Teba.

“No,” Zelda said quickly, her hands on Link’s arm. “No, where are you going?”

“I’m putting that damn sword where it belongs,” Link said. “Where no one can get it for another thousand years.”

Teba let a gentle wing rest on Zelda’s shoulder, but Zelda didn’t move from Link’s side.

“Go,” Link said sternly. “I’ll meet you there, okay?”

“But-”

“Nothing’s going to happen. It’s over.” He tried his best to offer her a reassuring smile. It must have worked, because Zelda didn’t continue arguing with him. She let Teba lead her down the road to the car, where Riju had already skipped ahead and waited with a grin on her face. Link watched as they piled into the car. Sidon and Dorian finally closed the gap between them and stood at Link's side.

“Take some of my men,” Dorian instructed, still avoiding Link's gaze. He looked ahead across the canyon where three of the Sheikah helicopters waited. “Take one of the choppers to the forest.”

Link folded his arms over his chest. “Last time I did that -”

“Get rid of that damn sword and get your ass back to Kakariko,” Dorian interrupted in a low growl.

Link said nothing further as Dorian barked orders at his soldiers. The Sheikah army split themselves between the three helicopters, a small group of them standing aside to go with Link to the forest. Link watched as Sidon helped Dorian limp over to one of the helicopters. The Sheikah soldiers pulled him onboard where he disappeared, and Sidon returned to the waiting vehicles.

Link turned around and picked up the sword he carelessly dropped on the ground. He turned it over in hands for a moment before turning back around as one of the helicopters came to life and lifted off the ground. Once it was clear from the canyon, the second one followed suit. Link followed the Sheikah soldiers to the last helicopter, where they climbed on and quickly took to the sky. While the other two turned to the east for Kakariko, their helicopter moved north towards the forest.

It took them only an hour to reach the outskirts of the forest where the helicopter landed. Link jumped out before it even made contact with the ground, the Master Sword in hand. He didn't bother argue with the two Sheikah soldiers that entered the forest with him. In fact, he hardly spoke two words to any of them since they boarded the helicopter. He ignored them as they mumbled to themselves, intrigued by the confusing structure of the forest. He didn't answer their questions, convinced they were walking in circles. He didn't hear the same voice he had heard before, guiding him through the forest. But the sword did seem to glow brighter as he moved about the trees until they finally reached the center of the forest.

The two soldiers looked on in awe as Link stepped towards the pedestal before the Great Deku Tree. He positioned the blade above the stone, then thrust it back in where it would sit for who knew how long in the protection of the forest. The glow of the blade brightened momentarily before subsiding, and the forest fill still. Link held his gaze on it for a moment, feeling almost sad to part with it, as if he were leaving behind a part of him. But he let out a breath and turned away from the sword, grateful that it was finally over.

*****

It was late in the evening when they finally returned to Kakariko. Zelda and Impa were just outside the barracks when the helicopter landed, and Zelda threw herself into Link's arms when he jumped out. They followed Impa inside where Dorian and the four newly appointed champions waited. Link and Zelda stood before Impa, Dorian standing just slightly behind her, his arm now in a sling. He had on fresh clothing, free of dirt and blood. He rested his weight on his left foot slightly, but otherwise, there was no sign that he had been shot in the leg. His eyes were cast down to the ground, his expression sullen. The strong, authoritative figure Link had grown to know seemed to have been completely repressed with shame.

“The sword,” Impa said. Her hard gaze rested on Link's. “It's back in the protection of the forest?”

“Yes,” Link said simply.

Impa nodded, her eyes closed for a moment. “We are in your debt. If it weren't for you and your and your newly appointed champions, Kohga would have gained control of the entire Sheikah army, and Hyrule would have surely been lost to Ganon.”

“Banishing me was an appropriate way to show how grateful you are,” he muttered.

Impa narrowed her eyes at him. “You know that was not my doing,” she said. “Kohga had us all possessed to do his bidding. He worked closely with Ganon, and it was because of Ganon's power that Kohga's spirit remained after you killed him.” She paused. “Dorian was an obvious target considering his position with the Sheikah and the SFU. He possessed Dorian and managed to brainwash all of us into this mess in an attempt to take you out once and for all. Without you as a threat, he would have had no problem breaking Zelda’s seal and bringing Ganon back.”

To Link’s surprise, instead of bearing down on him with her typical annoyed, angry glare, she averted her gaze.

“I’m ashamed that something as simple as that ever got by my defenses,” she said. “I should have seen it coming. I should have been able to stop Kohga myself.”

Link shifted his weight on his feet. “Apology accepted,” he said with a shrug.

Impa shook her head and sighed, but a small smile split her face. She turned her gaze to Zelda. “Are you prepared to return to the city?”

Zelda hesitated. “I don't think I have much of a choice,” she muttered.

Impa smiled warmly at her. “You have a country to rule,” she said. “Just as your father had done. They are waiting for your reassurance and guidance. You will not be alone, though, I promise you that.”

Zelda sucked in a breath and straightened. “Thank you,” she said softly. She checked Link at the corner of her eyes. His hands were shoved in his pockets and his eyes on the floor.

“Stay here tonight,” Impa said. “We can worry about everything in the morning.” She nodded to them and turned away, walking towards the door at the end of the room and disappearing around the corner. Dorian followed dutifully, leaving the six heroes alone in the central room.

Link turned around and smirked at Zelda. “Have fun with that,” he said as he moved towards the double doors bringing him outside. He stood atop the steps as Zelda trotted after him. She narrowed her gaze at him.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You have responsibilities,” he said, grinning at her. “But my job's done.”

Zelda put her hands on her hips. “Your job is done?” she repeated. “I don't recall hearing you quit. You're still employed in the SFU, and now I'm your boss.” She returned his grin, teasingly.

“That sucks,” he said. “There's a strict no dating your boss policy, you know.” He cocked a head at her and smiled crookedly.

Zelda blushed and averted her gaze. She looked out over the city. “Good thing we're not dating,” she said.

Link made his way down the steps. “I think I'll ask out that red head I used to know,” he said over his shoulder.

“For the love of Hylia,” Riju's voice said from behind Zelda. She pushed her way through Sidon, Teba, and Yunobo with a grunt, then around Zelda and trotted down the steps. She stopped in front of Link, her hands on her hips. “You have such a way with words, you know that?”

Link grinned down at the short Gerudo leader. “Go home,” he said simply, stepping around her and onto the road.

“I think we'll stay until tomorrow morning,” she said as she looked over the city. “I've never been here before. Well.” She paused and shrugged with one shoulder. “Last time I was here, we were busy with a rescue mission. Saving your ass.”

Link barked a short laugh over his shoulder. “If that's what you want to call it.”

Riju followed him onto the road, and Zelda, Teba, Sidon, and Yunobo followed suit. They stood for a moment on the hill, looking out over the city lights until Riju spoke again.

“Let's see what kind of trouble we can get into,” she said with a grin. “There's drinks to be had and men to flirt with.” She started to walk down the road, then shot a glare in the direction of the other champions. “Come on.”

Teba muttered under his breath but followed her regardless. “Let's go,” he said to Sidon and Yunobo.

“I don't want to flirt with men,” Yunobo said, his brows furrowed together.

Sidon pulled at Yunobo's arm. “Don't worry,” he said with a nod towards Teba. “We'll find you a cute girl.”

Yunobo opened his mouth to argue, but Sidon pulled him forward, and they followed Riju down the long drive, out the front gates, and into the city.

Link folded his arms over his chest, certain that it was no accident that Riju left him and Zelda alone together.

“Does the red head have a name?” Zelda asked.

Link met her gaze and turned his gaze up thoughtfully. “I decided I'm not into red heads any more,” he said with a shrug.

“Gorons, perhaps?”

Link rolled his eyes. He let his hands rest on Zelda's cheeks and pulled her towards him. He pressed his lips against hers and felt her body move in closer, pressing against him.

After a moment, Zelda pulled away slightly and looked up at Link. “So... Gorons?”

“Shut up,” Link growled as a grin split her face. He pulled her in once more and pressed his lips hard against hers. Zelda's hands moved into his hair and she pulled him closer, deepening their kiss. But the sound of footsteps and voices pulled them away for a moment. Zelda met Link's gaze, their faces still close together, and a flirtatious smile pulled at the corner of her lips. She took Link's hand in hers, pulling him with her as she started back up the stairs. She held her gaze for a moment more before trotting up the steps, tugging Link along with her.

#breath of the resistance #chapter 35 #botr35 #loz #legend of zelda #botw #breath of the wild #fic #fanfic

2 notes · View notes

utopianparadoxist · 7 years

Note

man I don't think you can really say bro is brainwashed but gamzee's just evil when you can argue that gamzee's also possessed by cal. they even have really similar relationships to how he's formed, ie part of their souls exist inside lil cal already. which is probably a good explanation for how lil cal is able to brainwash them when he doesn't brainwash, like, dave, who is around him his whole childhood. idk, I just think gamzee's more complicated than "evil ass hole"

As it happens, Gamzee has a line I never gave much weight to before noticing Bro’s SAW interest that I’m more inclined to take seriously now, that suggests Gamzee and Bro’s relationship to Cal WAS intrinsically different:

But even if Bro is kind of a noble captor figure holding Cal back, I still wouldn’t think it excuses any of what he put Dave through. He’s still an awful dude.

As for Gamzee, here’s the main problem with reading him as “just” brainwashed.

Gamzee doesn’t require Lil Cal’s presence to go evil. In fact, Gamzee doesn’t seem to require ANYTHING to turn evil. But even if like, Doc Scratch ALWAYS teleports Lil Cal into Gamzee’s presence to trigger his personality shift, I don’t think it would matter.The weight of the sheer SCALE of Gamzee’s devotion cements his place as an ultimately willing accomplice/acolyte to Caliborn’s Dark Carnival.

And it kind of makes Gamzee fucking terrifying and a fantastic villain.

I’ll explain my reasoning here.

We know for a fact that Gamzee snaps and kills all his friends in at least one Doomed timeline. This is the source for half the code used in the creation of Doc Scratch. There’s no implication that Lil Cal is involved here at all.

But again, let’s assume Lil Cal was here again. It doesn’t matter.

Because there is canonically, explicitly, no timeline in the history of Gamzee where Gamzee ever, ever, EVER chooses to rebel. Gamzee Makara simply does not ever choose his friends over Lord English. In any timeline. Ever.How do I know?

Lets talk about Ghosts for a minute. The fandom has historically kind of taken these guys for granted, and loose fandom consensus is that they aren’t coherent/who has what ghosts is arbitrary. This is incorrect!

Pretty much everybody in the Bubbles that should have alt!ghosts does, including Meenah and Aranea, the two characters who’s alt!ghosts are typically presumed “Missing”.

This is important. The Ghosts kind of give us very low-key character development, and contextualize the characters for us. For example, Eridan is an absolute irredeemable bastard in the Alpha timeline. But in a God Tier iteration of themselves, Eridan and Feferi seemingly come to friendlier terms. In another, there’s suggestions Eridan makes up with Feferi and Sollux. In yet another, he seems to be Trans or exploring femininity at least.

The point is, there’s a certain fluidity to Eridan’s potential. Still terrible in the comic, but it’s important to remember that Eridan didn’t CHOOSE to be trapped in the meteor with Jack, or to be born to Alternia’s power system, or to be trapped in the Alpha Timeline.

It’s important to remember these things because in Homestuck, someone with power–Lord English–deliberately and willfully chose those things FOR him. Eridan’s lives are lived in response to that imposed power structure.These factors don’t redeem him completely necessarily

But anyway, the fact that the rest of the cast have coherent quantum expressions means there are only three real exceptions–three characters who either don’t have any ghosts at all, or should have more ghosts than they do.

The first is Caliborn, who’s timeline has exactly one deviation from the Alpha–apparently caused by John’s retcon. This riddle’s solved easily enough:Predomination doesn’t leave a ghost to appear in the bubbles at all. When Calliope says she ate his soul, she means that literally. Caliborn’s cheating in the Alpha Timeline is indeed the only reason Calliope exists in the bubbles at all.

(This, by the way, explains a lot about the relationship between Caliborn’s soul and Gamzee/Arquis’ in the Lord English. He predominated over them, too.)

The second is Vriska, who only has a single ghost in (Vriska). This is really weird, because we literally know for a fact she dies in more than one doomed timeline! As with the two Calliopes, I think this is down to John’s retcon doing some weird entanglement nonsense to Vriska’s quantum existence.The point is: Where others have a palette of possibility, Vriska has two extremely polarized halves. Schrodinger’s Vriska.

Important to mention that just like Eridan, the structure of the Alpha Timeline that limits potential Vriskas is IMPOSED ONTO HER. Vriska didn’t want anything about the way she was raised or where she was born. She didn’t ask John and Terezi to retcon her into this bizarre state. Both Vriskas, like the rest of the cast, are rolling with the punches LE has seen fit to give.

Except for Gamzee.

Hussie literally tells us Gamzee never dies. His single non-Alpha Timeline death in [S] Game Over is retconned by John, and Hussie suggests it straight up doesn’t count. But that presents a problem.

