#the only other episode that makes this same mistake so completely is Into The Woods
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It's not even a problem that Joyce and the Scoobies are so overwhelmingly shitty to Buffy this episode. That's a valid story to tell. It's just that either you need to make Buffy less sympathetic, so you can tell a story about a group of people who are all hurting and lashing out at each other, or you need to have the Scoobies/Joyce realise their callousness and apologise. Not only does the episode fail to address that, but it actually ends by putting the fault on Buffy! Who is not blameless, but any assertion that she is only, or even primarily, the one at fault here, is proved ludicrous by the rest of the episode. The episode's sympathies end up lying with the people that are shown to be the least sympethic by the events of the episode!
#the only other episode that makes this same mistake so completely is Into The Woods#which tbh as good as her S6 work is#i'm not on board the Marti Noxon love train#for every IOHEFY there is a DMP#for Forever there is an ITW#dead man's party
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some benrius related questions i can't help but ask before jwct episode one comes out tomorrow:
is ben familiar with darius's fence system because that kind of security has become so commonplace with dinosaurs running around, or has he been to darius's cabin before?
if ben has been to darius's cabin before, is he the only one that knows where darius lives now? or did darius share his location with the other campers, too?
if ben hasn't been to darius's cabin before, did he track him down himself?
why is darius so angry that ben showed up at his cabin anyway? something about the "so you show up here—" makes me think it isn't just about the prank call, or whatever ben had to tell darius (i'm assuming his conspiracy theory)
so ... had darius drawn a line between him and the other campers following brooklynn's death? was he so scared of repeating the same mistake that he intentionally severed himself from the group? is ben showing up to darius's cabin a violation of that boundary? I DON'T KNOWWW
what was ben and darius's relationship like leading up to the tragedy? were they still good friends? or had they drifted apart since ben was busy with his internship/getting ready for college while darius was off giving presentations and working with the DPW?
how many episodes are we getting with just them alone? before the second trailer dropped, i wasn't even sure if we were going to see the other campers in season 1, but now it's very clear that they're going to be playing a major role. even then, though, a lot of the promotional material still revolves solely around benrius, including the first clip we got and the cover for volume one of the junior novelization. if i had to guess, i'd say we get 3 or 4 episodes max until ben and darius reunite with yaz and sammy at least—kenji will probably come later, which makes sense, since his reunion with darius will probably be the hardest
don't get me wrong: brooklynn's death in and of itself must have hit ben incredibly hard, and i can easily see how ben fell into some kind of conspiritorial spiral as a way to process his grief. but i have to wonder if darius was, in part, motivation for ben to find out the "truth" behind what got brooklynn killed that night. ben knows better than anyone just how much self-blame darius tends to carry on his shoulders, so maybe ben wanted to alleviate that by investigating what happened.
... is this the first time ben's come to darius with a theory like this? or has darius heard this all before, but without the evidence to back it up? is he tired of it. does he wish ben would just let him rot away in the woods instead of trying to make him feel better.
not a question, but imagine if ben had been writing darius letters but darius just kept discarding them. he could never bring himself to actually throw them away but they keep piling up in the back of darius's closet, unopened. i'm fully aware that i've ventured completely into fanfic territory with this one. i love being emo
#beware that the last bullet point is me being lame and angsty and completely self indulgent#look once i get the ball rolling it's hard not to veer completely off track#anyway. take these thoughts as platonic romantic or some third other thing idk. i just need to know what's going on with them#mango roars
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ANOTHER 'FELICITY-HATE' RANT. THERE ARE QUOTES SO DON'T READ IF YOU'RE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH READING HATEFUL COMMENTS!!!
[quotes]
"How I hate this moron. It's been a long time since there was such a crappy [i couldn't find accurate translation for English language, sorry. in my native language it is meant to be even more insulting] character in the series."
"did you know that the actress playing that whiney felicity is only 24 years old? i would give her at least 30 some"
"Best Arrow ending so far. I was moved. It was just too good to be true. Our dear Felicity is finally up out of her wheelchair and walking on her own. She will finally be able to fall down the stairs and break her neck."
"- Oliver really needs to start killing people again.
- Starting with Felicity."
"THIS FELICITY IS THE WORST CHARACTER I HAVE EVER WATCHED SERIOUSLY AND THE ACTOR IS A COMPLETE WOOD"
"Felicity's character used to be pretty cool, but after the last episode even I wouldn't mind if she flew out the window"
[quotes]
just a few "lighter" examples from my own playground (Arrow fandom from my country) (i knew i shouldn't even visit this website with films/tv shows and its Arrow page. i know this part of this website's community all too well)
and i'm sorry because i usually try not to generalize but all of this was written by men of course (and i know this; in my language you're using form of verb which indicates your sex)
and some other person wrote something which in this particular case i agree with:
"why nobody likes felicity" thread
"Because she helped defeat Slade and that's basically where it started. HOW DARE an IT girl in a ponytail and stilettos have the nerve to humiliate the great Deathstroak like that.
She started to be hated when she became more independent and strong. Annoying when her opinion actually mattered and her decisions affected the plot and the main character. And already when she put HER in the first place for the first time is already a chapel. This is no accident. Still too many guys feel threatened by "strong female characters" and that's the problem. And it's that kind of strong, in a way that can be applied more to "real" life."
there are maaanyy reasons why people can hate felicity (or every other character) but i think that in the most part these are the guys who don't like a strong female character, who actually has an opinion that affects the plot, her opinion counts, oliver or/and digg [so men of the show] listen to her opinion etc. it's somehow wrong, right? she should be just 'nerding in the corner' or something. and she's not a human being, so she's not entitled to human emotions. [BAN EMOTIONS!] she also can't make mistake, right? right.
and i know that in season 4 we can have strongly different opinions about the break up [i think we ALL can at least agree that this drama was so unnecessary ech] but i saw all too many men just hating on felicity because HOW DARE SHE DUMP A MAN WHO DIDN'T TELL HER ABOUT HIS SON KEPT SECRETS FROM HER LIED TO HER FACE FOR A COUPLE OF MONTHS DIDN'T LEAN ON HER WANTED TO LIVE ON AN ISLAND ALL OVER AGAIN - ALONE [...] HOW DARE SHE, STUPID WOMAN! yeah, so there's no 'okay, so i don't agree with her, but maybe she has her point. maybe he hurt her, maybe she couldn't be with him after that. or maybe she just run, because she was scared, or maybe she wanted partnership from him, she wanted to be a team [...], or maybe she's just a human and-blah blah blah". NO! she's stupid, how dare she, but at the same time - it's kinda good because now writers can un-alive her somehow, and show will be great again! yupi!
yeah, so amazing
so when i did this GIGANTIC rant yesterday or- when i wrote this rant, again? doesn't matter, anyway- i was writing about this kind of hate. maybe less insults and more "i think she shouldn't leave him because-[...] and it affects my opinion of her- blah bla blah something-something" and i would be cool with it even if felicity is your least favourite character of the series. it's cool! you don't have to love her, you don't have to like her or tolerate her, but stop hating like t h a t
//also, i wanted to apologise for the sound of my rants. i know they can be "passive-aggressive" and sarcastic (can't help myself, sorry) but i saw this hate too many times and had bottling everything up in me and now i just can't help it and be a little too much on the offensive[??] sorry about that, really. all of this is just frustrating. so sorry
AND I KNOW I SHOULDN'T BE DOING THIS TO MYSELF AND READING ALL THESE COMMENTS BUT SOMETIMES MY EYES DISCONNECT FROM MY BRAIN OR SOMETHING OR MAYBE I'M A MASOCHIST IDK nevertheless, these comments exist, and this knowledge is sad for me, welp
stay safe, stay strong 💜
#arrow#oliver queen#olicity#felicity smoak#rant post#felicity lover#stop with the hate gee#lacrimae23#female characters
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ToH theory: Philip Wittebane did NOT make the portal door
There is one thing in The Owl House that has bugged me for a while, and while the series finale was great and answered the majority of my questions, this one did not get resolved. Mind you, I do not blame the creators for not adressing it, they were hard pressed for screen time as it is, but it caused me to try to answer this myself. So: who actually made the portal between the worlds?
In the first season's last couple of episodes, we learn that the thing Emperor Belos has been after this whole time was the portal door, that had been in Edalyn Clawthorne's possesion. Eda happened to stumble upon the half-buried door while running away from home, scared of her curse and what she might do to people, and scared of the lengths her mum wants to go to to cure her.
Belos managed to get ahold of the door, but not before Luz blows it up. At the very end of the season finale, we see him trying to rebuild it, which he would eventually succeed with.
In season 2, Luz learns from Gwendolyn Clawthorne about another human who was on the Boiling Isles centuries ago, and who donated his journal to the Bonesbury Library. This was Philip Wittebane, who we in later episodes learn is the true identity of Belos. With the help of Amity she finds the journal, and with an echomouse they start to gain access to the information Philip wrote down.
This information details how to build a portal door. And here we get to the part where I had a lot of questions. If Philip/Belos was the one to make Eda's portal, why did he need to steal it back? Why not make a new one? He's had 400 something years to do it, so why didn’t he? If he had forgotten how he did it, the instructions were right there in the journal, which he donated to the Library. It would have been easy to get it back. And Titan Blood, the most vital ingredient, seems to have been more abuntant back in the day, so finding it should have at least been easier back then than in the series' present time.
So, here is my theory: Belos did NOT make the original portal door. Let us start with taking a look at the portal Luz does manage to make following the journal's instructions.
It's wonky, distorted and did not hold up for a very long time. And it did not even lead back to the Human Realm, but to the In-Between Realm.
Luz thinks she made a mistake with creating the portal, but I don’t think she did. I think this is exactly the portal you would get following these instructions, and I think this is what Philip also ended up with. Let's jump ahead a little, to season 3 where Luz, her friends, and Camila get into the Demon Realm from the Human Realm.
They found a buried vial of Titan Blood in a graveyard, in the Human Realm. The map to it was found under the floorboards in the cabin in the woods behind Luz's house, where the portal door originally lead. When Belos smearded the blood on the gateway in the graveyard, a portal opened through which they all entered the Demon Realm. This, many have speculated, is how Caleb Wittebane and Evelyn traveled between the worlds. And the place where they exited the portal looks a lot like the place where Eda found the buried door. This is also something many others have pointed out.
So, I believe that at first, Caleb and Evelyn traveled using the gateway, but later created the portal door to make the traveling easier. Either they then hid it together, or Evelyn hid it after Caleb had been killed by his brother, to ensure that Philip would never get his hands on it.
Philip, being unable to find it, tried to make a door of his own, but was never truly successful. The only thing he managed to make was a wonky version, same as Luz did while following his instructions. The experiments were a failure, he was unable to return to the Human Realm. But, maybe not a complete fail, after all. The wonky portal did lead to something, the In-Between Realm, where we know the Collector was being held prisoner.
They made a deal. The Collector would teach Philip what he needed to know in order to take over the Boiling Isles and then drain the magic and life from its inhabitants (something the Collector did not know meant death, no fixing and no coming back), and Philip would free the Collector. To be able to speak to them more easilly, Philip needed the Collector's mirror, something Luz unintentionally aided him in.
Thus, the failed portal door had served it's use. It was no point trying again to make one with the instructions Philip had written down, so the journal was likewise useless to him now. He donated it to the Library, where Luz eventually found it. Belos spent the next few hundred years establishing his reign, aand looking for his brother's portal door.
Luz's portal was not a failure. It was exactly how it would have always turned out following those instructions. It was Philip's, Belos' portal that failed to work as intended, and that in the end opened up an entire other horrible path for him. But had Belos' door worked, he probably would have brought more witch hunters to the Boiling Isles, and there would have been a big war between the Demon Realm and the humans. So, fortunately, that did not happen.
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MY PREDICTION FOR MURDER DRONES EP.4
TW. Spoilers, blood, horror
Skip if you want to wait and watch the episode and not being spoiled.
Ok, so Murder Drones ep.4 is going to come on April 7. Which is pretty great.
The creator given us pics about what the episode will be about.
The episode will be about camping and we saw group of campers, the cabin and Uzi in the lake.
At first i didn't think much about it but as i looked more into these leaks i figured that this will be based on horror movie..... CABIN FEVER
In this video posted 7 days ago it has the title Cabin Fever
For those who haven't watched that movie i will tell you.
Summary: While staying at a remote cabin for a week-long vacation, a group of five college friends succumb to an infectious, flesh-eating disease.
PLOT: A forest-dwelling hermit named Henry discovers his dog has died from a mysterious illness and is sprayed by its infected bl00d. Five young friends, Paul, Karen, Bert, Jeff and Marcy have rented a cabin in the same woods for a week-long vacation. The group stops for supplies at Priddy's General Store. Dennis, the intellectually-disabled son of the store manager, unexpectedly bites Paul's hand.
Bert ventures into the woods with a BB rifle to shoot squirrels. Bert encounters and accidentally shoots Henry, mistaken for a squirrel. He panics when he realizes Henry is infected with a disease and flees. He says nothing about the incident to his friends.
Later that evening, while the group hang out around a campfire, a stranger who calls himself Grim and his Belgian Malinois dog, Dr. Mambo, gatecrash their evening.
Later that night, Henry comes to the cabin in search of help. Bert slams the door in his face and the desperate man tries to steal the group's vehicle. A conflict ensues between Henry and the five friends, during which they accidentally cripple their car and set fire to him. He runs off into the woods, presumably to his death.
The next day, Jeff and Bert head out in search of help. They encounter a farmer who offers to help them, but hastily leave when they discover that Henry is her cousin. Meanwhile, Deputy Winston arrives at the cabin to investigate reports of the previous night's commotion. Paul explains things without mentioning Henry's presumed death. Winston promises to send a tow truck before departing.
Dr. Mambo returns to the cabin without Grim and seemingly infected. He threatens Paul and Bert, before Marcy scares him off with the rifle.
While Paul and Karen make out, they discover that Karen is infected with the flesh-eating virus and her leg has started to decay. Fearful of contagion, the others lock her in the shed. Paul leaves on foot to find help, but the only people he encounters chase him away, mistaking him for a peeping Tom.
