#recovery can be a beautiful thing but only if you know the grotesque is beautiful | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cyanidelacedvodka · 3 years

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You wanna know how insidious EDs and body dysmorphia are?

I'm in full support of the body positivity movement -- every person is deserving of love and respect no matter what they look like; no body is ugly.

Except.

I can't apply it to myself. No matter how hard I try, no matter what helpful tips and strategies I use from pro-recovery blogs and articles and websites, nothing changes the fact that when I look in the mirror, I feel hideous.

I've been trying so hard. Trying for years. There are brief moments I look in the mirror and think "I look okay" when I really try, when I'm buzzed from alcohol, when I get a haircut or dye it. But I don't ever look in the mirror and think "damn, I'm good-looking!" I don't think I look attractive. I don't even think I look average. Every time I stare at that goddamn slab of glass in front of me, I hate the person I see. I feel so detached from them, so tired of their face and body. The slightest exertion makes my face go red and I look like every caricature of that gross, fat, sweaty conservative white man that screams about the liberals destroying our moral foundations or whatever. I look down and all I see is stubby, stretched skin and a gut that hangs out so far that I have to lift it out of the way when I shave around my pubic area. The flaky redness from my eczema that makes me look like I have some dirty disease. The way my hair sticks out when I get too humid; the double chin; the red spots from irritated skin; all the stubble everywhere; every time I look at my reflection all I see is a fat, ugly, disgusting creature.

And it's only me.

I have friends that weigh more than me, and when I say they're hot, I'm not even being a "performative ally supporter" -- they're attractive. I find a lot of bodies of a lot of sizes attractive because they are! Even for the people I don't personally find attractive, I don't look at them and think "they should lose weight"; I don't hold this standard to anyone else. I actively encourage people around me that voice self-consciousness about their bodies to embrace and love their forms.

But I cannot, for the life of me, find myself appealing in the slightest. When people express interest in me I never think it's because of my looks -- it's my personality (the outer, public one anyway). It's my interests. It's how I write or how I talk. It's how I dress. But it's not that my body looks good. When anyone says they think I look physically attractive, I don't believe it. It just sounds like they're giving me pity compliments because they know how appalling I look -- they can literally see it -- and want to boost my self-esteem. It never works. I never believe them. And the moment they begin pointing out what they find attractive, I begin to silently list everything I hate about those areas, how much I hate them, how much I want them to change. It never makes it better; oftentimes, it makes my whole disposition worse. There's no winning.

I would never be so critical of anyone else the way I am with myself. Even if their parts looked identical to mine. On them, it looks good. On me, it looks horrific. I feel permanently disfigured, subhuman rot.

My ED makes this feel less hopeless though. It's proof I can change my body. It's proof I can see in numbers on a scale. It's a goal -- however unrealistic it may be -- that I can strive for, with the promise that once I reach it, I can look in the mirror and finally, finally feel attractive. It's become my maladaptive coping mechanism for the deep-seated self-hatred I feel: I may be grotesque now, but I can change my body -- I can change myself, and finally not despise the person staring back at me. I know when, if, I ever reach that goal, there's a good chance that won't actually change, but the rush of excitement, of pride when I step on the scale and see the number lower than before is addictive. I don't think I've ever felt so positive about myself in years. I can't even recall I time I believed I looked good. Perhaps I never will -- perhaps I'll die never having changed the idea that I'm ugly. But this thing, it's the only thing that's given me hope that maybe I can like myself one day. After all, it makes me proud of myself when seeing the empirical results from it -- if it can make me proud of myself, who's to say it couldn't get me to love myself someday?

And those around me only solidify this belief. The number of compliments I get commenting on how I've lost weight, how I've slimmed down, how I look more masculine with the weight loss. Even my doctors comment in a positive manner about my weight loss. And it may seem that I hold other people's opinions in high regard -- but the truth is, those compliments, those positive comments? They only become believable to me whenever I see that change myself. They only seem genuine when I start to see a difference. It's a confirmation bias.

Even with the progress we've seen in body positivity (something that we should continue to work on improving), my self-view has not changed. In fact, it seems to have gotten worse over time. I don't look at plus-sized models and think "they look like me" -- I see plus-sized models and think "how do they look so good with the same features as me, and yet I look absolutely gross?" At this point, I feel like I could meet someone that looks identical to me, and see them as someone beautiful, someone who should love their body because there's nothing wrong with it -- it's not any specific trait or quality I find ugly. It's just... me. I don't know why, but it's just me.

The way psychological illness impacts the way we view ourselves is... terrifying, because there's no good explanation for why I hate myself so much. I just do. And I don't know if that will ever change.

#body dysmorphia #body dysmorphic disorder #bdd #eating disoder thoughts #disordered eating #ed vent

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belit0 · 3 years

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Okay hear me out something really really and really dark with indra 🤭 Like you “cheating on him” ( Reader didn’t probally just some weirdo mailman arriving at theyre mountain home asking for stuff and the reader lets him and somehow they make it into the bedroom?? 😭) and indra comes in and it just becomes really dark

"something really really and really dark with Indra..."

My brain didn't need much more to create something completely bizarre and sickening.

TW: Non-con, kidnapping, blood, s3x with a dead man lmao.

The night was short, too short for your liking. You always get this feeling when Indra is absent when his presence is so far away he is not even perceptible in the scope of your reach.

If your man is with you, you know when the sun goes down the torture begins. Upon meeting him, you never expected such a handsome countenance could carry so much evil inside. And although he claims to want you, at this point you understand all he wants is absolute possession over you, he is not interested in pursuing your love or seeking your adoration.

But of course, whoever fell into the clutches of such a beast, and to make matters worse, voluntarily as you had done, had no way to escape. Who would dare to face the mighty Otsutsuki? He who would make people run in dismay at the mere sound of his name.

Trapped in the depths of an isolated forest, you had given up any hope of ever walking the earth freely years ago. There was no way to evade the surveillance of your partner, who was everywhere with the secrecy of a feline.

If you had the courage to try to run, to scream for help, what awaited on feeling his hands around your neck was even worse than death. He always got what he desired, and the only thing he had craved was you.

It took several frustrating attempts to free yourself that led you to be brutally clamored by him on the forest floor, while his grip left bruises on any part that had contact with your skin. The scene ended grotesquely, as he carried you back home as if nothing had happened. Your bloody form, with clothes torn off and a few bones, were broken by Indra's violence, lay fainting on his arms, time after time.

Eventually, you understood that there would be no point with such an approach when in your last try it all got too much and he decided to break both of your wrists to make you stop resisting. The recovery was long, and when you were back to normal, you decided to succumb to being used every night rather than savaged that way.

But now, as you sat looking out the window, you thought to yourself. Indra had left on a trip weeks ago, and as usual, it was unclear where he was heading. Escaping would be imprudent, for perhaps it was all a test, a made-up situation to see how you would react to such a prolonged absence.

Forgetting the matter, you got up to the kitchen when a loud noise on the outside caught your attention. Resuming your previous position, you watched as a man with long black hair fell to his knees a few feet from the door, dropping to the ground and barely holding himself up with his hands.

There it is, Indra's damned testing.

Rushing away from the window and leaning your back against the wall, you gasped for breath, trying to calm yourself. As sorry as you were for that human being, you knew that your partner would appear at any second and cruelly end his life. He was simply trying to make you take a false step, tempting your big heart and your ample generosity.

Minutes that felt like an eternity passed, as the pleas for help grew lighter and lighter and the volume diminished.

No one was attacking.

The man continued to kneel, trying to reach the house.

Unable to endure, you decided to betray your preemptive alarms and ran out of the house. This person was severely wounded, unable to move or walk on his own.

A sense of security assaulted you as you helped him in and laid him down on your bed, while you analyzed the wounds and the origin of the blood.

No one was attacking!

It was a tough job to put the man's battered body to rights, but after extensive treatment of his wounds, he was no longer in danger and regained his breath, still lying on Indra's pillow.

And with that, the man grabbed you by the nape of your neck and leaned you over him, causing the lips of the two of you to gently meet. It wasn't like Indra's touches, it wasn't possessive or unwanted, it was romantic, gentle, warm, and beautiful.

"You saved my life and I don't even know your name..."

"No need to exaggerate, gentleman. Had I left you there, you probably would have woken up after a good few minutes, I simply relieved the pain. As for my name... I regret to say that I cannot reveal it."

"A beautiful mystery... in that case, there's no need to know mine either."

The temperature rose, not taking long to exchange tongues, and avoiding to climb on top of him because of the state of his poor body, you lay down on your side of the bed, where Indra had taken you countless times.

Not wanting to let go, you simply let him handle the moment.

After a slight hesitation, he pulled away and looked into your eyes, asking permission to do it again. Licking your lips, it was you who initiated the action this time.

Hands danced everywhere, and clothes were lost with speed. He had you mount him, making it clear he could not exert himself too much due to lack of strength. Not wanting to argue against that logic, you sank on his erect length with a moan, while your eyes closed tightly.

You only opened them when you began to feel your orgasm approach, seeking eye contact for more pleasure. But you were disconcerted to see that his gaze was fixed on a corner of the room, to which your back was turned.

A pleased smile graced his features, not even paying attention to you.

"This way is fine, boss?"

Your blood froze in understanding.

Indra's test.

But what you didn't expect was for the man beneath you to suddenly become completely paralyzed, as a muffled THUD rang through the room and the hot liquid splashed your face and chest, as well as your arms.

Your eyes squeezed shut as a kunai was thrust into his forehead, killing him on the spot. A quick instinct assaulted your muscles as you tried to pull the slain man's limb out of you and run, getting away from your partner and trying to save yourself.

Now, this was the worst situation in the world.

There was no way you were going to pull through this.

But a huge, strong hand grabbed your hair as he noticed your intentions, pulling you down on the man's body and extracting the murder weapon with the other hand.

Tears began to stream down your cheeks as your hands closed over his wrist, futilely trying to make him let go of your hair.

"Unsightly..."

"Disgusting..."

"It only took you a second of my absence to jump on a bastard's cock. I knew you were an insufferable fucker from the way you cry and beg for my touches, but now I see it's your natural way of acting...you're just a whore, aren't you?"

It has been a long time since you realized how your rejections towards his actions were perceived and qualified as wanting, where Indra's reality was completely distorted.

"I...N-N-N..."

You can't get your tongue to move properly to outline his name, trying to defend yourself somehow. Ironic, for that heated muscle had danced shamelessly seconds ago across the man's lips lying beneath you.

"Shut your ungrateful mouth you rotten filthy bitch."

Your face is pressing against the man's neck, being held still by Indra. The blood dripping from the mortal wound on that person's forehead oozed down your features, mingling with your tears.

"Is this what you wanted? It takes a worm-like him to make you realize who you belong to? A damn misfortune that cute little cunt of yours has been desecrated in such a manner."

And as your breathing continued to heave and your body was convulsing in revulsion because the murdered man's limb continued inside you, you didn't notice Indra's weight on your back until it was too late.

"I allowed this hole to remain virgin waiting to be taken when my first son was inside you... The notion of fucking you along with my offspring was wonderful, but as you won't outlive this, I'll give myself the treat I've been depriving of."

You can feel the tip of his cock exert pressure on your ass, and even as a dead man lies beneath you both, filling your pussy, Indra has no trouble getting fully hard and forcing his way into you.

Holding your neck with both hands, his chest is pressed against your back as his waist slams viciously over your form, making you cry out in pain and getting halting pleas for mercy from your lips.

Everything is a nightmare.

Indra is a nightmare.

And even with the dark picture in that room, with your face smeared in The Otsutsuki's latest victim's blood, you hear his breathing pick up pace, grunts coming from deep in his throat as his dick mercilessly works your tight channel.

The man's length beneath your body lost its rigidity, uselessly stuffing you.

You have no idea how much time elapsed in that assault, for your consciousness shut down a few times and you were forcibly awakened by his slapping.

Eventually, his seed mixes with the blood coming from your not-so-virgin opening. Beastly sounds are heard from behind you as your eyes close in defeat, tears continue to fall unchecked.

And suddenly the last sensation you experience in your life is that of such abuse.

Accompanied by the sharp cold metal teeth of the kunai that slits your throat and robs you of your last breath.

#otsutsuki indra x reader #indra otsutsuki #otsutsuki indra #naruto shippuden #naruto imagines #naruto x reader #indra x reader #indra otsutsuki x reader #indra scenario #indra imagines

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imjustthemechanic · 3 years

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The Price of a Soul

Part 1/? - Agent Russel Part 2/? - The Letter Part 3/? - Miss Lake Part 4/? - The Stewardess Part 5/? - An Assassination Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - Face to Face Part 8/? - Deals, Details, and Other Devils Part 9/? - Baggage Part 10/? - Private Funding Part 11/? - Just Passing Through Part 12/? - Party of Four Part 13/? - Resolute Part 14/? - The Wreck Part 15/? - Body Snatchers Part 16/? - Out of the Frying Pan Part 17/? - A Miracle Part 18/? - A Matter of Circumstance Part 19/? - Nome

Somebody probably should have warned Howard.

Peggy felt a need to wash her face again before she went back to the infirmary to see how Steve was getting along. She didn’t doubt he’d be just fine, as he always was, but there was a part of her that really needed to see for herself. Like Howard wanting to stay at the crash site, it would be a while before she felt sure he wouldn’t simply vanish if she turned her back.

She stood in front of the mirror and tried to fix her hair a little, but in the end decided that was a lost cause. It had been days since she’d been able to wash up properly, and while the redness and swelling from Kay’s chemical spray had gone down, the windburn of the long, cold helicopter flight was still very visible, as were the effects of her recent bout of tears. She had no fresh clothes to put on, and no makeup to cover anything. She looked grotesque.

So of course when she sat down by Steve’s bedside, he smiled at her and said, “you look beautiful.”

“I do not!” she snorted, “and I ought to thump you one for such a lie!”

“You can’t thump me, I’m a sick man!” Steve protested, and wiggled down under the covers trying to look pathetic. It failed, of course. He’d been sitting up and eating when Peggy entered the room.

“You’re as well as you’ve ever been in your life, Steve Rogers,” said Peggy, “and I believe the doctors will take my side on that!”

One of said doctors – sporting a picturesque black eye from the earlier fight – looked up from a clipboard. “I wouldn’t say that,” he said, “but he’s well on his way to recovery. Amazing.” He shook his head. “Never seen anything like it.”

“I hear that a lot,” said Steve, but his smile was gone now. “It’s really been three years?” he asked Peggy.

She nodded. “Yes, darling. We didn’t realize you’d gone so far north.”

“Huh.” He looked away. “I can’t believe you kept looking for me that long.”

Peggy’s insides twisted. “Well… we didn’t, honestly. Schmidt was dead and Hitler shot himself just a few days later, but there was still the Pacific theatre, and…” She swallowed. “Howard found the cube and we locked that away, but after that the army wouldn’t fund the search anymore.”

“Oh,” said Steve.

She grabbed his hand. “If we’d known you were alive, we would never have let it go that long,” she promised… though that probably didn’t reassure him. He must be thinking what she had, wondering if he might have had to wait centuries or millennia. At least he hadn’t heard Kay tell Peggy that seventy years would have been more than long enough. “I’m so sorry, Steve, but… well, we thought you were dead. After a few weeks in the arctic…” They’d been certain that even Steve must have perished, if he hadn’t been killed instantly in the crash.

“Right, right.” He nodded, and brought a hand up to her cheek. “Don’t apologize, Peggy, it’s… you were right, I should have given you my position. I saw the ground coming and I… at the last minute there…” He swallowed hard.

Peggy shut her eyes as tears threatened to overflow again, and wrapped both her hands around his to squeeze it tight. Nobody could have foreseen this. Nobody but a woman to whom it was already the long-ago past.

“Did you ever find him?” Steve asked. “I mean… Bucky? Or…”

She knew if she opened her eyes she’d find him looking right into them… and she also knew they’d be full of desperate hope even as he already knew what the answer would be. “I’m afraid not. The valleys there are impassable most of the year…”

“The Russians found him,” said Kay.

Peggy hadn’t even realized she’d entered the room, but when she looked up, she found Kay standing at the end of Steve’s bed. Her blonde hair was askew and flattened by her hat, and her face, too, was pink and puffy from crying, but she still looked better than Peggy did.

“They were in the area at the time,” she added. “They knew HYDRA had a route through there and they were looking for anything that might have fallen from the trains. They didn’t know who he was, but they found him and took him back with them. The dead HYDRA men, too.”

Steve nodded. “That’s good… I’m glad somebody took care of him.”

“It’s not quite as simple as that,” said Kay, “but I’ll tell you more when you’re feeling better.” She turned around, and walked out of the room.

Steve sat up a little, as if he planned to get up and follow her, but Peggy and the doctor both took hold of him and gently pushed him back down onto the bed.

“Steve, don’t, she won’t tell you anything until she’s ready,” Peggy said.

“Captain Rogers,” the doctor said at the same time, “you need to recover your strength.”

“I feel fine!” Steve protested, but he must have been tired, because he lay back down and rested his head on the pillow. “Who is she?” he asked Peggy.

“I… I’m not entirely sure,” Peggy replied. “I know she’s Russian. She’s told me a story about her past but I don’t know whether to believe it. She did know where to find you, though.” Kay didn’t seem to be an enemy, but Peggy still wasn’t sure she really counted as an ally, either. She definitely wasn’t a friend, though, there was no question about that.

Steve nodded. “If she can tell us where his grave is…”

“I don’t know if that will be possible,” Peggy warned. “The relationship between the US and the USSR has deteriorated a bit.”

She wondered if she should have phrased it that way. Would Steve wonder if other relationships might have deteriorated? He now knew how long he’d been gone…

His thoughts must have been tending in that general direction, because the next thing he said was, “I know I’m late… but is there any chance we could still make that dance?”

Peggy ducked her head as if to hide a blush – but really to hide the tears that were welling up again. “I’ll see what I can do,” she promised. But even that was a lie, wasn’t it? How could she have that long-delayed dance with Steve when she’d found somebody else? Daniel wouldn’t begrudge her one dance, but would he believe her if she promised it would only be one dance?

She couldn’t tell Steve about Daniel yet. Not when he’d only just awakened and had so many other things to catch up on, but the longer she waited the harder it would be.

The Valiant had to return to its normal route patrolling the arctic ocean, so a couple of days later, when the doctors were satisfied that Steve wasn’t about to suddenly collapse, he, Masters, Peggy, and Kay were loaded into a small plane to take them to Nome, Alaska. The crew of the carrier turned out in their dress uniforms with a band playing to send them off, and somebody had made a Welcome Back Captain America banner to hang from the ship’s superstructure. Steve smiled awkwardly and waved to them as he climbed into the plane.

“Get used to it,” Peggy murmured to him. “I imagine there’ll be a very similar reception waiting for you when we reach the mainland.”

“Oh, several of them,” Kay agreed. “You’re going to have to make a cross-country tour.”

“Great, something to look forward to,” said Steve sarcastically.

“You’ve never liked being fussed over,” she observed.

“When I was little it usually meant they thought I was going to die,” Steve told her.

The plane took off into a clear blue arctic sky, heading southwest over Alaska to get to the town of Nome. Steve sat looking out the window, but he kept his hand in hers, and she couldn’t help looking at him. The cuts and bruises she’d helped him with after the train were healing quickly, as they always did. In a couple more days they’d be gone. There was already no trace to show he’d spent three years frozen in the sea ice. Physically as well as mentally, he hadn’t aged a day.

Peggy had been a year younger than him when he’d left. She wondered if she would now be considered two years older.

He glanced back and noticed her staring, and she quickly turned her head. “Sorry,” Peggy said. “I just… can’t quite believe you’re real.”

One of the things they hadn’t been sure of, one of the things Erskine had never been able to test, was the question of whether somebody who’d had the serum would age normally. Not enough time had passed to see whether Steve was getting older, but the fact that he’d survived this latest ordeal made it seem unlikely that time could touch him. What would happen if in twenty years, Peggy had gotten older and Steve had not?