There are thousands upon thousands of Doomed troll timelines. How is it that Gamzee specifically never ever EVER dies? Well, there’s only one real way that a Non-Time player can survive a Doomed timeline, that we know of:

Dream self merger. By going to sleep as the last player present in Sburb, the Doomed Rose from Davesprite’s timeline triggers a game mechanic that ends her timeline completely and merges her consciousness with that of Alpha Rose through their dreamselves.

If Gamzee survives his doomed timelines, this is the only possible way how. And collapsing all of his potential instances into a single Alpha identity certainly sounds like the reduction of possibility commonly attributed to the Rage aspect.But what that means is that to move on to the Alpha, every Doomed Gamzee must inevitably either snap and kill all the other trolls, or somehow outlast them. And it means that if any Gamzee had EVER, in the entire spectrum of plausibility the Alpha timeline affords, EVER been inclined to rebel against LE–then we would know. Because somewhere out there, that at least Hussie could see, there would be a Ghost to show for it.

But there isn’t. Similar in this respect only to Caliborn, Gamzee simply has no alternate deviations because he doesn’t want them. He chooses the path that leads to Lord English freely and willingly, over and over and over again.

And like Caliborn…

Gamzee does this because he wants to.

Gamzee doesn’t BELIEVE he’s going to become his own God–he knows it for a fact. He sees it in Lil Cal’s mangled soul. And he embraces that truth wholeheartedly, throwing himself into the acolyte role from then onwards and presumably following instructions Doc Scratch gives him throughout Act 6.

Which we can talk about some other time. The point is: Gamzee chooses all this. Whether or not Lil Cal causes him to is beside the point, because there is not and never will be any timeline where Gamzee chooses to resist.

Gamzee is the ultimate in shitty cosmic nazi religious zealots, and devoted to the very power structure that causes every other character to suffer so. There are no mitigating factors for him as there are for everyone else but Caliborn. At the end of the day, he’s evil.Bad clown. Worst enemy.

#Anonymous #Gamzee Makara #Caliborn #Vriska Serket #Retcon #Lord English #Homestuck #Homestuck spoilers #Gamzee #Eridan Ampora #Aranea Serket #Meenah Peixes #Analysis Asks #My MSPA Analysis #long post

2K notes · View notes

murkserious · 4 years

Text

27 WAYS WE ARE BRAINWASHED AS AFRIKAN BLOOD PEOPLE WHITE VICIOUS SUPREMACY FROM BIRTH

by Dr Boyce Watkins

I remember when I first heard Malcolm X ask, “Who taught you to hate yourself?” Of course we know the answer to this question, but many of us are afraid to say it. Even mentioning the ways that white-dominated institutions shape our thinking can lead to punishment, ostracism, unemployment, incarceration and even death. The deepest part of this process is that the brainwashing in America can be so deep, so insidious, so subtle, that even the most meaningful reflection doesn’t allow us to solve the complex puzzle of White Supremacy.

This issue came to light last week when I went to visit a prison in Illinois. Although I am a law-abiding citizen, the prison took three years to approve me for a visit. After speaking to one of the inmates familiar with the approval process, we concluded that it was likely that my thinking and educational background made me some kind of threat to their system of oppression against black men. God forbid I go into the prison and say something that might inspire these black men to live a more empowered existence.

The fact is that people like myself are threats to white supremacy because we disrupt racialized systematic brainwashing.

I was sitting at my computer one night, thinking about all the ways that our minds are controlled from the time we are born. I thought about the many flawed concepts that are dropped into our psyches by media, the educational system, and even our own families. Some of these ideas hit us so early that we hardly have a chance to escape them. Others simply leave us crippled and unable to fight the racism all around us. Even more disturbing is that some of the greatest white supremacists in America can be other black people.

So, I made a list of several things many of us believe about the world and ourselves at an early age, as well as things we are trained to do that may end up being to our detriment. Of course this list is not final, nor is it presumably correct on every count. At the same time, it gives us something to think about, because the brainwashing is amazing, deep and deliberate in our society.

Here’s the list:

1) Letting our oppressors educate our children, medicate them, and put them into the school-to-prison pipeline. A thorough miseducation can be more destructive than no education at all, since many of our brains are filled with all the wrong stuff to begin with. Maybe instead of handing your child’s brain over to a public school system that has proven that it can’t properly educate black children, you can consider homeschooling the child after they get home for the day. Everything you need to know in order to teach your child is right there on the Internet.

2) Believing that white people are supposed to give us jobs when we can actually create them on our own: Given our long and rich history of working for white people, it can be difficult to see ourselves as the boss instead of the laborer. In fact, even us “educated” black people were often told that you should study hard in school so that some white-owned company will love you enough to employ you. Now, we’re seeing Harvard MBAs in the unemployment line, struggling to survive, like lions raised in the zoo who are starving to death because they were never taught how to hunt for their own food.

3) Thinking that every black person who goes to prison is automatically a bad human being: Mass incarceration is real and it is not by accident. When prisons are filled with strong black men who’ve received 40 year sentences for possessing two grams of a drug that many white people use on the weekend, you know you have a problem. What’s interesting is that the whole world sees this as a serious issue, but we do not.

4) Eating food that is going to give you diabetes and/or heart disease and/or high blood pressure and/or chronic obesity by the age of 45. Maybe eating pig guts and sweet tea with sweet potato pie every Sunday isn’t such a good idea after all.

5) Valuing sports and entertainment over education: Not many people know the name of the black kid who won the math competition, but everybody knows the guy who won the state championship. This fascination with sports as the pathway to success is largely driven by media, which waves black athletes and rappers in front of our boys just long enough for them to believe that education isn’t cool. Unfortunately, almost none of them ever get to play with LeBron James. Instead, the worst of them may end up as 25-year old baby daddies with no job, a criminal record, a weed addiction, bad knees and a fifth grade reading level. This is hardly the kind of man that an educated black woman would want to call her husband.

6) Believing that black people you see on white-owned TV networks are supposed to be leaders or role models to your community: If a white television executive wants to create key influencers in the black community, they can do so by putting that person on a network. Most of your favorite black celebrities, films, radio shows, TV shows and magazines wouldn’t exist to you were it not for white corporate benefactors positioning them to influence your mind.

7) Believing that every tax refund check and every paycheck is supposed to go straight to the mall to buy overpriced European brands from companies that don’t even hire black people: Money is capital to be used for investing, job creation and building businesses, not a consumption item to be given away at every available opportunity for the sake of materialistic excess or instant gratification. In other words, your money is your power, and you should not give all your power away.

8) Thinking that being “rich” means having a high paying job, a big house or a fancy car, even if it’s all financed with debt: There’s a good chance that the “baller” down the street is one paycheck away from being homeless. To determine the depth of true wealth, you have to go beneath the superficial.

9) Calling yourself and your friends n*ggers (or niggaz) and seeing nothing wrong with that: Listen to me carefully – You are NOT a n*gger, no matter how often Jewish-run record labels pay black rappers to tell you that you are.

10) Giving your money to white businesses and avoiding the black ones: Black people are often referred to as “liquid money,” because we are the only ones who are eager to give our money away to other ethnic groups. No one else does this. The guy in Chinatown is never going to buy your sh*t.

11) Thinking that we’re all supposed to vote for the Democratic Party in every election: Even Bill Clinton admitted that he put too many black people in prison, and President Obama’s not letting them out anytime soon. You don’t owe the Democratic Party anything, especially if they aren’t making black issues a priority.

12) Believing that Africa is a poor, dirty, horrible place with nothing but poverty and disease, and that you should thank your lucky stars you were “blessed” enough to live in America: Newsflash – you live in arguably the most racist country in the world. No country on the planet incarcerates black people the way we do in the United States of America. Many African leaders consider America to be racially corrupt.

13) Believing that Harvard and Yale are better than Spelman and Howard

14) Not realizing that both Spelman and Howard were founded by white people

15) Not realizing that most of the people who founded the NAACP were actually white and that this organization never really belonged to you in the first place. Not that they can’t help you, but they have less loyalty to you than to their corporate and political overseers.

16) Thinking that straight hair is “good” and black hair is “nasty,” then giving all of your money to Korean beauty shops so they can make you feel better about yourself. According to Dr Claud Anderson, roughly 85 cents of every dollar spent on black women’s hair goes to Koreans. I hate to admit it, but this makes us look really, really stupid.

17) Believing that light skinned women are more attractive than those with dark skin

18) Knowing nothing about African history, but believing that every great accomplishment occurred in Europe, starting with Christopher Columbus “discovering” a country that was well-populated thousands of years before he arrived.

19) Believing that you’re only supposed to pray, march and be peaceful every time your children get slaughtered by whites. It takes a while to train people to be as peaceful and forgiving as black people are. The brainwashing must be deeply rooted in tradition. Notice how one of the heads of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference was sent for “retraining” (aka re-brainwashing)after stating that black people should defend themselves. Even self-defense is considered to be a form of aggression when you are black in America.

20) Delivering your prayers to a big, white Jesus who will solve most of your problems for you, as long as you give money to the pastor.

21) Looking up to historical figures like George Washington who put our ancestors in chains and probably raped them

22) Believing that integration was a sign of progress for black people and not an era where black institutions were destroyed and left for dead

23) Believing that Martin Luther King is more important than Malcolm X because white people market him more regularly

24) Believing that Martin Luther King only spoke of peace and forgiveness instead of the same rage and reparations that many of us talk about today

25) Thinking that its normal to have an all-black neighborhood with a mostly white police force, when there are no all-white neighborhoods with a mostly black police force

26) Believing that a half-white president is going to be significantly different from a completely white one: Hint – most high-level politicians think alike, since they are supporting the same system that has oppressed you for 400 years. Many of them went to the same universities (nearly every member of the Supreme Court, plus every president for the last 27 years attended either Harvard or Yale at some point in their career). Also, our system incentivizes our political leaders to value corporate money over the plight of the American people. This is going to be the downfall of this nation.

27) Thinking that the first black (fill in the blank) to get into a white institution actually represents progress, even though whites have never considered it be progress to get into our institutions (Does standard White History include a story about the first white man to get into Morehouse?). We’ve been taught to believe that everything whiter is better: White corporate jobs, white universities, white neighborhoods, white TV networks/media outlets, the list goes on and on.

The fact is that we really, really LOVE white people, and this training started from birth. It started with us first learning how to hate ourselves and each other, and then to believe that the only way to restore our lost humanity was to gain the approval of our oppressors. As a result, we spend our lives marching, hoping, praying, working, begging, bowing, and compromising, with the expectation that we will be rewarded for our good behavior. Unfortunately, it can cause many of us to abandon the person we were meant to be, all for the sake of trying to become somebody else.

Once again, feel free to add to the list. I don’t know everything, but my brainwashing as a PhD tells me that I am supposed to think I know everything. So, maybe this is my first step toward escaping my own psychological plantation. We have all been infected affected.

0 notes

cupidsbower · 7 years

Text

I’m still the same old me, that’s all I’ll ever be

Supernatural 12x17, “The British Invasion,” and 12x18, “The Memory Remains.”

Two episodes about legacies, two episodes about how our actions can shape the future. Two episodes about making connections and breaking them. And irony. Don’t forget the irony. That’s key!

There have been several British Invasions of the Americas, notably Columbus of course, and the War of Independence perhaps also counts, but ironically, the invasion actually called “The British Invasion” was... wait for it... pop music in the 1960s. The Beatles. The Animals. The Kinks!

Hahahaha.

Anyway, there was also a “Second British Invasion” in the 80s, which included this gem, which wasn’t on the soundtrack for 12x17 but really, really should have been.

youtube

Come On Eileen, by Dexys Midnight Runners

A song about religious guilt, symbolised by desire for a pretty girl called Eileen. On the money, right? *pointedly looks at Mick’s cultish brainwashing*

So, Eileen. She was the highlight of this episode. I love her so! Sam is obviously a bit smitten, and who can blame him. I really adore their dynamic. I’m slightly less enamoured that her life was Mick’s final exam, but she lived so I’m letting it go.

In short, Eileen can come back any time. In fact, I’m intrigued by the possibilities of her coming back. She retreated to Ireland after the accidental shooting of Renny Rawlings, upper-class twit par excellence. And here’s the thing about Ireland... lets just say it doesn’t exactly have a happy relationship with Britain, and would not take kindly to the BMOL doing anything on their turf. Eileen is probably pretty safe there. If Eileen does return this season, it wouldn’t surprise me if she comes back with some Irish colleagues who are sympathetic to the Americans.

The three other meaty aspects of this episode are Mick’s arc, Kelly’s pregnancy, and Mary’s dubious sexual choices.

Mick, ah Mick. You were objectively kind of horrible, but the writers did a pretty good job of making me marginally sympathetic in this episode. Being brainwashed as a kid casts a long shadow, as John’s legacy has demonstrated only too well, and Mick’s childhood was obviously very much an indoctrination into the cult of the BMOL. He just didn’t have quite enough time to grow out of its shadow before it swallowed him up.