The following morning, the group's attempt to evacuate is botched when Karen vomits blood all over the interior of the car. Bert drives back to the general store alone and Jeff abandons everybody and flees to a remote shack. Marcy and Paul lament their poor chances of surviving and have $3x, believing they won't live long enough to regret it. They later discover marks on Marcy's back that reveals she, too, is sick.
At the general store, Dennis bites Bert's hand just as he did with Paul. His father, Tommy, lashes out at Bert for exposing his son to the virus, and he and his friends chase Bert down in order to contain the disease. While once again searching for help, Paul encounters the severely-burnt Henry in the lake. Surprisingly, he is still alive and he attacks Paul, only for Paul to fend him off and finally k!ll him.
Marcy draws a bath and shaves her legs, causing the infected flesh to gruesomely peel from her body. She stumbles outside in distress and is mauled to death by Dr. Mambo.
Paul returns to the boat shed where Karen begs him to k!ll her. His gun is empty and since he's unable to finish the job of splitting her face with a shovel, Paul sets the shed on fire and watches in horror as Karen is completely burned alive. Bert makes it back to the cabin, but he is followed and shot dead by Tommy. Paul recovers Bert's rifle and guns down Tommy and his two accomplices. Paul escapes in Tommy's truck, but crashes it into a tree and explodes. Covered in bl00d, Paul stumbles upon a small campfire party attended by Deputy Winston. Winston receives a radio call from the sheriff ordering her to shoot Paul on sight. However, Paul convinces Winston to let him go instead.
The next morning, Jeff returns to the cabin. He finds the corpses of his friends and Tommy’s accomplices, and rejoices in having survived the ordeal himself, until he sees signs of the infection on his hand. He is then shot and k!lled by Deputy Winston with a sniper rifle. Paul succumbs to infection and drops dead in the woods where Dennis discovers his corpse. Back at the cabin, as the authorities and a hazmat crew clean up the scene, it’s revealed that Jeff’s corpse landed near the lake, which is now infected with his bl00d.
If I'm correct then the episode will be based on Cabin Fever horror movie because it makes sense from all the leaks that the creator given us so far. Which means that maybe Uzi or one of her classmates will get infected by some disease that they got from the lake.
Anyway tell me your thoughts about it please.
#murder drones#uzi doorman#theory#khan doorman#murder drones analysis#serial designation n#serial designation v#serial designation j#murder drones tessa#tessa james elliot
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Okay I saw your tag saying this is a Portwell space and you’re not here for Rina debates on my anon post which is fine but I just stumbled upon it in the HSMTMTS tag so I sent it. One last thing though :) Ricky clearly grew from being selfish as y’all say in s3. He showed up for Gina multiples times showing he cared about her. Really working hard towards the musical for her which Ashlyn said he never did before, telling her “he’s proud of her” bc he understands it’s something she has wanted, talking to her on the porch about the drama, helping her set up a canoe date with EJ despite his feelings, approaching her in camp prom but backing off when he sees she’s crying but still checking up on her afterwards, and still not telling her his feelings bc he knows she’s vulnerable shows that. So he clearly gets her feelings, understands her, validates her in season 3. He knows how he went wrong and how Gina might have felt when he has to help Gina with her promposal. Maybe he didn’t outright say sorry (although he does that one time in school with Big Red and seems like he’s about to in the quincenera episode before Gina cuts him off) but that doesn’t mean he never grew from his mistakes. Gina does deserve a bigger apology and I hope they address it in s3 but let’s not act like EJ ever apologized to her in s3 about calling her out in front of all their friends with the Ricky comment at the pool, not showing up for their last dance when he knew how much she wanted that, or even in their breakup instead completely shifting blame onto her and saying everything’s because of Ricky and he was actually her boyfriend. But I guess it’s hard to see how much EJ hurt her in s3 or how Ricky’s grown when you’re still stuck on season 2.
i don't necessarily think ricky was selfish in s2 he just wasn't the best friend to gina.
the stuff he did this season was pretty bare minimum when you look at both gina's relationship with EJ and her relationship with her friends. they have all shown up for her and supported her and now because Ricky has the free time and says like one nice thing and helps her once they're suddenly the best relationship? also, he didn't even read the whole show so it's not like he worked that much harder.
also, EJ wasn't able to be there for all the things it's not his fault. he tried his best to be there for her but he was also busy trying to direct a whole show that was about to be broadcast across the internet and also ensure that he could stick around for Gina all while dealing with his POS dad and he's only freaking 18 years old. also, EJ and gina both made snappy comments at each other
the difference between the ways EJ and ricky hurt her is that EJ was doing everything for gina in s3, and he still cared about her even when he was going through his own crap and tried to make time for her, and it was just two weeks of their whole relationship realistically it's not that big of deal if he can't be around her all the time because it's just two weeks. he wanted to spend time with her and do all the things but he was forced to run the show to help all his friends. him not running around the woods or attending a basketball game while he was running an entire show he never wanted to run in the first place is so valid and not hurtful in the way that knowing how someone feels about you and ignoring that and never addressing it and asking them to give you advice as if you were their girlfriend also expecting them to be your bestie and support you when you haven't done the same for them is. the difference is, EJ was struggling so much in order to help everybody.
also, i can't just disregard season 2 because i can't just erase the fact that ricky has a history of not being the best person for gina and hasn't done that much for her while gina and ej have a history of supporting and understanding each other in a way s3 tries to make us forget by the end.
again, as i've stated in other posts, I'm too tired to properly debate this just know that i know how i feel about both relationships and the more asks you send me, nothing will change. so just save both of our time and go read through the positive r*na tag or something
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The southlands! Isildur! Numenor! Galadriel! Elendil! That's the two storylines we're getting this episode, isn't it.
GAUNTLET. Love that dirt. Ooh, what dark magic is this?
I so want to know how many of these guys Adar is actually the dad of. It could be a lot.
He sure can give a speech wow
Like it's a flat out fascist speech, but, ya know, they're not animals
GIMBATUL!
Still not sure why the evil sword sculpture is in the elf tower
Adar continues to be suspiciously silent on the subject of Sauron
Here goes thr plan! Good job Arondir
New theory: Adar is Turgon
The Numenorean soldiers are sleeping cheek by jowl, but those ships STILL look like they must be bigger on the inside.
Galadriel CAN be a good commander when she tries
Don't ask personal questions about people's mothers
I suppose this show has enough bad bitches, they can be allowed ONE dead mother
Map!
I likw the look of the Numenorean battle armor
Hitting it a bunch is not gonna work, Arondir. Guess he can't be good at everything
I swear I'm not slut shaming Bronwyn, but I like her little shawl-thing. Makes her outfit look more put together
Another one for the "light" motif
Ah the old, "you'll be their protector" ploy
I am SO TORN as to whether Theo is Arondir's son or not. There's so many reasons to think he is, but Arondir and Bronwyn simple do not strike me as two people who have already slept together
BIG DAMN KISS
The ranks of orcs always follow the path of the land, giving them a strong "flowing water" vibe
Get that woman a Bic!
Are the torches for intimidation/source of fire? I bet the orcs don't need them to see.
Wow I would have expected a wood elf to have better falling off of roofs skill
His karate skills are top notch though
Eew, right in the eye
Wow that final struggle went on forever
I mean, the guys fighting on the orc side certainly weren't holding back
Bronwyn duck!
Bronwyn's the only one who has npc levels and can survive getting hit with an arrow
Fortunately, Bronwyn got hit in the upper chest, famously a place where no important body parts live
Medical drama!!!
Oh gosh AND they're field cauterizing the wound? I should get out my bingo card
Bronwyn makes such wonderful pain faces, the acting is magnificent
Nah, this is not a dramatically appropriate place for her to die.
Yeah I would have passed out for a minute after that too
Adar!!
HERE THEY COME!
Like the hand of God. GLORIOUS!
Galadriel is as big of a drama queen as Sauron when it comes to horse color
Why is it full daylight where the Numenoreans are? Are they still in the past?
Don't give in to threats, Arondir!
Is it actually there, though?
It is? Arondir, you couldn't have at least taken it out of the village?
LET'S GOOOOOOOOO NUMENOR!
Remember: stab, twist, THEN gut
Ontamo! The Meriadoc Brandybuck of Numenor
Don't worry Isildur. You'll have time to go completely dephalagulatingly nuts later.
Horse chase! Through the woods!
Oh thank god the horse is okay
Oh no his other hand ow
Uh insight check on Adar not knowing who Halbrand is. Unfortunately the Sauron hints keep piling up. If you wanted to see it you totally could.
Besides, we gotta question this guy
I love that Isildur is the shortest of his friends. Take that jrrt
When she was a child? So, the ORIGINAL orcs? SWEET
No not his kids!
"Healing" Middle-earth. Oh "perfect order", yeah, that sounds like Sauron
Oh yeah the evil spirit magic experiments
Oh my god that's adorable. He didn't just split with Sauron because of power rivalry, but because he loves his kids
"Split him open"????
Doubt.
THEY ARE CHILDREN OF THE ONE SAME AS YOU
Galadriel, God doesn't make mistakes :(
IN YOUR OWN MIRROR OH MY GOOOOOOOD
Whoa, chill girl. Don't let him bait you like that
The thing is, it would be so easy for Halbrand to be merely what he seems (well mostly). AND YET.
Yeah there's no motion toward each other. They just look at each other and talk about their personal growth. No sexual tension detected.
Bronwyn go lay down. You're not well enough to stand up yet.
Miriel you inherited your power, what does that say about you
Lord Halbrand? I didn't vote for you
If you miss feeling powerful, Theo, might I interest you im a nice ring?
Oh yes, throwing the evil artifact in the sea is a wonderful idea
Where's the sword??
Still don't know why the sword goes there
Oh shit are they gonna flood the whole town??
Uh it's not Isildur's pain that's bothering Berek either guys
Awww father son hug
Heeeere it comes
Yikes are they gonna sinkhole the town? Is that what the tunnels are for?
Udun? Oh fuck
Fucking volcanos, how do they work?
GTFO guys!
You can't stop phase one
Take shelter where???
Is Galadriel having PTSD flashbacks to the Dagor Bragollach or what? Move, girl!
ADAR NO! Man I hope he lives.
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(my) Mag a Week: Closed Emptyness
Hello there!
I am participating in the "a mag a day" idea by @a-mag-a-day which is BRILLIANT and I decided to do "statement a week", rolling dice with the characters and fears that were ftw that week in the episodes I have listened.
For today I rolled Archivist!Breekon and The Buried (Eps. 179-185). It's a Season 5 style one...and I am actually pretty proud of this one.
As usual, please do forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes,
Marla
Allons-y!
CW: body horror, literal suicide, mentions of family abuse and gashlightning, trauma and grieving
Also on AO3!
Of double vision and false identities.
Audio recorded by The Archivists… The Archivist , in situ.
Even the ones under the grace of The Beholding can fall. They can fall so deep the concept of “way out” is completely lost and foregone. Then of course, they are not the only ones that fall so deeply and with such rotundity they wished a sick mind as Fairchild’s had been the one to find them. Falls are for all souls, its pain, the fear the produce nourishment as strong as a five course meal.
Because, what comes after the fall…makes you contemplate it as an absolute bliss.
Steve was a normal boy. He liked his cartoons and he liked playing with his older sister.
He liked hiding under the bed when he got hurt, because that way nobody knew boys also cry. He liked being mean to his mother and father, because they always argued in front of his sister and that made her very sad, up to the point she started to seek for refuge under the bed too. There, she could spent hours, finally free of feelings she would simple not touch her. A place she felt the warmth Steve suspected not even himself was able to provide for.
A place she could remain forever, to lose her soul…
…Up to the point one day, she just simply didn’t come out.
Steve was a normal adult when the world turned: bitter, selfish, blaming his problems on others and empty on the inside. So empty he could feel the lack of any meaning pressing his soul up to the point breathing was not an action he could perform in a normal fashion anymore.
He took it on others, because he had learnt how to break people the moment his sister died, the moment his parents were to blame for something that mattered people that usually dismissed the weeping of the children on an almost daily basis.
He was good at taking it on others, of seeing imperfections and punished them as the capital sins his sister would never be able to commit…until the day he found a red-eyed boy, just as his sibling had once being, created by his actions …and chose to fall.
The eye opened as he wished for an open-skied arrival to the ground, internal organs destroyed.
Not a single bed nearby.
His organs were, indeed, destroyed, for he could feel part of them on his fingertips as he moved, other collapsing into his mouth with a taste he would love to be able to say was as disgusting as it needed to be.
He could hear his spine broke and being remade moment after moment with every single spam his body produced. The sound kept echoing all around him.
There was no sky, neither any other recognisable space where it was being though. Just darkness.
Just darkness and the smell of naphthalene.
The very same naphthalene his mother used to clean the sheets of his sister’s bed, the ones that were a bit too feminine for him (according to his father, at least).
There are sheets all around him; even if he cannot see them, even if he cannot be certain they are not the ones his childhood home had.
However, it doesn’t matter his sight is of no use: he is picturing them, so clear as the metallic taste of blood in his blood he is beginning to get used to. He could touch them, but that would mean embrace the truth of where he is, and that is not something he can do.
At least, he muses, his bed could have the decency of being narrower, of letting the wood carved into his skin, making the emptiness inside of him disappear…but they don’t.
Instead, he feels as the wood keeps expanding, as the sheets multiply; now partially entering through the holes in his body, perfectly combined with his scattered organs; just another appendix of his flesh. They asphyxiate him, while still leaving the tiny cracks required for him to realise there is nothing that could properly fill him.
He is trapped and yet nothing can complete his entrapment…
…and a weeping began to come from a place he cannot identify and yet knows exactly where it is…
Hope would have loved this one.
We wish Inspector Hussain got what she deserved after what she did…
…we… I never wished before.