During the war they’d both been ready to deal with that as it came. Steve probably still was. Peggy wasn’t so sure.

“What about you?” she asked, trying to distract herself from that uncomfortable thought and the problems surrounding it. “What are you looking at out there?”

“Nothing, exactly,” he said. “I’m just… thinking.”

“About what?” Peggy asked.

“About what Buck would have said if he were here. He, uh… he would have told me I’m an idiot,” Steve said with an embarrassed smile. “He would have told me that if I’d given it a few more days I would have realized I didn’t want to die, and he’d be right. In the last few seconds when I knew the water was coming in, I tried to get out. But I couldn’t. He wouldn’t have wanted me to die.”

“I could have told you that,” said Peggy.

“I’m surprised you haven’t yet,” said Kay from the seat behind them.

“I was saving it for when the initial joy wore off,” Peggy replied. “Then I was going to give him a real earful.”

Kay giggled, but Peggy had to suppress a shudder. His last thought being that he didn’t want to die after all, only for him to wake up and find he was alive but three years had gone by without him… that had to be enough of a shock. Three years, however, was merely a hiatus – seventy was a lifetime. She rearranged her fingers, lacing them through his, and wished Kay hadn’t painted quite so vivid a picture of it.

There was no fanfare waiting for them in Nome, to Steve’s obvious relief. When they landed on the little airstrip, there was nobody there to meet them but a few more military men, and Howard and Jason. The ramp came down, and Kay was the first off the plane, followed by Peggy and Steve. Howard was so happy to see any of them that he ran up to give Kay a hug.

“What do they feed you Russian girls to make you indestructible?” he asked.

“Various experimental versions of the super-soldier serum,” Kay replied.

Howard blinked and then held her out at arm’s length again to examine her facial expression. She remained entirely deadpan, but after a moment he decided she was joking, and laughed awkwardly before turning to hug Peggy.

“I think you’re just too stubborn to die,” he said.

“Damned right,” Peggy agreed. “I have far too much to do.”

He responded with a more genuine laugh and hugged her again, while Jason happily greeted Kay. Steve had stood back for this, but then came up to take his turn saying hello to Howard, on the assumption that his friend was expecting him.

Peggy had assumed this as well. She hadn’t told Jason that Steve was alive, but Captain Lewis must have radioed ahead to have somebody there to meet them, and would have surely told that person. And since Peggy had told Lewis that Howard and Jason would be there as well, it seemed reasonable to her that one of the military men would have spoken to them.

Evidently this was not true. Steve stepped forward with a smile on his face, clearly expecting a hug of his own, and said, “Howard! Good to see you!” But instead of returning the greeting, Howard stopped cold. The colour drained from his face, and then his legs simply folded up underneath him. If Peggy hadn’t caught him, he would have fallen face-first onto the asphalt.

“Is he okay?” one of the soldiers asked.

Peggy lay him down gently and took his pulse. “He’s out cold,” she said. “I think he’ll be fine. Does anyone have any smelling salts?”

One of the soldiers went to fetch some from the first aid kit on the airplane, while Steve and Peggy carried Howard’s unconscious body into a car so they could lie him down comfortably. Once that was done, Steve stepped back and looked at Jason, somewhat worried about what his reaction might be.

“Captain,” said Jason. “Dr. Jason Wilkes. I work for Stark Industries. I saw you once or twice during the war, but we never actually met.”

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Wilkes,” said Steve. They shook hands.

The smelling salts brought Howard around, gagging. “What happened?” he groaned. “Peg? I thought I saw…”

“You did,” Peggy told him. “Steve’s alive. He’s here.”

Howard sat up a bit to see Steve looking over Peggy’s shoulder, and after a moment in which he could only sit there with his mouth hanging open, he began to grin. “Well, son of a gun!”

#fanfic #agent carter #captain america #peggy carter #steve rogers #steggy #fix it fic

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crayonurchin · 3 years

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.Woo a rare piece of writing!

The story of how my Goblin found her God

Grit had imbedded deep into the skin of her cheek, the sting only flaring to life after she lifted her head from the ground. Every motion was slow, the weight of each limb lifted like a crucifix. All at once, memories of her situation flooded back, and she reached her fingers shakily to her throat.

It wasn’t neat, but the stitching held firm, the way her neck held together at the cut uncomfortably familiar to lips pressed shut.

Wakley knew the protocol for recovery after significant blood loss, and was forever scolding her clanmates for not following it, but now in their place she understood their frustrations just a little more. The slow rise, checking for broken bones, the immediate thought of how badly she wanted a drink. Could she even safely drink with her wound? If it was somebody else she’d sedate them and check to see if the esophagus had sustained damage, but alas, she was alone.

Oh.

Oh no.

Scrambling up with a sudden feverish dread, it took two blackened dizzy spells to finally stand up straight, though the wall remained her crutch. One hand steading her balance, another gripping her midsection to quell the nausea rising inside like a boiling kettle, she edged forward. Head low, steps small, anxiety high. It was just a small walk. One tiny, insignificant walk to the main cave from the ramshackled office she’d spent the last 14 years in. Her little sanctum from a loud and socially strange world, her haven to practice her craft and passion. All of that meaningless. Right now, she just had to reach the main cave and see with her own eyes, prove to her screaming mind, that they were all still-

The world froze around her.

Wakley felt every facet of her body give up but her heart. It was suddenly the coldest cave in the world, with an ocean of weight pressing down on her, holding her still while her heart pumped as if she was giving chase. The faintest, most pitiful exhale left her body.

Blood splattered the walls, leaving behind grotesque silhouettes of those who’d died against them. Bodies littered the floor in a mosaic of death, piled on top of each other as if they were but nothing but fire kindling. Some still clutched their weapons, mighty warriors to the end. But most did not. Most did not carry weapons when they felt safe at home. No. Most lay with the confusion and terror frozen onto their faces, forever held in a perpetual nightmare. The elders. The children. There was no need to check the nursery, she heard no cries.

It took that realisation of just how silent it was to drop Wakley to her knees. Behind the cracked glasses, her eyes widened and widened again, as if trying to see beyond this obvious viel. There was no way they’d killed the whole clan. They couldn’t have- it was just one adventuring party; one elf, one human, one dwarf and one halfling. How could they have slaughtered the entire clan? WHY did they slaughter the entire clan?

Weakly, she turned her gaze to the right. The boulder hiding the hidden hoard lay split in two, scorch marks on its surface. Of course. Treasure. They’d wanted their treasure, and felt within their right to eviscerate the goblins who guarded it.

78 gold pieces and a pocket watch.

Her world had been laid to waste over 78 gold pieces and a pocket watch.

She only realised she’d been screaming when her stitches felt tight, but couldn’t stop. Hot tears ran down her cheeks as she gripped the fabric of her tunic, trying to wrench the breaking heart from her chest before it killed her. The wailed and beat her fist to the floor, cursing the world. A world where now, the only person who knew who she was, was herself.

In the throws of sorrow and grief unknown to most, hands took her own. She shrieked, falling backwards and scrambling away, frantically looking for the stranger. Was it the party, not content to leave a single survivor? A clanmate, delighted at her presence?

No. She was still alone, the terrified breathing echoing off of hollow walls.

Again, as she slowed her movement, hands up to protect herself, she felt the presence again. Hands, large, gently taking hers in its own. She saw no vision, but heard sorrowful breathing, smelt the scent of dried blood, felt the change in air as someone much larger than yourself stands closeby.

Breath now slowing, tears flowing less freely, Wakley looked up at her invisible companion, and watched red ropes slowly take form. They wrapped around an unseen body, binding them in constricted, painful ways. The ropes snaked down assumed arms, coalescing at the hands. Though she saw no knuckles or fingers, the ropes clearly knotted around the palms, knitting the wrists together like shackles. Still, despite the bonds, they held her with a gentleness she’d never known before.

At last, she stood, the spider web of red rope before her guiding her upwards. Fear still hung beneath the surface, grief in the corners of her eyes. But through the pain sat something new. A tug at her chest. Looking down, nothing was there but blood stains. Yet. Looking at her companion, she knew a rope now bound to him.

“I’m sorry.” Spoke the voice of Ilmater, The Broken God.

Tears thickened his words.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

___

Wakley had grieved before. Being the only doctor in her clan had meant holding a lot of loved ones as they died, but that had been different. They’d had the comfort of a group of friends, loved ones, lovers, people who cared. They’d either died as great warriors, or defenders, or parents, or simply as those who had lived. No comfort could be found in the massacre around her. Each face scorched into the back of her mind as she dragged them towards the pile. It took four days.

Her bag was already packed before she lit the flame. Her tools, her medicines, her scrapbook of preferred medical texts. The precious, beautiful PHD sat corked in a bottle, a spare shirt wrapped protectively around it.

She’d not expected any closure from walking away from an inferno, but knowing she’d never look back ever again made her long for it. Her climb upwards was tough- Wakley had never held strength of any physical kind, always relying on her kin to help her where muscles failed. More than once she simply lay down, weeping, deciding death was more merciful. But she pressed forward, pulled upwards by a tug inside that was growing ever more familiar.

Daylight burned her eyes as she squinted at her new beginning. The difference was upsettingly stark. Soft green grass swayed peacefully in a sweet, springtime breeze. Gentle buzzing insects were heard but not seen, crinkling treetops peppering the air with yellow pollen.

No red.

It would be a long time before she adjusted to walls not being red, she wagered.

Now uptop, Wakley sat on the soil and let herself adjust. She could feel her skin already prickling under the rays of the sun- having never truly left the underground. Again, she would adjust. For all this misery was like tar on her soul, her mind remained ever clear. Grief would not kill her. Sorrow, despair and anger would torture her, but could never kill her. Even things that TRIED to kill her couldn’t seem to kill her. Once more, her fingers gingerly felt the stitching at her neck. Why hadn’t that elf cut deeper? Was it because she was small? Because she wore glasses? Because she begged?

“Whys’ get you nowhere” She thought, pushing off a knee to her feet.

“There’s no reason to try rationalising the actions of others” she said to noone, walking forward.

“And there’s definitely no point wondering what I could have done differently” she confirmed, nodding her head as she found a pathway away from the cave entrance.

“All I can do is use walking time to walk, and resting time to rest.”

Wakley stopped walking.

“...”

Her grip on the bag tightened as everything from her throat down to her stomach felt sour.

“But… But what if I don’t want to?” she whispered, shoulders shivering.

As if waiting by her side for just this question, the red bound hands rested gently at her back. Not pushing her forward, merely letting her know he was there.

“Then you can sit.” The voice remained thick, cracked with winces and hitched, painful breaths.

“Sit and weep and take comfort in your sorrow. You’ve earned the right to cry.”

Wakley wasn’t afraid. Rather, the more he spoke, the more she felt the knotted threat of thoughts in her mind untangle. None stopped being painful, but previously jumbled sentences slowly became clear as she listened.

“And once you have wept an ocean, you may weep another. Then-” the unseen hands drifted away, the presence moving silently from her side to her front, and Wakley knew he’d knelt to her level.

“Then, continue to move forward.”

So Wakley moved forward.

#urchin writes #urchin art #dnd #d&d #dungeons and dragons #wakley #cleric #goblin #goblin cleric #tw violence #tw discrimination #ilmater #please ask me to tag #Wakley's my special goblin cleric and PHD wielding surgeon #she's a very happy character in game but -as most characters do #did NOT have a happy beginning to her journe #I always felt bad for the goblins in phandelver who seem to be there just to die

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 4 years

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Imagine:

Reader being intimate with Erik for the first time after being in an abusive relationship.

Y/N had to remind herself that everything was going to be okay.

Erik was here. He was her protector.

Erik would never hurt her.

As she stood in front of her vanity, stroking her hair and running her fingers under her eye to trap the tears, she could say that she finally felt sexy again. The room was candle lit because of the intense thunderstorm, the change in lighting casting shadows of her curvy silhouette across the room. The oval shape of her ruby colored nails dragged down past her collar bones, resting on her protruding cleavage. The high crotch black lace teddy was a gift from Erik. He wanted her to feel desired again; properly. Goosebumps surfaced over her skin that reminded Erik of brown sugar. This was the night. After over four months into the dating phase, Y/N was finally going to have sex with Erik.

When they first met, she hadn’t expected for him to cling to her like he did. She was broken, depressed, seeing a psychiatrist who made her read motivational books and write journals about her recovery from abuse. It hadn’t worked until Erik showed up. Now, Y/N couldn’t live without him. Erik was the constant reminder that her past was really in the past.

When she finally opened up to him about her past abusive relationship with her first ever boyfriend, the only man besides Erik that she’d ever been with, he cried. He cried, then his face morphed into this dark sinister glare.

Listen to me, Y/N, THATS THE LAST TIME a motherfucker puts their hands on you, I will kill anyone who tries to hurt you in anyway. I mean that shit, I swear I’ll put a fucking bullet in their head.

She could remember the glossy appearance from the tears in his eyes, his nostrils flared, skin reddening to a deep russet color and gold caps like fangs. He grabbed both of her hands, squeezing tightly before resting his head on them. From then on out, Erik stayed true to his word.

Back to the intimacy, Y/N shook the memory from her brain, a shy and delicate smile gracing her glossy lips. The sound of the thunder and the smell of the rain lulled her. The only thing missing was Erik...

“Hey, gorgeous.”

He’d been stuck in traffic from work all the way on the other side of town. Now, he was soaking wet, dreads sticking to his forehead and clothes like a second skin.

“Erik,” her voice was like a lullaby.

“What’s all this?” Erik fully enters the room, softly closing the door behind him.

“Here,” Y/N lifts from her seat at her vanity, walking over to Erik. She started taking off his suit jacket, allowing it to drop to the floor with a soft thud. Next, she loosened his tie, her eyes looking up at him, half of her round face shadowed from the luminance of the candles. Before she could fully remove the tie, Erik grabs both of her hands, bringing them to his lips before resting them under his chin.

“Baby...what are you doing?” He actually spoke that in a purposeful hushed tone this time around. The softness of his voice relaxed her.

“I’m undressing you...so we can make love.”

Erik closes his eyes, Y/N’s hand coming up to swipe the dreads away from his forehead. His forehead wrinkled, lips parted because he loved the way her smooth fingers grazed his scalp.

“Baybeee,” she whines.

“What?” He wanted her to tell him what she wanted. He needed her to say it. Erik wanted his woman to take control of the moment.

“Take me...I’m ready,” she stood on her tiptoes, planting a soft kiss to his neck, “Bayyy,”

“You’re ready for me?” He grabbed hold of her face, staring deeply into her oval shaped eyes, “you know what your asking? Right?”

She nods, eyes glossy, “yeah, I know.”

He allowed his forehead to touch hers. Y/N was ready to see what sex with Erik would be like.

“Lay on the bed, let me see you.”

Y/N reluctantly let go, making her way to the bed. She pressed her body into the cotton duvet, waiting for the next move. Waiting was the hardest part. She aches for him. Erik never let his eyes leave hers as he slowly undressed. Y/N saw him naked plenty of times but this was their first time being intimate with one another. They would both see each others nudity with new eyes. He only had his briefs left, he purposely waited to watch her eager eyes regard him. Once he saw that pure lust circle within her light brown orbs, he knew it was time to show her his big dick.

Boxers around his ankles, Y/N takes in a sharp breath, fingers pressed to her lips. He was rather...large...no...fucking extra large. Looking at his dick fully now she wished she’d let him enter before. Mercy. Erik was...everything. A good man with some good dick.

“This what you want tonight?” He stroked it, pulling back on the head of his dick, his slit opening to reveal to her the build up of his pre cum.

“Yes, please.” Y/N sat up in the bed, pulling the straps to her teddy down.

“No, I’ll undress you.”

Letting her hands drop to her sides, Erik walks to her, Y/N laying back to allow him better access. The minute he took those straps to pull down painfully slow, the vision of her body had him biting his lip and grunting.

“So beautiful baby,” he allowed his finger tips to linger over her hardened nipples and belly button, “ so fucking beautiful baby. Thank you.”

Erik takes his hand to hold her head towards him, planting his lips against hers. He sucked on her bottom lip, then he used his tongue to part her lips. Erik took it slow, soft smacking of their lips so sensual. Y/N stopped kissing to breathe better, her teeth grazing her lower lip before letting go. Erik’s thumb rubbed it soothingly before his head began to descend to her heaving chest. The suckling he did to each one had Y/N begging him to fuck her. He gave each nipple a soft suck and a sharp lick. He even massaged them while sucking and licking. Her pussy had a heart beat of its own from how much she enjoyed this.

“Fuck, Erik,” she moaned, “that feels amazing.”

Finally, when she was on the verge of cumming, Erik trails his tender kisses down her belly. It tickled but she loved it. The feeling of his tongue dipping into her belly button had her thrusting her hips. All he did was kiss and lick on her before he got to the real treat. Y/N was so turned on. Her body was electrifying.

“I’m gonna take real good care of you,” Eriks reassurance caused Y/N to tear up.

“I know,” she rubbed his cheek with her knuckle, “go ahead, show me...”

With a lazy smirk, Erik was face to face with her waxed mound. Gently, he closed her thighs, planting kisses on her knee caps all the way down her legs to the tops of her feet. She writhed, chest arched forward and eyes low with longing. The lure of his actions... she was driven to insanity.

“Oh, God, just eat me.”

Her hands were pulling his dreads.

“Patience, let Daddy learn what makes this body tick.”

Y/N let out a rather loud moan from the way Erik’s tongue dragged along her inner thighs. She gripped his dreads again.

“Easy, baby, let me learn...”

He learned a lot. What made her moan, giggle, sigh with pleasure. She was so sensitive to him. That’s good, Erik will be the only man to make her feel like this, like this was her first time but 100 percent better. That’s right, this body was her temple...a temple he would properly explore.

The softness of his plump lips against her outer mound...boy did that have her screaming ooooo. She couldn’t even begin to form the words for how good it felt. He was so close to spreading her phat lips to take a look inside like she was housing the finest treasures in there.

“Y/N...I’m so close to seeing that pussy...so close baby...”

She let out an airy sigh, eyes looking down at Erik as he spread her lips, the sound of her creamy pussy making her skin flush. The look on his face was the look as if he were ready to cum. His dick had to be hitting against the bed from how much it twitched and fattened up with arousal.

“This right here,” Erik shook his head before meeting your eyes. His eyes were warm and affectionate. This caused her to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle a cry. She had never, ever, experienced this. Erik was enamored by her vagina, looking at it the way he did because it was a gift, a precious and sacred part of Y/N that shoulder NEVER be tainted with filth like the man she was with. That grotesque excuse for a man did not deserve to fuck her or touch her or look at her, even speak to her. Erik wanted to kill him. As he stared at the slippery pink of her pussy, engorged clit, tight entrance, he was reminded that Erik needed to be there for her, between her legs and in her life. He loved her.

“If only you could see this...how beautiful it is...your pussy,” his eyes even became glossy, “I promise I will never...”

“Baby, I know,” She strokes his dreads to the side, “just show me, please.”

He had her soul. It was his now. The way he had her legs spread, the way his eyes would bore into hers. The feeling of his lips and tongue tasting all the areas of her pussy. He sampled areas that she didn’t even know she had. Now his fingers were added to the mix, coaxing her into climax. This was going to be the best orgasm. Y/N was yelling his name, crying out for him to keep going.

“Oh my God, it’s right there, I can feel it!!!”

“Yeah? Right there? Let Daddy have it, Y/N. This how you supposed to feel..”

“Yesssss, ohhhh. Her toes pointed to the ceiling.

“Let me have it, baby...”

She shook, her body giving in to the overwhelming intensity of that orgasm. He made her cum with his mouth.

“Let me have it...let me have it...” he continues on and on until she gave him yet another.

“Oh, I love you...I love you so much.” He reminded her.

Y/N needed his lips again. Their bodies were heated and sweaty already.

“Fuck me, Erik.” She whispered into his ear.