Mick’s fate was decided by abusive “nurturing” (if it can be called nurturing) by an adoptive female guardian (the anti-Mary -- present but terrible, instead of a terrible absence). He was indoctrinated into a legacy that shared many of the same problems as Sam and Dean’s, but like them, Mick started to question and see shades of grey once he achieved some distance from the abusive authority figure. Mick’s journey raises the question once more: is a nephilim born evil, or is it raised evil? How much does maternity/paternity define the child, and how much is choice?

I kind of like the symmetry of Mick’s arc, because in the last episode with Claire, and now this one with Eileen, the female characters were lessons for Mick. But his completed arc has turned out to be another kind of lesson -- it’s a major mirror for the nephilim arc. And for all that Lucifer seems so sure it’s a boy, I have my suspicions that it’s a girl. The foreshadowing is definitely hinting at it.

Which brings me to Kelly’s pregnancy. I have such mixed feelings about this plotline. The show is being so cautious, which I get is because they don’t want to alienate their conservative viewers. But I do wish Kelly’s arc had a bit more nuance. I have no objection to her loving her unborn child, or wanting to have it. I do wish we had a bit more insight into her hopes, fears and plans, though. I mean, she was the aide to a super-religious President, right? But she also had sex with him out of wedlock. These are potential contradictions, but we have no insight into how she thinks about them -- I’m curious about where she is on the religious spectrum. Is she also super-religious, and if so, would her fear of Lucifer trump her love of an unborn child? And if she’s not super-religious, what the hell is she making of all this? Is she afraid she’ll die, or does she think that’s hokum and a good hospital will do the trick? Is she missing her friends and family? Does she have any???

Like, I get that she’s probably going to be a disposable container who dies at the end of the season, so that our leads have a baby to deal with next season, but come on. Surely we can get some characterisation along the way before she’s fridged???? This is potentially such rich ground, and we’ve basically been given bupkis.

Now Mary, on the other hand, I’m enjoying a lot. It’s such a pleasure to learn more about her, and get some fresh and unexpected characterisation. I don’t really like her very much at the moment, but her choices are so interesting! Choosing to sleep with Ketch is fascinating (and gross) for so many reasons. For a start, it means she’s coming back to life. She’s making choices about her own pleasure. Sure they are kind of shitty choices, but just a few eps ago, she was in a place where she seemed to see no joy in life as a possibility for her at all, even such fleeting solace as this. I’m curious to see how this will play out. Ketch is a psychopath, but he’s an obsessive one I think. I don’t foresee any love-inspired turning-over of leaves in his future, but I do see him acting in a skeevy or possessive way which has unintended consequences that pay off in interesting plot twists.

Aside from all of that, Mary’s choice to have sex with someone she doesn’t have any deeper feelings for also draws the parallel between her and Dean ever more clearly. Mary will choose pleasure of the moment when she can’t have the deeper pleasures and connections she really wants, and she’s very much aware that this is the choice she’s making. Dean makes exactly the same choice in the very next episode, which is kind of extraordinary once you dig into it. We’ve already had the impala scene, in which Dean realised Mary had had sex in it (just as he has), so the sexual parallel between them isn’t new. But the larger implication of why they both chose fleeting sexual pleasure at this particular moment is new -- for Mary it’s about pining and solace and wanting to feel alive, which due to the parallel implies that it’s also about pining and solace and life for Dean. Both of them are pining for people who aren’t there. Both of them try to take what they can from life anyway.

I keep thinking the show must have plumbed the depths of the possibilities for queer subtext, and then it basically parallels Castiel and John as the missing lovers in question, and I just... Really? Really?

Moving on to 12x18, this episode had some lovely writing in it. From the unacknowledged queer possibilities in the opening scene -- two guys watching het couples make out, and getting off on it -- to the goddamn gorgeous subversion of John’s hunting motto, and a bunch of other things too, this ep made me happy. John Bring, I like you, Please write more!

So there were two main plot strands in this ep, and one major theme. On the one hand we have the bunker being invaded by the BMOL, and on the other, we have the Winchesters taking out a god, no big deal. And through it all runs the thread of legacies -- the things we leave behind for those who come after us.

The title of the ep is probably taken from the Metallica song of the same name, about an aging film star who goes off the rails as their fame fades. Rather like the British Empire has faded compared to its former colony, for instance.

However, the track in the episode which is most directly related to the BMOL is Bongzilla’s Prohibition (4th Amendment). I confess, I had no idea there was such a thing as a stoner band called Bongzilla, but now I have been educated! Their song Prohibition (4th Amendment) is exactly what it sounds like -- an ode to the 4th Amendment to the US Constitution, which “prohibits unreasonable searches and seizures” (x). Obviously an important issue to stoners. I guess.

My main takeaway from the BMOL’s search of the bunker was sadness. I’m now pretty sure that Sam and Dean are going to lose their home when they reject the legacy of the MOL at the end of the season. All that will remain are those carved initials... assuming the whole bunker isn’t blown up, due to the explosive birth of a nephilim for instance.

There’s no doubt in my mind, however, that a rejection of the MOL legacy is coming for Sam and Dean, and it won’t go easy.

The only other thing I want to say about the BMOL strand of this ep is that Ketch’s weird Thing for the Winchesters is officially creepy, especially as it’s not entirely clear whether it’s a Thing for Mary or a Thing for Dean -- Ketch did that whole seduction play for Dean several eps ago, long before Mary decided to jump that, and both Dean and Mary are in the pic.

Maybe it’s both! Ugh barely expresses it really.

I for one will enjoy it very much when he gets his comeuppance.

Moving on to the hunt part of the episode. There are so many things to enjoy here. First, it’s a god, and as Dean says, it’s just “normal” to go eight rounds with one and win if you’re a Winchester. I really do love the juxtaposition of the Winchesters casually taking out a god (Sam is so badass), while the very human BMOL are their actual antagonists for the season. The ridiculousness of it delights me.

The little details of the plot are delightful too. We have the Sheriff who is fighting the legacy of his past, compared with the other kind of legacy -- the illegitimate brother who wants to inherit the sins of the father. And that’s when we get this, which was a highlight of the ep for me:

Pete: That's what we do, right? Hunting people. Killing them. The family business.

And the reason I love it so much is because this is straight out telling us that the Winchester script is no longer John’s script. Because what Pete says shows up just how wrong it is. Hunting and killing people is not the family business. First, because it’s no longer possible to tell who “people” are just by whether they are human or supernatural, and second, because as Sam told us, what matters is saving people -- that is Sam and Dean’s legacy. That is their business.

Sam: But the people we saved, they're our legacy. And they'll remember us and then I guess we'll eventually fade away, too.

When we get these glimpses of Sam’s inner life, it makes me yearn for more. I had so much hope this season was going to be a Sam season, given how it started, but it seems to have trailed off in the second half and I miss it. More inner Sam, please, Mr Dabb.

Anyway, they are not hunters. They are saviours! I mean... *waves hands wildly* Oh em gee. That’s huge!

I am now 100% convinced that the nephilim baby will not die because of Sam, Dean or Castiel. They’ll save it, because it’s the family business.

Okay, the one other thing I want to talk about is Dean and his liaison with the waitress. I’ve already mentioned the parallel with Mary, but I have to say, I liked this part of the ep. It was so cheesy, but it was also Dean celebrating life, which we haven’t seen in a while. Everything from the music as he undertook his hilarious seduction (Tony Hatch’s Music to Watch Girls By) to the affectionate look on Sam’s face the morning after -- it was done with a light touch, and didn’t come off as a no-homo to me. Rather, it felt like a blast from the past. A happy, nostalgic nod back to Dean’s past, signalling that there’s about to be a major shift in his path as we go into season 13.

And the capper, as he ate his hamburger afterwards without a glance at the waitress, was this playing in the background.

youtube

Burgers and Fries, Charley Pride

If that’s not a goodbye to a major part of his life that’s now over, I don’t know what is.

Previously:

The Ministry of Information vs Wayward Sons Carrying On (12x01)

My, my, how can I resist you? (12x02) and follow-up about Bohemian Raphsody

So what am I so afraid of? (I think I love you) (12x03)

I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy Down in my heart (Where?) (12x04) and a follow-up about the codependency and about Dean’s self-flagellation and issues with space

There can be only one! (12x05), and a follow-up conversation with elizabethrobertajones on Freud vs Schwartz.

They shall fall by the sword: they shall be a portion for foxes (12x06)

Presenting the Immaculate Heart Reunion Tour (12x07)

I’m still living the life where you get home and open the fridge and there’s half a pot of yogurt and a half a can of flat Coca-Cola. ~Alan Rickman (12x08, 12x09)

When the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men (12x10)

in re (12x11)

Making the most of teachable moments (12x12) and an added thought, In-and-out-laws

Don’t fuck with the branches on my family tree (12x13)

To Protect and to Serve (12x14) and some more thoughts

Hiding in the shadow of love (12x15) and some further thoughts in response to @elizabethrobertajones‘ meta.

You’re living in the past, it’s a new generation (12x16)

#supernatural #meta #season 12 #spoilers #spn meta #dean winchester #mary winchester #eileen #mick davies #mr ketch #bmol #queer coding #themes #parallels

27 notes · View notes

theweasleysredhair · 7 years

Text

Numb {Songfic} [S.B.]

Character: Sirius Black

Word Count: 1343

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: Songfic based on the lyrics of Linkin Park’s ‘Numb’.

WARNINGS: Mentions of abuse.

Disclaimer: Gif isn’t mine, credit to whoever made it

+ + + + +

I’m tired of being what you want me to be Feeling so faithless, lost under the surface

Sirius Black was the exact opposite of what his parents expected, wanted or hoped for. He was in their eyes, unpredictable, uncontrollable and unimportant.

He didn’t do as they asked, and he loathed them. He felt that his entire purpose was to aggravate them - particularly his mother - as much as he could.

He had started showing signs of rebellion from an early age, clearly disagreeing with his parents’ teachings, however his mother told everyone that it was ‘just a phase’.

It wasn’t ‘just a phase’.

Sirius knew that as soon as he got to Hogwarts, he wanted to be sorted into any house that wasn’t Slytherin.

When he met three boys on the Hogwarts Express in his first year, he instantly knew that he wanted to be friends with them for as long as possible.

And as soon as the boy with messy hair and glasses said he wanted to be in Gryffindor, Sirius suddenly was determined to be wearing red and gold by the time he next saw his parents.  

I don’t know what you’re expecting of me  Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes

“This is a disgrace! How could you have been sorted in Gryffindor?! What could have possessed you to be put there? With all the blood traitors?! What will people think of us?” The larger woman froze in horror, “What will the Dark Lord think of us? You have disgraced this family, Sirius Orion Black!”

The dark haired boy stood silently, blinking occasionally, though he cursed mentally at the woman he was supposed to call his mother. She was vile and cruel, and wanted him to take after her and her husband.

They wanted him to be something he didn’t want to be.

And he wasn’t happy about it.

He was proud to call himself a Gryffindor in a family that worshipped Slytherin. He wanted to be different, to prove to his parents that he was his own person, that he couldn’t be controlled by them, like they were doing to Regulus.

As soon as he went up to his bedroom that night, he hung up everything he could that he knew would anger his mother greatly, from every Gryffindor banner he owned, to pictures of him and his Gryffindor friends.

After all, not only would it make his mother burst with anger, he loved being able to see the faces of the three people he cherished most in the world everyday.  

Every step that I take is another mistake to you

He dreaded going back to the place he was supposed to call ‘home’ over the summer holidays. He didn’t want to see his family - if that’s what he should call them - especially knowing he had to wait two whole months before being able to see his friends again.

He could only begin to imagine the horrible things his parents had spouted to Regulus to keep him from following Sirius’ rebellious ways, and hoped more than anything that his brother - his baby brother - would still love him, despite everything he had done so far.

His brother was the only person related by blood that he still cared about. He just hoped that Regulus would still care for him, too.

I’ve become so numb, I can’t feel you there Become so tired, so much more aware By becoming this all I want to do  Is be more like me and be less like you

Regulus being sorted into Slytherin was like a slap in the face. Sirius had hoped that, rather like him, his brother would be sorted into Gryffindor. What would his parents have said then? Their favourite son being sorted into the house they hated the most.

As soon as the hat screamed, “Slytherin!”, Sirius knew he had lost his little brother. He knew his parents had already brainwashed him into thinking their way. It was too late to save him.

The only thing he could do now was disrespect and dishonour his parents and the Black name as much as possible.

Someone had to show his parents that they couldn’t control everyone.

And Sirius Black wanted to be that someone.

Can’t you see that you’re smothering me? Holding too tightly, afraid to lose control

The ball was in full swing, and Sirius stood on the outskirts of the room, staring blankly at the people around him. He pulled at the tie hanging around his neck, wishing he was anywhere but here.

“Sort out your robes! Stand up straight! You’re a Black, Sirius! It’s time to start acting like it,” his mother hissed as she buttoned up the suit and pushed his unruly hair out of his handsome face.