I hope she helps to torture one of the disgraces I am allowed to delight myself with. She will hate to become that…perhaps even try to jump from a window for it…
#a mag a day#a mag a week#mag horror#statement#original statement#the magnus archives#fanfic#tma#magnuspod#breekon and hope#breekon#archivist breekon#fic#the buried#magnuspod season 5
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IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED EPISODE 6 YET - BE CAREFUL, THIS IS INSPIRED BY A SCENE IN IT AND WHILST NOT A DIRECT SPOILER , IM STILL PUTTING THIS HERE AND IF YOU WANT TO STAY COMPLETELY SPOILER FREE THAN PLEASE READ AFTER WATCHING!
Jake canonically fucks. In the comics he's even got a kid. Jake knows how to have good sex and I stand by that
Mi amor
🍋 NSFW
Pairing: Jake lockley X reader (GN)
Warning: spanking, dirty talk in Spanish, rough sex, Car sex - semi public, fingering, mentions of a belly bulge, blow jobs, creampie, crying kink, hickies, slight knife play, he has a big dick, sadistic Dom! Jake
I use a translation app a friend recommended to me, it was one they used to translate English and of course, vise versa when they wanted to translate their language to English. They said it was super useful whilst they were still learning so I'm using it
I'm sorry if there are mistakes
You frowned as the bitter taste of alcohol burned your throat. The cheap stuff most bars sold were always too rough to drink. It's why most only drank to get drunk - not actually enjoy it.
But you preferred finer things. Not to say you were a snob or overly picky. After all you were still ordering drinks despite your complaints. You just liked it when alcohol didn't feel like a challenge to drink. Wanting to spend your night tipsy and free. No one telling you what to do or forcing you away from your free time. Just being able to finally relax.
Though being alone didn't seem to be an option. You'd be a fool not to notice the man in the far corner, watching you like a hawk. You couldn't make out his face due to the distance also the fact the top half of it was covered by his flat cap.
You tried your best to ignore him. He didn't make any moves to approach and you hoped it stayed that way. You really didn't need some weird guy harassing you tonight. Or really, any night.
With one last gulp of your drink you slammed the glass down. Tipping the bartender before you marched to the dance floor. Let the music vibrate from the floor beneath you to your finger tips.
Hands slid up your hips, your back pressed to an unknown back. You watched the hands as they did so. Blocky rings on each hand but they weren't excessive. Nothing luxurious or telling of character. Either plain bands or something chunkier with a fake gem in the middle. Their hands were large with a visible vein.
You looked up to see it was the man who's been watching you. You were far too tipsy to care anymore; letting his hands roam up your chest until they guided your arms out. His lips pressed against your shoulder before descending down one kiss at a time to your knuckles. Repeating the same for your other arm.
You gasped as you were suddenly spun around. Your hand pressed against his chest as he put one hand on your waist. The other kept your hand in a firm grip. The music moving your bodies as you swayed. Feet tapping against the floor in time of the beat. You didn't even realize you were taking your dance around the floor; watching as the people around you cleared the way.
You hooked your leg around his as you were suddenly dipped. His hand on your waist creeped up your back. You took this moment to catch your breath.
"What's your name?"
You were thankful he was so close to you now. You could finally see his face. Finding yourself sinking deep into his brown eyes. The same shade as barch wood. They were clouded and dark; not a single shine to them.
"Ever heard of stranger danger, toots?" He remarked. Smirking as he pulled you back to his chest.
Your dance continued as your hips swish, legs tangling together but never causing a slip up. Each step smooth as if you're rehearsed this all before. Utterly in sync despite never meeting.
"I'd like to know the name of the man who's been watching me all night."
"Forgive me, I couldn't help but admire ya from afar."
His voice was much clearer now. You could hear a thick Spanish accent with a Chicago twang. Before you could think of it any more you were spun. His hand on your lower back the entire time as you twisted on your heels.
His knee was now pressed between your thighs as he leaned against you. Your knuckles brushed his freshly shaven face, his hand still locked with yours. His palms were coarse. You just caught a glimpse of his knuckles; shredded and scarred. As if they were never given time to heal.
"So? What's your name, I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." You bargained.
He hummed as he thought before he grinned. It was stiff. Wooden on his face. As if he wasn't use to smiling genuinely.
"Jake- Jake lockley and yours?"
You told him your name. Listening to the way it rolled off his tongue as he repeated it to himself.
There was one part of your brain that was still sober. Screaming for you to run. To get as far away as you could. His whole demeanour smelled like danger. It was potent on him. But you couldn't bring yourself to act logically. Not when he was kissing your shoulder, lips brushing against the exposed part of your neck.
A little bit of danger never hurt anyone.
That's what you tell yourself as you let him whisk you away. Stumbling out the back of the bar where you saw a white limousine. Whilst the bar itself was pretty upper class it still felt out of place to see such a facny car.
Like a true gentleman, he opened the door for you. You obviously went in without thought and he followed after you.
The seats were a gorgeous crimson. Soft and lavish yet still a little firm. You pressed down and watched it slowly rise back up. A sigh slipped out of you as you leaned against the chair. You had to admit - they were really comfortable.
Jake pulled out a bag from under an arm rest, sealing it back shut as he offered it to you. With alot of hesitance you reached out and looked inside. It was bread sticks. Just - dozens of bread sticks you'd normally steal from a bad date at a nice restaurant. Where they were freshly baked, still plump with abit of squish. Unlike the rock solid ones at your local restaurants.
They still smelt fresh and were warm against your hands. They looked delicious.
But even with your mind fuzzy you couldn't bring yourself to eat. He was a stranger afterall. You were in his car. Oh god what are you doing? You wanted to smack yourself for ever letting him near you.
Jake plucked one of the rolls from the bag, greedily chewing as he leaned against his chair. Keeping a respectable distance from you as if he was trying to keep you comfortable. You watched him eat without care and finally let out a breath. Taking one for yourself and began to eat.
You always forgot how hungry alcohol made you. All you could focus on was this continues sensation of dehydration you felt, you always skipped having a meal. It's most likely why you're usually the first to get drunk when out with friends. But as you ate more bread you could feel your mind slowly lift from its clouded state. Your mouth fighting off a sudden dryness with your saliva.
He handed you a water bottle and without thought you took it. Chugging it down as you finally felt that hit. You were now sober. Still in a stranger's car and eating an unflattering amount of bread sticks. You glanced down at the cars door and noticed that it was still unlocked. He made no attempt to keep you stuck here.
"Thank you - I wasn't really sure how this was going to go."
"I have many ideas."
That both intrigued you and scared you. Your heart pounding as he slowly moved closer. Taking your hand in his his as he kissed your knuckles. You moved the bag away from your seat as you let him sit next to you. He pulled you towards him as his lips hovered over yours.
"Do me the honours, mi amor?"
Oh god you were down bad for a total stranger. Even with a clear mind you wanted to keep going. You wanted to see what he'd do. He was a mystery you wanted to solve. And the way his voice dripped with desire but still kept his hold on you light. It made your chest go fuzzy.
"Y-yes."
He smirked at that. Taking his place on the floor between your legs. Throwing off his jacket with speed you could only describe as desperate. Undoing only a few buttons to reveal his tanned chest. A golden necklace shimmering against the small lights in the cars ceiling.
Jake was quick to undress you. Leaving you in only your underwear. You were completely vulnerable. Just watching him as he ran his hands up and down your thighs.
"Wait- what about the windows."
"It's two sided."
That should of made you run but you didn't. A new excitement brewing in your gut knowing no one would be able to see you. You thought you were better than this. Smater than this but feeling the cold metal of his rings against your skin? It did something unspeakable to you.
Teeth dig into your thigh making you yelp. It was hard enough to leave a mark but not draw blood. He immediately kissed it to soothe your bruised skin. He sucked on the mark as his hands squeezed your thighs. He continued his pursuit; biting and sucking all over your inner thigh before he did the same to the other.
You were squirming under him. Feeling your own arousal become torturous. He was close yet refuse to satisfy the aching need you felt.
"Please- Jake-"
He looked up at you. Releasing your flesh from his lips; they were shiny from the sloppy kisses he gave. He caressed you as he leaned up. Your noses brushing against each other. His damn hat still on which stopped him from Leaning any closer. Knowing it'll get in the way.
"I can fuck you like you're my lover." He cupped your face, slowly dragging the back of his hand to your chin. You shivered as the rings dug into your cheek.
"Or like you're a hole needing to be filled." He grabbed your chin roughly, forcing you to look up as he towered over you.
Your brain ceased to work. Thighs rubbing as you thought his words over. You really wanted to be a sensible person. Let yourself have something gentle and nice but your body screamed for the latter. You let out a shaky breath as you spread your legs further.
"Fuck me until I can't take it."
Jake let out a growl. Yanking you towards him as he pressed himself against you. You pulled back his hat as he rushed towards your lips. Forcing his tongue in as you let out a gasp. Hungrily devouring your mouth as his lips crashed against yours. You moaned as your tongues swirled. You could taste the brandy he was drinking earlier, it made you grab his head. Wanting to taste more as you kissed him back with furious passion.
He bit your bottom lip causing a small amount of blood to drip. But it only made him kiss you with more force. He groaned as his large hands traveled around your body. Squeezing what he could as he grinded against your clothed sex.
When you two finally parted you were left breathless. Stars sparkled in your ears as you stared at him. You were sure your lips were red and bruised. Jake licked your blood of his lips with a shaky breath. His own excitement growing.
You were suddenly spun around. Your hands gripping the comfy seat as he roughly grabbed at your hips. You jumped as you felt something cold drag along the plump of your ass. You peered over your shoulder to see a small pocket knife. You didn't want to admit how turned on you were right now. Following the blade as it grazed your skin. Leaving light scratches until it reached the edge of your underwear.
You blinked and your underwear was sliced. He pulled them with surprising strength, literally ripping them from your body. Exposing your lower half completely. Your knees buckled as you used the chair as a support. Gripping onto it for dear life as he squeezed your ass.
"Qué culo más bonito." He mumbled to himself. (what a beautiful ass)
A blush rose to your cheeks as you felt his rings dig into your skin. The knife he held still trailing small scratches. Brushing over the sensative part of your inner thigh. You tried not to move, fearing it'll cut you.
You gasped as you jumped in Surprise. A hard smack knocking you from your thoughts as your ass was left stinging. The knife he held was tucked neatly back into his leg strap. You leaned back, wiggling your hips. Silently asking him to do it again.
He happily complied with a coo you couldn't quite understand. Striking you with another slap. This one more aggressive than the last. The force of his palm and the rings made it more painful than you expected but you loved it.
You loved it more than you should. Knowing full well your ass was going to covered in bruises and hand prints by the time he's done with you.
You let out a whine as he massaged the splotchy red marks. He leaned down to give it a curt kiss before he sucked on your lower back. You arched as his fingers just brushed against your entrance. Teasing you before he removed them, you wanted to protest but he pressed his fingers against you. Now wet and covered in his spit, his finger circled around your hole before he shoved a finger in.
Creating a steady pace as he worked you out. Only adding a second finger until he was sure you could take it. It was delicious - he curled his fingers in a 'come here' motion as he thrusted his fingers in. Unable to go down to his knuckles since his rings were in the way but you didn't care. You just felt relieved you finally felt something in you.
He swapped hands. Leaving more harsh smacks against your ass. You were shaking at his point, tears in your eyes as the pain became overwhelming. You clenched around his fingers as you grew more impaitent. Feeling his confined cock against your ass.
"Fuck me-!" You cried out.
"You think you can take this?" He taunted, freeing himself as he smacked it against your hole. It felt heavy.
Curiosity got the better of you as you twisted your head further, it was uncomfortable but you needed to see it. And oh was it a sight to behold. It was slightly darker than the rest of him, thick in girth and had an impressive height. You were no mathematician so you couldn't say what his exact size was but you didn't need to be one to know that it was big.
"I can take it." You tried to sound confident. Your grin strained as he raised a brow at you.
You could see him more clearly now his hat was out of the way. His hair was scruffy, ruining the effort he put in to keep it pushed back. He was devastingly handsome. His brows were dark and thick. The left having a scar splitting it. His jaw was as if it was cut from stone, sharp and perfectly square. His nose was crooked as if he's taken far too many beatings.
He only shook his head. Amused by your persistence. "You want to take it? Go on - see how much you can take in that pretty mouth or yours."
Apart of you wanted to protest. To whine for nor getting what you want but it was too tempting. Your mouth was watering at the mere sight of him.
You turned around, sliding down to the floor as he fell into the nearest seat. You crawled towards him; fixated on his cock as he held it by the base. Watching you with eager eyes as you took your place between his legs. You leaned up, grabbing it and replaced his hand. You trailed kisses up it as it pressed on your cheek. You could feel it twitch in your grasp.
You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock. Sucking on it as your tongue swirled around it. He groaned as he grabbed the back your head, giving you an encouraging nudge. You took in a deep breath through your nose as you slowly sunk deeper. It wasn't long before you could feel it hit the back of your throat. You gagged around it as you bopped your head. He only let out a blissful grunt as he kept your head steady.
You wrapped your hand what you couldn't fit in your Mouth as you hollowed out your cheeks. Trying to fit more. You grinded into your own palm as your head moved faster. Your body was shaking as you held back the urge to move away.
"Eso es, cariño - Puedes soportar más, ¿no? Dijiste que podías aguantar.". (That's right, honey - You can take more, can't you? You said you could take it)
You cried out as he pushed your head further down. Your eyes Rolling back as you could feel him in your throat. Jake had no issue gripping your head tighter as he moved your head to his own pace. You moaned as he fucked your mouth, palming yourself with more vigor as he used you.
He sat up, clutching the roof handle to hold himself up as he thrusted his hips forward. Your fingers digged into his thigh as you let out a choked cry.
"¿Te gusta que te folle la garganta?". (Do you like it when I fuck your throat? )
You nodded as you swallowed around him. He felt himself verge on the edge. Looking down at your tear stained face. Cheeks painted red, brows slightly knitted as you tried to stay focus, tears streaming down your face as you trembled. Mouth full of his cock.