“Ugh,” he groaned.

He lifted up, grabbing hold of his dick and rubbing it along her soaking wet folds.

“You hear that? That’s that pussy making noise for me...I can’t wait to show you how you’re supposed to be fucked.”

Erik’s dick split her open. She allowed him to fully enter her, Y/N’s eyes clouded with lust and bewilderment. Erik grabbed the headboard, his head falling forward. He was loosing control. His muscles were painted with candle light and it made Y/N want to kiss and lick him everywhere. This was her man, her protector.

His hips moved like he was dancing slow motion, each time her toes would curl and her nails would drags down his back. Y/N could feel herself getting ready to cum again. She locked eyes with him, mouth falling open each time he would thrust forward hard.

“Harder,” she encourages.

Erik picked up the pace but kept it steady, his hips snapping into hers suddenly each time before stopping. She curled up under him, pussy unable to take the pleasure. This made Erik pull her legs over his shoulders. She had no where to go now. He was going to show her how a man is really supposed to treat her. Tender love and care not manipulation and humiliation.

“Oh, fuckkkk, you’re gonna make me cum,” he had his hands on the back of her thighs now, punishing her pussy. Y/N could only moan, no need for words when Erik damn near took her breath away. There was no other feeling to compare this to. How could anything compare to the way her pussy wrapped around him? How it creamed all over him? She was at a loss. This is exactly what she would be receiving.

“Fuck, Erik, Baby, I can feel you getting thicker,” her pussy was at its widest, “baby, I’m so opened up for you...baybeee, oh gosh, bayyy,”

Erik let her have it all.

“Bay bee, bayyyy, babe,” her quiet tone, the tremble in her fingers on his shoulders, it drove him wild.

“Good fucking pussy, all mines,” Erik buried his face in her neck, his hips snapping into her harder. She squeezed her eyes shut, mouth hanging open for the rest of the ride.

“I’m cumming... oooh, mhmmmmmm, I’m cumming, girl.”

He lifted up, eye brows worried, “Look at you.., look at you letting me take this pussy...fuckkkk!”

He released in her, the tight hold pulling more cum from him. He could collapse right now. Y/N moaned out softly, as Erik finished himself inside of her. Slipping out finally, Erik watched her cum mixed with his drizzle onto the bed sheets. Erik relaxed on top of her, his eyes searching hers.

“Y/N, that was...” He shook his head, grabbing one of her hands to kiss and rub against his cheek, “Baby, that was magical.”

He was so soft and caring. Y/N could finally relax her muscles and calm her nerves.

“I felt it too...that spark,” she kissed the tip of his nose, “You are, amazing and heavy as hell.”

They both share a laugh before Erik pulls Y/N against him, cuddling eachother. She knew they would have sex again but this was what she wanted for them both at the moment.

“You make me feel, wanted...”

“Hey, you are wanted don’t forget that”

#killmonger imagine #killmonger x reader #killmonger fanfiction #black panther killmonger #erik killmonger #nahimjustfeelingit-writes

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recentanimenews · 3 years

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ESSAY: Berserk's Journey of Acceptance Over 30 Years of Fandom

My descent into anime fandom began in the '90s, and just as watching Neon Genesis Evangelion caused my first revelation that cartoons could be art, reading Berserk gave me the same realization about comics. The news of Kentaro Miura’s death, who passed on May 6, has been emotionally complicated for me, as it's the first time a celebrity's death has hit truly close to home. In addition to being the lynchpin for several important personal revelations, Berserk is one of the longest-lasting works I’ve followed and that I must suddenly bid farewell to after existing alongside it for two-thirds of my life.

Berserk is a monolith not only for anime and manga, but also fantasy literature, video games, you name it. It might be one of the single most influential works of the ‘80s — on a level similar to Blade Runner — to a degree where it’s difficult to imagine what the world might look like without it, and the generations of creators the series inspired.

Although not the first, Guts is the prototypical large sword anime boy: Final Fantasy VII's Cloud Strife, Siegfried/Nightmare from Soulcalibur, and Black Clover's Asta are all links in the same chain, with other series like Dark Souls and Claymore taking clear inspiration from Berserk. But even deeper than that, the three-character dynamic between Guts, Griffith, and Casca, the monster designs, the grotesque violence, Miura’s image of hell — all of them can be spotted in countless pieces of media across the globe.

Despite this, it just doesn’t seem like people talk about it very much. For over 20 years, Berserk has stood among the critical pantheon for both anime and manga, but it doesn’t spur conversations in the same way as Neon Genesis Evangelion, Akira, or Dragon Ball Z still do today. Its graphic depictions certainly represent a barrier to entry much higher than even the aforementioned company.

Seeing the internet exude sympathy and fond reminiscing about Berserk was immensely validating and has been my single most therapeutic experience online. Moreso, it reminded me that the fans have always been there. And even looking into it, Berserk is the single best-selling property in the 35-year history of Dark Horse. My feeling is that Berserk just has something about it that reaches deep into you and gets stuck there.

I recall introducing one of my housemates to Berserk a few years ago — a person with all the intelligence and personal drive to both work on cancer research at Stanford while pursuing his own MD and maintaining a level of physical fitness that was frankly unreasonable for the hours that he kept. He was NOT in any way analytical about the media he consumed, but watching him sitting on the floor turning all his considerable willpower and intellect toward delivering an off-the-cuff treatise on how Berserk had so deeply touched him was a sight in itself to behold. His thoughts on the series' portrayal of sex as fundamentally violent leading up to Guts and Casca’s first moment of intimacy in the Golden Age movies was one of the most beautiful sentiments I’d ever heard in reaction to a piece of fiction.

I don’t think I’d ever heard him provide anything but a surface-level take on a piece of media before or since. He was a pretty forthright guy, but the way he just cut into himself and let his feelings pour out onto the floor left me awestruck. The process of reading Berserk can strike emotional chords within you that are tough to untangle. I’ve been writing analysis and experiential pieces related to anime and manga for almost ten years — and interacting with Berserk’s world for almost 30 years — and writing may just be yet another attempt for me to pull my own twisted-up feelings about it apart.

Berserk is one of the most deeply personal works I’ve ever read, both for myself and in my perception of Miura's works. The series' transformation in the past 30 years artistically and thematically is so singular it's difficult to find another work that comes close. The author of Hajime no Ippo, who was among the first to see Berserk as Miura presented him with some early drafts working as his assistant, claimed that the design for Guts and Puck had come from a mess of ideas Miura had been working on since his early school days.

写真は三浦建太郎君が寄稿してくれた鷹村です。今かなり感傷的になっています。思い出話をさせて下さい。僕が初めての週刊連載でスタッフが一人もいなくて困っていたら手伝いにきてくれました。彼が18で僕が19です。某大学の芸術学部の学生で講義明けにスケッチブックを片手に来てくれました。 pic.twitter.com/hT1JCWBTKu

— 森川ジョージ (@WANPOWANWAN) May 20, 2021

Miura claimed two of his big influences were Go Nagai’s Violence Jack and Tetsuo Hara and Buronson’s Fist of the North Star. Miura wears these influences on his sleeve, discovering the early concepts that had percolated in his mind just felt right. The beginning of Berserk, despite its amazing visual power, feels like it sprang from a very juvenile concept: Guts is a hypermasculine lone traveler breaking his body against nightmarish creatures in his single-minded pursuit of revenge, rigidly independent and distrustful of others due to his dark past.

Uncompromising, rugged, independent, a really big sword ... Guts is a romantic ideal of masculinity on a quest to personally serve justice against the one who wronged him. Almost nefarious in the manner in which his character checked these boxes, especially when it came to his grim stoicism, unblinkingly facing his struggle against literal cosmic forces. Never doubting himself, never trusting others, never weeping for what he had lost.

Miura said he sketched out most of the backstory when the manga began publication, so I have to assume the larger strokes of the Golden Arc were pretty well figured out from the outset, but I’m less sure if he had fully realized where he wanted to take the story to where we are now. After the introductory mini-arcs of demon-slaying, Berserk encounters Griffith and the story draws us back to a massive flashback arc. We see the same Guts living as a lone mercenary who Griffith persuades to join the Band of the Hawk to help realize his ambitions of rising above the circumstances of his birth to join the nobility.

We discover the horrific abuses of Guts’ adoptive father and eventually learn that Guts, Griffith, and Casca are all victims of sexual violence. The story develops into a sprawling semi-historical epic featuring politics and war, but the real narrative is in the growing companionship between Guts and the members of the band. Directionless and traumatized by his childhood, Guts slowly finds a purpose helping Griffith realize his dream and the courage to allow others to grow close to him.

Miura mentioned that many Band of the Hawk members were based on his early friend groups. Although he was always sparse with details about his personal life, he has spoken about how many of them referred to themselves as aspiring manga authors and how he felt an intense sense of competition, admitting that among them he may have been the only one seriously working toward that goal, desperately keeping ahead in his perceived race against them. It’s intriguing thinking about how much of this angst may have made it to the pages, as it's almost impossible not to imagine Miura put quite a bit of himself in Guts.

Perhaps this is why it feels so real and makes The Eclipse — the quintessential anime betrayal at the hands of Griffith — all the more heartbreaking. The raw violence and macabre imagery certainly helped. While Miura owed Hellraiser’s Cenobites much in the designs of the God Hand, his macabre portrayal of the Band of the Hawk’s eradication within the literal bowels of hell, the massive hand, the black sun, the Skull Knight, and even Miura’s page compositions have been endlessly referenced, copied, and outright plagiarized since.

The events were tragic in any context and I have heard many deeply personal experiences others drew from The Eclipse sympathizing with Guts, Casca, or even Griffith’s spiral driven by his perceived rejection by Guts. Mine were most closely aligned with the tragedy of Guts having overcome such painful circumstances to not only reject his own self enforced solitude, but to fearlessly express his affection for his loved ones.

The Golden Age was a methodical destruction of Guts’ self-destructive methods of preservation ruined in a single selfish act by his most trusted friend, leaving him once again alone and afraid of growing close to those around him. It ripped the romance of Guts’ mission and eventually took the story down a course I never expected. Berserk wasn’t a story of revenge but one of recovery.

Guess that’s enough beating around the bush, as I should talk about how this shift affected me personally. When I was young, when I began reading Berserk I found Guts’ unflagging stoicism to be really cool, not just aesthetically but in how I understood guys were supposed to be. I was slow to make friends during school and my rapidly gentrifying neighborhood had my friends' parents moving away faster than I could find new ones. At some point I think I became too afraid of putting myself out there anymore, risking rejection when even acceptance was so fleeting. It began to feel easier just to resign myself to solitude and pretend my circumstances were beyond my own power to correct.

Unfortunately, I became the stereotypical kid who ate alone during lunch break. Under the invisible expectations demanding I not display weakness, my loneliness was compounded by shame for feeling loneliness. My only recourse was to reveal none of those feelings and pretend the whole thing didn't bother me at all. Needless to say my attempts to cope probably fooled no one and only made things even worse, but I really didn’t know of any better way to handle my situation. I felt bad, I felt even worse about feeling bad and had been provided with zero tools to cope, much less even admit that I had a problem at all.

The arcs following the Golden Age completely changed my perspective. Guts had tragically, yet understandably, cut himself off from others to save himself from experiencing that trauma again and, in effect, denied himself any opportunity to allow himself to be happy again. As he began to meet other characters that attached themselves to him, between Rickert and Erica spending months waiting worried for his return, and even the slimmest hope to rescuing Casca began to seed itself into the story, I could only see Guts as a fool pursuing a grim and hopeless task rather than appreciating everything that he had managed to hold onto.

The same attributes that made Guts so compelling in the opening chapters were revealed as his true enemy. Griffith had committed an unforgivable act but Guts’ journey for revenge was one of self-inflicted pain and fear. The romanticism was gone.

Farnese’s inclusion in the Conviction arc was a revelation. Among the many brilliant aspects of her character, I identified with her simply for how she acted as a stand-in for myself as the reader: Plagued by self-doubt and fear, desperate to maintain her own stoic and uncompromising image, and resentful of her place in the world. She sees Guts’ fearlessness in the face of cosmic horror and believes she might be able to learn his confidence.

But in following Guts, Farnese instead finds a teacher in Casca. In taking care of her, Farnese develops a connection and is able to experience genuine sympathy that develops into a sense of responsibility. Caring for Casca allows Farnese to develop the courage she was lacking not out of reckless self-abandon but compassion.

I can’t exactly credit Berserk with turning my life around, but I feel that it genuinely helped crystallize within me a sense of growing doubts about my maladjusted high school days. My growing awareness of Guts' undeniable role in his own suffering forced me to admit my own role in mine and created a determination to take action to fix it rather than pretending enough stoicism might actually result in some sort of solution.

I visited the Berserk subreddit from time to time and always enjoyed the group's penchant for referring to all the members of the board as “fellow strugglers,” owing both to Skull Knight’s label for Guts and their own tongue-in-cheek humor at waiting through extended hiatuses. Only in retrospect did it feel truly fitting to me. Trying to avoid the pitfalls of Guts’ path is a constant struggle. Today I’m blessed with many good friends but still feel primal pangs of fear holding me back nearly every time I meet someone, the idea of telling others how much they mean to me or even sharing my thoughts and feelings about something I care about deeply as if each action will expose me to attack.

It’s taken time to pull myself away from the behaviors that were so deeply ingrained and it’s a journey where I’m not sure the work will ever be truly done, but witnessing Guts’ own slow progress has been a constant source of reassurance. My sense of admiration for Miura’s epic tale of a man allowing himself to let go after suffering such devastating circumstances brought my own humble problems and their way out into focus.

Over the years I, and many others, have been forced to come to terms with the fact that Berserk would likely never finish. The pattern of long, unexplained hiatuses and the solemn recognition that any of them could be the last is a familiar one. The double-edged sword of manga largely being works created by a single individual is that there is rarely anyone in a position to pick up the torch when the creator calls it quits. Takehiko Inoue’s Vagabond, Ai Yazawa’s Nana, and likely Yoshihiro Togashi’s Hunter X Hunter all frozen in indefinite hiatus, the publishers respectfully holding the door open should the creators ever decide to return, leaving it in a liminal space with no sense of conclusion for the fans except what we can make for ourselves.

The reason for Miura’s hiatuses was unclear. Fans liked to joke that he would take long breaks to play The Idolmaster, but Miura was also infamous for taking “breaks” spent minutely illustrating panels to his exacting artistic standard, creating a tumultuous release schedule during the wars featuring thousands of tiny soldiers all dressed in period-appropriate armor. If his health was becoming an issue, it’s uncommon that news would be shared with fans for most authors, much less one as private as Miura.

Even without delays, the story Miura was building just seemed to be getting too big. The scale continued to grow, his narrative ambition swelling even faster after 20 years of publication, the depth and breadth of his universe constantly expanding. The fan-dubbed “Millennium Falcon Arc” was massive, changing the landscape of Berserk from a low fantasy plagued by roaming demons to a high fantasy where godlike beings of sanity-defying size battled for control of the world. How could Guts even meet Griffith again? What might Casca want to do when her sanity returned? What are the origins of the Skull Knight? And would he do battle with the God Hand? There was too much left to happen and Miura’s art only grew more and more elaborate. It would take decades to resolve all this.

But it didn’t need to. I imagine we’ll never get a precise picture of the final years of Miura’s life leading up to his tragic passing. In the final chapters he released, it felt as if he had directed the story to some conclusion. The unfinished Fantasia arc finds Guts and his newfound band finding a way to finally restore Casca’s sanity and — although there is still unmistakably a boundary separating them — both seem resolute in finding a way to mend their shared wounds together.

One of the final chapters features Guts drinking around the campfire with the two other men of his group, Serpico and Roderick, as he entrusts the recovery of Casca to Schierke and Farnese. It's a scene that, in the original Band of the Hawk, would have found Guts brooding as his fellows engage in bluster. The tone of this conversation, however, is completely different. The three commiserate over how much has changed and the strength each has found in the companionship of the others. After everything that has happened, Guts declares that he is grateful.

The suicidal dedication to his quest for vengeance and dispassionate pragmatism that defined Guts in the earliest chapters is gone. Although they first appeared to be a source of strength as the Black Swordsman, he has learned that they rose from the fear of losing his friends again, from letting others close enough to harm him, and from having no other purpose without others. Whether or not Guts and Griffith were to ever meet again, Guts has rediscovered the strength to no longer carry his burdens alone.

All that has happened is all there will ever be. We too must be grateful.

Peter Fobian is an Associate Manager of Social Video at Crunchyroll, writer for Anime Academy and Anime in America, and an editor at Anime Feminist. You can follow him on Twitter @PeterFobian.

By: Peter Fobian

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

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windywooshes · 4 years

Text

Zenitsu Agatsuma x (GN)Reader

~*:beloved short cut guide:*~

(Y/N): Name (E/C): Eye color (H/C):Hair color [ i.e. brunette, blonde,...]

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It was harsh and loud when they fell in love with it.

Very loud.

It was crying in pain.

For a moment their throat felt dry and hoarse as if feeling the impact of the high screeching octaves in their own body. It was ear piercing. Never before durring their stay in the Butterfly Estate they have caught that much of a loud voice. It sounded more like a dying animal, if we are honest here...

It took them a lot of courage to inch closer to the pushed open door to the infirmary beds. They couldn't really stand the sight of blood and mutilations of the injured demon slayers. (Y/N) has never really worked with patients before as they were one themself but sometimes, things were critical and there weren't enough Kakushi to lend a hand for Shinobu and the others, so they had to go under the dogs and patch up some of the swordsmen and women. Sometimes, it wouldn't be so bad. Just a broken limb, some cuts. Nothing, what a first–aid kit can't handle. Other times it would look more grotesque and crimson. In those times the view haunted (Y/N) till the late hours, bringing nightmares with them. This time though...it wasn't even half as bad. The (H/C) never saw someone pulling so much drama over a cup of bitter medicine. Was he that sensitive in terms of taste ? They carefully stepped into the room, deciding to aid Aoi with the difficult patient.

„TANJIROOOOooooOooOOOuuu, pLEaSE hElP mE !!! I doN'T WAnT tO dRInK tHIs bITtER medICINe !!!“

“But Zenitsu...you need to get better–„

“I DOn'T cARe !!!“

“Would you stop making so much drama over a darn cup of herb juice ?!“ Oh shoot...never has (Y/N) seen Aoi pulling that kind of furious grimace before. And they'd rather not want to see it again, it was horrifying.

„H–how about I bring you some mochi to eat after you drink the tea? S–so it can wash away the bitter taste...“ the (H/C) voice drifted off and became a bit too silent and soft to hear but the male seemed to have caught every bit of it and shined up in joy and happiness. „Really ? You'd do that ? Waaaaaaah, my herooooOOOoooooo !!!!“ Oh sh*t this is a million yen smile- too precious- needs protection at all costs.

The blonde was about to jump out of the bed like a salmon and tackle them to the floor with a hug, but was held back by the twin tailed girl who just huffed and looked the volunteered nurse dead in the eye. „Then you shall take care of him and keep an eye on his medicine cup. Every day. 3x times !“

They saluted and rushed off to get the treats as quickly as possible. They were freshly made by the three little power girls Sumi, Kiyo, Naho and (Y/N). They got to have a small bite from them before and they tasted amazing ! It made (Y/N) very proud actually ! So just as prideful as they were, they served them to the blond haired boy and his friends. And as planned, the medicine was gobbled down like a shot of alcohol and the red bean balls chomped down to get the lingering bitterness out of the mouth. The group was having a small conversation to get to know each other. Or more like (Y/N) was having a small chat with Tanjirou since he was the only one of the group who you could talk normally to as Inosuke was in his sad phase, while Zenitsu just kept on clinging to their waist and sobbing about his pain and the danger he went through and how much he still is going through because of the aftereffects of the poison. They felt a bit flustered, honestly, not being used to such PDA sessions with strangers but burshed it off quickly. It felt pretty cozy to sit there and chat, patting the soft locks of the boy. As if hearing their inner voice, Zenitsu calmed down a bit and just kept on holding onto their form, more loose now. After some more chit chatting and story telling, they felt warm breath tickling against their sides. Both, Inosuke and Zenitsu seemed to be sleeping soundly. (Y/N) took a small glance at the boy. His sleeping face looked so adorable! Him being so calm in general was a sight they were surprised to see. He alsways looked like a goldfish which was just about to burst with those buldging eyes and wide open mouth.