He scowled and turned away, wanting nothing more than to be with his best friends James Potter, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew.

Apparently being a ‘respected’ pureblood meant attending huge balls held for no reason at all except to highlight that the pureblood families thought they were superior to others.

“Why can’t you be more like Regulus?!” He heard for the tenth time that night already.  

‘Cause everything that you thought I would be  Has fallen apart right in front of you

Sirius hated them. He hated his parents. He hated who they were, how they thought, and how they treated him.

He hated that they were still trying to control him. He hated that they were still trying to make him 'realise the error of his ways’.

Most of all, he hated what they had done to Regulus. They had taken the poor, innocent boy that had once looked up to Sirius, and brought him up to be a clone of them, willing to fight for the Dark Lord, and become a Death Eater.

He didn’t want them to be his family. He wanted a better family, one that loved him. That wanted him. That accepted him for him.

The only place he had ever felt like he belonged in his life was Hogwarts, and that’s where he had started referring to as 'home’, not Grimmauld Place.  

Every step that I take is another mistake to you And every second I waste is more than I can take

“You can’t do anything right! You’re useless! You’re vermin! You’re scum! And you’re no son of mine, you traitorous retch!” Walburga Black screamed at Sirius, her dark eyes filled with detest.

Sirius glowered back, his own hostility to the woman in front of him clearly evident.

“Well at least I’m not a vile old woman who doesn’t care about anyone but herself!” The dark haired boy had found him yelling back, his anger at an all-time high.

Before he had even finished his sentence, his mother had retaliated swiftly.

And he knew the bruising that covered his jawline wouldn’t disappear quickly.  

I’ve become so numb, I can’t feel you there  Become so tired, so much more aware By becoming this all I want to do  Is be more like me and be less like you

Sirius ran up to his room, ignoring the shouts from downstairs, and grabbed a bag, filling it with everything he could possibly need.

He left everything that related to his family - every medallion, every goblet, every pennant - and instead opted to pack only the most important things.

He pulled his leather jacket on, and slung the bag over his head. As he heard shouting still coming from downstairs, he carefully left the room and edged down the steps, avoiding the kitchen where he knew his parents were, and entered the living room.

His eyes fixed on the fireplace, and he stood inside it, grabbing a handful of Floo powder, before carefully reciting the Potter household address.

The last thing Sirius saw before disappearing from Number 12 Grimmauld Place was his little brother entering the room, eyes fixed on his own as he was suddenly whisked away. 

And I know I may end up failing too  But I know you were just like me with someone disappointed in you 

The dark haired boy landed in the Potter’s fireplace in the late of night, surprising a man and a woman to no end.

The woman - Euphemia Potter - recognised the boy from the descriptions her son had told her often, and immediately ran forward to pull the 16 year old boy into the warm room. “Oh my dear! What on earth has that woman been doing to you?” Her loving arms had wrapped around his tall frame, her gently hands softly caressing the boy’s jaw as his sobs finally surfaced.

She held onto the poor boy as he cried into her shoulder, rubbing up and down his back and cradling him like a baby.

The man - Fleamont Potter - had since left the room, heading upstairs to inform his own son that his best friend had arrived in their home.

Sirius clung onto Euphemia, his tears still falling onto her shirt as she whispered soothing words into his ear, holding him like he were her own son.

This must be what it feels like, he thought, to have a mother who actually cares.  

I’m tired of being what you want me to be.

#sirius #sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black imagines #sirius black oneshot #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #marauders #marauders era #marauders imagine #marauders imagines #marauders oneshot #marauders x reader #hp #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom

462 notes · View notes

ihatehowardweinerman · 7 years

Text

Howard in: True Bromance

This episode just makes me so angry. It was actually one of the first I ever watched, and at the time, I didn’t have a problem with it because I had no context about anyone or anything. But then I watched the rest of the show, and I made some realizations.

So it starts with Randy having to save Rachel from Stanked Flue Girl, and Howard won’t let that happen because video games are apparently more important than human life (we’ll discuss this in future posts). So Randy, on the spot, has Bucky take his place. Howard reacts as if this is a cardinal sin or something, as if he’s stunned by Randy’s audacity to do such a thing.

So when that’s over with, Howard seemingly already has Bucky like putty in his hands; he’s already acting like a nacho-buying slave and everything.

And then they just fucking leave, which by itself isn’t a problem.

Except for the fact that Randy is deliberately excluded. And then he’s deliberately excluded AGAIN when Howard decides to hang out with Dave and Pradeep. Of course, hanging out with other friends is a completely normal thing.

But Randy has been tethered to Howard for what can be assumed to be his entire life; he isn’t accustomed to this, prompting this response here. On the surface, it may sound like he’s just being a possessive douchebag, which is what I thought when I saw this for the first time and didn’t know anything about anyone. But now that I have deeper understanding of these characters, I see this just shows how confused Randy is by this whole situation. He’s so dependent on his “friend” that he’s totally lost and doesn’t know what to do.

This is all new for Howard as well, but in a different way; for him, this is a strategy.

Look at him. He’s so smug here. He’s enjoying the fact that Randy basically impulsively buys things for him. In short, he’s admiring how much he’s basically brainwashed Randy.

And then we have this little moment. Howard accuses Randy of being jealous, not only looking smug, but also using a mocking tone of voice. He was expecting from the beginning that Randy was going to get jealous.

And now we have this moment in which Randy acts way too suspicious about the mysterious absence of the “casual bros.” Howard does not say anything about this, nor does he even look thrown off by what was just said. Not only does he look smug yet again, but he also has this knowing look in his eyes. He knows Randy well enough to know that he’s gonna misconstrue whatever Nomicon told him and turn it into something that will make things work out in his favor, in this case being having the “casual bros” fuck off.

And then Howard tells Randy this straight up lie; those guys mean nothing to him. We’ve seen that Howard has never tried to hang out with other people while Randy was gone before; he just waits for Randy, steaming like a potato in irrational anger. Right now, all he wants is for Randy to feel bad about having to spend time away from him, and he’s using those three guys as pawns to make that happen.

And here’s the real ball kicker. The delivery of this line makes it so clear that he knows something is up. He knows Randy did something wrong and is deliberately making him feel guilty about it. He essentially planned this whole thing to make Randy feel bad about himself.

Unrelated, but take note that Randy doesn’t object at all when Howard straight up steals his food. He’s so used to this, it’s literally sad.

Was Howard counting on the guys getting Stanked? Probably not. Was he expecting to almost get killed? Definitely not. But in the end, this whole thing was truly a scheme conceived by him. If they really wanted to have a “it’s okay to have more than one friend” plot, they should have had Howard be friends with those characters already, and he’s just been hanging out with them more often than usual, which will prompt Randy’s jealousy. But no, we have Howard scheming against his “best friend” by taking advantage of innocent people he has hardly ever interacted with before.

Now we have this. I think the goal behind this is trying to make it seem like they’re mad at Randy, but taking everything else into consideration, it’s more like that they’re mad at themselves. They’re mad at themselves for trusting Howard, having known that he’s a bad person, and they went along with it anyway. They must feel like idiots for letting this happen. I admit, this can be seen as a a bit of a stretch, but that’s honestly how I see this.

Regardless, in the end, Howard made everyone feel bad.

Something that needs to be noted: Randy doesn’t ever really try to make friends, but I’m convinced that’s because he’s afraid of how Howard will react. If Howard throws a hissy fit and acts like a douchebag when Randy has to take like three minutes to Destank a student, I can’t imagine how he’ll react to him spending any amount of time with another person. Everybody else seems to be aware of this, hence why it’s rare for anyone to even approach Randy.

And finally, we have the fact that Howard isn’t even slightly mad about what happened. We know damn well that he’s prone to getting completely livid over the most minor things, but here he just doesn’t care. Because he made Randy and the others feel bad. And at the end of the day, that’s all he wanted.

#mod acid #episode analysis #rc9gn

14 notes · View notes

a-girl-who-loves-disney · 7 years

Text

Everybody Wants to Rule the World

Karolina’s Playlist (1k Followers Celebration Challenge)

Prompt: Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Lorde

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, brainwashing, kidnapping, poorly written/short fight scene, mentions of blood and killing, mention of dead bodies, use of Wanda Maximoff’s powers on Reader, couple fluffy moments, happy ending

Summary: You’ve been with Hydra for years, being a successful experiment going by the name Shadow. After the regaining of your memories, you decide to escape Hydra. Years later, the Avengers and your past love find you. Happiness doesn’t last for long, as Hydra kidnaps you again and takes your memories leaving the love of your life to try to help you return to your usual self. Will he be able to succeed?

Tagging: @loveitsallineed @skymoonandstardust @colourmecreampuff @avengers122

Quick Author’s Note: A big thank you to Karolina for her patience with me! This is my first time ever writing a song fic so please be nice :)

Word Count: 5,282

Guide:

Bold/Italics = Lyrics

Italics = Vision/Dream

(Y/N) = Your first name

(Y/L/N) = Your last name

(Y/F/C) = Your favorite color

(Y/H/C) = Your hair color

Welcome to your life

“Again.”

At the command of the Hydra agent, you got into your fighting stance once again, knees bent slightly with your hands in front of you. You twirl the knife in your hand as you wait for the attacker; a habit you picked up from your previous mentor.

‘The Winter Soldier’ they had called him. You weren’t much different from him; both of you served in World War II, having been kidnapped and experimented on by Hydra, creating you into their own personal soldiers. While he was called in for most of the work, you were only sent out if the mission became too tricky. Of course, with him being who he was, that was only on rare occasions.

There’s no turning back

This changed after DC; he was gone now, causing the responsibility to fall on you. Anytime Hydra needed someone gone you were now the one for the job. Your ability to get lost in the darkness and always being the one behind the Winter Soldier earned you the name ‘Shadow.’

Even while we sleep

The fall of the helicarriers in DC and the loss of their super soldier was just a minor setback for Hydra. While the world thought that their reign had ended, you continued to be woken up from cryofreeze, brainwashed, and sent on missions.

We will find you

No one was safe. As long as Hydra had you, nothing could stop their terror.

Acting on your best behavior

You put up with it every time; the pain and the torture that came with each mission. Even after all these years it still affected you. You would think that your body would have become immune to it by now, but instead you still reacted the same way. You would scream until your throat went dry and your head would pound from the electricity that flowed through it. Tears would flow down your face as any little bit of memory gained was stripped from you.

If you were in your right mind, you would have escaped by now. Instead, you stayed and continued to obey their commands, like the perfect soldier you were.

Turn your back on Mother Nature

Kill after kill after kill. Your body count was on the rise. You wouldn’t know it though; each time you returned after a mission your memory was wiped and you were sent into cryofreeze until they needed you again. Hydra’s plans were in action and they continued to strive, all thanks to you.

Everybody wants to rule the world

Something was changing. Your brainwashing sessions had been put on hold for the sake of Hydra’s new “miracles” thus allowing your mind to rebuild. Cloudy visions and muffled voices pried your thoughts more and more, causing confusion to build up. But even with the confusion brought on by these new thoughts, a deep desire for them also arose.

Along with change for you came change within the Hydra facility you resided in. Your missions slowed down, your usual routine being replaced with you training the twins. Their powers were starting to build up and Hydra wanted to push them even further.

Being put in as the test dummy for Wanda Maximoff, you stood there as she stared at you, neither of your gazes faltering. The members of Hydra stood around waiting, no one wanting to miss the moment between one of their first creations and one of their newest.

She walked to you, slowly circling your still form. After a few silent moments, she began. Her eyes turned scarlet, her hands moved gracefully as the red wisps started to surround them and flow around your head. Your eyes flashed red and your stiff posture started to limp. Before you knew it, the dimly lit room you were standing in was gone.

It’s my own desire

The room was no longer dark and cold, but instead bright and warm. Shades of gold painted the place and lights were lit up all over. You could hear music playing; it was upbeat and could easily be danced to. You turned and were surprised when you discovered that you weren’t alone.

People were everywhere: some gathered around the wooden tables, some at the bar with drinks, some in the band playing, and some dancing with their partners. Smiles adorned their faces, many laughing and sipping drinks while talking to those that kept their company.

They all were dressed to the nines in dresses and suits. You looked down to see that your tactical suit and boots were gone and replaced with a (Y/F/C) dress and black heels. You could feel that your hair had changed to, going from its simple braid to elaborate (Y/H/C) curls that framed your face.

“Hey, Doll.”

You turned around at the sound of the voice. There, stood a handsome man, his blonde hair fixed perfectly and his outfit resembling a military uniform. His smile was bright and his blue eyes seemed to sparkle.

“I’ve been waiting for you. It’s about time you and I got our dance.” his words were spoken so differently than the people at Hydra; each one possessing something that you were unfamiliar with.

He placed his hand out for you to grab. Your gaze swapped between his hand and his face. Who was this man?

“Please?” he said it so softly that you could have missed it over the noise.

Your thoughts were all over the place. Should you attack? Should you run? You stood there frozen, all training gone from your mind. For once in a long time, you didn’t know what to do.