"Fuck-!" It was too much. He pulled your head back, finally letting you breathe. You took in greedy gulps of air as you shuddered. Sniffling as he caressed and patted your head.
You look up at with his watery eyes. Pawing at his thighs as you nuzzled against him.
"Please." Your voice was hoarse. Utterly ruined by his deep thrusts.
To Jake, you were perfection. You looked.more beautiful than any gem in the world. A sight he would never forget.
"I'm gonna ruin you for any other man." He growled out, pulling you up with ease.
Your hands slapped on the cars window. Cheek smooshed against it as he adjusted your hips. The cold window felt heavenly on your sourcing skin. It was a miracle you could even keep yourself propped up, your legs felt like jello. He slid his knees against your thighs to keep you steady. Stretching your plump flesh outwards to get better access to your entrance.
His fat tip pressed against you making you mewl. Sinking deeper and deeper with each thrust. You both let out a moan when he bottomed out. His grip on your hips was painful as he held still. Resisting all his desires as you adjusted to his length. As soon as you felt more comfortable you rolled your hips back. That was all he needed before he was pounding into you.
You didn't have enough strength to try to match his pace. Marveling as he moved your hips for you. Skin slapping against skin filled the car as it creaked. You used your hands to brace your head. Clawing at the edges of the door as you cried out.
"Guess you weren't all talk, after all." He snickered to himself. Absolutely thrilled by the way you felt so snug around him.
You tried to speak but every attempt was cut off by your moans. Your throat burned as you couldn't do anything. Mouth parted, drool trickling down your chin as your eyes rolled back. Completely lost in the overwhelming pleasure as he brutally slammed into you. Hitting your g-spot with ease.
There was a flash of white as you felt yourself twitch. Clenching around him as a scream was ripped out of you. You couldn't even get a breath from your sudden climax, he was still thrusting in. You let out a sob as you gripped his wrist. Whispers of a moan spilled from you as he chased his own release.
"Jake...." You croaked out. Trying to muster your voice. "Inside.... please."
That was all he needed to push him over the edge. Hot thick ropes of white splattering your walls as he slowed down his thrusts. Keeping you flush against him as he groaned.
He fell back into the chair, keeping you glued to him. Any movement felt like fire. Too sensitive to take anymore. Against your more sensible brain you started grinding on his lap. Panting as you left open mouth kisses against his lips.
"Mi amor." He groaned out, placing a hand on your stomach. Feeling the head of his cock against your abdomen. "You're playing a dangerous game."
You leaned against him. Sighing as you finally caught your breath. He nuzzled into your shoulder, planting a kiss on it as he caressed your stomach. You both sat there. Enjoying each others warmth. Where the night was gonna end you weren't too sure. But you didn't care. Just enjoying the after glow.
#moon knight x y/n#moon knight x reader#jake lockley#jake lockely x reader#jake lockley moon knight#moon knight episode 6#moon knight end credits#moon knight minor spoilers#moon knight jake#moon knight jake lockley#my favourite serial killer
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Shadow and Bone rant, because I need it
Shadow and Bone has some incredible potential, both the books and the show, but neither actually lives up to it.
Alina could have been interesting. Cartographer is a rare profession for fictional characters, but in the books/show she's just a beginner (at 17/20 it's understandable). Make her at least 25 with 9 years of experience in the army, give her a promotion with subordinates she's responsible for and you would get a more interesting character who saw some serious shit in the army, acts like a soldier, and knows responsibility. (And maybe wants to stop the war at all cost, utilizing the Fold maybe.*wink, wink*)
It bothered me that we never saw her using cartography this profession that makes her unique for reaching her goals. In the show, she has dreams about the stag. It would have been interesting to see HER figuring out the whereabouts of the stag by using the stag's surroundings like mountains, specific types of trees, topography, etc. Work smarter, not harder.
Diana Bishop suffers from the same passiveness in the first book of the All Souls trilogy, but she actively uses her science historian background and those passages are the most interesting parts of her POV. Alina's interest in drawing and geography would give her a unique personality, and made her relatable to many (see ADoW and history nerds). Many YA heroines have a specific and useful skillset: Katniss-archery, Clary Fray-drawing, etc. Sadly, her entire personality is running away with Mal.
Mal's character feels pointless to me. The story depicts an oppressed minority group with special powers, and their struggles in the world, the heroine and the antagonist are both part of the said minority group, and he's constantly shown to be a bigot against the Grisha, so what makes him so important to the plot? His tracking skills? Give the job to a no-name tracker and I wouldn't miss him.
At least the show made him more likable, but Archie and Jessie still lack romantic chemistry. However his chemistry with his friends Mikhail and Dubrov was spot on, I really liked it. They showed life as a simple otkazat'sya soldier on the front, and their death was painful to watch. I thought that his friend's death would make a bigger impact on Mal, him wanting to get revenge on the fjerdans and end the war at all cost, and saying that maybe Kirigan's plan actually makes sense would make an interesting narrative. (They are at war dammit, there's no black and white only grey.)
Mal and Alina don't act like soldiers in a war-torn country, they act like American teenagers, and it's annoying. The General and Ivan are the only ones who act as soldiers in a 3 front war. When the villain shows the most responsibility in your story you should rewrite your heroes completely, or make the villain your hero.
The show is better than the books. It's a rare phenomenon but it is something everyone agrees upon. To me, the first book reads like a draft the author forgot to expand. The worldbuilding, the Grisha, and the characters were a perfect base to an original fantasy universe, but it all falls flat. The show made it richer by introducing multiple POVs and giving the actors more leeway (Ben Barnes ladies and gentlemen). But in the end, they had to stick to the books.
This is incredibly confusing to me because we have numerous fanfictions about Alina staying at the Little Palace, embracing her Grisha side, helping the Darkling because his plan makes sense, or changing his plan by coming up with a better one, or having dark!Alina etc... Clearly, this is what book fans wanted: giving Alina agency, make her realize that she had to work with the Darkling because she's Grisha too and they have the same goals but have different methods, let her be Professor X to Alexander's Magneto, ending the corrupt and incompetent Lantsov line, anything would have been better than taking Baghra's words at face value and running off.
Change I like: the whole West-Ravka storyline, it made the General decision understandable. Zlatan sold Grisha to the fjerdans, wanted to kill Alina and his actions could have led to a civil war, Kirigan only acted as a general of his time (not 21 century guys, we are talking about the unforgiving 19 century) and besides we only see the destruction of Zlatans army (BTW they were ready to kill everyone on the skiff) and not the whole city.
Change I don't like: making Alina half Shu. I'm not completely against it, but it was poorly executed. The racism Alina faces overshadows the Grisha-hate, rather than complementing it. Alina acts like being half Shu is somehow worse than being Grisha, eventough there are literal Holocausts going on against Grisha in two neighbouring countries, slavery in another, and the show never addresses it. This is the biggest problem with her character, she never embraces being Grisha, sides with the muggles, and makes her mission to kill the only person who stands between Grisha and persecution.
Would have been good: the show could have made little 5 minute scenes depicting the plight of Grisha in other countries. Either at the beginning or the end of every episode.
Episode 2: the Ice Court
Episode 3: the Shu concentration camps with the experimenting
Episode 4: slavery in Kerch
Episode 5: the Wandering Isle with consuming grisha blood
Episode 6: the Demon in the Woods storyline
Episode 7: Luda+Aleksander
And now... The Darkling/ Aleksander Morozov/ General Kirigan: the most interesting character in the entire series.
In the first half of SaB he was depicted as every soldier's dream general. Sitting and eating with his men, fighting side by side with them, constantly checking on his troops while other generals prefer to attend court. But in the second half, he transforms into a Mustache Twirling Villain TM and makes rather OOC decisions throughout the trilogy. He could have been a generic villain from the start, but why make him then a compelling character with understandable motivations?
In the books, I understood his motivations, but in the show, he was completely right. His backstory shows that he tried peaceful tactics but those never worked out. The only thing that worked against his enemies was power and violence. The price of hesitance was Luda's life (I'm willing to bet they were married). The Fold was actually a mistake born from desperation. He spent centuries in hiding, seeing his people persecuted. Even with the Little Palace and the Second Army Grisha are considered second-class citizens, they can't hold properties. He has to walk the fine line between usefulness and being a threat. He has to bow to incompetent Kings who don't give a shit about the state of the country. If Alina had to go through so much how would she end up? Because it's a miracle that Aleksander still has it in him to fight for the Grisha.
Many bring up Nikolai Lantsov as the Darklings foil ( or Diet Darkling as @ambitious-witch calls him) to show there is an alternative to Aleksander, but it's wrong. Because Nikolai was never part of an oppressed minority group, never had to fear centuries of persecution, he's an actual prince, it's easy to not be radicalized with his background.
Bonus: If Bardugo wanted to create a fictional world with tsarist Russia as a base, the least she could have done is to open a Wikipedia page or a dictionary for the correct names and terms. Starkov is a man's name: Alina Starkova is the correct form. Ilya Morozov, Aleksander Morozov, and Baghra Morozova would be the correct forms.
EDIT: They could have shown the building of the Little Palace and the start of the Second Army. I wanted to see the normal life at the Little Palace before Alina came along, little Grisha enjoying their powers, their reaction if the Darkling comes to see their training (I headcanon he visits the lessons at least once a year), the other teachers, and their reaction to Alina. Alina in canon is good with kids, maybe if she had spent time with little Grisha, she could have embraced her powers sooner. Having met with foreigners (Fjerdan, or Shu) and hearing their gruesome accounts of the foreign treatment of the Grisha would made her willing to fight for their future.
#shadow and bone#sab netflix#sab spoilers#grishaverse#anti leigh bardugo#the darkling#alexander kirigan#aleksander kirigan#aleksander morozova#alexander morozova#alina starkov#shadow and bone cast#shadow and bone netflix#darklina#alina x darkling#malyen oretsev
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Ohh your writing is wonderful... I’ve actually never requested before so I hope get this right but: could I request Billy Lenz x Gender Neutral Reader (AFAB if it’s brought up) with Billy sucking on his partner’s fingers and discovering they are really, /really/ into it but also super embarrassed about it? Bastard-ness ensues. Hope this request is ok!
Okay? This is waaay more than okay! I’ve been so excited about this prompt since I received it! I’m so sorry for not getting to it earlier. I hope like six months later is better than never though! I’m also super excited to be your first request! I hope this lives up to your expectations, whatever they may have been!
Just a few general warnings beforehand: Billy is really rough with the reader he uses some extremely degrading language as per the canon (I’ve excluded the term ‘piggy,’ though, because I am NOT A FAN™ of that aspect of his dirty talk.) I want to specifically call to attention the liberal use of the terms ‘pussy’ and ‘cunt.’ The reader is never gendered with personal pronouns, but those words are used in reference to them and their anatomy several times. I am of the opinion that Mr. Lenz would use those terms regardless of what hole he’s using, but if they make you uncomfortable, maybe give this one a miss? Furthermore, I would like to mention that Billy is not a mentally well man (obviously) who has had a rather traumatic past with abuse, both of these are discussed within this fic, so please take care of yourselves and read this work responsibly if you want to read it at all. I don’t want anyone to be hurt by my writing because I didn’t warn them properly.
Also, this is my first time writing for Billy, so please forgive me if it takes a little while for me to get completely used to him. He’s a…unique fella, let’s say.
Editing Ripper’s Note: I was just about to post this when I realized I completely misread the prompt! I read it as the reader is really into sucking on Billy’s fingers, not the other way ‘round! I’ve been looking at this prompt, literally since December and still never caught on. I feel like a total idiot. I’m really sorry about that. I’ve decided to post this anyway because A) the kink is still there in the fic, just not exactly as requested, and B) I had already finished it by the time I noticed my mistake. So much time has passed and if the original requester is still keeping tabs on this blog, I don’t want to make them wait any longer. That being said, if you’d like me to write your request properly, please send me a message and I will do my best!
Mind Your Teeth – Billy Lenz (Gender Neutral* Reader) - NSFW
· Slick with sweat, your chest slides against the surface of your desk with each cruel snap of Billy’s hips. You can feel the laboured heaving of his chest against your back as he struggles for breath. It leaves his lips in ragged, staggering puffs, heavy and hot against your shoulder blade, accompanied every so often by the slick warmth of his saliva as it drips down onto your bare skin.
· Despite his gawky build, he manages to loom over you, folding you nearly in half against the desk. He’s made himself rather comfortable, sprawled over top of you. His chest presses against your back, boney ribs grinding against the knobs of your spine through the stiff, itchy fibers of his jumper. It’s sticking to your skin, soaked through in spots with sweat—yours and his—and you can feel it peeling up from your flesh with every movement he makes.
· He’s got you pinned, holding you down against the smooth wooden surface with little more than his weight. He’s surprisingly heavy, and though he doesn’t look it, Billy is a strong man—he’s more than capable both of lifting you off of the floor and pinning you down to it. He’s strong and his hands are by no means an exception to that rule. Though they may be long and thin, and they tremble whenever they hold you, his grip is nearly unbreakable. His clumsy fingers circle your wrists like iron fetters, dirty fingernails digging into the flesh of your forearms and cutting little crescents into the skin—just deep enough to sting. You can barely move beneath him—can barely breathe—and he knows this. He has you exactly where he wants you and you’re not going anywhere until he decides to let you.
· Another bruising thrust pitches you forward, and your knees bang against the desk drawers. You cry out, though whether it was for the dull ache in your legs or the sudden stab of pleasure between them, even you couldn’t say for certain. Though if there is any concern at all in Billy for your wellbeing, he’s certainly keeping it to himself. Your outburst only seems to egg him on, as his pace begins to take on a more frantic edge.
· His thrusts are shallow as he rocks into you—it’s as though he can’t bare to withdraw from the tight heat of your body for long. Dimly, through the fog of pleasure, you struggle to feel surprised. It’s all about instant gratification with Billy. Always has been—why should he tease himself or draw things out when he could just pry open your willing mouth and drag his cock against your tongue until he cums down your throat? Still, there is a force behind those thrusts—one which throws you up against the lip of the desk hard enough that you’re sure there will be a solid line of bruising along your midsection before the night is through. Every push of those hips shoves you forward a little more, until your head is nearly knocking against the wall and your toes barely touch the ground.