Seeing him so peaceful made the (H/C) feel so...relaxed. The other pair of eyes looked curiously at them as they were gently unwrapping his friend's arms from their waist. The air smelled sweeter than before all of a sudden.

After they managed to stand up and pick up the dishes without making too much sound, they gave the only awake member of the group one last wave, before rushing into the kitchen to power scrub any type of dirty silverware they could find to calm themself and the blood which was running through their veins. Secretly hoping that no one did notice their now more reddening face.

Through the recovery of the quartet, (Y/N) managed to get closer to the chaotic squad. Even though she was asleep most of the time, (Y/N) got to spend some quality time with Nezuko as well. From hair braiding to sleepovers, no one was save from both of them. At one point (Y/N) was (t)asked to help with the daily stretching and stamina training as well as officially becoming Zenitsu's personal nurse since they seemed to be the only one who was not affected by his exhausting persona. And they gladly accepted. More quality time with Mr Fry ? Heck yeah, thank you Aoi-chan !

Though (Y/N) couldn't help but scowl once they heard that he won't come to training anymore. About to bring another tray of (extra) bitter medicine to hopefully kick some motivation back up the arse, they heard the infamous sobs of the breath of thunder user. „NezuUkoO-cHaaAAAAAaaaannnN...I miss heeeeeeeeer...Inosuke, don't they think that it'd be so wonderful to be taken care of by her ? Aaah~ I bet even her medicine wouldn't taste that bitter~“

“Hm...“

“I wonder if she is doing well? Do they think she is dreaming of me ? Oh, I should find some flowers for her later~“

“Hng...“

It kind of stung, hearing the blonde fawning over the girl. No hard feelings. Nezuko WAS a beauty after all. She was also very kind and soft...and apparently strong too- quality aspects, they couldn't help but feel slightly jealous even though they were a good catch themself in any aspect. But it never seemed to catch the attention of the blonde. It made the mood drop a bit sometimes even though they tried to tell themself that it was stupid to get their feelings stand infront of their friendship. But seeing how different he was acting around the demon girl, heck, even around the other girls of the estate, made their heart feel a bit heavy. It's not like they weren't grateful for getting any type of love and attention from him but it held a lingering aftertaste of friendzone. They wanted to be presented flowers too. They wanted to hear his voice softly coe their name as well...feel the affection he was emitting and have it for themselves as selfish as it sounds.

This topic was chewed over and over with Shinobu-san as well as the other 4 residents in the estate and all of them got their back. Keep throwing in encouragements and plans as to how get the both of them closer. Everything seemed like a dead end as none of the plans have ever worked out.

The (H/C) sighed and rounded the corner, walking into the room with a pout plastered on their face. Setting the tray down with the medicine and two freshly made sweet treats. They crossed their arms, looking stern at Captain Obvious.

“Shouldn't you be training ? Why did you abandon Tanjirou like this ?“

“A-ah, (Y/N)-san...you see...it's no use. The training is just too hard..and I always feel so demotivated whenever I lose to Kanao-chan...“ Zenitsu stuttered out while looking off into the opposite direction, clearly feeling a bit guilty when hearing the water wielder's name.

Inosuke just grunted, his back facing the part-time nurse's, still sulking. (Y/N) shook their head and sighed.

„Well, he at least manages to get stronger than they guys.. He'll probably overrun they both in some days...“

The boar's head moved a little. It even looked like the ears of the mask perked up. Got one hooked. (Y/N) could start cursing themselves out for the next words as they were making them feel slightly bitter,

„Bet Nezuko-chan will be really impressed to see his improvements too~“

Thunderkid's head seemed to make a full 180 flip to Inosuke, screaming that they should quickly set off to training again. And before the (H/C) could react the, now empty, cup was placed into their hands with a thank you. With the boar under his arm, Zenitsu dashed off for training once again. It seemed to be just in time as the mere glimpse of Tanjirou's swift improvements seemed to kick in some additional adrenaline. (Y/N) started to make the bed with a mix of satisfaction and sadness.

Days passed and the demon slayers seemed to get fitter and stronger. It made the (H/C) smile to see the three in full spirits again. Even our beloved little demon girl seemed to have gotten some of that spark as she was now more frequently joining the late night hang outs with everyone in the household. It was a wonderful time. The house felt even livelier than it used to be before, so it made parting even harder.

When the group set off for their next mission (Y/N) couldn't help but get all gloomy. They understood that they have a job to do, that they do it to protect the villagers and that they have their very own personal reason. But it didn't help the worries from rising up and drowning the mind in sadness. Especially to see someone beloved go into the danger zone. And they can't imagine the big fat blobs of salty water which the (E/C) orbs cried when the group was brought back to the mansion, all beaten up and one with a deep wound up his stomach. No one ever saw (Y/N) in such a devasteted mood. Whenever they were tending to Zenitsu's wounds, they had tears rising up in their eyes, their lip was constantly quivering and their heart gave out one heavy depressing sound. It made the blond worry horribly. He was happy to have someone that concerned about him but he couldn't stop himself feeling guilty to see that sad stadium for a whole week. It became better though once he returned to his training, all fit and refreshed.

The peace didn't last for too long though. (Y/N) was out to fetch some groceries when Uzui barged into the estate and was about to kidnap the poor girls for his mission. No one could imagine the anger rising up inside of the (H/C) once they heard that the trio decided to take on the job with the breath of sound wielder. After the squad returned from that nightmare of a mission, (Y/N) made sure to write an anger stuffed letter to the former pillar. It was so effective that they got an apology letter back from the man. Most of it was braging about his own flamboyant form while the other 1/6th was about the strenght of the boys and how well they managed the situation. Fighting alongside until the end.

It might have been to calm their worries down a bit but (Y/N) couldn't help but curl up in their room and stay awake. Overthinking.

So as (Y/N) was doing some health checks and bandage swaps they decided to talk to Zenitsu. Or more like...confess. They didn't know why it could help but...it felt like it should be now or never. The last chance to be talking in peace. Without any additional worry building up. Their mind has been fuming for nights as to how or when to do it. With the other two knocked out cold and the demon playing with the girls, the (H/C) decided this was the right time. It was perfect. No interruptions. No chaos. No...Nezuko...

Zenitsu was feeling uneasy when he heard his nurse come in. He immediately heard that something was off. The shaky hands which were fumbling with the fabric of the bandage. The furrowed eyebrows which should aid as a help to calm one down. The sound of the rapid heart beating and the unsteady breath. He noticed it clearly. He heard it clearly. And it made his tummy churn because he understood those painful and nervous wave lenghts. He knew those sounds too well. It was not just any type of worry. Not any type of sobbing.

The (H/C) finished up the bandage change quickly and rushed off to bring their patient his warm meal. (Y/N) could course themself for being so shaky right now. There was no doubt they were a nervous wreck. How do people confess ? What words do they use for that ? How do they like...not die on the spot ???

Okay, deep breaths. Get a hold on yourself. You. Are. One hardcore b*tch. You got this.

Even the imaginary cheerleader crowd inside their head didn't really help. With shaky hands, (Y/N) shuffled their way back into the room. What a nervous wreck, even Zenitsu looked so concerned.

One thing came over the other and the soup went on full force sailing through the air, right into sir fryhair. Splashing all over this poor boy's body, burning and staining the whole bed. There it was. Magnificent scream of terror and pain. Zenitsu yeeted out of the bed and squirmed around the room, probably waking up the whole neighbourood right now. Reflexes fast but mind still behind, (Y/N) picked him up and rushed out to the garden, throwing the gold fish back into it's natural habitat. The cold pond water. The koi weren't quiet happy but the burning stopped and the spots hopefully won't end up becoming fat wounds.

Kanao took a quick glance through an open shoji door aaaaand quickly closed it again. Probably alarming the others to prepare new med and bedsheets.

Long story forward, the both of them ended up back in the room of crime. Shinobu talked to them before, asking about what stunt exactly they were trying to pull off. After listening to the sobs and stutters, she nodded her head, making sure the others won't disturb both of them after clean up. And there you were. Everything sparkly now and Zenitsu full of weird smelling cream all over the red spots. Both just awkwardly looked on the floor, not saying a word. The air felt thick and heavy. The other inhabitants leaning their ears sneakily against the door or the room. Hoping to get any snippets of the conversation.

"I like you."

Hoo ! There it was ! Everyone helds in their breath in. It felt as if hours have passed after it became deadly quiet in the room again.

The blonde was quiet. Looking out of the window. Evening was slowly approaching. The sun kissing the sky goodnight, lighting up the room into a soft warm yellow tone.

His breath became uneasy. Not being able to look them in the eye, he stared off into a corner of the room before looking down on his bandaged palms which he placed on his lap. A sorrowful smile forming on his lips. He looked up and looked them into the tear glistered (E/C) marbles.

„...Thank you so much, (Y/N)-chan...

...but I'm truthly sorry...“

It was soft and hushed when it broke their heart.

So soft..

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I apologize if this isn’t one of the sparkliest or most well written pieces out there ! I’m still a bloody hobbyist when it comes to writing ^^”

Could have worked on this for ages because of the inner perfectionist but I think it's better like this, haha.

I'm about to start daily routine again but feel free to send in requests if you have them ! I could try making some of them into stories or headcanons, just mention what you’d like to have. No NSFW though, sorry hh

#kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny x reader #zenitsu x reader #zenitsu agatsuma #demon slayer zenitsu #fanfic #reader insert #y/n #zenitsu x y/n #kinda heartbreaky ?#kny #zenitsu

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kshitij1997 · 4 years

Text

Hello again!

Let’s continue, shall we?

This chapter is strictly based in Arendelle, unlike the last few chapters.

All Frozen and Tangled characters belong to Disney.

Chapter 11: If it takes forever, then I’ll walk forever

Iduna had noticed a change in herself; she had never been so weary as she felt now. Worry had become a staple state of existence for her. The trio, as her three daughters called, had been shattered. There was a time when they were inseparable; Anna, Olva and Elsa walking hand in hand, a bunch of peas in the same pod.

That was when life was easy, but what a difference a single incident makes.

Her mind raced back to when she saw the carnage; the ballroom floor solidified into an ugly amalgamation of snow and ice. Elsa’s ice had always been beautiful but then, in that ill moment, it flashed the white light of doom and destruction. As for her children, they were there, two of them unconscious, a massive cracked debris of ice, a snowman reduced to fine powder. And there Elsa was, holding her fainted sisters wailing to the sky and constricted by terror. With Anna having a streak of white across her hair, and Olva’s right side marred by scars from the sharp ice.

She remembered feeling grotesque by the spoils; how Agnarr had to hatchet through the door held firm by the ice. The fragments of her family fallen prey to a probable moment of panic; a moment of ill moment. This was a cold worse than winter.

She remembered how she and Agnarr had to gallop on their royal steeds as they never had, in that moment she felt as if she was on a death wish, trying to rein in her horse and holding fast her two injured children. She had known this would happen, and she let it happen.

Grand Pabbie warned her, she should have been more careful.

Elsa shouldn’t have panicked.

And yet, there they were, about to reach the lair of the stonepeople.

She remembered how Grand Pabbie was not pleased ‘Every time Your Majesties choose to grace us with your presence, it always disrupts our winter meditation. Sometimes, I am forced to believe that you are wishing for a polar event.’

‘Forgive us please Grand Pabbie, we seriously need your help and guidance, there’s been an accident.’ Agnarr pleaded as he’d never done before.

‘An accident with your firstborn’s powers? For why my aid would be needed otherwise?’

‘Grand Pabbie, my children’s lives are at stake, you must help us, we have nowhere else to go.’ The king ignored the irreverence.

Grand Pabbie relented ‘Apologies for my annoyance, Your Majesties. Tell me everything.’

Iduna remembered telling Grand Pabbie everything, or at least what she could understand from what Elsa had managed to tell her between sobs.

The hermit of half rock-moss and half flesh answered quickly and definitively; it was imperative to reverse the effects of Elsa’s powers; else the victims could freeze into solid ice. Grand Pabbie reassured them; they were lucky it was the head, not the heart. One could fool the head, but the heart was another matter entirely; the heart required a genuine act of love and sacrifice, those were hard to come by. As for Olva, it was more towards shock and blunt force trauma, they had done a disservice to her by bringing her there, while she should have been resting. Iduna felt personally responsible for that; she had insisted the whole family to go.

‘Grand Pabbie, what about the powers themselves? Is there any hope?’

Grand Pabbie turned to directly face Elsa; the great golem like hermit moved slowly but with purpose towards the little platinum blonde girl. The girl couldn’t help but stare at his presence; someone who didn’t emote much, but his feelings were remarkably easy to understand and notice regardless. In that moment she saw sympathy and pity; It was something she’d never seen before. She realized that didn’t like that feeling at all.

‘Your poor child of destiny, how one must step up to face the world regardless of age and be brought to reality. I’m sorry it was so sudden and such an unfortunate circumstance for you. Your powers would only grow from here on, to command the forces of nature akin to the ancient giants. Bringing joy and relief to those who need it.’, Grand Pabbie stated as he manipulated a few wisps in his hand to show an eight-headed star glowing blue and bright.

‘However, the power would also bring terror and fear and loss of control as they assert themselves, which would lead to your doom and destruction.’ Grand Pabbie continued as the star collapsed upon itself, crumbling into a red mass of death, smothered by red fire and smoke and a bright, shining sword coming straight for her. Elsa had to hide into her father’s arms from the horror.

‘The only thing you must fear is fear itself. It is your greatest enemy.’ The hermit finished as the wisps trailed off into nothingness.

‘What now, Grand Pabbie? Is she done for?’ Iduna asked worriedly.

‘I have just told you how she may combat the challenges she faces; she can’t succumb to fear. I would advise to help her build trust with a few close people and help her naturally experience and embrace her powers. She cannot be made to feel like a monster. She must be dealt with empathy and compassion. As for the other two of your daughters, for Anna I would need to induce some slight amnesia, because her mind is a little too fragile to understand it. However, Anna must be made to understand soon, this is a temporary measure, she can’t be kept in the dark forever. For Olva, as she wasn’t directly struck with Elsa’s powers, she doesn’t need any procedure, but she does need to be cared for very carefully, we don’t know how she may react to certain things yet. It may manifest as anything, she may experience pain, fainting, lash out in anger, or worse turn unfeeling towards everyone. Or maybe she wakes up unscathed. Regardless, I hope you can help her meaningfully. Please don’t treat this lightly, it is imperative.’

Iduna was at a loss for words; how would she and Agnarr manage it all? As for Agnarr, he was lost in thought, putting his intuition to practice. At length Agnarr spoke, ‘What if Olva has amnesia induced as well?’. Grand Pabbie was taken aback, he almost looked offended, ‘Your Majesty, that is a very irresponsible thing to ask. How can you even consider it? If I try inducing amnesia upon her mind, it may induce unprecedented effects, it may even worsen her recovery. Please don’t ask me to do it.’

‘I order you to do it.’ Agnarr put his foot down.

Grand Pabbie could not resist now, it was an order, even if it was from a monarch acting out of character.

‘Alright, Your Majesty, I’ll do as you say. Little dark-haired one, forgive this poor servant of nature, for he has to do something terrible.’ With that, Grand Pabbie put a heavy hand upon Olva’s forehead. The unconscious girl woke up at once, as if in a trance and screamed into the pale moonlight, a sharp contrast to how Anna took it. But then magic to counter magic was usual, magic to answer for something blunt, not so much.

Iduna remembered how Elsa stood there in shock, how she wanted to shut her eyes but couldn’t; how she herself had to close her eyes and grab on to her family, she couldn’t bear to watch it.

The procedure was over at long last, when Olva fell unconscious again, drained from the ordeal and turning pale, as if a certain glow had been taken from her body.

Elsa only asked one question ‘They won’t remember that I have powers?’

‘It is for the best.’ Agnarr said.

Looking back at that moment, Iduna felt that she should have raised her voice and tried Agnarr to see sense. Alas, that moment was past.

Now, Agnarr had been gone almost a month, shoring up alliances to help despite the blockade. She had to face them all alone. She had to take charge, she couldn’t abandon the kingdom, or her family. Even so, sitting through the meetings was tedious, especially when she had to explain and defend every move in front of the council, who didn’t consider the blockade popular at all.

To say nothing of facing her daughters, how many times must she lie to them? The mere thought exhausted her-

‘Ma!’ Anna’s voice could be heard from across the hall as it broke Iduna’s chain of thought.

‘Yes dear?’

‘Why won’t Elsie come out? Is she not feeling well?’ Anna asked.

‘No, she’s fine, why do you say that?’

‘It’s that she’s avoiding me. When I asked her to come out and play, she flat out said no. Did I do something wrong?’

Bless her innocence.

‘She’s worried about something; I am helping her with it. I promise she’ll be better soon.’ Shit, that was a mistake.

‘I know she’ll be better Ma, but she hasn’t come out to play in so long! Winter’s about to end soon, I don’t want to miss the last snow of the season.’ Anna said with a frown.

‘She has to take her studies seriously, you know, one day she must lead. You want her to do well, don’t you?’ It felt icky tricking her child like that, but it was for the greater good. Moreover, there was some truth in it.

‘Yes, I do, but it’s like she’s gone away. I don’t know if she’d come out again.’ Anna said with a choked tone.

‘What about Olva? Didn’t she play with you?’

‘Yes, but I don’t know what’s happened to her. I mean, we still had quite some fun, but we did miss Elsa. Then suddenly, Olva started screaming, shouting ‘my head, my head!’ then fainted, I had to call the help. Didn’t you hear, Ma?’ Anna said

Now, that was news to her. What kind of a mother was she? The kind who half-heartedly juggles everything and fails, Iduna reflected bitterly. Oh, I wish Agnarr was here.

‘I heard, she’s in the infirmary, I thought she had a bruise, I didn’t know she fainted.’ Another half lie, great.

‘Also, she’s grown, I don’t know, more angry? She always has a frown on her face. She wasn’t like that earlier, she used to crack jokes, dance around, Ma. Now she just sits blank for a long time. I had to shake her to get her attention. Is she alright?’, the little princess was obviously bewildered.

‘I’ll sit with her, don’t worry. She’ll be fine, I promise.’ Making promises was becoming a bad habit.

‘Now, it’s getting late Anna. Come, I’ll take you to your room’

‘I don’t want to sleep in there, it feels so empty since Elsa and Olva moved out.’ Anna moaned.

‘Come on, don’t do this.’

‘Ma, can I sleep in your room tonight? I don’t want to be alone.’ Anna asked, with a sad expression.

‘Alright, come with me.’ Iduna sighed.

One mother and daughter had settled in their room, Anna asked ‘Tell me a story.’

‘Anna, please go to sleep.’

‘Ma I remember you promising us when we were ready, that you’ll tell each one of us a story. I want to listen to mine, I think I’m ready.’

Iduna looked at Anna, knowing exactly what she could do. The least I can do is prepare here for the worst.

Iduna began her story:

It was the story of Isabel, who wanted to go to France. She’d spent virtually her entire childhood dreaming about it. As the daughter of a wealthy colonial governor, she grew up with every luxury available to 1700s Ecuador, but in her young mind, it was nothing compared to the magic of France. In her teens, her dream began to come into focus. A dashing young Frenchman, Jean Godin des Odonais, came to town on an expedition. Isabel took to him immediately, and by all accounts, Jean was equally in love with her. They married within the year.