Slowly, you lifted your hand and placed it delicately in his. The music changed then; the fast pace replaced with a slow and steady beat.

You moved so perfectly with him, your mind spinning as you questioned how you knew what step to make next. You couldn’t help but continue to look around and take in everything.

When you finally turned back to him you were surprised to see that he was staring at you with a soft smile on his face. His expression held something, certainly an emotion that those at Hydra have never shown to you.

Your eyes grew wide as you felt him leaning closer to you. You could feel his breath on your lips as he came closer. He stopped suddenly, the smile still on his face as he said his next words:

“I love you, (Y/N).”

It’s my own remorse

With a blink of your eyes it was all gone. The warm atmosphere was cold again and the bright lights were replaced with darkness. Any previous colors were now shades of black, white, and gray. The cheerful music muted and was replaced with eerie silence. For once, in a long time, you were scared.

You cautiously took a step forward, then another one, and another one. When you took your next step you heard something squish.

Looking down you saw something you had become accustomed to over the years; its deep color seemed bright compared to its dull surrounding, causing it to stand out. A metallic smell now filled the air as you continued to look at the substance.

Blood. It felt as if it was starting to crawl up your shoe; its only goal being to stain everything it touched.

Tilting your head up you let out an audible gasp at the sight: Bodies littered the area, some with car crashes, others with used shells littered around them. The bright red stood out on the scene in the use of splatters, smears, and puddles.

The deafening silence changed to the sound of screams. Some were loud and deep while others were ear-piercing. You squeezed your eyes shut and covered your ears, but it did nothing. They echoed in your mind; bouncing from one side to the other.

The screams expanded into words and phrases, fear and anger lacing them. They were the voices of your victims and no matter how hard you forced your hands onto your ears, you couldn’t silence them.

You fell to your knees, the beautiful dress now gone and replaced with the uniform you’ve worn so many times. Blood soaked through the knees of your pants, staining your flesh with its scarlet color. You couldn’t take it any longer.

You screamed.

The voices stopped; the silence returning once again. You opened your eyes but still saw the same bloody scene in front of you. You brought your hands down from your ears and to the front of you as you continued to kneel. You cautiously took a look at them and started to shake at what you saw.

Both were covered in blood, warm and glossy as if it just came straight from its source. You stopped breathing as one last phrase echoed through your mind.

“This is who you are now.”

Help me to decide

You awoke with a start. Your breaths quick and sporadic while you looked around at your surroundings. You were in a room at the Hydra base, the thin cot underneath you doing nothing to comfort you in the state you were in.

Whatever that Maximoff girl did to you changed your outlook. Fear coursed through you as you thought of the horrid sights. The memories that you had wanted so much were now tainted with the knowledge of your past. You had to leave; had to get away from the vile place. So that’s what you did.

Feeling satisfied with the progress of the twins’ powers it was decided that you would be sent out on another mission. You arrived at the destination and your plan went into action. You took out the two guards that were sent with you and hid their bodies out of sight. Stripping yourself of anything you found unnecessary, you took a deep breath and looked towards the darkness. With the first step, your decision was made.

Help me make the most of freedom

It had been nearly 2 years since you escaped and you were finally able to get yourself into the “normal” lifestyle. Well, at least as normal as a person who escaped a thought-to-be gone Nazi group could get.

You stayed on the down low; you weren’t going to take any chances while Hydra still lived on. Though your main caution was avoiding Hydra, you should have also been aware of another group that was looking for you.

As you looked at the produce in the outdoor stall you started to feel eyes on you. You started to take subtle looks at those around you; years of training to be unnoticeable paying off. To your left was a red-haired woman standing a few stalls down. Sunglasses adorned her face but you could still tell that her focus was not on the daisy bouquets, but on you. A little farther from her was a dark-skinned man wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap. He leaned against a streetlight with his coffee in hand. As he took a drink his gaze moved to you. It was official: You were being followed.

You continued to stay calm. If you ran it would cause a scene and who knew what these people planned on doing to you.

You started to walk to the right, your sight still appearing to be on the different fruit that lay in front of you. Feigning little interest, you started on your way. Sure enough, the two slowly followed you.

Your pace was steady but quick. Finding a crowd, you attempted to blend in. You were only a block away from your makeshift apartment. If you could just get there you could grab your backpack and go.

The crowd started to dissipate, leaving you with having to round corners and hope that the two followers would get lost. Your hope was pointless though as the two continued to follow you.

Your steps became faster as your eagerness to get away started to arise. Eventually you were in a full sprint, causing the two to do the same.

They were gaining on you. Even with all the turns you made you still couldn’t shake them.

As you ran, you made the mistake of looking behind you. The man and woman were still chasing you closely, but you failed to see the man that was standing right in front of you. You turned back around just in time for him to grab you and press you to his chest.

You attempted to fight him off, but his grip on your arms stayed strong. Amidst your thrashing, the man pushed you up against the nearest wall. Your head hit the bricks behind you, your eyes shutting from the impact.

Opening your eyes again, they widened and your movements to escape stopped as you took in the man in front of you:

Short, blonde hair that had a messy look to it. A blue t-shirt hugged his chest while his arms were clad in a leather jacket. And his eyes. They were so blue that you were sure you could drown in the pools of color.

“It’s you.” you mumbled out, your voice barely above a whisper.

“(Y/N).” he said back, his voice as quiet as yours.

And of pleasure

Ever since that day, life has never been better. You found out your dream man was named Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America, and that the vision you had of him was actually a glimpse of your past in the forties.

He was beside you through every therapy session, doctor visit, and night terror. He listened when you needed him to and would smile at each recovered memory you had of your past together. Through this time, you couldn’t help but start to fall for Steve all over again.

Besides Steve, Bucky was also by your side. Having known each other in the forties and also during your time with Hydra, he was the only one that truly understood what you had gone through.

Your relationship with the rest of the team grew as well. You started to train with them each day, learning to use your skills for good rather than evil. After hours of training and a successful evaluation, you were welcomed as a member of the Avengers.

With new friends around you and your old love beside you, your future started to look hopeful for once.

Nothing ever lasts forever

It happened so fast.

You and Steve just finished a date and were riding his motorcycle back to the Avengers’ Tower when the bike’s front tire was shot out. The motorcycle slid across the concrete bringing you and Steve with it. As you both got up from the wreckage, groups of men approached you and started to attack. The both of you started to fight back; throwing punches and slowly knocking out each of your attackers.

It was in the middle of the fight when you felt the prick to the side of your neck. Your body started to slow down and your vision became fuzzy. As your limbs grew weak one of the men picked you up bridal style and carried you to a nearby van. The doors shut and the vehicle took off with you and a few of the men inside.

As you looked at your kidnappers your eyes started to close. Sinking deeper into unconsciousness, you heard a phrase that you hadn’t heard since you had left that horrid place.

“Hail Hydra.”

When Steve got back to the tower, he and the rest of the team didn’t waste any time in trying to find you. They all tried to hide their panic, but everyone had a fear inside of what was going to happen to you.

None of their feelings could compare to how Steve felt though. He had finally gotten you back after so long only for the same organization to kidnap you a second time.

The intel came in and a location was found. The team hurried to get suited up to go. As Steve and Bucky got ready, Bucky started to speak.

“Do you remember that time that you, (Y/N), and I all went to Coney Island to see the fireworks?”

Steve buckled the straps on his uniform, his lips still stuck in a straight line. “Which time? The time you left with a redhead or the time you left with a brunette?”

Bucky gave out a light chuckle as he continued to put his guns in their holsters. “The first time. And I’m pretty sure that redhead was named Doris.”

As Steve tightened his gloves he started to recall the memory. “Yeah, I remember. (Y/N) met us straight after work so she was still in her uniform. I grabbed her hand after the first firework went off and we held hands for the rest of the show.” He stopped his actions for a moment as sadness started to come over him. “We had our first kiss that night.”

Bucky finished with his guns and started working on his knives. A small silence started to form as they continued to prepare. “We’re gonna get her back.” His tone held no question; he knew for sure that they would get you away from there.

Steve finished with the strap of his helmet and grabbed his shield, swinging it into place on his back. “They’ve taken her from me twice, Buck.” he said, as he started to walk towards the quinjet. “I’m going to make sure they regret it.”

Everybody wants to rule the world

You started to come to as you felt that your arms were strapped down. Your eyes fluttered as they attempted to take in the little bit of light in the room.

“Ah, you’re awake!” a too familiar voice said. He approached where you sat, leaning down and grabbing your chin, forcing your head to face him. A sadistic smile was on his lips. “We’ve missed you greatly, Shadow.”

That name. You hated everything associated with it. Looking at the man in front of you, you spit in his face. “That’s not who I am anymore.”

The man let go of your chin roughly and returned to his standing position. He wiped your spit off his face, his smile now gone. He brought his hand up and slapped it hard across your cheek. The sting was instant and your head lashed to the side from the force. “Hydra will always be who you are.” He started to walk away as the others around you started to approach. “Wipe her. We have lost precious time with her absence and cannot afford to lose any more.”

Your eyes widened slightly and your breath became faster. No, you thought. You were not going to lose these memories that you’ve worked so hard to get back.

As they forced the mouth guard into your mouth, you continued to bring any memory you could to mind:

Watching movies with the team

The back of the chair leans back as it whirs to life.

Having girl’s nights with Wanda and Natasha

The restraints on your arms tighten, securing you to your seat.

Going with Bucky to the Farmer’s Market

The machine starts to move closer towards the sides of your head.

Falling in love with Steve

Pieces of cold machinery set harshly on your temples and over your left eye.

Steve’s laugh, Steve’s smile, Steve’s eyes

A tear slid down your cheek as you screamed from the electricity coursing through you. While you would forget your memories, you would never forget the pain.

There’s a room where the light won’t find you

The quinjet arrived at the warehouse that Hydra was keeping you in. A plan already going into action as soon as they get inside. You were their goal and not one person was going to keep them from getting to you.

Bringing down anyone who got in their way, the Avengers continued to search for you in every inch of the building. Every room they approached was checked, but still there was no sign of you.

Steve fought his way through; his fury motivated by his need to find you. His punches were harsher and his moves were quicker as he continued his search.

He ran through the next door he approached only to stop in his tracks at the sight in front of him.

There you stood, still as a statue, your eyes focused on him.

Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down

Relief entered his mind the same time an overwhelming amount of shock did. “(Y/N).” he breathed out.

You didn’t move, but your mind started to buzz. Why did this man look familiar?

Steve took a breath as his posture straightened. He started to approach you slowly, not knowing completely what they did to you. “(Y/N),” he said it louder this time, attempting to get through to you. “this isn’t who you are. Hydra is messing with your mind.”

You stood there staring at him, your knife twirling absentmindedly in your hand. Fuzzy pictures tried to come to the front of your mind but you willed them away in order to stay focused.

“Your name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N). You were born in Brooklyn, New York.” He started to feel a bit of déjà vu at his next words, but continued anyway. “You know me.”

Your mind started to hurt; the words from this ‘stranger’ starting to get to you. “No, I don’t.” While your words were meant to be harsh, you could hear the waiver in them.

At your words, Steve continued to step forward, taking the shield off of his arm and placing it on his back. “Yes, you do. We grew up together. We enrolled in the army together.”

It felt as if your brain was on fire and these things that this man was saying to you was not helping. “Shut up!” you shouted, as you advanced towards him.

You aimed your knife at him in attempt to strike only for him to catch your wrist in his grip. Your other fist flew towards his stomach and landed a punch. His grip on your wrist loosened as he started to bend over from your punch. You grabbed the back of his head and brought your knee up, only for him to block it, grabbing your knee instead. You then bring your other leg up and wrap your knee around the back of the man’s neck. Using the leverage, you swing yourself up to where your thighs are around his head. You then twist your body downwards placing your hands on the ground and flipping the man over to land on his back while you land on your feet.

As you run for your knife, the man gets up again. He looks at you as you turn back around, your knife in hand. “You know me, (Y/N).” he speaks as he starts to unstrap the buckle from his helmet. Pulling his helmet off, you finally get a look at him:

Blonde hair. A blue uniform with splashes of red and white. Blue eyes like a clear sky.

Your mind was still reeling, but the pictures were starting to become clearer. “Stop it.” The phrase was loud but had a tone of fear to it, something you were unfamiliar with.

Once again, Steve started walking towards you, but this time you didn’t attack. You instead took a step back with each of his steps forward.

“Your favorite color is (Y/F/C).” Another step. “You are terrified of drowning.” Another step. “You love watching fireworks.” Another step.

“Stop.” The word was barely audible. With all the steps you had been taking back, you had ended up with your back against the wall. You had realized at this moment that tears had been streaming down your cheeks and that your breathing had gotten heavier.

With one last step, Steve was chest to chest with you. Neither of you had taken your eyes off the other during this time. He slowly brought his hands up to lightly grab your arms.

You shook slightly as confusion and fear racked through your mind. Pictures and spoken words continued to cloud your thoughts, unable to make clear sense of it.