· Your cheek slides against a slick patch of wood and you realize you’ve been drooling across the desktop. The little puddle at the corner of your lips only grows in size as a particularly deep thrust from Billy wrings another string of wrecked whimpers from your throat. You wish you could pull away from the puddle—longing to drag the back of your hand across your cheek and wipe away the slickness, but there’s little you can do about it with Billy still holding your arms hostage. But at the same time, something about it thrills you—to be ruined like this—held still, unable to so anything but whimper, and drool, and take what you’re given. It’s…liberating.
· “C’mon, little bitch! Take my fat cock! You can t-t-take it better than that! Take it! Take-Take-Take it good for B-B-Billy!” He babbles into your shoulder, chapped lips scraping against your shoulder as he mouths at your flushed skin. His tongue flickers out, dragging a wet stripe against your skin, scorching hot, then suddenly too cool as it begins to dry in the open air.
· “Such a pretty pusssssy,” He slurs, “Pretty, pretty pusssssy. Gonna fill it up—gonna fill it with my fat ffffffucking cock!”
· You feel him jerk behind you, his muscles going taught as a violent spasm rolls through his body. When he speaks again, the voice that comes is not his own—it’s deeper, rumbling down in his chest, belonging to a man much larger than he, “Why I outta beat that boy! Beat him up good! Beat Billy bad! Beat him good! Beat him up, up, up!”
· His hips still and your heart leaps up into your throat, your pulse pounding hard in the tight space. This can’t be good. You squirm beneath him, trying and failing to turn your head. Your eyes roll wild in their sockets, desperate to get a good look at Billy, but he remains a shadow at the edge of your vision. You remember this voice. He had so many it was difficult to keep track of them sometimes—he’d mimic almost anything he heard; the children from down the road calling to one another while they played, the weatherman making predictions on the radio, even the neighbour’s cat. It was easy to forget which voices and phrases came from where once he’d picked them up and used them enough. But this is one that predates you, and you recognize it with a chilling clarity—the father’s voice: always angry, often violent.
· It frightens you when Billy uses it, though not because of the threat Billy poses to you. Of course, you know to tread carefully when he's in one of his moods—you’ve seen first hand the destruction wrought when his directionless frustration is given direction. But, you know this voice is a far more likely indicator that Billy is an imminent threat to himself. You’ve seen him pacing the floor like a caged animal, trembling hands beating about his head, tearing at his clothes and hair as he works through the frenzy, all the while babbling to himself in that deep, rumbling voice: “Rotten boy! Teach you a fucking lesson! Beat Billy! Bad Billy! Bad, Bad, Bad!” He's blackened his eyes, split his lips and knuckles, shattered countless plates and cut his hands on the shards. He loses himself in that voice, and that scares you.
· ‘Losing himself,’ that’s what you’ve come to call these episodes—those moments when his excitement and boundless energy curdle, souring into anxiety and agitation so quickly it makes you head spin. And in this moment, he’s displaying all the tell-tale sighs you’ve come to recognize—the full-body tremors, the angry voices, self-directed violence—mere threats or otherwise…
· No, this is not good. Of course, this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him do this, and you’re sure it would not be the last, but he’s never done it while you were…playing before. And that worries you. You’re both vulnerable, half-undressed and bent over a desk. Even worse, he was behind you. You’d learned very quickly never to let him out of your sight when he got like this. He was unpredictable—prone to lashing out whether he meant to or not. But he wasn’t beyond helping. If you could just turn your head and look at him—make him see you, help him to ground himself like you practiced, you might be able to talk him down, or at least ease him through the worst of it. Maybe. If you could only get a look at him.
· You flounder for your voice and struggle to keep it steady once you find it, “Hey, B-Billy? Billy, baby, you’re okay, right?” It’s an innocent question you usually begin with when he gets like this. Sometimes he’s too worked up to even begin to answer you, sometimes he tries so damn hard to answer, but can’t—not in a way you could really understand anyhow—and sometimes you can talk it through with him. Every time you try, the reaction is different. You can only cross your fingers and pray for a positive outcome.
· This time, he coughs. It’s a horrible, a horrible, racking sound that echoes in his chest—it’s almost closer to a scream than anything else. Another spasm jitters through him, the joint in his neck snapping loud in the darkness. You feel his forehead collide with your shoulder once, twice, then he stills. His flesh is clammy against yours, and the gentle brush of his hair makes your skin prickle, but he seems calmer. He barks a laugh—his own this time—and nuzzles against your back, smearing your skin with sweat and saliva. “Fuck!” He says, as though that explains everything.
· “Billy? Are you…alright?”
· He chirps like bird, three short bursts of whistling he’d picked up last spring when a robin mad made a nest on your windowsill, “Right as rain, rain, rain!”
· You’re left with a heady rush of confusion and relief as you realize he must have pulled himself out of the hole he’d almost fallen into. A little flicker of pride sparks to life in your chest. He’s come so far.
· Your concern melts away once again into pleasure as Billy jerks his hips. Keening high in the back of his throat, he fucks himself deeper into you. He drags his cock out slow, sounding for all the world as though he’d forgotten just how good it felt to fuck you—as though he hadn’t been doing just that not sixty seconds ago. He scrapes his teeth against your shoulder, the promise of a bite that will surely come and mark you for days. His fingers flex around your wrists, blunt nails biting deeper into your flesh as he falls back into that brutal rhythm.
· Your legs begin to shake as Billy’s cock bumps up against something a bit more sensitive inside of you. Your breath fogs against the surface of the desk as it heaves from your lungs, a thin mist that barely has the time to fade before the next heavy puff of air replaces it. You find yourself struggling to swallow the moans Billy’s working so hard to pull from you. You know how much he likes to hear you—how wild it makes him—and you know there’s no real need to be quiet, not with the dorm cleared out for the long weekend. Still, something—be it a force of habit from living in close quarters with thin walls, or simply your own embarrassment—keeps you quiet.
· “Fiiiilthy whore!” A growl, caught low in his throat, tears through the air between you, “Pretty pussy! Want it full! My cock, my cum…gonna fill it full!” Never at a loss for a string of vulgarities, Billy mumbles against your skin, his words slurring into one another until you can barely decipher one though from the other.
· “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck!” Billy jerks his hips forward, and for the first time this evening, you feel the full length of his cock stretching you out. You jerk beneath him, mewling into the desktop, squirming about as you try desperately to relax around him. You’re so full—so full you can barely breathe, but it feels so good. Your muscles contract around him, unbidden, throbbing with the sudden stretch. It makes him shudder and sigh above you, a wavering rush of air than hisses out between his teeth.
· He holds you there for a moment, trembling almost as much as you are, “Tight fffucking cunt, so fucking tiiight for Billy!” His hips stutter forward in time with his ragged breathing. Desperately, he tries to fuck himself deeper into you, even though he can’t—he’s already buried to the hilt, his hips tucked snugly against your ass. But he gives it the old college try anyhow. He begins to babble nonsensically against your neck, “Ruin it, ruin it! Never take another cock! Full, full, full! I left it in the kitchen, Jan! Not after Billy’s! A low pressure system moving in and—fuck you full, fuck you full, full, full!”
· The tops of his thighs quiver as he grinds into you, and as he shifts, the head of his cock presses against something. For a moment, your vision goes white. Your legs seem to fall away beneath you, your knees drifting south as the pleasure carries away their ability to hold you upright any longer. If it weren’t for the desk, you probably would have slid down into a boneless heap on the floor.
· You gasp, mouth gaping wide, pulling in a great, deep lungful of air. To call his name? To beg him for more? To put wordless voice to your pleasure? You aren’t sure. There is little room in your brain for thought beyond the need for more. Mercifully, Billy saves you from the struggle before you can waste too much energy on it.
· Almost as soon as he realizes your mouth is open, Billy shoves his fingers into your mouth. Two boney digits slide against your tongue, pressing and prodding against the slick muscle. The taste of dust and salt floods your mouth with the intrusion. You wrinkle your nose, and try to pull your head back, but Billy leans down into you, pressing you down further beneath his weight, grinding your ribs into the desktop.
· “No, no, no,” He chides, voice soft and light—almost cheerful. He spreads his fingers apart, rubbing over the hard bumps of your bottom teeth with a tenderness you rarely see in him. “Gotta make room,” His voice rumbles through you as he presses his lips against your flesh, “Gotta stretch it out for Billy, or he won’t fit!”
· He nuzzles his cheek against your shoulder, still rocking his hips into you, pressing against that spot that makes your brain fill with television static, “Billy’s gonna fuck your throat once he’s filled that pretty pussy!”
· Your lips are pulled taught as his fingers press against the walls of your mouth, testing its limits. “Soft and warm! Wanna fuck it! Fuck it deep!”
· His hips buck hard, shoving you another inch toward the wall. You can feel yourself drooling around his fingers—your saliva dripping down your chin in great rivulets and collecting beneath your cheek.
· His knuckles bump against the roof of your mouth as the pads of his fingers find the back of your tongue. You gag around them, struggling to breathe, but Billy just laughs and presses down harder.
· “Again,” His voice comes out in a ragged puff of breath, half-whisper, half-growl, rough as rock salt, “Pussy gets tight when it chokes.”
· You try to suck in a shocked breath, but you can’t manage it around his fingers. Your throat convulses around him as you struggle to breathe.
· You feel his cock pulse inside of you and he groans his pleasure long and low into the darkness, “Yesssss!”
· He rocks into you again, “No one fucks like Billy, huh?” He pulls back, his cock nearly slipping from your body entirely, then he slams his hips home again, “No one fucks you full like Billy can! No one! No one! No one!” The phrase becomes a litany, each sentence punctuated with a bruising snap of his hips. “Know why?” He drags his teeth along the edge of your shoulder blade, “Know why?” You can hear the grin in his voice, wide and sharp, “‘Cuz Billy fills you up from both ends!”
· You sob around Billy’s fingers, your eyes rolling back as he pushes them deeper into your mouth. If he keeps on like this, it won’t be long before you fall apart around him—you want to cum so desperately, you can hardly keep another thought in your brain. Your muscles clench up around him and he laughs, giggling to himself as he hooks his chin over your shoulder. He can feel how close you are.
· His tongue slides against the side of your face, leaving a thick, wet stripe across your cheekbone. His lips scratch rough against your jaw, “Pretty pussy’s gonna cum? Gonna cum all over Billy’s fat fucking cock? Yeah?” His simpering tone makes your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but you nod. Another peal of sick laughter bubbles up in his throat, “You’re gonna cum and Billy’s not even trying! So dirty, dirty, dirty!”
· You whine around his fingers as he babbles on, “Billy could fuck you harder, but he doesn’t need to! Stupid, greedy pussy, silly fucking cunt can cum like this!” His teeth sink into your shoulder and the rest of his diatribe is lost to you. Even so, he continues to mumble filth against the skin caught between his teeth.
· The bite stings, bright and sharp, and you sob around him, clenching your jaw, your teeth digging into his fingers. Billy releases you with a hiss, dipping his head into the crook of your neck. You think for a moment you might have hurt him, but in mere seconds, he’s giggling to himself again. “Sharp, sharp teeth! No good. No, no good. Not for Billy’s cock. Gotta tear them out, make room for Billy!”
· Though you know the threat is mostly empty, the way Billy caresses your molars with the pad of his finger makes you a little nervous. You’re sure if he could get a good grip, he could easily ‘make room,’ and there was probably not much you could do to stop him. But he pulls his fingers back, retreating from the crushing press of your back teeth.
· He presses down against your tongue again, rubbing against the slick muscle fondly. “Need to practice! Greedy cunt needs to learn! Learn to suck Billy’s fat cock properly.” He snaps his hips, as though trying to remind you just how fat it really was—as though there was any change you could forget while it was rearranging your guts for you. “Gonna teach you to take it good!”
· Your eyes roll back at the thought. You can picture yourself kneeling under the desk, Billy draped over the chair, wild hair falling over his eyes as you try to take him all the way down to the base. He’d fuck your throat until your vision goes black, his fingers tangled deep in your hair, nails digging into your scalp. Your own fingers slide desperately between your thighs, chasing your release as he chases his own and god what you wouldn’t give to make the fantasy real—to feel the length of him in your mouth, the rough denim of his pants beneath your hands, the jerk and sting against your scalp as he tugs on your hair. Your cheeks hollow around Billy’s fingers, a pretty whine sitting high in the back of your throat.
· And Billy stops—stops moving, stops talking. He hovers above you, silent and still as a statue, barely breathing. A terrible moment of clarity washes over you and the embarrassment comes rolling in. There you were, still stretched out on Billy’s cock, barely moments away from an orgasm and you were already thinking about another? Were you really that desperate? Your cheeks burn hot against the cool wood of the desktop. Shame licks at the pit of your stomach—it wasn’t unlink Billy to think this way, he was always seeking the next shot of pleasure, but it wasn’t like you. As though it wasn’t bad enough to catch yourself thinking that way…for someone else to do it? It was mortifying…and maybe a little exciting too.
· Your stomach flips as Billy shifts behind you, the burgeoning stubble on his jaw scraping across your sensitive skin. Then you feel it, a smile spreading across his face—it’s a grin you’ve come to know well, all teeth and wide enough to make his jaw pop. Even without looking at him, you know you’re fucked.
· All at once, he lurches to life again, fucking his fingers hard into your mouth, in tandem with the harsh thrusts of his hips. A filthy string of gibberish falls from his lips as he pounds into you, “Greedy! Greedy cunt! Want it in your mouth too? Filthy, greedy fucking whore!”
· You whine, and choke, and sob around Billy’s fingers. Your face is wet with sweat, with spit, with tears, you can’t tell and at this point, you’re far beyond the point of caring. The world has narrowed to a single point between your legs as you teeter on the knife’s edge of your release. You rock your hips back against Billy, meeting his thrusts, desperate for more. You’re so, so close, and Billy can feel it too—the way you tighten around him spurring his pace from wild to frantic.