A few years later, with Jean’s work wrapped up, they made plans to move to France. Jean went ahead to arrange passports and travel across the Atlantic. He was to return for Isabel and their unborn child—the only one of four who’d live past childhood. He thought he’d be gone two years. He was gone for twenty. Because Spain and Portugal ran South America (and neither were allies with France), they wouldn’t let Jean make the return trip. He couldn’t even get letters to Isabel; he could barely get them to Europe. And when his letters begging for passage did make it to Spain and Portugal, they were mired in red tape, not moving anywhere. He tried everything he could think of to reunite with Isabel, getting so desperate that he tried instigating war between France and Portugal.

His efforts were unsuccessful; he spent two long decades almost going crazy trying to get to her, and she had no idea. Still, Isabel waited. Even as neighbours said Jean wasn’t coming back. Even as her daughter grew into a woman. Even as her family fell on hard times. She waited and waited and waited, until her daughter died of smallpox.

She had been nineteen and never got to meet her father.

So, Isabel stopped waiting, and based on the hearsay that Jean was still alive, left to find him. Joining together a group of 42 people, she set off to reunite with her husband on an incredibly dangerous journey. The group included her two brothers, her nephew, her servant, Joaquim, some maids, a doctor, and several native porters.

The 3,000-mile route, which wound around an active volcano, across ramshackle wooden bridges, and through the heart of the Amazon jungle, had only been done by a handful of groups before. They estimated it would take six months. The group started dwindling when they found an abandoned village. It had been ravaged by smallpox and burned to the ground. The porters fled immediately. The group continued in a canoe down a flooding river, although none of them knew how to canoe or swim. Isabel nearly drowned, and they lost many of their supplies. They soon ended up at a sandbar, where they split up. The doctor’s small group took the boat and continued, promising to send back help. But after two weeks with no rescue in sight, Isabel, her brothers, and her nephew built a raft and set off downriver. The raft sank almost immediately, taking their supplies with it.

They continued on foot, with Isabel finally switching from frilly dresses to her brother’s spare trousers. They walked into thick jungle without food, direction, or sunlight. There they became a playground for wasps, scorpions, fire ants, and many things worse. The carpets of flies refused them sleep. The jungle refused them food.

Four weeks, they walked. And they began to die.

First her nephew.

Then her brother.

Then her other brother.

Until Isabel was the only one left.

Isabel had lost everything. Her children, her home, her family. Twenty long years of heartbreak, weighing her down. And so, she lay down on the jungle floor, curled up next to her brother, and waited to die.

Anna was in tears at this point and asked, ‘Please tell me she’s going to be fine.’ Then proceeded to come closer to Iduna, her face buried into Iduna’s arms.

‘Let’s find out, little one’ Iduna said and continued:

But try as she might, she could not die. Even as she began to slip away, a voice called out to her, a voice that would not let her go to sleep, that talked of tasks unfinished and duties undone.

It was the voice of her dear Jean. He said, “Get up, Isabel.” And slowly, she began to crawl forward.

After eight days alone, she stumbled across some native hunters, and immediately collapsed. Over the next month, they nursed her back to health, ridding her of botflies and other parasites. Her hair had turned permanently grey. Her hand was crippled. But she was alive. She gave them two gold necklaces, and set about freeing her servant, Joaquim, from jail, as he’d been suspected of murdering her.

Six months later, for the first time in 21 years, on a boat on the Oyapock River, Isabel Godin saw her husband.

They sailed to Europe three years later, and in her beloved French countryside, she lived a quiet, long, happy life.

Anna breathed a sigh of relief ‘Oh thank goodness! Poor Isabel, she went through a lot!’

‘Yes, she did, baby mine.’

‘Why did her daughter have to die? It’s not fair. She was completely alone near the end.’

‘Life’s not very fair, as you’ll find out soon. Moreover, she did it all for love. She held faith that she would meet her trapped love someday.’

‘Hmm, I guess. But why did she suffer so much, Ma?’

‘As you know, not a lot of people are as well off as we are, they would struggle in their lives if trapped in this manner. But Isabel rose to the occasion, made a big sacrifice and found peace and happiness in the end.’

‘Ma, if Elsa or Olva are in such trouble, would I be able to do the same?’

‘That’s a question you’ll have to answer yourself. I can’t answer it for you, I’m sorry.’

‘I think I’d do the same. If they’re in any such event, I’d follow beyond doubt to help or rescue them. And, if it takes forever, then I’d walk forever.’ Anna declared as she caressed her white streak of hair.

God bless you, poor child, Iduna thought as she tucked Anna in for the night and bid her good night.

With that done, she made a beeline for the infirmary where she found Dr Klaus keeping Olva under observation.

‘Your Majesty, please come in.’ said the weary doctor as he straightened his coat and rose from his seat.

‘Oh, don’t mind me. How’s Olva doing?’

‘She’s better now. However, earlier she was in a state of intermittent consciousness. When she was awake, she was describing a most terrible headache. I believe she used the phrase “A knife of ice carving inside her head.” The doctor told as he checked his notes on the dark-haired princess.

‘Furthermore, she also mentioned seeing a pale blue light, atop a high mountain in her vision. At that point she had begun to grow agitated and almost had a fit. I had to give her brandy to sedate her. She should be fine and wake up in the morning. Still, it would be wise to be alert. ’ The doctor finished.

‘Oh no, doctor. What’ll happen now?’ Iduna asked with fear.

‘It’s still early stages. From what I understand so far, the trauma from the accident may have triggered something dormant into activity. We must not treat this callously; she must be treated with utmost care. She needs to feel safe.’

‘I understand Dr. Klaus, but these headaches have persisted for more than a month now, and they only grow worse. What shall we do?’

‘I would suggest help her find a distraction, a hobby, something she can engage with, something that soothes her.’

‘I understand, thank you Dr. Klaus.’ Iduna said as she planted a small kiss on Olva’s forehead and turned to leave.

‘Your Majesty, what about princess Elsa? How’s she coping? This must be hard on her.’

‘She’s grown quiet and withdrawn, I’m trying my hardest to get her connected back to us.’

‘Try harder, your majesty.’, with that, the doctor made his leave and went back to observe princess Olva.

As the queen made her way back to her chambers, she found Elsa’s room to be slightly open. Taking advantage of the ajar door, she went silently inside Elsa’s room. What she saw, she would remember for a long time.

Her daughter was fast asleep, but her room was a mess. There was snow and ice on edge of every cupboard, windowsill or even the ceiling. It was clear that she had clearly tried to hold it in and failed. There may have been a struggle, she had tried to dig in the floor, but her efforts ended in vain, and she had deflected a blast of ice at the wall, the same bluish-white stain as usual. It had been ages since Iduna could remember Elsa making anything beautiful from her ice. This was fear, completely driving her powers.

Iduna suddenly noticed her daughter’s hands; there were bruises in her palms, clearly from her attempt to dig in her hands to prevent her powers from leaking. On Elsa’s face were the dry marks of tears shed a while ago; the poor princess had cried herself to sleep.

Iduna realized tearfully, Elsa needs more help.

Yeah, we’re getting to Do you want to build a snowman?, that weapon of mass emotional destruction. But as always, the world is happening around them, and they must keep up!

And yes, Isabel’s story is absolutely true, and Anna’s mantra “If it takes forever, then I’ll walk forever” is on brand. More power to Anna, I say.

As always, constructive feedback is always welcome!

#frozen #frozen elsa #elsa #anna of arendelle #elsa and anna #frozen anna #anna #anna appreciation #snow sisters #OC: Olva[Sister to Elsa and Anna]#queen iduna #frozen iduna

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pellicano-sanguino · 4 years

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There’s a small movie theater in my parents’ home city that shows recordings of operas and ballets. Went to see a Dracula ballet there yesterday with my mother. It was... an interesting experience.

youtube

This is the same ballet but the characters look different, so maybe this was a different casting than the one we saw.

Dracula isn’t an easy story to tell with just mute dancing. I should have sat next to my mother so I could have whispered to her plot explanations along the way. It was also a bit hard to tell all the male characters apart, they all dressed the same and looked equally bland and ugly (with the exception of Dracula and Renfield of course. They were ugly too, as they should be, but they were very recognizable). I was sad they left out Quincey (what do people have against him, he’s always left out). Come on, why would you miss an opportunity to have a ballet cowboy?

The dancing was very beautiful and imaginative. I was especially impressed with all the clever, athletic, almost acrobatic lifts. I wish I could see more lifts like these in zuka, instead of the same old pick-you-up-and-twirl-around lift, but I understand why they probably don’t want to try these. Despite many zuka actresses having history with ballet lessons, professional ballet takes the dancing to a whole new level and requires such extraordinary muscle work and precise skills, actresses in zuka simply can’t put that much time and energy to perfect their dancing when they also have to take care of acting and singing.

Which brings me to the unintentionally comical side of this ballet. The acting. Or more honestly, the lack of acting. The same problem I’ve had with the few operas I’ve seen. Opera singers are singers first and foremost, they are not actors. Ballet dancers put all their energy to perfect their dancing, they don’t do acting. The dancing was incredible and the body language was very expressive at times but if I happened to look at the dancers’ faces, they tended to have silly, exaggerated expressions or a dull, soulless, blank stare. Jonathan in particular was like a lifeless puppet all through his visit to Dracula’s castle, staring into space, very much Not There. The opposite of the soulless stare was the Temper Tantrum. Whenever a character was angry, scared, anxious etc. they twisted their faces into grotesque grimaces and wrung their hands like a toddler having temper tantrum. I know it was supposed to look dramatic but seeing an adult behave like an infant was just silly.

They had two separate guys performing the old-as-a-mummy Dracula and the rejuvenated-by-blood-drinking Dracula. The first one was impressive for his lively dancing. He jumped and leaped and climbed and crawled all around the floors, walls, furniture and Jonathan like a rabid squirrel. It was cool to see the scene where Dracula lizard-crawls down the castle wall, I’m always disappointed when the movies leave it out (which they do way too often). I suppose the latter must be sexy by het standards (I don’t see the appeal, but they make him remove his shirt quite often and I’m sure that’s for fanservice reasons).

My favourite in this show has to be Lucy. She is an amazing dancer and gets some really cool numbers. In many adaptations Lucy becomes bedridden once infected by Dracula’s bite, but here she remains active while slowly transforming into a vampire. And that means her dance style changes. This version of the story has a rather sexist view of the curse of vampirism, that the proper, graceful and dainty ladies will be corrupted by it and become fierce, strong-willed and arrogant (god forbid women be anything but silent, sweet little decorations). Lucy’s new dancing causes quite a scandal in the ball room. Eventually she does calm down and fall ill, and the gentlemen try to save her by blood transfusions. I really like that they included Lucy’s blood transfusions, those get cut in many versions and it’s a shame because it shows the compassion Lucy’s suitors have for her (trying to save her even though she turned them down) and it makes Lucy’s death so much more sad and hopeless (they give her new blood again and again, getting their hopes up for her recovery, but the parasite preying on Lucy is insatiable).

As usual they try to set up a romance between Dracula and Mina. I’m sorry but this just doesn’t work, ever. I mean, yes, you can definitely see some kind of chemistry between them, a fascinating relationship between a brave heroine and a heartless villain, but trying to make it romantic kinda doesn’t work when Dracula just murdered Mina’s best friend. Mina is just not the kind of person to overlook all the horrible shit Dracula has done, excusing everything just because he’s sexy. The only way for there to be a romance between them would be for two reasons - 1. Dracula brainwashes Mina by vampire hypnosis. Not very romantic. 2. Mina is actually a horrible person willing to throw all of her friends and loved ones and all of humanity under the bus just to bang a handsome vampire.

This stupid romance feels especially wrong when they turn the scene where Dracula drinks Mina’s blood and then violently forcefeeds her his own into a consensual and sexy bedroom scene. In the book, it was a terrifying and disturbing scene, but every adaptation wants to make it romantic. I don’t mind them making it sexy, let’s face it, vampires today are sex symbols and blood drinking has been used as a sex metaphor for ages, so I don’t mind that, really. But why must there be romantic music playing while it’s happening, as if this is a “It’s a nightingale, Romeo, not a lark.” type of scene. The music used was actually the same music that plays in Lucifer’s Tears when Lucifer dances with Lilith (it’s some classical song, don’t remember its name) and that distracted me greatly.

I was also disappointed that they made Mina suicide herself after Dracula has been killed. Mina’s recovery, the return of her humanity, should have ended the story with a hopeful note, that though some truly scary things exist in this world, it is worth to have courage and fight the monsters who seek to prey upon innocents. With Mina dead, it all feels hopeless and meaningless. Sure, they saved Dracula’s future victims by killing him, but the monster’s corruptive influence reached Mina even after his death, convincing her that she can’t live without the monster than killed her best friend. Dracula dies, but he still wins, taking both Lucy and Mina down with him.

Yes, vampires can be romantic heroes. I am a huge fan of romantic vampire stuff. But Dracula is not one of them. I’ve said it before and will say it again; Dracula does not aishiteiru.

#vampire #dracula #dracula ballet

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ponyponypuddingandpie · 4 years

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Character Building; Vertigo

“I am what you have made me I am choice, and I am tyranny I am then and I am now What gods they will be. Then I am Evil, and I am flesh I am the trap, I am the trapped I am beauty and I am chaos Children are Selfish I am the worm And I have broken God“

Vertigo was once a devout member of the Church of the Sunlit Goddess, an outlying chapter of the Celestian church, living far out in western Equestria. She was loyal, and attended church every sunday, listened and believed the preaches of her pastor. She thoroughly believed that Celestia was the incarnation of the goddess of the sun, and that she would save those who were faithful when the end times arrived. She was also a part of the weather service in her town Woodford.

Vertigo lived with her mother. She didn’t know her father for a long time. They lived off of the money both made on the weather service, and also spent time growing vegetables in their little garden. Life was simple.

And then, everything went to hell in a hoofbasket. Her father returned, and beat her within an inch of her life, shattering one of her wings in the process. When she was taken to the doctor, she spent a month in a coma. She woke up missing a wing entirely. In order to save her life, they’d amputated the shattered wing. She was only 22 at the time. Her father had been arrested, and her testimony saw him put away for life.

But she could never do her job again. She could never fly again. A deep depression fell over her, and, whilst she did go home after another month in recovery, she never really recovered. She stayed home, looking after the house, and visited her church more and more often, praying for a miracle. Then, things got worse. Her mother, working herself double and triple shifts to pay for their needs, fell terribly ill. She was working herself literally to death.

In desperation, Vertigo went to her pastor, to beg for the help of the church. To beg him to help her pay her mother’s medical bills, to help keep them afloat, and alive. She would never forget his reply.

“The goddess has a plan for all of us. If your mother was meant to die here to protect your worthless hide, then your mother will die. It’s your responsibility to make it worth something, Vertigo.”

Lost, broken, and utterly alone, Vertigo did everything she could to try and pay for her mother’s medicine. She tried to work anywhere she could. At the tavern, the general store. She even offered her services to the doctor himself. But it just wasn’t enough. Her mother passed away, with her by her side, two months after falling ill. Without her faith, without her mother, and without her wings, Vertigo felt.... hopeless. Worthless. But after a time, that self loathing turned to hatred. Hatred towards her father. Hatred towards her pastor. And hatred towards their so called ‘Goddess’.

See, That was when the voices came. Whispering to her from the darkness. Offering her things from the depths of her mind. Promising her power. Promising to fix her. To make her whole again. As she buried the body of her mother, and planted a single rose bush over her, Vertigo promised herself she’d never let anyone hurt her like this again. She’d never be so powerless as to let someone hurt her. Not without being able to damn well hurt them back at the very least. The whispers in her mind continued. And, after eating the last carrot from the garden that night, and falling to sleep... it came to her in a dream.

It was... a creature of monstrous creation. Of titanic size, and made of copper, flesh and darkness, iron spines poking from its back and tusks jutting from its mouth. It floated through the void of her consciousness. It had no eyes. And it regarded her. It introduced itself as the worm, and promised her the power to seek vengeance on those who so cruelly shoved her aside. Power to rival a god, or a goddess. All it asked.... was for a sacrifice.

“Hurl them into my teeth, that their bones may clog my innards and stave my hunger. I am The Worm, and You will be my Voice.”

Vertigo, pushed by her own rage and need for vengeance, pledged herself to the entity then and there. And pledged her father’s blood as a sacrifice. The worm seemed satisfied with that, and she woke up. it was morning, but things were not as they seemed. She felt... powerful.

Rumours around town were that Vertigo’s father had broken free sometime in the night, and was hiding around in the area. That the constabulary were after him. But the whispers in her head... the whispers told her the truth. The Worm had sprung him from his prison, that Vertigo might feed him in offering to it. It even whispered to her where to go to find him, and how to make him the offering.

When she found him, he tried to taunt her. To tell her she made his goal easier. That he was going to come looking for her. To finish the job. To kill her. But Vertigo was ready. And, with guidance from The Worm, knocked her father out, bound him, and performed a grotesque ritual. Tattoos flowed over her right foreleg and, when they were finished, Vertigo felt power. Power beyond belief, as the twisting tentacled tattoos animated, turning into tiny, writhing versions of the entity itself. She heard it crow in hunger, and saw her father’s eyes open.

She let him see what was about to happen to him, and revelled in his screams of agony and horror as she sacrificed him to The Worm. The Wormlets consumed him. Flesh, Blood, Bone and all. She felt more power flowing into her as her pact with the entity was sealed. She and The Worm, forever bonded.

Naturally, her next target was her old church. And, more specifically, the pastor who had so cruelly turned her away. She didn’t wait for night or any of that foolishness, no.

She waited for Sunday.

And then, she strolled into the church, mid sermon. She heard him vaguely barking demands at her. About how dare she. That she was being heretical, interrupting the word of the goddess.

His words ceased, and were replaced by screams as, with a quick outreaching of her foreleg, the Worm’s power burst forth, Wormlets writhing from her leg and latching onto the pastor. The churchgoers bolted every which way. Pews were knocked over. The whole time, she glared at him in the eye as, slowly, the Wormlets started to feast.

“My mother did not deserve to die,” She told him calmly, enjoying his inability to scream as the pain drove him slowly closer to madness, “And you... you claim to be a good pony, but all you are is a greedy, pathetic poser in robes.”

As they consumed him, slowly, she heard the police burst into the church.

Survivors all have a different version of what happened that Sunday. But, the basics were this. The Church still stands today. And if you enter it, you’ll find the dessicated, rotting head of the Pastor on his lectern, and his entrails spread around the room like demented Hearth’s Warming decorations. And the town of Woodford was erased from existence. Where Vertigo went is unknown. But she is around still. There are rumours of a cult out west. The Cult of the Worm. It’s only small, but rumour is the leader is powerful. A pegasus with one wing. A one winged pegasus mare who can still fly, and can use magic.

Vertigo is an average sized mare, with a coat the colour of whipped cream, and feathers that fade into the blue of a sunny day’s sky. Her mane is short, a habit she kept from weather duties, and a mid length tail, both the light grey of overcast clouds, and eyes bluer than the ocean. And covered in a variety of tattoos. Down her forelegs, across her back (not on her wing, however). It’s unknown just how many she has, as she usually is seen wearing a dark hoodie, or so the reports claim.

#Character building #Vertigo #trigger warning #Assault #Illness #Religion #Warlock #Cult leader #mlp #The Worm

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incruelty · 6 years

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WILSON FISK THROUGHOUT THE SEASONS. major spoilers for season three, but i just wanted to throw it out there that wilson fisk’s character development has been ongoing since his first appearance on the show and by NO MEANS did he transform into the kingpin by the end of the first season. we don’t truly witness the kingpin until the very last episode of season three.