Steve stood there looking at you; the girl he had lost and found twice now. He felt like the energy had left his body and his own tears started to cloud his vision. Bringing one hand up he cupped your cheek and said the last words that he hoped would get through to you.

“I love you, (Y/N).”

When they do I’ll be right behind you

Like a flood, the pictures and voices became clear. Your eyes widened and the realization of who was in front of you hit you hard.

“Steve?” you asked breathlessly.

Steve let out a sob that turned into a quiet laugh. “Yes, yes (Y/N), it’s me.” His words were a mix of relief and joy as the tears he held back started to pour over.

You broke down right then, wrapping your arms around his neck as your body wracked with sobs. He caught you easily, tightening one arm around your waist and one hand in your hair. Your knees gave out and he helped guide you to the floor, the both of you still holding each other close.

“I’m so sorry.” you said between breaths. You couldn’t believe you had hurt him; that Shadow had hurt him. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay, (Y/N). It’s okay.” he spoke quietly in your ear. He couldn’t imagine how you were feeling right now. All he knew is that he was thrilled to have you back in his arms. “It’s all over now.”

Your face was in the crook of his neck as you cried. The whole situation was becoming too overwhelming for you.

Steve brought a finger to his ear and clicked his com. “Guys, I got her.” he exhaled after he had said it; relief starting to take over his being. He brought his arm back down and picked you up bridal style. “Let’s get you home.” he said as he started to make his way out of the building.

And for once, in a really long time, you felt safe.

So glad we’ve almost made it

After that day things seemed to return to a somewhat normal state. You started to take therapy sessions again, making sure that the last brainwashing Hydra put you through wasn’t going to affect your progress too much. Training became part of your daily routine once more as you hoped to regain your status as an Avenger. You also became closer to Steve; trying once again at your relationship.

So sad we had to fade it

Things could never be exactly the way they were between you and Steve. Both of you had changed since the forties: He became a hero while you were made the villain. While he had all his memories you were still gaining more each day. Yes, your relationship would never be that fairytale it felt to be in the past, but that didn’t mean that either of you were giving up on the idea of happiness.

As the quinjet landed, you headed over to the wall where your weapons were located.

You started to place your guns in their holsters when Steve joined you by your side, grabbing his own weapons and putting them in their designated places.

The silence was peaceful between the two of you but it didn’t have time to last long as Steve spoke up.

“Do you remember that time when we saw fireworks at Coney Island?”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you pondered for a moment. Strapping your utility belt around your waist you made sure that it was on the way it should be before answering. “Was that the time that Bucky left with that redhead, Debra?”

Steve’s mouth turned up in a smirk. “Doris. And yes. It was just you and I.”

A smile came to your lips as you thought of the memory. “We sat on a bench near the beach. I was still in my uniform and there was no way I was going to get sand in it.” You giggled at the thought. Placing your knives in their spots, you continued with the memory. “I forgot how loud the fireworks could be. I nearly jumped out of my skin after the first one.” Another giggle escaped your throat at the thought.

You then turned to look at Steve, a fond smile forming on your face. “You grabbed my hand then. And you held it for the rest of the show.” You could see the blush start to creep up his neck; his ears starting to turn red.

Feeling the heat rising in his face, Steve cleared his throat. “Do you, uh, remember what happened after that?” his focus was still on the weapons in front of him as he spoke.

Looking down at the last knife in your hand, you spun it around before finally putting it in its place. You then looked up, admiring the man in front of you. And after your time of adoration, you spoke up. “Yes, I remember.” You start to slowly walk closer to him as you continue with your story.

“The fireworks had ended, and with Bucky nowhere in sight, you walked me to my house. You held my hand the entire way, and when we got to my porch neither of us would let go.”

With everything in place, Steve finally turned to look at you. He let out a content sigh as a small smile started to form on his lips. He then directed his gaze to your hands, grabbing them in his and intertwining your fingers together. “I never wanted to let go.” his voice was quiet, as if speaking any louder might ruin the moment.

You looked at him sweetly, the emotions you felt starting to bubble over. “Is that why you kissed me?”

Steve chuckled a bit, happy to know you remembered that part of the memory. He returned his focus to you. “Not completely.” he took a step closer causing the space between the two of you to be nonexistent. “As we stood on your porch I realized that I was crazy in love with you.”

Your smile grew at his confession and you couldn’t believe how lucky you had been to end up with him.

“And with that thought running through my head, I couldn’t help but kiss you. And you know what?” he said as he let go of one of your hands and brought it to cup your cheek.

“What?” your voice quietly spoke.

He leaned down, his nose brushing yours as both of your eyes started to close. “I’m so glad I did.”

You smiled a full smile then and started to lean your head up towards his lips.

“Hey, lovebirds. How about we get on with the mission instead of making out like teenagers?” Bucky’s voice spoke loudly, interrupting your moment.

Letting out a sigh, you stepped back from Steve and started to head towards the exit of the quinjet.

“Jerk.” Steve mumbled under his breath.

As you and Steve joined the rest of the team at the exit, you started to look straight ahead. About three miles out from where you landed was the Hydra base you were about to infiltrate. The first of many that you would get to help destroy personally.

“Are you ready for this?” Steve asked as he came to stand next to you.

You looked over at him with a smirk then returned to look out at the distance.

“You have no idea.”

Everybody wants to rule the world

#steve rogers x reader #my fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #steve x reader #fanfiction #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #marvel angst #steve rogers angst #my writing #song fic

66 notes · View notes

thesquidwizard · 3 years

Text

I was told reading Philosophical problems with blah blah blah would answer why making 500 genders would solve gender stereotypes I am petty and affable so I read it

If you want my opinions and my mind slowly melting i am kindly putting this under a read more cuz its fucking long as shit

the TLDR is : this drivel doesnt mention the problems of gender stereotypes or neogenders at all its just some guy wanking on why women need to give up their spaces because he thinks their wrong and annoying ( Kathleen Stock especially)

I’d love to @ you lake-lady, but you blocked me for thought crimes and im to lazy to try to get around that ( if you actually read this before recommending it to me, you are very very strong and very very brainwashed)

the first 14 paragraphs are circle talk "GC feminists are wrong, i will prove their wrong, they think "this" it is wrong ill prove its wrong etc etc etc" if you survive that that, They focus on Kathleen Stock in their words "Stock presents an articulate, relatively comprehensive, and moderate form of gender-critical feminism" first: If Margie’s self-diagnosis (“I’m a boy”) is questioned by the therapist, the therapist can be construed as . . . “converting” . . . a trans child to a “cis” one. If, on the other hand, Margie’s self-diagnosis is affirmed unquestioningly, the therapist is effectively failing to affirm Margie in a sexual orientation of lesbianism; something which also looks like conversion by omission. (Stock, 2018e) -They spend 5 paragraphs explaining why Stocks hypothetical girl^ isnt converted to male heterosexualness by transitioning, and not affirming Marges Gender identity is Dangerous They do not address Stocks ACTUAL concern that Gender Affirming Therapy without any kind of therapy and research on GNC and SSA children is conversion by omission because it doesnt take into account if these feelings stem from gender stereotypes and homophobia. Stocks is not concerned that you are converting this girl straight( sex is real she would be SSA either way) she is concerned your transitioning her without affirming her sexuality and giving her support in the knowledge that being a lesbian is okay and perfectly normal.-

Next: concern about female-only spaces is about legal self-identification without any period of “living as a woman,” prior male socialisation in a way which exacerbates the tendency to violence against female bodies, and the fact that many self-identifying trans women . . . retain both male genitalia and a sexual orientation towards females. (stock) If the evidence shows (as, in fact, it is already showing) that some males—whether genuinely “truly” trans or just pretending—turn out to pose a threat to females, and it’s really hard to tell in advance which ones will, can’t we then make a social norm and/or law to exclude all [natal] males from female-only spaces . . . ? (also stock)

-Quotes are separated by garbage but this whole section is what we have all seen before " why must trans woman suffer, just because cis men hurt woman" except its really long it acknowledges male violence rates but refuses to acknowledge we have already seen men (and identified transwoman) taking advantage to hurt woman. This whole chunk is just SOME woman must be sacrificed for Trans feelings-

They do put: Finally, we know that some men who come into contact with children in their work will offend against them. Yet we do not exclude all men from working with children, even if using gender as a watershed would prevent those offenses. Why does the good of minimizing child sexual abuse not lead us inexorably to the conclusion that we must outlaw all male teachers and coaches? Because our practical reason recognizes complexity: We readily see that even the most highly desirable states of affairs (minimizing abuse of children) do not have simple, quasi-mechanistic implications for policy or decision-making, and that they do not justify the indiscriminate suppression of other goods (even less important ones, such as professional vocations).

-And id like to add with the rise in pedo crimes I am 100% down with separating men from children because i do not think any child should be endangered just to keep men in jobs.-

They also put this quote in:

there is clearly a difference between the experience of a child who is treated by others in way that are characteristic of boys and also feels like a boy, and a child who is treated by others in ways that are characteristic of boys whilst feeling that they are really a girl. (Finlayson et al., 2018)

-And are you sure? are you really sure? I feel like there might be differences between social conditioning, experience and feelings. A boy treated like a boy and a boy(who feels like a girl) treated like a boy are still experiencing being treated and raised like a boy?? one just has emotional differences (is it internalized homophobia, Gender non conformity, a developed fetish?? who knows but they still experienced boyhood)-

-Next section says we cant make single stall or any other kind of netrual or trans bathrooms because its to hard? and it hurts trans feels reminding them that they have birth sexes because thats hate speech???-

also this: Our social world is arranged in a way that makes exclusion from the sex/gender they claim—on the basis of a lack of “authentic” belonging (Serano, 2007)—central to trans subordination. As with other forms of social subordination, trans exclusion has not only material dimensions (Blair & Hoskin, 2018; Hargie et al., 2017; Moolchaem et al., 2015; Movement Advancement Project and GLSEN, 2017; Rondón Garcia & Martin Romero, 2016; Serano, 2013; Stonewall, n.d.; Yona, 2015), but also discursive ones that work in accordance with the logic of so-called performatives. Performatives are utterances that do things with words: specifically, they accomplish something in the act of saying it (Austin, 1975). The classical example is marriage—in the act of declaring a couple married, a celebrant brings about a change in their normative status, provided the celebrant is the right person in the right circumstances. This presupposes a normative background (that is a set of laws, conventions, or other rules) governing all those matters: who qualifies as a legitimate celebrant, what the right circumstances are for the performative to do its work, what marriage status means in terms of spouses’ rights and obligations, etc.

-Celebrating a Marriage is celebrating a couples chosen form of representing their relationship publicly and adding each other to their legal family, how is that the same as letting men into woman's bathrooms because they have feelings??-

-Theres more babblery about subjugating trans people by not pretending biology is fake, and that saying they cant just taking womans rights and spaces is denying their reality and existence we find out the author is a gay(cis) man so why does he have opinions on womans spaces and issues who fucking knows ( he really likes the word unintelligible)-

-Im tired, Ive taken several breaks just to stay clear headed( mildly sane) and now we are onto why Trans inclusive practices dont threaten the concept of female, male, lesbian and gay. Okay buddy ole pal bring it on-

Stock (2018b) has also argued that trans inclusion on the ground of self-identification/declaration threatens “a secure understanding” of concepts intimately related to “woman”—namely, “female” and “lesbian.” It is hard to see this threat as a real one. After all, conceptually, “trans maleness” and “trans femaleness” presuppose “cis maleness” and “cis femaleness” as their other—namely, the case of female and male for which no transition, no reaching across, is required: the case of femaleness and maleness already on this side of (= “cis”) their sex.

-At some point i expect to find out Stock implied his dick is tiny or something " gender crit feminists are wrong im gonna argue with just this one" In this section he manages to be long winded and say nothing have a taste:

Stock (2019b) argues, correctly, that “sex [i.e., maleness and femaleness] is not determined by any single, unitary set of essential criteria,” and that “there is no single set of features a person must have in order to count as male or female.” She goes on to state that: (a) “you do still need to possess some” female (biological) sex characteristics to count as female; (b) that this is “a real, material condition upon sex-category-membership”; and (c) that “medical professionals [assigning sex]. . . rely upon an established methodology, aimed at capturing pre-existing biological facts” (Stock 2019b). Stock presents (a), (b), and (c) as if they were true without qualification. In fact, they only describe how, for very legitimate reasons, sex is understood and assigned within the discourses of biology and medicine; but our everyday usages of “male” and “female” may well be more capacious. It does not follow, of course, that there is no connection at all between these discursive domains—biology and the everyday. Rather, something like the biological meaning of “male” and “female” refer to the central cases of “male” and “female” as those terms feature in everyday usages. But those usages, if trans-inclusive (as they should be), will also cover, legitimately and usefully, noncentral cases of those selfsame terms.