· His voice is broken, his words panted out between jagged breaths and garbled moans, “Gonna be good for Billy? Gonna cum?” His face is buried in the crook of your neck. He giggles against your flesh as he splits you open, slamming into you like it’s the last fuck he’ll ever have. “C’mon, take what Billy gives you! Take it, take it, t—ta—fuuuck!”
· Your hips stutter as your orgasm throbs through you. You scream around his fingers as you cum, your muscles clamping down around Billy so hard he almost has to stop moving, rolling his hips forward quick and shallow. His howl is lost in the sound of blood rushing in your ears, but you can feel it vibrating through his chest, and down into your back. Your fingers scrabble at the wood beneath you, desperate for something to latch onto—to keep you grounded here as the pleasure threatens to carry you away.
· You sob and slump limp against the desk, letting it bear the brunt of your weight. There’s just no strength left in your body anymore. Your hands and feet tingle with the lingering aftershocks of the adrenaline as you begin to come down from your high, and your breath comes hard, as though you’ve run a great distance. Billy’s hips continue to snap against yours, brutal and quick. You sob into his fingers, the as the relentless pleasure sparks through you, nearly painful to your sparking nerves.
· Slowly, as your ears stop ringing, you realize Billy is still talking, babbling away in several voices. “Like your pussy tight like this. Wanna fuck you full while you cum again and again and again and I told you, Jan, I left it in the kitchen! Make you soaked, keep you soaking wet, make you fucking cry! Where is that cat? Where’s that cat? Where’s the…WHERE’S THE BABY, BILLY?! AGNES? WHERE’S AGNES, BILLY?! Beat that kid! Teach him a lesson! BEAT HIM UP GOOD!”
· His left hand shoots up from your arm and wraps around your throat, fingers flexing around your windpipe, not quite squeezing, yet, but the pressure is far from comfortable.
· “T-T-Teach rotten old Billy a lesson.” A spike of fear shoots through you and you choke around his fingers. This seems to bring his mind back, at least in part, to the present, or at least confuse him enough to serve as a distraction—he makes a noise caught between two voices. The fear that courses through you lends new strength to your limbs as you reach up and claw at his fingers.
· As you attempt to pry him lose, his grip only tightens, fingers locking around your windpipe, “Teach that boy a FUCKING lesson!” The knobby joints of his fingers press hard against the pulse in your throat and you’re sure he can feel it hammering beneath your skin. He’s losing himself again, you’re sure.
· But again, this time was different. He hadn’t stopped fucking his cock into you like he had before, and he’d wavered for a moment, when you’d choked on him. There might be something else you could do to help him. Desperate to keep him here with you in the present moment, you flex your tongue against his fingers. His hips stutter and your heart skips a beat in turn. “Filthy fucking c-c-cunt…”
· You bob your head, hollowing your cheeks around his fingers again. C’mon, Billy!
· “F-Fuck!” It’s not quite his voice, but it’s close, perhaps a little higher, a little more strained than usual, but it’s close. “Where’s the baby, Billy? Where’s the…c-c-cat gone to now?” His fingers begin to relax around your throat, but you keep sucking on his fingers, wanting to make sure you’re well and truly out of the woods before you even think about stopping. If this is going to work, you’re going to make damn sure of it.
· “Fucking greedy little cunt!” You could have cried with relief at the sound of his voice—his real voice. You hum around his fingers, and he laughs, the sound low and rumbly, “Still so fucking eager.” His hips buck forward, pressing deep inside of you. It’s still too much, too soon, and you sob with the overstimulation. The sudden spike of pleasure punches the air from your lungs and shakes your legs from underneath you.
· Billy groans as you pulse around him. “You want Billy to cum? Wand Billy to fucking fill you?” You nod frantically, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he grinds into that spot, filling your vision with white hot splotches of light.
· “Suck his cock, then,” he says, shoving his fingers deeper into your mouth again. He spreads them wide, nearly matching the girth of his cock where it fucks you open. Billy jitters behind you, chasing his release with quick, cruel thrusts. Impatient as always, he pushes digs his nail into the wall of your cheek, “Fucking suck Billy’s cock!”
· You jerk into motion as though startled from a deep sleep, pressing your head down against his fingers to take them as deep as you could. Your tongue laves against the digits, prodding gently against his scarred knuckles, playing in the space between them.
· Billy throws his head back, moaning to the ceiling long and loud, “Yessss! Good little pet! Pretty, pretty pet! His fingers stroke your throat as though he’s petting a cat, feeling it work up and down as you swallow around him. “Gooood pet! Suck Billy’s cock! Suck his cock! Su—NO!”
· Suddenly, he stops, his fingers stilling. For a moment, you think you’ve done something wrong. Had your teeth caught against him? Had you hurt him? Should you pull back and ask, or carry on? Before you can make a decision one way or another, Billy thrusts his fingers back into your throat, pressing them in as deep as he could. His knuckles bump against your back molars as you gag around him, trying desperately to breathe through your nose.
· “Lick Billy’s cunt,” For a moment, you’re still, confusion slicing through the pleasure. Billy tries to press his hand forward, his fingertips brushing against the back of your throat, “Lick it! Lick Billy’s cunt! Lick it! Lick it! Tongue his fffffucking clit!” You think about it for a moment, your exhausted, lust-fogged brain struggling to put two and two together, and then suddenly you think you understand. As gingerly as you can, while Billy continues to rock you forward over the desk, you press your tongue against the soft spot between his knuckles.
· This must have been what he’d wanted because the sound he makes is like nothing you’ve ever heard before—a wail caught somewhere between human and animal. You’ve never heard a human sound like that before. Like so many things about Billy, it’s frightening, and yet it fascinates you, attracts you, arouses you. You press your tongue harder against that spot, and the frantic rocking of his hips picks up again—but this time there’s no rhythm to it. He’s close.
· “Fucking lick Billy’s clit, make him cum! Make him cum in your pretty pussy!” You lap at his flesh with quick, deliberate swipes of your tongue. He howls against your flesh, his forehead thudding against your shoulder heavy and hard. “Fuck, f-f-f-fuck, make Billy fucking cum! Billy’s gonna, he’s-he’s-he’s gonna—!”
· In the moment before he cums everything is calm. He stills, and his voice is soft and steady in your ear; “I’m going to ruin you.”
· Then the world falls back into chaos.
· His whole body shudders above you, a bag of jangling bones he couldn’t keep control of if his life had depended on it. His teeth fix themselves deep into your shoulder, slotting into the indentations they’d left not long before. You cry out around his fingers, sure he’s drawn blood this time. You can see it when you close your eyes, visions of thick red blood splattered against his dark incisors floating against the dark inside of your eyelids.
· He shudders, momentarily stilling, then kicking back into motion, seemingly unable to deicide if he’d rather pound you through his orgasm or remain still, buried to the hilt in your tight heat. You feel the heat of him inside of you pulsing against your walls as he cums. His cheek is pressed tight against your shoulder gibbering a collection nonsensical sounds and snatches of obscenities into your flesh, “Pretty pink cunt! ah, ahhhh, fuuh—fuuuh—fuck! Dripping now! Where did you leave it? Left it fucking dripping!"
· You’re sore beyond belief from the pounding you’ve taken, but there’s still a throbbing want underneath. He’d dragged you most of the way to a second orgasm, now all you needed was a little push. Before you were completely at is mercy, able only to receive the pleasure he decided to give you. But now, your hands were free and with them you could do as you pleased. You wriggle beneath him, slipping your hands down between your thighs.
· Your fingers find their prize, and you sob, your whole body jerking forward. Even though you’d cum mere moments ago, you can’t believe how sensitive you are. You’re on the verge of orgasm almost immediately. You press harder the slide of your fingers aided both Billy’s cum and your own. You shudder, whimpering around his fingers. Your muscles clamp down on him once again, throbbing and pulsing as your orgasm builds.
· He hooks his finger inside of your cheek and pulls, “Wanna cum again. Wanna cum in your mouth,” He pulls harder exposing the sides of your teeth, “Billy wants to feel them! Feel them on his cock! Sharp and hard.” He laughs, “But Billy likes it hard.” The harsh snap of his hips that follows has you seeing spots. He opens his mouth as though to gloat, as you clench around him, he loses his words. Whimpering, soft and broken sounds against your neck, he grinds into you.
· Seconds later, you clamp down around him, a second orgasm shooting through you. The sound he makes as you cum on his oversensitive cock is nothing short of feral. He bucks wildly into you, seeking more of a pleasure that sounds almost painful as he sobs into your shoulder. His cock pulses inside of you again, throbbing as he fucks his cum deeper inside of you, as though intent on giving you more.
· And you’re sure he would. Or he would have, if you hadn’t reached back and pushed against his shoulder. He was insatiable—he’d keep going for hours unless you stop him now.
· He pulls his fingers out first, a pearly string of saliva connecting your lips to his fingertips. You cough, scratchy and wet, but when you speak, there’s no pain. “I…I just need a little break, Bills. Okay?” Your chest is heaving as you struggle for air. Billy hums above you, hesitating for a moment. He’s reluctant to give up the tight heat of your body. But at last, after nearly a full minute of grumbling and mumbling to himself, he pulls out.
· There's a sticky gush of fluids against your thigh as his cum beings to leak out of you. You rest there for a moment, the pair of you breathing hard in the darkness, the comfortable weight of his body pressing down above you, the solid plane of the desktop below. Then all of a sudden, you’re being lifted up. You squeal in shock as your flipped about and placed atop the desk. The surface is still cool against your heated flesh. The difference in temperature is a shock to your system and goosebumps break out across your arms and legs.
· Before you have a moment to process what’s happening, Billy’s head is between your thighs, his tongue lapping at mess he’d made. Your eyes go wide, and you head knocks against a wall as it falls back, “Fuuuuck, Billy!” Your hips cant up against his face, thighs squeezing tight around his ears.
· “Pretty pussy came twice already,” You can feel him smirking against your inner thigh. “Still wants more? Greedy, greedy, greedy.” You catch a glimpse of his eyes, wide and wild, shining in the darkness beneath is tangled hair, “It’s okay, Billy likes you greedy.”
#billy lenz x reader#billy lenz x you#slasher x reader#slasher imagines#ripper fics#hey everyone!#i really hope i caught all the errors#if not you didn't see them-i'll get them soon enough#please enjoy and my apologies again for getting the prompt wrong
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Why Serena is infinitely times better than misty!!!!!!!!!
1.) Character: Serena > Misty. Serena is just objectively a better character than Misty. Misty didn’t do a whole lot over the course of the series. In the span of 300 episodes (or close to it), Misty didn’t do a whole lot in regards to her goal and have VERY little tangible progress. Really, once Misty gets Togepi (like 50–60 episodes into the OG series), Misty just stagnates to where she’s in the background following Ash with no rhyme or reason doing nothing for herself, the group, or Ash. Meanwhile Serena had a goal she actively worked on to improve herself. She took note of her shortcomings and mistakes and actually tried to better herself. Serena had HALF the amount of time as a main character Misty did and still developed into a better character than Misty herself did.
2.) Companion or value to Ash: Serena > Misty. Misty didn’t really do a whole lot for Ash. One could argue that Misty was like a mentor to Ash, though I’m not sure what attacking your protege and ridiculing him for mistakes he’s obviously going to make is going to do for your kohai. Brock was the greater help to Ash in the OG series and beyond. Serena over the course of XY was easily Ash’s biggest supporter (a title she arguably holds over ALL of Ash’s companions) being the ONLY companion to never doubt Ash. Whenever Ash is in a tight spot in battle, generally Ash’s companions will wonder how he can make a comeback or even if he can, while Serena ALWAYS maintained faith in him and believed in him when it seems like no one else completely did. On top of that, Ash outright said Serena was the reason he got almost half of his Kalos badges and Serena herself is the only person to actually calm Ash down when he was depressed
a.) Ash’s loses to Ritchie in the Indigo League (though I think Ash is more upset than depressed here) and Misty tries to console: offer him food, go for a walk, just try to cheer him up but Ash rebuffs her and eventually snaps at her, they argue and Prof. Oak is the one who sets Ash straight.
b.) Ash loses to Wulfric and heads off into the woods for hours without coming back. Serena finds him and like Misty tries to console him and empathize with him since she’s been in the same position he has but Ash doesn’t respond and eventually snaps at her and they argue. However unlike Misty who tore Ash down further, Serena picks him up and told him what he needed to hear which makes Ash think about what she said and agree that she was right and even told her such later.
3.) Love Interest: Serena > Misty. Ultimately at the end of the day, PokeShipping is something that’s the creation of 4Kids. 4Kids changed the script to play up Misty and Ash liking each other when in the Japanese version it’s nowhere near as heavily suggested though still hinted at from time to time like with Ash’s other female companions. However, Serena is straight up confirmed to be in love with Ash and the idea to have Serena be in love with Ash came from a producer who’s been working on the Pokemon anime since Misty’s time as a main character in the OG series. Despite Ash’s bullheadedness when it comes to romance, he’s had a few significant moments suggesting an oblivious attraction towards Serena.
a.) Telling her he thinks she’s pretty with no provocation
b.) Actually choosing her over a friend in a competition
c.) Willingly going shopping with her when he’s made it clear he doesn’t like doing that.
d.) Willingly gave up a gym battle for her.
e.) Basically asked her out on a date and spent the entire time suggesting they do things he knows she likes, quickly picked up on her acting OoC, and proposed a battle with her to cheer up which does so and compared the relationship with her Pokemon to the relationship he has with his.
f.) Of course the kiss. Ash doesn’t look at all repulsed, if anything he looked stunned and in disbelief with glimmering eyes. Yes Ash is an idiot when it comes to love but he’s not dumb enough to not know what a kiss is/means.
g.) Ash’s EoXY flashback was more dominated by moments with Serena than with Clemont/Bonnie and had almost equal featuring as moments with his Pokemon.
So most of your posts on Serena 'critics' are done and dusted.