IN SEASON ONE he wants to reconcile his dark and depraved roots in hell’s kitchen that have haunted him throughout his entire life, made him feel incapable of love and ultimately inhuman. hell’s kitchen is a depiction of fisk’s trauma, and like any artist, he wants to give meaning to that suffering and turn it into something more beautiful than what it was before. i don’t think that his criminal endeavors were ever all that present in his mind in the beginning of season one beyond a means to his end. he believes that he’s doing what he has to do to restore hell’s kitchen and himself. he struggles with this, however, as the memories of his father’s abuse and its consequences start making it harder for him to separate his actions from himself. that he is not entirely untouched by the horrors he’s capable of and actively doing, even if they’re present by necessity. he feels like a monster, and that self loathing doesn’t work in tandem with the prosperity he’s trying to achieve by elevating the city, and therefore himself.

this is where vanessa becomes such an important player for team fisk; she takes him by the arm and tells him that he won’t only amount to the terrible things that he’s done and that those things are more necessary than ever when there are people trying to threaten the life he’s trying to create, which is more important than anything, because it’s important to them. and it’s at this point that fisk gets ahead of his opposites by creating his own narrative for the role he plays in the reckoning that everyone knows is happening for hell’s kitchen. he’s contented with the idea that his past and the inherent nature of him doesn’t delude his intentions and will not taint the future. time goes on and he’s confronted by his associates with the fact that he cannot serve as both savior and oppressor to the city because they don’t function in their industry under the same premise. fisk’s vision is still about fulfillment, and recovery. then fisk is being threatened with arrest, and by the outcry of the public he’s forced to face the reflection of himself that is a shadow over hell’s kitchen, and specifically where inside himself does that shadow start to cast. he realizes that trying to rebuild the city in an effort to rebuild himself, to erase his own history by erasing what he considers to be hell’s kitchen’s ugliest imperfections, be its ruin or the people who would see him fail in a feat he had once considered so noble, was as naive as the feat itself. this realization does take something of a toll on fisk, as he feels as though he’s been betrayed, blinded to and by his own nature. what he does at the end of the season, and what he realizes he should’ve been doing at the start, was embracing the iniquity of himself and the city. there was nothing to recover from the ruin of himself and the decay of hell’s kitchen. that ruin is where he thrives.

IN SEASON TWO, his arc is still far from over, and the small glimpses we get into fisk’s further growth are no less important than they were in season one because they help us understand what terms fisk will be coming back into play under in future storylines. prison is the perfect place to empower this newly recognized sense of self, as he explains: everyone warned me that prison would be an inhumane environment. it is. but i find it refreshing. the perfect microcosm of the animal world: when an animal wants something, when it needs something, other things need to be stepped on.

in spite of that, he’s also removed from his fellow inmates, placing himself into a position of power by controlling prison dynamics and even having operations that take place deeper into the city we know this from the coordination between guards that got frank to ruin his own testimony in court, and when it was discussed that wilson fisk had his plans in motion well over a year before the events of season three.

you are running this place. yes, ask my lawyer, he’ll deny it. ask the guards, they’ll deny it. ask the inmates here, they’ll cut their tongues out before they talk.

he has a plan for when he’s released and he’s certain in the measures he’s taken to secure it. he is not unnerved by the truth of himself or the downfall it seemed to bring upon him, but instead inspired to make use of it when he is free to destroy the lives of those who opposed him. but i have something to say to you: when i finally get out of this cage, i will dismantle the lives of the two amateurs that put me in here. [...] you see, i’ve had a lot of time to reflect on my journey here, mr. murdock. my mistakes. everything i took for granted.

he is something bigger than he was before. while he may be in captivity, he is a mirror of the man he’d been in season one, where he had been a crime lord with all the money and power he needed to build his better tomorrow, and his better self, but his conviction was plagued by conflicting identities that made him feel powerless in achieving what he wanted in love, in life, and in himself in season two, wilson fisk is in a cage, but he is also more free than we’d ever seen him, in a stage of acceptance. IN SEASON THREE, fisk is acting off the momentum of his epiphany. he is more calculated, even more prepared than he had been before. he has regained control over the city on a much more terrifying scale. if i’m honest, what occurred to me while watching was the phrase “go big or go home,” and how fisk entered this season intending to do both. fisk has always been a villain that operates with an endgame in mind. his goal is not just the ongoing profit of his crimes, but he still has a vision for himself as he did in season one, just one tailored to better suit the nuances of the man he is now and how he will put them to work. better suited to fit the life he’s building for vanessa and himself. vanessa continues to motivate him as she did in season one without even needing a physical presence in the show, and he even discusses with agent nadeem how vanessa was his single greatest source of empowerment his love for her was an inescapable prison, and his connection with her was his most fulfilling achievement.

but there is a moment between fisk and a holocaust survivor, mrs. falb, where they discuss the ownership of the rabbit in a snowstorm, and how the painting is a symbol of his and vanessa’s love. this is an important development from how it had at one point been a symbolization of the kind of man he was meant to be, the choices he would make to become that; a proxy for the hunger for power and control that his father had beaten into him and that he had to in turn beat into his father, and the empowerment he had felt in his own solitary as a result * IT MAKES ME FEEL ALONE of course, it’s no surprise that his love for vanessa and her love for him had replaced what this painting means to him, but there’s the fact that fisk leaves the painting in the care of mrs. falb after this exchange: the gestapo demanded everything we had. including that painting. my father fought them, and they shot him in front of us. do you know what it’s like to see your father take his last breathe on the floor in front of you? [...] this painting is my connection to the people i love. i know who you are, mr. fisk. you are a wolf, too.

now, fisk obviously faces the unsettling resemblance of sentimentalism he shares with mrs. falb regarding the deaths of their fathers, and while they do cling to the painting out of love, it’s on two opposite sides of the spectrum and serves as a grotesque reminder to fisk that he is the villain, as mrs. falb was the victim, and love does not absolve him of that. this is not something that fisk is unaware of, because his self awareness is a prominent part of his character development throughout the years, but this is the first time in a long time that fisk vaguely favors the man he’d been in season one when confronted with his wickedness. he cannot have that reminder in his home with vanessa, as it’s clear from their reunion that he intends to still keep her as far from his transgressions as he can. again, he struggles to separate his actions from what is important to him, this time the subject being vanessa, rather than his city. that is until vanessa makes it clear that the distance that was placed between them by his incarceration and his own fear of entangling her into his world will only drive them further apart, for she can not serve as an exhibit of his humanity or a mere spectator to his savageness. she has to be apart of him. fully. in completely embracing vanessa with every aspect of his world, wilson has blurred the lines between what makes him human and what makes him terrifying. this makes him just as powerful as it makes him vulnerable, for those two aspects will always actively play off of each other and has been the point of having a villain like wilson fisk playing opposite to a protagonist like matt murdock. a lot of people say that we saw the first real appearance of the kingpin at the end of season one, with fisk coming to terms with his true nature and therefore expanding the lengths he’s willing to go to get what he wants, but i don’t agree. i think we saw the kingpin in fruition when vanessa explain to him, everyone is broken. the point is to find someone whose broken pieces fit with yours. in season one, fisk was desperately trying to rearrange the shattered pieces of his humanity into something other than what it had been after to the murder of his father, where he wasn’t horrified by the reflection he saw when he stared into them.

in season two, fisk has been reinvented and placed into an environment where those broken pieces, the brutality he had buried beneath fear and pretense, are his weapons.

in season three, fisk, who is now validated and empowered by the love of his life, the fear of those around him, the trust of the public, and the depths of which he’s now comfortable to sinking in his rise, has arranged these broken pieces of himself into a mosaic of nuances that make him more human, and more more dangerous than he’s ever been, which was only made possible by vanessa.

#* 00 ; META .#* 02 ; CHARACTER FLAW ‘ I SUPPOSE .#dd s3 #dd spoilers #s3 spoilers #sdjfklsjdf this took me LITERALLY all day but.... i think im happy with it.#fuck i needed to do this #anyways thanks for coming to my ted talk #. ╰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʀʏ. ╱ SOMEWHERE IN ME A CITY IS BURNING .

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thran-duils · 7 years

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You Never Lost It

TITLE: You Never Lost It (Rise For Your King Part 18) PAIRING: Reader/AU King!Castiel SUMMARY: The reader was betrothed to the prince but when a neighboring king decides to dole out justice to your future father in low, he destroys the royal family, leaving you with the two youngest princesses. The mage king takes an immediate liking to you, letting you live. What will you do with this opportunity? WORDS: 3,281 WARNINGS: Angst, mention of smut

Part 17 || Part 19 || Masterpost || Fanfic masterpost

The leaves crunched underneath Castiel’s feet as he moved through the garden. Soon, it would be the time of year where the gardeners would have trouble keeping up with the fallen leaves. There was a chill in the air and Castiel had grabbed a coat before leaving the castle. Sam was following behind him, keeping watch.

Across a stream, Castiel knew Kalin would be working, preparing herself for the autumn equinox. They planned to travel to an area nearby designated holy by her people, partially for the festival and partially because Castiel intended to release Kalin there to do bidding in private, as well as far from their castle in case something went amiss.

Her form was settled on the grass, the sound of the stream nearby the prominent noise. Castiel’s feet were quiet now, even though he knew she was aware of his presence. He came to a stop outside her circle.

“I assume you have what you need to complete your task,” Castiel stated in a gentle voice, his eyes fixed on Kalin.

She was surrounding by an intricate design of herbs. There was a low glow illuminating from them, moving together in a flickering stream towards her. The stream did not waver when she opened her heavy eyes, to look up at him. She kept eye contact with him for a few moments before inhaling deeply, her eyes closing once more. The lights within the herbs brightened and moved towards her more quickly. Just as swiftly as they had brightened, they disappeared, leaving the area in darkness.

Castiel seemed unbothered by this but Sam looked around curiously, ready to defend Castiel if something emerged from the dark.

His eyes were caught by the glow starting to form underneath Kalin’s skin around her wrists. Her eyes were still closed as the light continued up her arms, illuminating her body. She was a soft light in the middle of the garden and when she finally opened her eyes, they fell on Sam immediately and a calm washed over him.

Kalin’s gaze turned to Castiel and she spoke lazily, “I believe I will be protected enough. Especially adding this protection to myself.”

Unconvinced, Castiel replied, “I would rather you know than merely believe.”

“I cannot tell the future, your grace. But, to the best of my knowledge, I will be able to carry out what you wish me to and return in one piece.”

Castiel considered this for a moment and then offered, “I will provide you with extra protection before you disembark.”

“That is unnecessary, your grace. You need all the strength you can get.”

“It is necessary. And I will perform the ritual.”

Kalin studied him, the glow now moving down her tresses. Sam was transfixed watching it and it was taking everything in him to not walk forward and lay a hand on her skin. What it would feel to coax out magic as light as that.

Relenting softly, she conceded, “If you believe it is best, I will accept it humbly, my lord.”

Castiel stepped away from her and said as he turned his back, “We are leaving early. I suggest getting some sleep.”

Kalin merely smiled, her eyes flashing at Sam before she looked back down at the circle around her.

“Sam!” Castiel called over his shoulder and Sam was snapped out the enchantment.

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the cloudiness swirling inside his head. Kalin was no longer paying attention to either of them, focused inwardly on herself. The light was pulsating inside of her softly as Sam turned away from her to follow his king.

<> <> <>

Dismounting from your horse, you shook the stiffness from your limbs. You had been riding for a couple of hours and you were thankful that you had reached camp. Kalin dismounted beside you and unlike you, she did not recovery and instead began immediately striding towards a large oak, drawn in completely.

You felt Castiel’s hand on your back, and you shifted uncomfortably thinking of the conversation you had with him a week ago.

Castiel was holding onto your wrist, staring close at it, his fingers caressing slightly. You watched as a sigil etched itself onto your wrist. It was painless but seeing it made you uneasy. You didn’t know what this magic was other than what Castiel told you it would do, which was protect you outside the castle walls. He had done some research and ran across this, ecstatic that you would have further warding against Mowg.

His voice was gentle, “I know you don’t entirely trust me right now but… I have to insist that I am only trying to keep you safe. It’s all I care about.”

Swallowing sharply, you responded, “I know. And that’s what scares me.”

Raising his eyes to meet yours, he inquired curiously, “What?”

“What would you do for me?”

Castiel’s eyes bore into you and you held his intense gaze. The corner of his lips twitched and he stated, “I don’t know if you would be pleased or displeased to hear the answer to that, Y/N.”

Before you could say anything else, Balthazar interrupted and Castiel went back to finalizing your protection into your skin.

“This is where we are staying?” you forced yourself to ask, turning towards him to meet his eyes.

Castiel nodded, “This is a place where Kalin can practice her magic effectively and it is special to her. Plus, I figured a festival here would be beneficial to break up the mundane of the last couple of weeks.” He ran his eyes over you before asking, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, my king,” you told him.

“Then why are you acting different? You… seem timid around me.”

He was always going to notice when there was something off or different about you. “I’m being more careful. Like you asked. It is not you who I am nervous about.”

There was silence as he pondered your words and you averted your eyes. Finally, Castiel said, “I suppose I will have to get used to it. Perhaps it’s better that you are more guarded. It will keep you safer.”

“That is my intent, your grace.”

Movement caught your attention out of the corner of your eye and you saw Kalin going back towards her horse. You narrowed your eyes watching her, her bags still on the horse as she climbed back on. Why had no one begun taking her things off? They were hard at work removing the bags from the other horses. You stepped closer towards where she was, curious.

“Where is she going?” you asked, your eyes falling Kalin as she trotted away on her horse.

Castiel’s voice sounded from beside you, “She has requested to go on her own. She has something to attend to and I considered she has not had time to herself for a while. I granted her request.”

“You believe it is safe for her to go on her own?”

“I think she can handle herself. She will only be gone for the night… if that.”

He sounded so sure, so you accepted this, taking his arm to walk towards where the people were setting a table to eat. You couldn’t help but throw one more look over your shoulder at where she had disappeared, hoping Castiel was right.

<> <> <>

The world moved around Kalin in shadow, as if it was moving by her quickly and she was standing still. Her steps were careful, guided, and precise as she strode over the stone. This place was cold, not just temperature but in setting as well. Through her projection she could feel the cloud of malevolence and it made her shiver.

She laid a hand on the basalt wall, feeling life ahead of her. She had passed guards, her ghost like presence going unnoticed by the unskilled and mortal. There was a steeled, locked gate when she turned the corner and she passed through it with ease. This tunnel was darker than the previous ones, yet her heart beat steady. Losing control of her emotions would weaken her spell and she would lose her protection against the wickedness of this place.

Moving towards the soft light at the end of the tunnel, she heard whimpers and cries. This made her quicken her footsteps, anxious to see what lay at the end. A small gasp left her mouth when she came to the light.

There were inflamers everywhere, some emaciated while others were not. Kalin figured that the emaciated ones had been there for a while, being used by Mowg, close to death if they were not released from his grasp soon. Despite their illness, they were still donned in lavish, sparkling gowns. Kalin knew Mowg was almost as obsessed with beauty as much as he was power and he would not be surrounded by tawdry dressed beings, especially ones he laid with.

One of them could have been Y/N. The thought made Kalin sick.

She knew nothing could be done for them right now, so she forced herself to look away, vowing to tell Castiel upon her return.

The next chamber was lit by large chandlers filled with extravagant candles. And despite the brightness shining from them, this was the darkest room of all.

His throne was carved of obsidian, sharp at the ends among the beautiful carving.

Mowg’s faces were grotesque, his true ones that laid beneath his well-crafted exterior. She had never laid eyes on them – physical or metaphysical – and experiencing it for the first time was awful. His eyes on two of the three faces were sunken, like a skull. She half expected worms to crawl out and be the explanation for the rotten part of two of his faces. His prominent face was full, life like but… lacking expression. The other two were demonic, burning a hole through her the longer she looked.

He knew someone was there the moment she became transfixed and she felt all his energy aimed at her.

Kalin tried to dissipate back to her body but something was holding her there. Panic welled up inside her when she realized she could not pull away from him and this place. She felt poison around her, poking and creeping, looking for entrance. She felt her own magic raging inside her to keep the darkness at bay.

Unfortunately, she felt a rush from Mowg’s end and it broke through her seal – for a second before her magic shot back, rebuilding the break and freeing her.

Mowg knew where she was now though. He had felt her, tried to infiltrate her and freeze her magic.

“Who are you?” his voice rumbled around her.

She refused to answer him. She was cutting her ties quickly, the spell snipping off. She needed to get out of there and she couldn’t do it fast enough to escape this evil.

“You’re brave,” Mowg practically purred, stalking towards her in the corner. His voice caught her attention again and she made the mistake of looking at him. He had hidden behind his beautiful exterior again, presenting the best side of himself. He was breathtaking and it was no wonder people flocked to him or were entrapped by him. Mowg continued, “Or a fool. Although, both of those traits can be interchangeable.”

Still Kalin did not speak, and she focused her attention back on herself, breaking through the final seals to leave. They had served their purpose in getting her inside and being able to lay eyes on this monster but the complication of the spell made it hard for a quick exit.

Mowg was close, his eyes searching. “I wish I could see who felt they could come in here undetected… it has been awhile since I have encountered a gallant being.” His eyes flashed and she realized he must know she was going to leave. “Who sent you?”

The final tie cut and she wasted no time letting go of her spell. Mowg’s face had melted into anger as she retracted quickly out of the realm to her physical body. Despite who it was, he was not able to track her based on the positive energy around her spell. It expelled him and his darkness.

Kalin let out a large gasp as she fell back into her bones and laid there in her herb circle catching her breath.

<> <> <>

Castiel felt a rush of anger boiling just underneath his skin, his magic – magic he had not used in a century, having stifled it – wanting to lash out.

The men were working hard to set up for the festival but things were not going according to plan. And Castiel was having a hard time keeping his impatience and annoyance suppressed, even more so than usual. He felt the need to punish them for not executing the set up as he had ordered exactly and every misstep made this insatiable need increase.

He needed to keep it under control. It was proving to be as unmanageable as before, when he had let himself fall to it. The memory of how full he had felt, how alive all his senses had become when he used darker magic was hitting him hard. He had kept his urges at bay for so long, but someone like him was always susceptible to falling prey to its temptation, alluring him to wrap himself up in shadow. He shouldn’t have tortured that man the way he had but his determination to keep Y/N sheltered and under his wing had surpassed his good sense.

He was far from the camp, secluded by a river. He had wandered here aimlessly and he was relieved, knowing water was something he could not hurt. Perhaps he could release it now and start fresh.

Unleashing a surge, the river separated fully for a few seconds, the water coming to a standstill, the flow of it growing upward against an invisible wall where Castiel had made a cut, his magic shooting across the terrain. With a slight shift of his hand, Castiel released the water again, it flooding along the banks with the buildup.

It was only a slight dip in the pressure pushing against his skin from the inside.

Snarling, Castiel slammed a hand on the rock next to him. There was a loud groan deep within the rock, cracking and snapping. Webs of darkness shot out of Castiel’s hand and with a push, the rock began transforming, edges jutting out. It was no longer smooth and worn down by time, it was dangerous, a tangle of sharp edges. But only for a second before the rock exploded under his touch.

But it still wasn’t enough. There was still a massive whirlwind of fury trapped inside.

With an angry bellow, Castiel clapped his hands together and the world burned around him. He was in the middle of a blazing heat, his skin untouched by the dark flames, his eyes staring at it in awe and wonder. This is what it had felt like before. The crowning of his power, consummation of control. He was destroying what was around him.

And that’s what brought him back down, forcing his hands a part. As quickly as it had lit, the fire vanished, leaving Castiel standing in the middle of charred rock, the edges of the grass near him burnt. At least he had kept it from spreading.

Castiel shuddered, magic seeping from his pores. He groaned, feeling relief.

He shouldn’t have done it, he shouldn’t have given in. But, the pleasure was pulsating along his veins. All he wanted was to feel more.

<> <> <>

The golden crepuscule of the day that had been glowing behind the mountains was slowly disappearing. You were seated on a rock, overlooking a gorge, a cup of tea in your hand, watching the day fade away. You had asked your maids to leave you be, you wanted solitude. They had only relented to the point of waiting inside the bushes near the opening where you were. They would not leave you alone completely, per the king’s orders.