-Yes you need to be female to be female, it doesnt matter what you look like how much you weigh your hobbies or tastes you just need to be female. Observed Biology is observed not assigned we dont pop out blank slates until someone says "ya this ones a girl"-

There really is no good reason to fear that such trans-inclusive practices will imperil “maleness” and “femaleness” as concepts. It is the very fact that those concepts have and will retain central cases that puts to rest any such fear. What makes something like the biological meanings of “male” and “female” the central cases of everyday usages of those words is “[o]rdinary-life truth seeking, a certain level of which is essential for survival”; this “involves a swift instinctive testing of innumerable kinds of coherence against innumerable kinds of extra-linguistic data” (Murdoch, 1992). Reproduction is a key aspect of human experience: The existence of each of us and the perpetuation of the human species presuppose it. The extra-linguistic reality of the dioecious configuration of human bodies, which is functional to human reproduction, means both that the concept of “female” and “male” are here to stay, and that their central cases will remain well-understood, even after we give up on trans-exclusionary attitudes, practices, and policies. To put it another way: trans-inclusive linguistic usages, policies, and so on, cannot threaten the distinction between the concepts of “male” and “female,” which hinges on the nondisposability of the central cases of those concepts.

For similar reasons, it is difficult to agree with Stock that characterizing as “gay” trans men attracted to men, and as “lesbian” trans women attracted to women, “leaves us with no linguistic resources to talk about that form of sexual orientation that continues to arouse the distinctive kind of bigotry known as homophobia” (Stock, 2019d). After all, our linguistic conventions make cissexual womanhood and manhood the central or paradigmatic cases of “womanhood” and “manhood”; cissexual (though not necessarily gender-conforming) lesbianism and male homosexuality the central or paradigmatic cases of “lesbianism” and “male homosexuality,” and so on. This will not change. First because of the prevalence of cissexual women/men and cissexual lesbians/gay men, in terms of sheer numbers, relative to trans women/men and trans lesbians/gay men. Second, because of the ways in which the concepts of “man,” “woman,” “gay,” “lesbian,” “cis,” and “trans” sit together with the concepts of “male” and “female,” which reference an extra-linguistic reality, of which, as we have already seen, we cannot but take notice. Given these linguistic and empirical facts, a trans-inclusive use of the terms “lesbian” and “gay” does not carry the dangers Stock (2019d) worries about.

-I keep going back and checking the date this was published in 2020 clearly this man has neither been online except to stalk Stock, nor talked to a human who actually believes what he is arguing against. No one is mad at transwoman for liking woman or vise versa its the kind of woman and men they go after and EXPECT romance and validation from ( ie lesbians and gay men, ie threatening what lesbian and gay mean in "inclusive" climates) fucking knob.-

I dunno if this is translated or the writer isnt english but he keeps using subordination where "opression" would be used and umm. anyway onto "Overemphasizing Sex-Based Subordination"

first he explains the difference between paranoid and paranoid structuralism there is so much fucking bullshit then we get to some quotes! that are bullshit-

Even assuming that the socialization of trans girls mirrors that of cis boys, the fact that trans girls do not identify with maleness can be expected to make a difference to the outcomes of such socialization (Finlayson et al., 2018).

-this guys back, love this guy doesnt know you dont fucking socialize yourself-

It is a mistake to treat “violence and discrimination against trans women . . . as if it were unconnected to that faced by cis women” (Finlayson et al., 2018).

-Finlayson marry me your so smart, that big brain of yours is sooo sexy. Anyway transwoman and "cis" woman face violence from the same people.. Men. but it is not for the same reasons and most transwoman who face violence are brown and black sex workers( if your gonna care go wholesys not halfseys). As opposed to woman who face violence no matter their class, race, nationality, age.. etc etc etc-

Saying “Not giving people everything they desire is not a denial of their humanity” (Allen et al., 2019) amounts to an insensitive dismissal of the serious argument that trans exclusion is ipso facto harmful.

-I want an affordable home and access to food and water whenever i am hungry, you want me to pretend reality doesnt exist so your feefees dont get hurt-

The claim that women “are a culturally subordinated group . . . [while] at best, trans women are a distinct subordinated group; at worst . . . members of the dominant group” entirely discounts the ways in which sex, gender, and cis/trans status intersect. These intersections produce more complex, shifting, and context-dependent power relationships than are captured by the M > F formula.

-Sex based oppression is actually like jello, sometimes woman are less oppressed or oppressed slightly more to the left, I too can just kinda say words-

A dubious assumption underlies this statement: “[T]he fact that our concept-application [of, e.g., ‘woman’] might indirectly convey disadvantage towards some social groups [e.g., trans women] is not itself a reason to criticise the concept use, because the concept use has a further valuable point” (such as “to pick out a distinctive group, relative to recognisably important interests”) (Stock, 2019e). The dubious assumption here is that the “valuable point” of a restrictive use of the concept will be lost if the concept is broadened. The assumption is dubious because even in its broad, inclusive use, the concept retains a readily identifiable central case.

-Yes you dunder head if we start calling lizards mammals we lose the point of what makes a mammal a mammal, which complicates and endangers our way of researching and understanding mammals by making woman "whoever the fucks wants to be one" we loss the ability to easily talk about things that are exclusive to woman the more female language is edified the harder it is for females to unite to talk about womans issues, womans health, girls puberty, womans oppression etc etc.-

-my fuck i dont even care to learn this mans name and i have a personal hatred just for him, i hope ya'll have noticed he uses several different "sources" for his arguments and yet pins GC feminism on Stock alone. Anyway here we go into Doing Philosophy and Debating Policy in the Age of Social Media and Digital Platforms ( i think this man nuts every time he types out philosophy)-

my god we have brough Plato into this, Stocks must stand alone but we are at fucking plato, anyway this section actually has some brains in it there drivel but also truth:

Needless to say, in real-world face-to-face exchanges, unalloyed communicative action is known only by approximation. But there are very good reasons to think that the distance between the ideal (namely, communicative action) and the real is especially wide in the context of the quasi-spoken digital media used to construct (and respond to) the gender-critical case against trans inclusion. Stock (2019f) herself, discussing the reception of her arguments, has complained about countless “half-arsed takedown attempts” by “online philosophers,” crediting, conversely, philosophers she meets offline with “interesting, constructive, and charitable” objections. She also notes that social media siphons “users into paranoid, angry silos” (Stock, 2019d), and that “when reading disembodied words on a screen” it is “easy enough” to engage in “projection” (Stock, 2019a). Why and how do social media and allied platforms have this potential for distorting genuine communicative action?

First, they enable new manipulative communication practices, such as flaming and trolling. The popular support base of gender-critical academics makes ample use of these, though gender-critical scholars are also at the receiving end. Rather than using the quasi-spoken features of social media and allied platforms with a view to genuinely advancing understanding, online activists may exploit these features for strategic aims. Common techniques include drowning a post or blog with irrelevant comments; exposing the blogger to ridicule; deflecting attention from the point she made; forcing her to address spurious objections; pretextually professing a failure to understand, demanding endless further explanations; and so on. Some of these techniques are available in spoken exchanges, but social media and allied platforms magnify their power by enabling “widely-distributed individuals to organize and galvanize around issues of common interest [or] political advocacy” (Stewart, 2016); and by facilitating the use of nonverbal or nonargument-based, but effective, communicative devices, such as memes, gifs, and emoticons.

Another way in which these digital media distort genuine communicative action is by affecting the motivations of the blogger, or micro-blogger, herself. Specifically, they facilitate the interference with genuinely communicative goals (reaching understanding) by noncommunicative, strategic aims. I will discuss three: acquiring influence, career progression, and venting.

In traditional academic communicative practice, one’s recognition as an expert is supposed to follow from the credit that accrues to one as a result of the soundness of one’s research methods and arguments, judged through peer-review processes. But “in the era of social media there are now many different ways that a scientist can build their public profile; the publication of high-quality scientific papers being just one” (Hall, 2014). Veletsianos and Kimmons (2016) have found, by examining a large data set of education scholars’ participation on Twitter, that

being widely followed on social media is impacted by many factors that may have little to do with the quality of scholarly work . . . and . . . that participation and popularity may be impacted by a number of additional factors unrelated to scholarly merit (e.g., wit, controversy, longevity; p. 6).

-This section like every section goes on forever but we finally finally reach our conclusion-

Cooper (2019) has invoked a legal pluralist perspective to argue that it is possible, and may be desirable, for gender as conceived by gender-critical feminists (as “sex-based domination”) and gender as conceived in trans-affirming terms (as “identity diversity”) to coexist side-by-side in the law. Access to women’s spaces is just the kind of policy matter that need not choose between one conception of gender and the other: it can and should be granted on the basis of both. While a compelling feminist case has been made for inclusion (Finlayson et al., 2018), the best feminist case against inclusion suffers from a number of argumentative fallacies (Aristotle, n.d.), and is at odds with well-established and sound uses of practical reason. Many problems in gender-critical thought are consistent with the explanation that paranoid structuralism is too often presupposed in gender-critical work, rather than being treated, productively, as a hypothesis. The nature of the publication outlets favored by gender-critical feminists (social media, blogs, etc.) is also likely to be implicated in generating some of these problems.

I think one of the things i would like anyone who managed to read this entire thing to take away from this is that not ONCE were male bathrooms or male spaces mentioned, not once did this apparently "cis" gay man say that he welcomes and wants transmen in HIS spaces or that he has even thought about it

(((( also he didnt even mention neo genders so my original question 100% unanswered, even fuckface magee doesnt think demiboys are real. He doesnt want to or even mention solving sex based oppression he just wants woman to stop fighting to keep men out))))

#gender critical #gender critical feminism #GC #radfem #terf friendly #anyone with a strong brain try to read the original piece its contras brother i swear to fucking god #id say radfem friendly but he doesnt touch womans issues he doesnt care #trans exclusive

0 notes

lilbreck · 7 years

Photo

Title: Chapter 3: The Deals We Make, pt 1 Characters: Anya Jenkins, Buffybot, Rupert Giles, Spike, Tara Mcclay, Willow Rosenberg, Xander Harris Rating/Warning: FRT Word Count: 3,735 A/N: Though I list a lot of characters, and some of them actually do get dialog, some of them just pass through.

Read Elsewhere: Personal Archive \ LiveJournal \ InsaneJournal \ Dreamwidth \ AO3 \ FF.net

Shock raced through Spike. How long had they been planning this? He had thought they were growing close – or at least that he and Willow were. Apparently, he had been wrong. He expected to feel anger. All he could feel, though, was hurt and betrayed. Part of him wanted to turn around, leave, and pretend he had never overheard the conversation. However, the part of him that had watched Willow's back for these past few months came forward. Her friends weren't in the right place to make her stop and think, so he had to.

"No. Giles and Spike can't know. They might not understand." He could hear nothing but conviction and determination in her voice. He only hoped it was all a front and he could get her to slow down and rethink things, maybe get her to explain what was going on in her pretty little head.

He took a deep breath – quickly shook off the random flash of Willow's voice from a few nights after they had started patrolling together questioning why he bothered with the deep breathing – opened the door and stepped into the room just in time to hear Willow start to break.

"Her body, yeah. But her soul – her essence, I mean, that could be somewhere else. She could be trapped, in-in some sort of hell dimension like Angel was – suffering eternal torment just because she saved us, and I'm not gonna let... I'm not gonna leave her there. It's Buffy."

This was it. He needed to step in, calmly and rationally, before her tearful speech convinced her pals to go ahead with this insane idea. He had to. For Willow. After pulling the Buffybot into the room and pointing her to the couch, he leaned against the door jamb like he hadn't just overheard them planning something completely unnatural, dangerous, and foolish. He had to choose his words carefully.

"I'll grant you, she could be in a hell dimension. It happens sometimes," he was not too brainwashed by his time with the white hat brigade to go without a small smirk when Xander and Tara startled at the sound of his voice, but his gaze remained on Willow "and sometimes it doesn't."

When she didn't speak, didn't even turn to him, he skirted the kitchen table. He would have to take his time and be gentle; yelling or talking down to her would only get her dander up. He could do gentle; the question was if she would let him or not.

Spike circled around her until she had to either face him or deliberately turn away. Thankfully, she chose to remain as she was. He decided to go one step further and, placing his hands on either side of her head, raised her face until she was forced to look him in the eyes. He briefly closed his eyes and prayed he could find the right words. Now would be a convenient time to develop some decent poetic ability, not that he had much hope of that.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't worry that she's trapped somewhere suffering. You're a smart girl to worry. And I'm not saying you should pretend it's not possible. I just think you need to be sure that she's not somewhere better than here before you go trying to bring her back."

As he moved to rest his forehead against hers, he was suddenly hit with why she was so determined to go through with this that she hadn't even thought to see where Buffy had ended up. She had gone from being the sidekick and occasional Big Gun to being the one everyone turned to. The person everyone expected to have the answers and the plans and know exactly what to do. His Red was tired.

Spike took a deep breath and, in a soft voice, continued, "I know you're hurtin', Red. We all are. And I know we put so much weight on your shoulders, more than we should most of the time. I'm just asking that you make sure you're doing the right thing before you do something you can't take back."

He shifted his hold on the sides of her head – one hand unconsciously petting her hair as he did – and continued in a whisper, "And if she's better off where she is, we'll find some other way to make this right for you. I promise I will move heaven and earth to find a way."