Block evading is harassment and stalker behavior. Knock it off.
Serena is a far worse character than Misty. Misty actually did stuff (caught Pokémon, competed in tournaments, worked through her family problems). Serena followed Ash around blushing and did nothing for over a year.
Their “companion value to Ash” is irrelevant, as it has little to do with them as individuals. Just admit you see women as extensions of men. Both were his friends. And Serena’s worship of Ash was so over the top it didn’t feel natural.
Serena literally pelted him with snowballs because he stopped living up to her fantasy idea of him when he lost to Wulfric.
If you want to compare which was a better love interest (gross, but whatever, and it’s clear that’s all you see female characters as), Misty wins. You want to know why? She prioritizes her friendship with Ash. Serena did things in the hopes of scoring points with him. Serena didn’t love Ash. She loved her fantasy image of him.
Ash barely reacted to the kiss, it was the lighting. His face was a personality-less as it was through the rest of XY.
Ash didn’t even recall Serena in Journeys during the Clemont and Bonnie episodes, sorry.
And you have not disproven a single criticism of the way Serena is written.
#pokemon#misty#kasumi#misty defense squad#pokeshipping-is-dead#answers#how many times are you gonna block evade? it's not cute
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as the world caves in | ch. 9 | bucky barnes x reader
synopsis: You are a ghost story. A former Air Force pilot who had her plane shot down by Germany in 1945, but here you were in 2023, alive and frozen in your 25-year-old body.
You haven’t seen Bucky since the 1940’s, before his fall, before you went on a suicide mission only to come back alive. You aren’t sure reliving those memories – and being a living memory of everything the man has lost – is the best for him.
But you and Bucky won’t be apart for long.
This will loosely follow the plot of TFATWS - so spoilers ahead, specially regarding episode six (finale). Thread carefully!
masterlist | AO3
notes: thank you everyone for your patience with this chapter. I'm dropping this lil shortie so we can get the story moving. Let's go!
(warnings: lil' fluff, lil' angst) (word count: 3K)
nine: records
Bucky knocked on your door a few weeks later.
It was late, and you were snug in your pajamas, winding down after a long day. With your identity no longer a secret, the government was in the midst of transferring you to something more… hands-on, and definitely less diplomatic, you were assuming; so much for retirement, but you figured 30 years of it had been more time than you could’ve anticipated.
You almost didn’t hear the soft rapping on wood over Vera Lynn’s mellow singing.
When you finally opened it, you found him standing there, wearing tired eyes and a dark coat. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late, but I started walking and I—"
“When I said you’re welcome anytime, Bucky Barnes, I meant any time.”
A tiny fraction of a smile was offered your way, and you grasped it tight against your heart at the same time you do his hand, pulling him inside.
His fingers lingered on yours, but before you could start thinking about it he pulled away, taking a seat at the edge of your couch. “I finished it. The book.”
Bucky answered your question before you could ask it. “I just came from there. The last one– the last name.”
“Well. Are you alright?” You sat next to him, your knee knocking against his, and his gaze went from the floor, to the spot where your legs touched, and then to you. He knitted his eyebrows, seeming a little incredulous you were even asking.
“I will be.” His hands intertwined on the space between his knees, and you placed a hand ton his shoulder, getting him to look at you again.
“Yes, you will. Do you want to talk about it?”
One corner of Bucky’s lip raised up, and he shook his head. “Is that Vera Lynn?”
You smiled, turning to look at your record player as if Vera herself was sitting next to it. “It is. Takes me back, I guess.”
“It’s all we’d listen to at the front.”
Nodding, you wondered for a second if Bucky remembered dancing to We’ll Meet Again the night before he was shipped off. Even if you weren’t the only girl he had danced with then, you still asked yourself if that memory was burned on his mind as it was on yours.
We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when. A short-term promise, made back then by hopeful lovers, friends, family members; you had no idea that those lyrics would prove themselves so literal when you and Bucky mouthed them at each other in the middle of a dancefloor.
You let out a breathy chuckle, standing up and beckoning him to where you kept the rest of your vinyl. “Come on. Vera’s starting to feel a little too nostalgic to me.”
Your record collection was pretty extensive, ranging from things of the good ol’ days from the special editions that were still being released nowadays. Bucky joined you on the floor, and together you started to make your way through decades eternized in discs.
“Marvin Gaye.”
You look up from The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust, finding Bucky making a face at the album he was holding. “It’s really good. Do you want to—”
“No. No more Marvin Gaye.”
You furrowed your eyebrows. “You don’t like him?”
“I like Marvin Gaye! Jesus. Marvin is good—Marvin’s jus’ fine,” Bucky rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger, and you finally understood.
“Sam’s been preaching you the word of R&B to you too, huh?”
You giggled at the tired look he gave you and silently took Trouble Man out of his hands, stuffing it back with the rest of the 1970’s.
Years ago, Bucky would be delighted to dive headfirst in the new – your trips to countless science fairs and expositions were enough proof of that – but looking at him now, knowing him as you were starting to once again, you figured that just a dip of the toes was more than enough.
You pulled Frank Sinatra from the 1950’s section.
“I know Sinatra.”
“Do you now?”
You put the record on your player, and Vera Lynn’s longing gave way to Sinatra’s swagger and jazz.
“Do you?” Bucky teased, frowning at the most recent items in your collection. As soon as Frank’s voice filled the silence, he nodded. “Yeah, that’s nice.”
“I do know him! Or did. Met ‘im in 1962.” You plopped next to Bucky, who was shaking his head. “What?”
“Show off.”
“No, just been around. Met people on the way. And, you asked.” Your smirk grew into a grin as Bucky mouthed your words back at you. Then his face fell for a second, and your amusement was quickly replaced by worry. “What is it?”
“Nothing, I guess – I guess I just missed a lot.” The same way one of the corners of his lips tug on his cheek again in his attempt of a smile, melancholy tugs at your heartstrings. “I missed out on everything. And I missed out on you.”
Bucky’s head was low as he spoke and you could see the tremble of his hands, even though he clutched one of your records tightly. Nina Simone, 1960’s.
“M’not going anywhere, you know.”
“You still lived an entire lifetime—”
“I did, yes, thank you for constantly reminding me that I’m over 100 years old.” You shook your head at him, sighing softly when he chuckled.
You couldn’t blame him, for clinging to every bit of past he’d missed while he was in HYDRA’s clutches – you knew that was inevitable, but you wished that such sorrow wasn’t so related to you.
“What are you doin’?” He asked as you summoned a small stool from the side of your shelf and stepped on it.
“I want to show you somethin’.” The thing you were looking for was stored at the very top: a heavy, brown leather suitcase that almost made you lose your balance when you pulled it from the spot it had been sitting in for—honestly, years, many of them.
The contents of the suitcase rattled as you climbed down and sat next to Bucky again. Sinatra still playing, telling his lover I've got you under my skin, I've got you, deep in the heart of me;
You almost laughed from the truth and irony of it.
I'd tried so, not to give in
I said to myself this affair never will go so well
You unlocked the suitcase, revealing the gathered memories inside. Pictures, movie tickets, theater playbooks, receipts, trinkets. All souvenirs of the 80 something years of your life Bucky hadn’t been there to see.
Not organized in the slightest, the keepsakes of your life were tossed together and out of order just as in your memory: photographs of you in uniform, and sometimes in party dresses; of when you bought your house; of the few times you had pets. Posing next to famous people and other important ones whose names weren’t as well known by the world.
As you and Bucky went through each of them, you added a story or an explanation, sometimes both, to fill him in on the details of your life events. He laughed at some, frowned at a lot, stared at you intently for all of them.
“Is this Berlin?”
You hummed, nodding. “1989. That party was great.”
“Party?” Bucky knitted his eyebrows in surprise.
“The city was unified, the wall was being taken down, and everyone was celebrating. I’ve never seen that many bottles of vodka in one place.” You laughed, taking a good look at yourself in the picture.
The 80’s were definitely not your best decade, looks wise. You had tried a perm the year before, and the poodle look was only then starting to dial down. The beginnings of a bruise were starting to creep on your left eye, from the mission you had completed just a few hours before.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been that drunk.”
Bucky’s surprise intensified, his eyes wide. “We can’t get drunk.”
“Yes we can.”
“No, no we can’t.”
“We can, in fact. It’s all a matter of quantity and, well, speed.” You giggled as Bucky’s mouth gaped more.
“And the hangover?”
“Horrible. Like getting shot on the forehead. Comes quickly, too.”
He grimaced, and with one last look – certainly to register your peculiar appearance on his mind – gently put the picture back inside the suitcase. A stack of papers seemed to call out to him and he picked it up, releasing them from the band that held them together carefully.
Postcards of the places you’ve been: a small note to James Barnes and Steve Rogers on the back of each one.
Bucky’s voice faltered. He let out an anguished little sound, probably something that was supposed to be an Oh, or a What, but had no strength to crawl up his throat.
You brought your knees to your chest as you waited for him.
“You—you wrote to us?”
“I did. You can keep those, they’re addressed to you.”
After all this time, you could barely remember the words you wrote in those postcards; all you knew was that some had longer messages, others a simple Wish you were here.
“After we met in Baltimore, I thought that— that you’d have moved on from us.”
From me.
As if that was possible.
“Well, I stopped writing by 2003, give or take. But really,” You sighed. “It’s hard to forget someone when you’ve always been expecting them to come back to you.”
Bucky flipped the postcard from Rome, read the writing and smiled wistfully at it. “And, I did.”
“You did. And staying away was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but—”
“But you’re annoyingly stubborn.” His jaw tightened, then relaxed when he smirked. “I mean, I get it – If the roles were reversed, I’d leave you rebuild your life without me like a self-sacrificing idiot too.”
Alright. That was fair.
Shaking your head, you watched as he slipped the postcards in his pocket, an amused expression on his face.
“That was… a big mistake. Something a self-sacrificing idiot would do,” You screwed your eyes shut in shame, opening them when Bucky chuckled. “but now, I’m right here. And so are you.”
His stubble scratched the soft skin of your palm when you reached for him, and you continued. “We’re a little out of place in this century, that much is true, but if I’m being honest… I’m getting tired of yearning for the past, Buck.”
Good old times – sometimes really good, sometimes bad, every one of them old – tucked away in your heart like your records were tucked in neatly in their shelf, organized by year. As you went through the decades, your enhanced body eternizing you like marble, your heart seemingly stayed at that army camp overseas. Or maybe Sergeant Bucky Barnes had taken it with him, only for them to be frozen together, leaving you with an empty hole in your chest.
You lived your life longing for that missing piece, the one with blue eyes and the dashing smile and the skilled feet.
The one that in many other stories was the one that got away, the one who now believed he was somebody else, but had brought your heart back with him all the same.
The very heart that nearly leapt out of your chest when Bucky rested his forehead against yours.
You’ve never been this close – there isn’t an ounce of past in the gesture. His eyes being tightly closed kept him from seeing the surprise on your eyes and then how they fell to his lips for a millisecond. Then, those lips brushed against yours in a featherlike touch.
I would sacrifice anything, come what might
For the sake of having you near
He pried himself off you when you exhaled, as if your very breath had electrocuted him.
“M’sorry. I—I didn’t—” He said as you stared at the back of his neck, and the shock gives way to disappointment.
I didn’t mean to. Or maybe: I didn’t want to.
“That’s—it’s okay.” You clapped your hands on your knees, still feeling the prickle of his facial hair on them, and got up to change the music.
There was no doubt Bucky was touch starved, and that he probably craved the closeness that comes with a lover. He sought that for a fleeting second in Sam’s sister, and now in you. No point in dwelling on what it might have meant.
Right?
Looking at Bucky, his expression was overcast, furrowed eyebrows as he watched you from his spot on the floor. You offered him a gentle smile, and the crease on his forehead eased up slightly.
Right.
Don't you know little fool, you never can win
The record player made a scratching sound as you replaced Frank Sinatra with your go-to jazz compilation. Instrumental.
No lyrics.
There was one thing you’ve always been good at, regarding the infatuation with Bucky Barnes that has taken over your heart for almost a century now: locking the feelings away and stepping into the shoes of the best friend.
Besides, you’ve said it yourself: no more yearning for the past. Hopefully you and Bucky would be able to do that soon enough.
At that moment, however, you needed to feel the burn of whiskey down your throat and pretend it’ll heal the calcinating rejection spreading through your chest.
The guilt you found in Bucky’s eyes as he watched you sweep around your hardwood floors made you pour a glass for him.
He took it gratefully, frowning when you bottomed the whole thing up.
“There’s a lot in here.” He tapped the edge of the suitcase, skillfully steering the conversation in the direction of the more palatable, calm territory it was in before.
The sight of your autobiographical collection made you smile.
“An entire lifetime,” You said, fishing your dog tags from the bottom. “I suppose that’s where it started. Or at least, where thisstarted.”
Bucky took them reverentially, running his thumb over the imprint of your name and numbers.
He reached for his neck, producing from under his Henley the same type of metal chain he was holding in his hands. The fact that he still wore his like that sent a sharp blow to your lungs, almost knocking the air out of you.
His face softened, a smile so beautiful spreading across his lips, so much that your chest clenched in protest because it was simply not fair, how he still had you entirely.
He deposited both of your dog tags in your hands, and that’s when you saw it, and remembered it.
“Won’t we get in trouble for this?”
“Do you care?”
“Well…No.” You sighed, already resigned. And a little excited.
Bucky knew you well: it had been too long of being a good little soldier when all you were used to was the rush of being a hellion.
“And that is why, sugar, that I’m doing this with you, and not with Steve.”
The words made your heart soar, but you were sure to recapture it before it could fly away too high, still too attached to the sensation of the take-off to clip its wings.
You liked flying.
“And because Steve hasn’t been successful in his enlisting efforts. Yet.”
Bucky looked at you from behind his eyebrows, a reprimand hiding in his eyes, but he decided to shove his uniform hat on your head instead. You grumbled, calling him a jerk under your breath.