Stars were glittering in the sky when you were shaken from your thoughts by the sound of footsteps behind you and Castiel’s voice. Looking down at your hands, you felt your tea was far beyond warmth. You wondered how long you had been sitting there.

Moving away from the rock, you walked back down the path towards the entrance to the forest where you heard him telling the girls to leave. When you reached the back side of the tent, you saw they were moving in the opposite direction from you, Castiel standing in the middle of the path watching them.

You stepped on a stick as you walked and the sound alerted him to you. Castiel looked slightly disheveled and you stopped in your tracks, staring him down. Was there something wrong? Placing the cup down on a small table outside the opening to the tent, you watched him cautiously as he moved towards you, his eyes fixated on nothing else.

The darkness of the night had always calmed you, the area only lit by the moonlight and the soft flickering coming from inside the tent was serenity. But Castiel’s face shadowed by a dark mixture of lust and hunger seemed to creep into the surroundings, making you shrink back slightly.

Castiel’s eyes were blown as he peered down his nose at you, his hands warm on your skin. He couldn’t get close enough, a hand running up your neck and cupping the back of your head. When he brought his lips to yours, there was such desperation in his kiss. He let out a pleased purr, his lips brushing yours before he pulled away fully. You felt something baleful beneath his touch, as if this was not him.

Castiel’s hand ran up your neck, squeezing slightly before reaching your jawline where he clamped down harder.

“What must I do to earn your love again, Y/N?”

You wanted to continue being a stone wall against him. It’s what he deserved for lying to you but he had also saved you countless times, protected you, and allowed you freedom when you knew he wanted more than anything to keep you locked away where he would be sure you were safe. He’d let go of the tight rope he was holding on you because you desired it. You were still unsure whether it was for you or for what was inside you. But, the craven look on his face, the tiredness you were feeling at trying to keep up the façade and anger with him… you were honest.

“You never lost it.” A wave of pleasure washed over Castiel’s face at this and you couldn’t help but ask, keeping your voice even, “Are you alright?”

His hand ran over your hair, his tongue running over his lip. “I will be, my lady. Come.”

Castiel pulled you along towards the opening to the tent and let the flap of the tent down to fall behind you when you were inside. He was on you again in seconds, his lips hungry for a taste of you.

With precision, his hand moved down and pulled the bow of your nightgown undone in a swift movement. The gown fell to a heap on the floor and he reached out, playing with your hair gently. It was chilly in the tent, despite the firepit in the center, and your nipples hardened, the gleam in his eye not going unnoticed as he drank you in.