In the silence that followed, he could practically feel Xander's desperate belief that Spike would pull a miracle out of thin air. He must have been desperate for someone other than him to stop Willow's plan if he didn't make a fuss at a vampire being so up close and personal with one of ‘his girls'. Spike was racking his brain for just such a miracle when Willow lifted her hands to rest gently on his wrists. The look on her face was grim and tired, and he half expected her to keep fighting him. Instead, he and Xander got their miracle.

"We'll wait until we can be sure. We'll all look for a way to find out where she is before we do anything else. And if she's better off… we'll figure out what to do."

Spike was too focused on the witch in front of him to pay attention to anyone else. That was why he missed the anger that flashed across Tara's face and didn't notice how, when he stepped back, the arms she wrapped around Willow were more than a touch possessive. If he had seen it, though, it wouldn't have mattered to him; he had got Willow to wait and that gave him hope he could stop her going down a path that could destroy her.

Last time he'd gone to this much trouble for someone else, he'd been a fool in love. What was his excuse now? Here he was going against the very nature of a vampire to prevent someone he… to prevent a friend from doing something potentially stupid. Was this what being a do-gooder was like all the soddin' time?

The meeting quickly lost steam after that and Anya less than tactfully kicked them all out. Spike, Willow, and Tara's trip back to the Summers' home was spent quietly talking about possible spells while they walked behind the bot and course corrected whenever it tried to go off in the wrong direction. They quickly figured out that they couldn't mention who they were looking for because it seemed to get Buffybot stuck on a logic loop and she refused to move while trying to work out what they were talking about.

Willow was so focused on trying to keep Buffybot walking in a relatively straight path that she missed the tension between Spike and Tara as she tried to subtly exclude him from research plans and he none too subtly included himself back in. Of course, the argument ended when Buffybot's glitch caused her to start spouting some of her original colorful programming again.

While Willow didn't seem phased, Spike didn't miss the almost triumphant look on Tara's face that went so smashingly with the surge of self-disgust rising in his gut. After making sure they made it safely to the house, he made his excuses and left.

The next morning found Buffybot training with Giles in the backroom of the Magic Box. Of course, that only lasted until Anya got bored and intruded on the session. Her blunt words reminded Giles that he wasn't training a slayer and he quickly lost any motivation to continue.

In answer to the bot's ever cheerful voice asking if he would like to test her again, he could only muster a half-hearted "No. Perhaps we should call it a day. Your, uh, your responses are fine."

He turned too quickly to notice the earnest expression that came across her face. However, he was brought up short by her next words.

"I can't call it a day. Willow told me that I had to stay here until she came to pick me up. She, Tara, Xander, and Spike are busy at my house. I told her I could help her look for the spell they wanted, but she used her resolve face."

A sense of unease took root in his stomach as he asked, "What spell are they looking for?"

The bot's smile was vacant and placid as it she told him, "It's a location spell. They want to find out if Buffy went to a hell dimension when she died."

Hurt lanced through him; both at the mention of his slayer and at the thought that they felt it necessary to exclude him. That hurt stayed with him as he mumbled some instruction to the bot and quickly left out through the back door to avoid being seen by Anya. It lasted until just after he started his car and he realized why they would have excluded him. It then quickly turned to an anger which stayed with him for the rest of the trip.

When he arrived at the Summers' house, he didn't bother with knocking. It was obvious that Spike had warned them he was coming up the walk by the fact that they were clearly in the middle of trying to hide their research.

"Don't bother cleaning up on my account."

While both Tara and Xander sat down with guilty expressions, Spike simply leaned back into his chair with a bored eye roll. Giles's eyes went to Willow who straightened up with an expression that was both defiant and defensive. When she made no move to try and explain herself, he broke the silence himself.

"Imagine my complete shock when I learned, from a robot of all things, what you lot were up to! At first I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out why you would hide it from me. And then it dawned on me. You knew I wouldn't approve of your plan of action for if she's in a hell dimension."

Willow took a deep breath and smiled at him in what he could only assume was meant to be placating.

"There's no need to think about that one way or another until we find out where she is."

Her obvious disregard for reason infuriated him.

"Have you even put one moment of thought into how reckless and foolhardy this is? I will not stand by and let some arrogant amateur go against the very laws of nature!"

Almost immediately he felt the air in the room get heavier. Giles could feel a knot of dread form in his stomach. Spike was suddenly at Willow's side, hand over her arm as if to sooth her. Willow's face, however, didn't show any of the rage Giles could feel practically throbbing in the air. Her expression was cold as she spoke.

"If I find out that Buffy is in a hell dimension, I will get her out. And I will not be asking for anyone's permission."

Almost immediately the room seemed to lighten as Willow's expression turned pleading. "Giles, I don't want to fight. Let's not. We'll just focus on finding out where Buffy is. Okay?"

Feeling out of his depth, he could only nod. Had Willow become unstable and he somehow missed it? How had she gotten to this point? He was drawn out of his confusion by Spike's voice, obviously not believing silence would keep Willow calm.

"Old Rupes is just in shock, Red. How about I take him into the kitchen and have tea and a heart to heart with him. Brit to Brit?"

The look Willow turned on Spike was full of hope and relief as she quietly agreed. With a quick gesture of his head, he left the room and Giles followed without a word. However, Spike didn't stop in the kitchen; opting instead to head out to the porch where he obviously expected Giles to follow. The door had no sooner closed behind him than Spike was up in his face.

"Rule number one, Watcher, we do not piss off Willow. She is a mighty powerful witch who is buried under responsibility and grief. If she snaps, we're all buggered. When I found out about their little plan, she had already skipped straight to resurrection and her little witch and her friends had rolled right over and were ready to follow her every command. This finding out where the slayer is? This is my compromise.

"If we find out that Buffy is in hell, short of killing her, I doubt there's anything that anyone can do to stop her from getting her friend back."

Spike got impossibly closer and his voice dropped as he finished. "And I don't care how much it fries my brain, I won't be letting you or anyone else touch her."

Having said his peace, Spike went back into the house and began preparing tea. Giles had the sudden urge to find a quiet place to pray to whatever deity would listen that Buffy was in heaven because God help the world if she wasn't.

He quickly dismissed the idea of being able to stop Willow; he couldn't do it himself and even if he was willing to call in for help, the council would take too long to get a man here and there would be no telling if Willow would know they were coming. The only thing he could do was stick with them and try to ensure everything went as safe and smoothly as it could while perverting the laws of nature.

To that end, Giles entered the house and walked past where Spike was lounging against the kitchen counter. Making his way toward the door, he took a deep breath and turned back to where Willow was watching him with confusion.

"I believe I know just the spell we can use. I'll run by the Magic Box and grab the book so you can look it over."

Willow seemed relieved at his words and he did his best to return the smile she gave him before he left.

As Giles was making his way to the shop and returning with the book in question, a few hours ride out of Sunnydale the vampire that had escaped Spike and the Buffybot the night before was in a bar spilling his guts to a demon biker gang. It didn't take long for them to decide that the Hellmouth was ripe for the picking.

Oblivious to the incoming danger, Giles, Willow, and Tara went over the supplies they'd need for the spell while Spike listened from the kitchen and Xander left to go spend time with Anya and update her on the situation.

That night Willow sent Buffybot off to patrol. Of course, she couldn't see a way around telling her where everyone was headed, just in case the bot should malfunction again. As she stared up at the tower where Buffy had jumped to her death, Willow began to think on the possibilities. If they had to bring Buffy back, would that somehow also bring Dawn back?

Spike's voice, a hushed whisper at her side, brought her back to the present. "Everything's set up, pet. It's on you now."

She had no sooner looked at Spike and caught a brief glimpse of understanding and sympathy in his eyes, then Tara was on her other side gently pulling on her hand.

"Are you sure you want to do this so soon? We can always wait until you're ready."

Willow tamped down her anger; Tara was only trying to help and be considerate. Regardless of how it came across, she didn't mean to question Willow's abilities. She mustered up a smile she hoped came across as grateful and said, "I'm ready now."

"Well then, we're ready on our end." Giles voice was a welcome reprieve from the further questions she could see Tara was ready to ply her with. When she walked up to him, he gripped her shoulders lightly. There was comfort and reassurance in the gesture, neither of which she realized she needed so badly.

"This will take a great deal of concentration given the vast number of dimensions Buffy could be in. Calling on the first slayer should narrow down the possibilities, but I need you to focus solely on the task at hand. The rest of us will make sure nothing happens out here, you concentrate on the spell."

Giving a firm nod of her head, Willow said, "I'll keep my head in the game, coach."

Giles didn't smile, only shifted his hands until he held her face between them.

"Remember what you're looking for and why you're looking for it. Do not get lost. No matter what you see or what you are promised, remember that this… Remember that we are your home. Come back to us, Willow."

Her vision blurry with tears and a lump forming in her throat, Willow lifted her hands to his wrists and gave a reassuring squeeze and promised him she would in a barely audible voice. Walking toward the circle they had created, she accepted the hug from Xander and the oddly reassuring bright grin and thumbs up from Anya.

As Willow entered the necessary trance to track down Buffy's spirit, Buffybot was not far from them on patrol. It had been an uneventful night until she caught sight of a large group of demons vandalizing a storefront. Knowing it could simply be a case of a well-meaning demon not understanding the finer aspects of personal property, she informed him that the DVD player that he had just picked up wasn't his and he needed to put it back. She kept her voice firm and authoritative so he would know that it was not a suggestion.

He replied with a screech that seemed to be designed to call the attention of the other demons to her. Soon, she was surrounded by the group. The largest of them, most probably the leader, spoke to her. Banter was part of her programing and so she attempted to implement it. However, he quickly injured her, requiring her to locate Willow so she could be repaired. Hopefully her friend would understand why she had to intrude upon their evening and would be able to repair her soon enough to deal with the pack of demons that followed in her wake.

It didn't take long to find the tower where Willow and the others currently were. Unfortunately, the demons were on motorcycles and able to keep up with her. No sooner had she yelled to Willow that she needed service than the gang appeared behind her. She attempted to disengage from the fight, but there were a large number of demons and they continued to attack. Her friends were greatly outnumbered and were therefore unable to help her. She could not see a way out of the situation.

Perhaps if her friends had been equipped with weapons, the fight would have lasted much longer. However, in a short amount of time, the demons had them all captured and kneeling together. Buffybot found herself circled by four motorcyclists with a chain wrapped around each limb. She was sure that, were she able to feel fear, now would be the time she would. As it was, she chose to mute out the demon leader's speech and concentrate on her friends. Perhaps, if she somehow were to survive this attempted destruction, her memory banks would be all that was left of them. As her focus came to Willow, kneeling in a circle she saw the witch begin to come out of her trance.

Willow slowly became aware of the world around her. It was much louder than when she had left it; disturbingly so. She was extremely confused by the large number of demons, but that was quickly overridden by the sight of Spike, Tara, Giles, Anya, and Xander all being held captive. Looking around, she caught sight of the Buffybot gazing at her with an almost serene expression, highly at odds with the chains wrapped around her. Just as Willow registered what was about to happen, a gunshot went off and then the bot was torn apart.

Grief and rage tore through her, her heart unable to tell the difference between the death of her best friend and the destruction of a robot. A wordless scream ripped from her throat, the precursor to a wave of magic that incinerated half the demons yet left her friends untouched. Willow was so focused on the gang leader that she didn't feel it as she began to rise into the air. She took a deep breath and let out a scream that set fire to those demons left who hadn't already run. The leader remained and, with a snarl, stalked towards Willow. With a growl that barely sounded human, she pushed forward her hands as if digging into his ribcage from a distance. The demon stopped in obvious pain.

"And now you die."

Willow followed her words up by ripping her hands out away from each other and the demon in front of her was brutally torn in half. In the next breath, Willow, spent, fell to the ground. Within seconds Spike was by her side, pushing the hair out of her face and asking if she was okay. Before she could answer, Tara's arms were wrapped around her in a crushing embrace and Spike straightened up to stand beside them as Tara pulled back to look at her.

"Oh, baby! You're bleeding. We need to get you healed."

Limping toward them, half supported by Anya, Xander said "Not hating that last minute save, Wills."

With a pained grimace, Willow looked up at Spike. "We got lucky."

Looking around at their battered friends with a disbelieving laugh, Xander asked, "How is this lucky?"

Spike answered, though his eyes remained on Willow. "Because we're alive and the demons that Willow didn't manage to kill ran away. Those were Hellions. They go after vulnerable places. They obviously knew there was no slayer protecting the Hellmouth. The next time whoever comes might not run away.

With pained grunts and a lot of help from both Tara and Spike, Willow made it to her feet. Looking around at her battered friends and girlfriend, her eyes finally landed back on Spike.

"We need the Slayer."

#btvs fanfiction #spike #rupert giles #willow rosenberg #buffybot #tonya's fanfic #tonya's fanfic:atsbtvs #and yes we say goodbye to buffybot #though i would have loved writing more from her pov #story:hellmouth chronicles #series:the world doesn't end

0 notes