When his eyes met yours again, he ordered in a low voice, “Undress me.”

~~~

CASTIEL TAGS: @prince-halfblood, @splendidcas, @klaineaholic, @letsthedogpackandthecats, @alexastacio, @winchesterforever12 @seirensou @tacos-and-trenchcoats @the-amaranthine @intheir-dreams @marisayouass @afanofmanystuffs @greenappleeyes @holyheadharpies-quidditch-blog @misscherryberry @too-lazy-for-this-world @dragonchantant @morbid-apricots @moon-and-stars-cas @castiels-broken-fool @thebookisbtr @jinxkatkazama @findingfitnessforme @xxmizzlexx @waywardmoeyy @cas-honeybee @musicalraven07 @willowtighe @kristendansmith @cnopps3

TAGS NO LONGER WORKING: @demonicguardianangel @stori-teller @tstieff @xxslytherinprincessxx

#castiel x reader #au castiel #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #au supernatural #au spn #au spn fanfic #au supernatural fic #my shit

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olicitysmoaky · 7 years

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Always -- A post 5x20 fic -- Rating (PG really -- but between G and T)

by Olicity Smoaky

Note: No William action happened. Pretended it away. ;D

Read it at AO3 or right here! Let me know what you think!

Inside a bathroom, at the top of a loft, in the middle of a city filled with every kind of shit storm a person could think of, stood Felicity Smoak. On this particular evening, she was home studying a very small bruise on the right side of her forehead. “Another battle scar for Overwatch,” she whispered to no one at all.

She inched over to the linen closet in the tiny room between the bathroom and the bedroom to pull out a towel. Instead of grabbing one of the neatly folded lavender towels stacked up for easiest access, she reached behind them and latched on to a big fluffy green one and brought it forward. She pressed her nose to it. 459 days had long since erased his smell, but if she tried hard enough, she was able to mentally summon it back.

Moments later, under the cascade of warm sprouting water, she let the events of the last two days pour into her mind. She and Oliver had been trapped in the bunker under a three-story ticking time bomb. He’d been near death too many times for her to count. She couldn’t stand the thought of losing him. God, did he really think all that about himself? Prometheus really got to him. He got to her. He tried to rip them apart, but instead, he brought them back together. At that moment, Felicity realized the asshole wasn’t going to win. Anger bubbled inside her at the thought of Prometheus trying to twist Oliver inside and out, even more than the poor guy had been twisted by the circumstances of the last decade of his life. But Oliver was strong, and hell, so was she. They were stronger together, but until he figured out who he was deep down and who he wanted to be, they had to wait on the rebuilding thing. Right now, though, she was damn tired of waiting. She was angry she’d lost Billy. She blamed herself for getting him involved in her life when she knew she was only with him as a sort of experiment, a test to see if she could have a normal life outside of Team Arrow, to see if she could even think about living a separate life from Oliver. She wanted to try at the time, but it had always felt so hollow. The innocent choice had been turned into something grotesque and awful. And now, she understood what Oliver lived with everyday. But for him, this game had been played on a loop more times than any person should have to endure.

Just as Felicity and her thoughts, turned off along with the faucet in her shower, something loud thunked on the floor of the bedroom. Alarmed, she wrapped Oliver’s old thick green towel around her, sucked in a breath to armor her heart, walked through the little adjoining room and over the bedroom threshold to face whatever the hell it was that was trying to give her a stroke.

To her alarm, a book she kept on her nightstand lay on the floor but the room was empty. Eyes pinned to the open door that led to the upstairs deck between the staircase and her room, she picked up her weapon of choice – her tablet. “Whoever the hell is in here, please understand that I have this place rigged to attack.” She didn’t really, but she could shut off all the lights and shoot out infrared security light streams to scare the shit out of the intruder.

Ten minutes later, Felicity had swept her entire apartment, changed into a knee-length night shirt and socks and called Oliver. Whomever had been there, left through the balcony. Prometheus. It had to be him, but why now? Of course, his little plan hadn’t worked, so he was out to kill her. Had he expected her to die while Oliver escaped? How could he have known. They all knew that Prometheus didn’t want Oliver dead. He wanted him to suffer. He hadn’t grabbed William thankfully. Lyla had him as well as his mother moved to a classified, secured location out of the country. With him safe, maybe Prometheus decided he needed a new target.

Oliver was on his way. Given the distance between the bunker in the loft, she deduced he’d probably be there in five minutes, give or take.

“Felicity!” Okay, so it was take. She rushed over to the door to answer it.

She opened the door to find Oliver in plain clothes with some gear strapped to his back, looking her up and down.

“Are you okay?” he asked her for what seemed like the twentieth time in the last forty-eight hours. When he stepped inside, he neatly removed one of his arrows and began scoping out the apartment.

“Yes, but how did you get here so fast?”

Rather than answer her, Oliver’s eyes scoped the apartment for danger.

“I swept the place already. No one’s here.” He looked like he wanted to check a second time. Nothing wrong with double-checking Oliver, but the words pulled taut between them like a tight rope. “Do you trust me?” His shoulders dropped, relaxed.

“Okay. You think it was Chase?”

“Could have been.”

“Do you want me to check a second time? I trust you. I meant that. But I—I just need you safe, always.”

“I know, Oliver. And, if you want to check again, I won’t be mad,” she said, going over to the two laptops she had set up on the table. She powered both on. “I haven’t had a chance to look through my security yet.”

He followed close behind her. “Let’s look together.”

After a few taps and clicks, they found nothing. The last few minutes when she’d been in the shower had been wiped. She didn’t keep a camera in the bathroom or bedroom and turned them off when she was downstairs. No one was on the balcony either. Maybe it had been her imagination.

“Do you think it was maybe Helix?” Oliver asked, his eyes flashing with guarded concern. He was holding back judgment for her sake. “They could have wiped the system.” A few more clicks and taps told them that she had not been hacked.

“Sorry to call you over here. Maybe I knocked the book to the edge of the table before I went into the bathroom and it fell.”

“Maybe. Yeah. But just to be safe, I want to stay here tonight.”

She watched as he licked his lips, a serious and somewhat pained plea in his eyes. No. She shouldn’t give in. He needed more time. This was too fast. “Oliver, that’s not—“

“Please, Felicity?”

“I don’t know.” She fastened her eyes to the floor beneath her socked feet, pinching her lips in a line. “I already imposed on you last night.”

“By insisting on a cot to sleep on in the smallest recovery room known to man at ARGUS next to me?”

“You’re still recovering. You should sleep in your own bed,” said Felicity. As soon as the words slipped from her lips, her heart stung. His bed hadn’t been hers for far too long, and that wasn’t right. She knew it wasn’t, but they still needed time, didn’t they?

***

Her hair was down. Her glasses were on. She wore one of those long shirts she loved with a sports team name painted on it she didn’t care about – the Coast City Cardinals was the one she’d picked for the night. His heart squeezed at the knowledge of such an intimate Felicity Smoak detail. He knew so much about her. And Felicity? She knew as much about him as he did himself, but it still it wasn’t enough. He hadn’t done enough.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Oliver promised, watching her press the lips he needed to taste in that weakened moment together. He pushed back the urge with practiced ease.

“As opposed to my bed?” she quipped. She was treading on dangerous ground.

“Or the guest room down here,” he offered instead. “I think it’d be better if I kept watch…”

Felicity sighed. “All right. But just for tonight.”

Oliver released the weighted breath that had lodged itself in his chest and looked at his Felicity, blinking slowly, drinking the sight of her delicate features in. Rarely did he allow himself to do that anymore. He’d known she didn’t want him to. She’d told him she wasn’t ready for him again nearly a year ago after one of the most fun and passionate nights of his adult life, and he’d taken that to heart. But now, things were different. She’d opened a door for them. And he’d uncoiled the depths of his soul to her while trapped by a mad man in a world they’d created – the Arrow bunker. He admitted his fears, told her the harshest most confusing truth he’d been battling. Then she’d come in and balmed his wounded spirit with gentle fingers stroking his sweaty skin as breath fought to stay in his body. She reminded him of the self he could be when looked at through her loving blue eyes.

He smiled at her, and felt his heart melt when she returned it, fully bloomed, bright and beautiful. “For at least tonight.”

She rolled her eyes. “Netflix Originals marathon then. I’ll pick five I approve of, then you can pick which one you want to see from there.”

Oliver chuckled. “I remember the routine well.”

“You need guidance when it comes to that kind of thing and you know it.”

“Wanna order Chinese?” Oliver asked.

Felicity looked over her shoulder at him with a hiked up eyebrow. “You know what happened the last time we had Chinese alone together.”

“No, I don’t remember. Could you refresh my memory?”

“Sit down and rest. I’ll call a pizza from Vinny’s.”

“Fair enough.”

Not too many hours later, they were several episodes into Stranger Things. It was Felicity’s second time watching and Oliver’s first – clearly since he did not ever consider watching television for recreation when he wasn’t with her or Thea. Oliver’s eyes slid down to the box of half eaten pizza and empty wine glasses. Felicity was nearly a foot away from him on the sofa, feet curled under thighs that her night shirt hardly hid. He watched her as the blue lights painted her face in a color softer and less frightening than the violet luminescence that allowed them to see when they’d been trapped in the bunker. It was television light, normal light, a light he’d see in the evenings when he sat cuddled beside her in Ivy town, on late nights when Arrow business was dead when they’d been together all those months, the light he pictured seeing when they had a family together – a life outside of being heroes. But that’s what he was, or at least, that was what Felicity believed him to be, and maybe she was right. He was far from perfect, and he was only a man. But he did the best he could, and yes, he liked killing – but maybe not in the way Chase wanted him to admit. Perhaps, he liked it because he was ridding the world of their ugly cold abusive souls. But he didn’t want to think about that right now. Right now, he wanted her in his arms. The urge was so strong, so overwhelming it nearly swallowed his heart.

“Felicity…” he choked out in a tangled whisper. When she turned to him, he added a soft, “Hey.”

She smiled, smooth and relaxed, then sucked her pretty lips between her teeth.

“I miss you, you know,” said Oliver.

Felicity released her lips and let out one of those loud types of sighs – one he couldn’t quite read.

She inched closer and closer to him then before he knew what was happening, she was in his lap, framing his face between her palms. She pressed a soft kiss to one stubbled cheek then the other. “I’m so glad you’re alive, Oliver, and that you’re here with me.”

“Felicity…” His eyes locked on to the smooth skin of her neck. He wanted so badly to suckle it, reacquaint himself with her sweetness.

She kissed his forehead and let out a shaky breath, making his heart knock in his chest. “I miss you, too, Oliver. All the time, but I want to wait for you.”

She pressed her lips to his. The sigh he let out was desperate and needy, but damn it, how could he care? This was the only human on earth that allowed him to be this vulnerable. She pulled back for a brief moment, warm air dancing between their lips, the electricity of hope mingling with it. Then they were kissing for the first time in far too long. He slipped his tongue into her mouth. Her whimper spurred him further on, but he held back not wanting to push her any further than she was willing to go. Her fingers clutching the fabric of his t-shirt filled his heart. He was home. He knew who he was when he was with her. God, did he know. He cupped her face in his rough hands and angled his head so he could access the sweet tang of her mouth in the way he wanted – reverently and purposefully. Gentle kisses between hungry insatiable ones took up several more minutes until Felicity tore her lips away and pressed her forehead against his. “I love you, Oliver. You know that, right?”

Heart shoved into his throat, he asked. “Still?”

“Always,” she whispered. He tucked her tiny hand between his two large one as if it was the most precious thing in the world and then brought her knuckles to his lips. He sighed then moved their now twined fingers to his heart.

“I love you, too, Felicity. And I trust you. Forever.”

He could see her eye shining in the glow from the television. “We’re gonna make it through this. You’re gonna make it through this,” she said. “I promise.”

They cuddled together for a few more minutes, watching the TV finish the episode they’d mostly missed, until Felicity yawned and announced she was heading up to bed. His thumb brushed against the little purple bruise above her eyebrow. “I hate it when you get hurt.”

“But we always save each other, right?”

“Always.”

He helped her clear their wine glasses, the pizza box and straighten up the living room. “Well, goodnight, Felicity.”

“Goodnight,” she said, walking toward the staircase that led to her bedroom. She stopped and turned around. “Aren’t you coming?”

Oliver’s jaw dropped open, then he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. When he saw she was waiting with expectant eyebrows high on her forehead, he grinned. He wasn’t going to argue. “Yes, ma’am.”

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#fic #Olicity #5x20 #arrow 5x20 #fanfic #olicity fic

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roxannarambles · 7 years

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Top Twelve Favorite Uranium Pokemon

After I posted my review of Uranium, I felt bad because I don’t think I highlighted the good fakemon enough and spent a lot of time discussing the bad ones. So I wanted to show off some of the coolest ones I ran across in the game. This favorites list is based on the design and concept of the pokemon and not necessarily their stats or abilities.

Apologies for a few of these pics looking a bit janky and weird, I need to still evolve/catch those in my save game before taking proper screencaps.

1.) Linkite

Pretty sure this is my favorite fakemon of the whole game. It has simple, striking imagery. It’s clearly a ghost-type based on the Substitute doll; the idea behind it is that it is the spirit of a pokemon that died while in its pokeball. It’s a dark idea without going too overboard, and it’s quite creepy and disturbing and just darn clever. Wanted to use in my playthrough but stats are super-bad and only way it can evolve is via trading, which I couldn’t do with my copy of the game at the time.

2.) Metalynx

While I do not care for the look of the Water and Fire starters, nor do I think much of Metalynx’s pre-evolution, I feel Metalynx itself is an excellent design. It’s unqiue and creative, and looks quite badass, and it served me well in my playthrough. I have noted elsewhere I think the floral pattern on his back looks a bit out-of-place and silly (I assume it was an attempt to tie in the whole ‘he’s a grass type, really!’ thing) but that’s my only little nitpick. The Mega form is quite nice too.

3.) Nucleon

The pokemon itself is very overpowered with its ability (Atomizate, like Pixelate but with Nuclear typing) + Hyper Voice, especially with a choice scarf, so it can actually be pretty boring to use. I’m also a bit miffed I didn’t teach my Eevee Shadow Ball before it evolved into Nucleon, because in terms of non-Normal/Nuclear Special moves, Shadow Ball really is the best. But Nucleon can’t learn it, only Eevee can. I had to stick with flippin’ Hidden Power.

Anyway! Point is, the design is very beautiful.

4.) Gargryph

l really love the concept behind this poke. When you visit the town you get one from, there are these statues all over the place and only later do you discover they’re alive. They’re obviously based on gargoyles, (or a ‘grotesque’ if you wanna be pedantic) specifically one that looks like a griffin. It’s actually really surprising Pokemon has never had anything resembling a griffin before. That’s a shame, because they’re really cool mythical beasts. This pokemon has a cool Ability called Rebuild, which restores a little HP if it wasn’t hit by an attack that turn. It complements a walling-pokemon style very nicely, especially one with Protect that carries Leftovers to maximize that recovery.

Unfortunately, this guy’s only good stat is its physical defense. Being a pure Rock type, it’s weak to so many special attacks it’s pretty damn difficult to use it effectively. But I still like the idea behind it as a walling/support poke, even if I could never get it to work. The sprite looks surprisingly really nice, too! One of the best in the game.

5.) Navighast

This is a Ghost/Fighting type, based on undead/cursed pirates. My first impression (its pre-evos are Swabone and Skelerogue) was that it looked too similar to Cubone/Marowak. And there are indeed strong similarities. But as it evolves it becomes more and more unique from that, and the idea behind it is different and really cool. The game features a rivalry between sea-faring ninjas and pirates, so some of the pokemon reflect that theme, this being the pirate-side of things. And who couldn’t love a pirate-themed pokemon? Besides, the typing combo is admittedly very fun.

6.) Firoke

This game has three lines of bug types that are closely related and become entwined in a truly awesome subplot. Obviously you can guess this is right up my alley-- that subplot was my favorite part of the game. Of the three elemental bug lines, I would say Smore/Firoke ended up with the best design. It’s also quite exciting to have a Fire/Bug type (only one of those in real pokemon), and a red ant is perfect for that. Its sprite is also the least weird-looking of the bugs and actually quite decent.

7.) Stenowatt

It be an electric raptor. What more do I need to say? :P I love the color combination and the design. Also feathered dinos make me happy.

8.) Empirilla

This game includes some fan-made evolutions of real pokemon. This ‘lil fellah is actually pretty neat, and prob. my favorite of the evolutions from real pokes. I never much liked Primeape, and Empirilla looks way neater to me, so it’s an improvement in my mind. It also relates back to the original designs well.

9.) Baaschaf

This black sheep is perhaps understated in its strength, as the design is nothing extreme or dramatic. Rather, it’s just a very solid design. It fits into the pokemon universe well, and differentiates itself just fine from Mareep’s line.

10.) Raffiti

So, yes, this is absolutely a Smeargle clone. But that’s OK because it’s BETTER than Smeargle’s design, which I never liked, haha. Also its stats are better than Smeargle’s, too. Plus it’s pure Dark type! That’s pretty neat.

11.) Geigeroach

Obviously my bug bias is clear here. But, c’mon. Nuclear cockroach. I would have been gravely disappointed if such a thing wasn’t included in the game. I should point out the thing is nigh impossible to actually use in battle; dual Something/Nuclear types always carry a buttload of x2 and x4 weaknesses, due to the nature of Nuclear typing, and if you combine that with a type that already has a lot of weaknesses, it’s only making it worse. Its stats are also poopy. So, yeah, you ain’t using this guy. But DANG DUDE the design is cool.

12.) Lavent

The stats are underwhelming, but I appreciate that this one’s based off geothermal vents and giant tube worms. An area that was just begging for a pokemon, honestly!

Honorable Mentions:

These are pokemon you can receive as eggs, either from an NPC or from the local Pokemon Professor for dex progress. I’m only placing them as HMs because I didn’t know about them until post-game, but they really are among the coolest designs.

Gellin

This thing reminds me so much of an Ultra Beast. (I’m pretty sure these were designed well before Sun/Moon was a thing.) After all, Ultra Beasts look . . . super weird and not like typical pokemon at all. It’s really damn hard to define exactly what an Ultra Beast looks like. But that *point* that thing does. It also has a weird unexpected type combo the way a lot of Ultra Beasts do-- this one is Grass/Electric.

Luxelong & Oblivicorn

The Dragon/Fairy Luxelong and the Fairy unicorn line that can lead to the Normal Kiricorn or the Dark Oblivicorn are both damn cool, and it’s kind of a shame I didn’t know about them until it was too late. I guess it’s motivation for the post-game, if I get around to it!

#pokemon #pokemon uranium #spoilers

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tobiologist · 7 years

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it’s lonely on jupiter, final chapter

“It isn’t often that someone comes along and surprises Iwaizumi. He’s not easily caught off guard, not at all. Or at least that’s what he likes to think. So, when Oikawa Tooru shows up, a living, breathing oxymoron strutting about on two solid legs, he must admit that he’s a little impressed.”

or: oikawa’s always loved aliens but never thought he’d actually fall in love with one

CHAPTER SUMMARY: In which the Supervisor has secrets and Iwaizumi makes an offer.

~a week later, aboard the BC Ambition~

The tablet is cool to the touch underneath the Supervisor’s fingers. Metallic and smooth, he brushes his fingers anxiously along the edges, lingering on the rounded corners. Four faces stare back, almost accusingly, from the screen. Two human and two all too familiar.

Harec, that’s the name he adopted for himself. His original name, the one provided at birth, was far too terran for his liking. Anything terran in origin made his skin crawl. The list presented thousands, millions, of names to choose from, and Harec was immediately drawn to the Vulominian section, a culture known for simple yet noble names.

But some people would never know his true name.

>> READ THE REST ON AO3 <<

He’s known for a while now. Longer than he would like to admit. The information is top secret for a reason. If any of the files leaked to the civilian population, riots may break out, chaos, anarchy. Supervisors and other officials are warned from day one about the consequences of leaking anything from the ship’s personal records.

Harec certainly wasn’t supposed to have glimpsed the files, let alone share the information with anyone. Not that it would be the first government secret he had uncovered over the course of his professional life.

To him, though, it felt like the most important piece of information he’d ever stumbled across.

There are numerous reasons why their people aren’t permitted to know the identity of their parents. Primarily, the familial ties are believed to interfere with work, with the exploration of the universe and expansion of their society. It was decided long before Harec’s birth that the concept of the “family” would die.

Regardless of the process, the true identities of each individual’s biological parents are held in the ship’s records. Only Medics are permitted to access these records, considering their duty to maximize the lifespans of citizens- specifically those with important roles, such as Researchers.

And Harec… he really hadn’t meant to see it.

He’d brought a criminal down to the medical bay for cognitive reformation. Every available Medic was preoccupied at the moment and could care less about Harec’s presence. One of the many screens was used for surveying a patient’s medical records. And it had captured Harec’s attention.

The files were unlocked, open, free to wandering eyes. Names filled the screen, bold black letters practically demanding his focus. Harec couldn’t look away. The damage was already done.

Iwaizumi Hajime was, biologically, his child.

It took every ounce of self-control to drag his eyes away from the screen. Staring didn’t change anything, and neither did averting his gaze, when he finally managed to do so. Harec probably had other children, but Iwaizumi was the only he knew of. And that made a considerable difference.

He’d never been tempted to break the law up until then. The very embodiment of an upstanding Supervisor, Harec was far too influential to let the news affect him. It didn’t stop the slew of ideas, though, that flooded his mind. Of families he’d met on other planets, images from Earth, and each hurt more than the last. If things were different…

Harec quickly shook these thoughts and acted as he should: like nothing had changed. Iwaizumi Hajime would be alright on his own. He had a normal Mentor, and, as he grew older, big aspirations and the sort of drive that would surely shape him into an upstanding citizen.

Then, everything went wrong.

Daichi Sawamura was more corrupt than anyone could have ever imagined. And he dragged poor Iwaizumi down with him

Once Harec heard of Daichi’s past shortcomings and the controversy surrounding his relationship with Ikejiri Hayato, he made a decision. He and Daichi would never get along. However, Harec wouldn’t allow emotions to cloud his better judgment and worked to convince everyone his distaste for Daichi stemmed from past mishaps rather than his own jealousy and rage.

Harec also made another decision. It wasn’t easy, but it would save Iwaizumi a great deal of trouble in the long run. Harec had always preferred an… aesthetically pleasing form. He enjoyed looking in the mirror, peering into round, bright eyes, fingers smoothing over soft skin and a sharp jawline akin to that of a terran “movie star.”

Iwaizumi would never care about Harec.

Harec would always despise Daichi for having Iwaizumi so close and choosing to ruin him. And, with the way Iwaizumi watched Daichi with starry-eyed admiration, it was impossible to imagine him liking anyone who wronged his beloved Mentor.

The realization sunk like a lead weight to the bottom of Harec’s gut. From that day forward, he chose a different form specifically for interactions with Daichi and Iwaizumi. The Nameerans were not known for their beauty. Many species found them to be unsightly, including Harec. With scaly skin, clinging to nearly visible bone, and thin pupils, grotesque rows of fangs, they were notorious for intimidating other species throughout the universe. Which was exactly what Harec wanted.

Iwaizumi grew to hate him nearly as much as Harec hated Daichi.

And then, just like that, Iwaizumi’s life was at stake. For the sake of a human, of all things. Harec wouldn’t have it. Iwaizumi may have made poor decisions, but he was Harec’s child. Emotions that had long lied dormant inside his chest came bursting to the surface.

Harec wouldn’t let Iwaizumi die.

“Harec Erusha,” a voice recites, from the opposite end of the room. The sharp tone drags Harec from his musings. “Supervisor #1222. Tasked with the reprimanding of Iwaizumi Hajime and Mentor, Daichi Sawamura.”

“Present. And, yes, the details provided are correct,” Harec mumbles. Golden strands of hair brush his forehead, and Harec flinches. It’s been ages; he isn’t used to this form anymore.

“It seems as if their chips have been disconnected from the mainframe.” A faint scratching sound fills the room as the Supervisor slides into the seat across from Harec. “We no longer have access to their location, health... “

“The chips were disengaged,” Harec answers bluntly.

His fellow Supervisor smirks. The tips of her pointed ears twitch ever so slightly, nearly translucent blue eyes focusing on Harec. “Disengaged?”

“I believe you know what I mean.” The words burn, almost as much as the thought of never seeing Iwaizumi again. Harec moves his hands from the tablet to his lap, fingers clenching into the spotless fabric of his pants.

“You dispatched of them completely. Yes?”

Harec swallows down the sudden lump in his throat. He can do this. For Iwaizumi, he will do this.

“Of course.”

“Good,” the Supervisor replies. They adjust the tablet on their side of the table, scrolling through what can only be Iwaizumi and Daichi’s mission logs. “Based on their crimes, both would have been hung once returned to the ship.”

Iwaizumi, presented before a crowd of professionals, crimes rattled off as the gathered officials proved their “point.” Iwaizumi, lying cold and unresponsive on a white, floating stretcher following the hanging. The mental picture makes Harec flinch.

“Most certainly,” Harec reaffirms. “Crimes of that severity need to be punished. And-” Harec nearly chokes on the rest of his statement- “handled publically.”

The Supervisor nods, lime green wisps of hair falling in front of her eyes. Purples flicker around her irises. “I am glad you understand, Harec. An official of your standing knows how to handle these cases- I trust that.”

“And I am honored you do.”

Distaste colors his words, as much as he tries to hide it, but the Supervisor simply grins.

“You will be rewarded greatly for your work, Harec Erusha.”

“Unbelievable,” Kuroo grumbles, glaring at the globs of chocolate on his jeans.

Iwaizumi huffs out a little laugh and watches, amused, as Kenma quietly grabs a napkin and wipes the mess away. Bokuto, at his other side, is laughing so hard that tears are streaming down his face. Akaashi rolls his eyes and grudgingly offers Kuroo his stick, mostly charred marshmallow still clinging to the tip.

It’s been about two weeks since the Supervisor offered his ultimatum and, for some strange reason, let them live.

Once Iwaizumi recovered from his injuries, he returned to volleyball practice- even if Oikawa was the only one who considered Iwaizumi “injured.” It was difficult, to say the least, with the season swiftly approaching. Takeda refused to cut any corners; he was there to win. Even if that meant working Iwaizumi to the bone. He and Oikawa were at the gym most nights, practicing extra, to account for the time Iwaizumi lost while away.

Fun times, really.

Having Oikawa there with him along the way, however, made the situation a lot more tolerable. For every minute of training, for every hour of laboring through new homework assignments, there was another spent at Oikawa’s side. Whether it be curled up in in bed watching a movie or eating questionable food at the cafeteria, Iwaizumi was more than happy to carry on as long as he had Oikawa.

In the midst of Iwaizumi’s readjustment, Daichi helped Sugawara through his recovery. He thankfully hadn’t had to stay in the hospital for long. Once he was released, Sugawara returned to his apartment. Daichi begged to visit more often to keep an eye on him, to make sure he didn’t push himself too hard.

For the most part, Sugawara followed the doctor’s orders. Iwaizumi overheard several phone conversations between the two, though, and could tell Daichi was driving Sugawara up a wall. Typical Daichi. He used to be the same way about Iwaizumi whenever he got sick or injured himself in a sparring match.

Of course, Daichi insists he’ll give Sugawara space after the first couple weeks he’s home; Iwaizumi isn’t so sure it’ll turn out that way.

Earlier today, Kuroo had called Iwaizumi and asked if he and Oikawa wanted to join the team for a campfire. Roasting marshmallows was apparently a favorite of… well, basically everyone. The team hadn’t had much free time lately, what with trying to reacquaint Iwaizumi with volleyball.

Plus, Iwaizumi worries about Kuroo. Alien kidnappings certainly aren’t common occurrences. It isn’t every day that a human gets taken by another galactic species. And no, the handful of legitimate “probing” cases don’t count. Worse still, the Supervisor had actually struck Kuroo. The cuts even warranted a few stitches, once Kuroo finally visited the doctor at Oikawa’s demand.

“Really, I’m fine,” Kuroo urged. “You’ve asked me, like, a million times already. Sure, it was rough, but it could’ve been worse, you know? Besides, people dig scars. If I’m lucky enough to have any.”

Well, he was right about that much. Not the scars part, of course. Iwaizumi rolled his eyes when Kuroo made that comment.

Iwaizumi hadn’t pushed the matter any further after that. He agreed to grab Oikawa and meet the rest of the team at the park later that evening. But then the call got a bit... weird.

“Also,” Kuroo cut in, moments before ending the call, “You should bring your… well, whatever he is to you. The other-” he lowered his voice- “alien dude that was with you? The normal one. What was his name?”

Iwaizumi balked. “Daichi…?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m sure he’s been having a rough time lately with all that crazy bullshit that went down. He can come, too. If he wants.”

It was a strange request, but Kuroo probably had a good point. Daichi had been constantly on edge and needed something to help return at least some semblance of normalcy to his life. To Iwaizumi’s relief, Daichi agreed to come along, with Sugawara in tow. Initially, he was just as confused as Iwaizumi had been when Kuroo offered. But once he mentioned “s’mores” and “campfires,” Daichi’s curiosity got the better of him.

And that’s how they found themselves here, sitting under the stars, gathered around the flickering flames of a campfire.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa singsongs. “Do you want another marshmallow?” He scoots closer on their blanket, the same navy blue one from their nights of “UFO hunting.” Decked out in an oversized NASA sweatshirt and jeans, eyes framed by dark-rimmed glasses, Oikawa looks… dammit, why does he have to be so cute? Iwaizumi curses his flushed cheeks.

“I- um…”

“Quick, before Mori-chan finishes off the rest of the bag.” Oikawa takes the stick from Iwaizumi’s hands and spears a sizable marshmallow on the opposite end. Yaku flashes a dangerous smirk at Iwaizumi through the haze of smoke. “That’s the face of evil. Kind of demonic. Look, he’s over there plotting!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Yaku scoffs. He lifts the stick to his mouth and slides two marshmallows off, cramming them between a couple graham crackers and- wow, that’s a lot of chocolate. “I’m just over here trying to enjoy myself.”

“Leave some for the rest of us,” Bokuto butts in, pointing an accusing finger in Yaku’s direction. “And don’t waste the chocolate like that, holy shit. You really are hiding a black hole in that stomach of yours.”

“Yaku-san knows what he’s doing.” Lev crams a graham cracker in his mouth, chewing around his words. “Just let him be.”

“Yeah, I mean, he has the right idea,” Hinata chimes in. He draws his stick away from the flames, squinting at the now black, charred globs at the tip.

“Idiot.” Kageyama reaches over and carefully removes both globs. He motions for Hinata to come closer, popping one in Hinata’s mouth before eating the other. Wide grins split their faces as they savor the sugary flavor.

“Speak for yourself.” Kuroo gestures at Kageyama and Hinata, happily chewing away. “You two don’t even make s’mores! You just burn the marshmallows to crisps and inhale them like a couple of heathens!”

“Heathens? Alright, old man,” Bokuto guffaws and, surprisingly enough, Akaashi lowers his head, body shuddering with quiet laughter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what he means,” Kenma mumbles. It’s the first time Iwaizumi has seen Kenma really smile. And, of course, it’s when he’s roasting his dork of a boyfriend.

“Why are you all like this?” Kuroo’s lips purse into a pout, and he jams his stick into the ground at his feet. “I’m a cool dude. I don’t deserve this kind of treatment.”

The rest of the team joins in the argument- if it can even be called that. Takeda scoffs loudly and shakes his head. But there’s an unmistakable fondness in his gaze. Daichi and Sugawara can’t help but laugh along with him, and the sight gives Iwaizumi the strongest urge to sidle over and hug them both. Stop that.

“They seem happy,” Oikawa whispers, as if he just read Iwaizumi’s mind.

“Yeah…” Iwaizumi feels a smile play at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, they really do. I haven’t seen Daichi make faces like that in a while.”

“I’m sure he’s happy when he’s with you, too, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi nods. “True, but that’s… that’s different. Sugawara is different.”

“Like you?”

Iwaizumi startles, caught off guard by the sudden weight against his side. Oikawa curls closer, as if he belongs there, as if he were made to fit in exactly that spot. Together with Iwaizumi.

“What do you mean?” Iwaizumi asks, a little confused.

“I mean,” Oikawa sighs, “that Daichi sees Sugawara like I see you.”

“Like you see-” Iwaizumi tenses, words caught in his throat. Oh.

“For an alien genius, you sure can be dense sometimes, Iwa-chan.”

Oikawa wriggles closer, if at all possible, and Iwaizumi instinctively secures an arm around his middle, holding him in place. It’s not like he’s going anywhere, Iwaizumi notes, a bit deliriously. It’s still hard to wrap his head around the fact Oikawa is there, very much alive, and safe. For the foreseeable future, at least.

“He loves him,” Oikawa continues, resting his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “All you have to do is watch for a couple minutes and it becomes pretty clear how he feels. How both of them feel, really.”

“It’s nice to see.”

“Mhm.”

Silence falls over the two. As they watch, Sugawara leans over to whisper in Daichi’s ear. A faint red dusts his cheeks, and Iwaizumi barely stifles a laugh as Daichi awkwardly stammers around a response Iwaizumi can’t hear from this distance. The two calmly climb to their feet, a movement that goes unnoticed by the rest of the group, and shuffle off together, out of sight. Ah, Daichi…

For a second, Iwaizumi closes his eyes, savoring the tranquility of their current situation. There’s no imminent danger or worry of being separated. There are no Supervisors waiting on the sidelines, eager to ruin the relationship Oikawa and Iwaizumi have started to build together. There are no chances of his teammates- his friends, if they can be considered that now- getting hurt.

“You know,” Oikawa mumbles, tone gone soft, “I was worried about you, too.”

“Me? I was fine. I knew what I was getting myself into when I went against the officials. Bunch of jackasses...”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean. I wasn’t worried that they would kill you or anything. Iwa-chan is tough and very very-” he punctuates the second “very” with a light jab to Iwaizumi’s thigh- “smart. I was worried… they would take you. Would keep you on that ship and I’d- I’d never be able to see you again.”

Iwaizumi’s heart clenches at the mere mention of being permanently separated from Oikawa. “I never would’ve-”

“I know that now, but, back then, when I didn’t know what had happened to you-” Oikawa takes a stuttering breath. “I wasn’t so sure. We didn’t even exchange proper goodbyes.”

“Well, you never have to worry like that again. I’m staying here with you,” Iwaizumi persists, And, panicking, tacks on a rushed “dumbass” at the end. Smooth, real smooth.

“You better,” Oikawa teases. “Or I’ll have to run to the arms of another subpar Iwa-chan wannabe.”

“Another alien?”

“Of course.” A breeze trickles through, and Oikawa nuzzles against Iwaizumi’s jacket. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m practically an alien magnet.”

Iwaizumi wishes he could dispute that fact. No one would pass up the opportunity to study a star trapped in a human being’s body. Iwaizumi knows from firsthand experience. Then, a thought strikes him.

“All jokes aside, would you like to meet other aliens?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“Well, here’s the thing,” Iwaizumi says, unable to keep the excitement from creeping into his voice. “Daichi has a ship stationed on Ganymede. Technically, it’s mine, too, because most Mentor-Researcher pairs- anyway, whatever, the details don’t matter. Transportation chambers are more popular so it’s pretty easy to slip under the radar, undetected, if we travel by ship.”

“Ganymede… that’s one of Jupiter’s moons.” Oikawa narrows his eyes. “How do you plan to get us there?”

“The transportation chamber center there is deserted most of the time. Those assholes don’t care much about Earth. They hardly monitor teleportation traffic in this solar system, especially since every center has to stay hidden.”

“Iwa-chan…”

“Yeah, I know it’s a lot to process but- think about it. Just the four of us. Daichi, Sugawara, you, me,” Iwaizumi insists, “You would love it. There are so many places I want to take you. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit that’s out there. The ice volcanoes on Slyke, the walking trees on Peclade, the-”

Suddenly, there are fingers buried in Iwaizumi’s hair, impatient, and a set of warm lips pressing insistently against his own. Oikawa kisses Iwaizumi like he wants to swallow him whole, like he can’t believe he’s found someone capable of showing him the universe he’s always wanted to see. Which, really, is answer enough.

Even before meeting OIkawa, Iwaizumi had enjoyed exploring the universe. It went with the Researcher job description. But there had always been something… missing. Most missions didn’t include Daichi. And, considering Iwaizumi couldn’t seem to make friends, it was just him hitching rides on passing transport ships or travelling through teleportation chambers.

Adventures that should have felt extraordinary felt dry, stale… lonely.

He glances around the fire at every person he’s met since setting foot on Earth. Smiles illuminate their faces, dancing flames painting the group in brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows. The heat of the fire permeates Iwaizumi’s jacket in the most pleasant way, a comfortable warmth, and the tastes of chocolate and marshmallow linger on his tongue. Oikawa settles against Iwaizumi’s chest, rambling about the sort of aliens they may encounter on their journey, about the planets and stars they’ll hopefully see from the inside of the ship.

It’s everything.

Regardless of what he’s been through, Iwaizumi has no regrets. He isn’t lonely anymore.

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