It was the night before Bucky was drafted to England. He looked handsome in his uniform, a shining, polished star, brighter than the sun even under the dim streetlight you two stood under.
After bringing his and Steve’s dates home (yours was lost to another boxing match along the way – not that you were crying about that) Bucky had decided he was going to stay up all night, because, in his words, he could sleep when the war was over. Or, more realistically, in the ship on the way to England.
So there you two were, illuminated by street lamps and moonlight, visiting the façades and front windows of your favorite places in Brooklyn like drifters in the night.
Bucky still concentrated on his task, his shoulder hunched slightly to block your sight.
“Let me see! Bucky!”
“ ’Sposed to be a surprise! I’m almost done.”
You huffed, crossing your arms. “It’s not like I haven’t seen ‘em before.”
“You gotta be more patient. Here.”
He dropped your dog tags on your hand. You displayed the small steel plates on your palm, scanning your eyes over the two. One of them, of course, had your name, number, blood type, next of kin – an aunt you’ve never met – and address.
The other had Bucky’s.
James B Barnes. 32557038.
He slipped his own chain over his head, the plate with your name clinking against his.
You brought the tips of your fingers to your lips, feeling a smile begin to form onto them.
“I forgot we did this. I haven’t looked at these in so long.”
You had stopped wearing your dog tags the day the war had ended – Bucky was gone then, Steve too, and the weight of his dog tags slamming against your chest was too much to bear – your heart was already heavy with its own engraving of their memories.
“Steve had a lecture prepared when he gave mine back.” Bucky chuckled when you looked up at him, incredulous.
You shook your head, half exasperated and half amused. “Good grief, Steve.”
“Y’know how he is. Was,” He trailed, lips twitching as they formed a thin line.
You reached for him, your hand hovering in the space between you for a second before Bucky took it, lacing your fingers. Scooting closer, you let your cheek rest on his shoulder.
“He’d be glad we’re reunited.” You said, raising your head to peek at him and the newfound upwards curl of his lip. “And mortified we’re still bickering.”
Bucky smiled and squeezed your hand. “Old people. Old habits.”
Laughter bubbled out of your chest, and you realized a few things.
In that moment, it didn’t matter – the heartache, the unrequited side of your love. It was just a fact, a fact of life, of your life, that you a lot of the times loved him as more than your best friend. You loved him. And that was the core of it, the most important fact.
And you knew he loved you – you had each other – in this big, ever-changing, modern world, you had Bucky and Bucky had you.
You sat in comfortable, familiar silence until your eyelids grew heavy and you felt yourself drifting in and out of consciousness.
“You dozin’ on me, sugar?”
“It’s been a long day.” You said with your eyes still closed, feeling him chuckle beside you.
“Tell me about it. I can go—”
“You know damn well you should stay.” You patted his arm and hoisted yourself up from the floor. “I’ll get the pull-up ready for you.”
As you sauntered towards the office, ignoring his pleads and protests that he’s got it, he doesn’t need sheets or anything, you put your dog tags back on.
They jingled lightly against your heart.
Maybe you didn’t have to leave all of the past behind to start building something good and new, after all.
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I said I had another chapter ready. so It's time to post that.
tagging @helleborusangel because they like my writing and @hermitcraftheadcanons since they and their community made the au.
now... with that out of the way, let's recap evo... wait shoot i mean hermitcraft.
“Pixlriffs! Turn on the tv!” Came a voice that followed a door being slammed open.
Pixlriffs turned around in confusion to see Zloy having barged in, panting with his goggles askew. “Zloy? What’s going on?”
“Just turn on the recap channel! Hurry!”
Even more confused, Pixl slowly turned to his tv and turned it on, switching to the channel that showed their recap show. “I thought you didn’t like watching our own shows. It’s not even a regular recap, it’s just going to be a clip show from the livestream. Why are you so-” But he cut himself off. Showing on screen was a countdown to the season eight day one recap. “What? But it hasn’t started. We haven’t recorded anything.”
“I know! I was with a friend and they turned it on and said they didn’t think it had started yet. When I saw the countdown, I ran all the way over here.”
“Do you think they just had a scheduling mistake? We might need to call the broadcasters and have them fix things up.” Pixl suggested, and Zloy shrugged.
“Let’s just make sure that’s the case and see which episode they’re actually showing. For all we know they mixed things up and this is just the season seven, day one.”
“I hope that’s the case.”
The two recapers watched the timer go down. Elsewhere, people were also turned into the episode. Some were pleasantly surprised by the supposed new episode. Others were confused thinking the schedule was wrong. Those who knew the hermits were confused, not having heard the new season was starting yet.
Then finally, the timer reached zero, and a familiar jingle started. And then a voice that was definitely not Pixlriffs spoke the phrase “This week, on Hermitcraft.”
“Wait, what am I doing in the nether? I just joined the world.”
Zloy and Pixl looked at each other at something they had never heard Keralis say. This was a new episode, but one they hadn’t made.
“A new adventure starts in season eight, new places and mobs to explore and see. And also Grumbot and Jrumbot are Hermits now. Welcome to the Hermitcraft recap! The show where no one is where they should be. My name is Toon Noah.”
“I’m Mysterious Goofball, and our writer is Pin Valentine. Today, we’re looking at everyone’s first day on the new season of Hermitcraft.”
The first person, Noah, spoke up again. “In this season, the hermits managed to update all the way to the second half of the caves and cliffs update even though that isn’t possible.” He explained what was going on in this season. “Everyone is scattered across the map and even in other dimensions. Monsters are tough, regen is off, and using chat is out of the question, so surviving is going to be tough.”
“At the very least, they can still respawn, so certain people have chances to escape. Escape what that is? Well, let’s look at what the Hermits have been up to.” Goofball said, sounding so nonchalant about what they were about to talk about.
“Starting with Xisuma, who’s started out in the deep dark. The admin’s helmet has been disabled other than necessary functions. His visor also gives him a little bit of light, so he’s not completely blind. Plus the fact that sculks are bioluminescent. But the warden is too, which has been able to find him a number of times.”
“Also in the caves in Jevin,-” Goofball spoke up again. “-who’s found himself in some lush caves. He’s got glowberries for light and food and the axolotls are pretty friendly. Plus, with enough searching, he was able to find a bit of wood for simple tools.”
“Speaking of wood. Some of the hermits have found themselves in the jungle.” Noah quickly commented before some audio from one of the hermits played along with its clip.
“Helloooo? Anyone around? Impulse? Tango? Hey is that Grian? Nope, just a parrot. Ugh, and here I am without any seeds.”
Goofball spoke up again when the audio finished. “Both Zedaph and Tango are in the same jungle, but the size of the biome as well as the amount of foliage means they haven’t found each other yet. Tango at the very least has started mining, and Zedaph managed to find a jungle temple and has already started on using the redstone from there for a melon farm.”
“How do you even make a farm out of that?”
“It’s Zedaph, what do you expect?”
“Well, as for the last of team ZIT, Impulse had found himself in the middle of a sea temple.” Noah spoke, as the video showed Impulse dealing with being underwater in such a place. “Between drowning and guardians, he hasn’t gotten that far away from his spawn.”
“In other aquatic news-” Goofball said, another clip from the hermits playing.
“If I never see coral again, it’ll be too- wait, is that False? False!”
“-Stress and False are also nearby to each other, both spawning in coral reefs. False was the first to escape, needing to just swim out of her spawn.”
“On the other hand, Stress was completely encased in coral and had to slowly chip herself out of the colorful prison. But by the evening, Stress was able to get to the surface and join False and an island, chopping down trees. They even started a wheat farm. But here’s hoping they don’t have to deal with drowned.”
“While she isn’t a drowned,” Goofball continued from Noah’s comment. “Zombie Cleo started out in a village. Normally, that would be pretty good, but being a zombie…”
“Leave me alone! I’m not going ta kill any villagers! I’m a zombie but I’m not that kind of zombie!”
“She’s been having an issue with the resident iron golem. With a bit of luck, she managed to hole herself up in a house which the golem isn’t going to destroy, but the villagers aren’t the happiest about it.”
Then Noah took over speaking. “From villagers to illagers, Mumbo Jumbo found himself alone in a woodland mansion, making himself the furthest hermit in the overworld.”
“Come on. Almost. Almost!” The video showed Mumbo running before he was killed by a vindicator. “Oh come on!”
After that, Noah continued. “He’s tried and failed many times to try and get out of the mansion, but eventually just started breaking the walls for tools.”
“The illagers aren’t really happy about it, but not like he’ll be going far, so I don’t think he’ll easily lose those tools.”
“Well at least he’s got supplies.” The video transitioned to a mountain top with three figures standing at the peak. “Grian, as well as new hermits Grum and Jrum are currently stuck on the top of a mountain, surrounded by powder snow. It’s pretty lucky that the three of them stuck together.”
“I’m not so sure of that.” Goofball spoke up, sounding a bit frustrated or annoyed. “While Grian tried to fly down for supplies to little success, other than fall damage, he hasn’t managed to die, using some sort of magic.”
“But it looks like the fall damage came in handy for Doc, who’s further down the mountain. He’s having a bit of trouble surrounded by goats, plenty of them being the screaming variety.”
Goofball spoke again, no longer sounding as annoyed. “Yeah, but while hanging out with them, he heard a different kind of scream and did something pretty smart.”
“Wait, what was- is someone close by? It sounded like someone just- wait! The death messages!” He pulled out his communicator and read the messages. “Grian died to fall damage! Grian’s up there!”
“I guess he is the scientist of the group.” Noah spoke, the grin he had on his face audible in his voice. “It makes sense he would be the one to figure things out. But even then, he still can’t easily get down the mountain himself with all the goats messing him up. My guess is he’s really regretting being the goat father last season.”
“Doc isn’t the only one getting familiar with the new wildlife though. Hypno has found himself in a large flower forest that has plenty of mooblooms. He hasn’t been able to kill any of them yet, and there’s only flowers and no grass for him to get seeds from, so while the place seems like it should be easy to survive in, it’s really the opposite.”
“The best idea he’s had so far is following some bees to find their nest and hopefully a tree attached to it. If only he knew he was actually really close to spawn, being the closest to it.”
Goofball took control of the conversation again “Well, that’s not entirely true as three hermits managed to appear at spawn, those three being Joe Hills, VintageBeef, and Etho.” And the three hermits were shown in what looked much more normal than everything else that had been shown so far. “The three of them pretty quickly figured out something was wrong and started to make spawn a safe place, also gathering supplies so they can eventually find the other hermits.”
“Except Etho got a bit ahead of himself.” Noah cut in. “He had a bad run in with some mobs and ended up dying, finding out his respawn is a bit different than others. But at the very least, he managed to find Ren.”
“Ren spawned on a cliff of a ravine. There’s no water at the bottom, and all the blocks in reach are stone, so it’s not the easiest to escape from. Still, with little else to do, Ren started slowly chipping away at the stone to escape the ravine, only to fall when Etho surprised him by suddenly respawning there.”
“Okay, I got through two more pieces of stone. At this rate, I can probably get to dirt before the sun is setting so- Etho- ooooooh!”
“At the very least Ren is respawning just fine,” Noah explained “So the two of them were able to help Ren escape the ravine, so he’s the third person to escape his spawn area.”
“Well, that’s not entirely true.” Goofball started to correct. “Before Etho helped Ren and even before Stress escaped her coral prison, Cub actually escaped the mesa mineshaft he spawned in. It was a little tricky with the cave spiders spawning, but he lucked out with the loot of a chest and was able to get a crafting table and pickaxe out of it.” Cub had found some iron, torches, a few seeds, some bread, and then used the wood of the mineshaft to get him on his feet in terms of survival. “With a few respawns, he took out the spiders and their spawner. He’s able to move around freely, but not wanting to respawn again, his hearts are a bit low, so he’s staying near the mineshaft for shelter.”
“Then, sort of nearby the mesa of course, is the desert, where the last two overworld hermits are.” Noah said, and there was the slightest ruffle of papers, like he was checking a script. “Both XB and Iskall are stuck in the same large desert, trying to find some source of food, water and wood. So far, the best they’ve found are the sticks from dead bushes. Out of the two, XB is doing a bit better since he’s found a cave for some sort of shelter, but Iskall’s much worse off,the sand messing with his one eye.”
“Between the heat, the sand, and my eye, I can’t even tell what’s real anymore. That cactus could be a tree or a town or- nope! It’s actually a creeper!”
And then Noah continued with a transition. “Getting even hotter now, let’s look at the nether. There’s only two hermits there right now, with different struggles to deal with.”
“Keralis is the first and lucked out a bit, landing himself in a warped forest right near a basalt delta, meaning he’s got up to stone tools. Plus, since nether gold ore can be mined with wood tools or better, he’s also got some gold boots to help with any piglins.”
“On the other hand, Welsknight is in a much worse situation. He spawned in a crimson forest and is having plenty of trouble with the hoglins.” And that was emphasized by a clip of Wels being killed by one of the mobs. “He hasn’t gotten too much wood before dying, but at the very least, he secured his spawn just enough he has some room to breathe. And hey, if he makes it out of there, he’s got a fortress nearby. But now to end this off, let���s head to the end.”
“TinfoilChef, or TFC is on the main end island, spawning on an obsidian platform just a few blocks from the edge of the island.” Goofball spoke. “It’s close enough for him to jump, but he still takes fall damage and has to deal with the ender dragon after that.”
“Not to mention the endermen too, which Scar is also having trouble with. He’s stuck on a smallish end island out in the further reaches of the end. There’s an end city nearby, but he doesn’t really have the means to get there. At the very least he’s got food from the chorus plants, but that won’t help too terribly much.”
“And lastly, there’s BdoubleO, who we’ve- who’s been lucky to not die so far being in a special situation.” Though they hadn’t been saying much, both Pixlriffs and Zloy noticed the slight slip up Goofball gave. “He’s currently looping in the end void, teleporting up to the top when he finally gets too low. There’s nothing in sight for him to know that though, so he thinks he’s just falling deeper and deeper. But hopefully he’ll figure it out eventually.”
“Well, that’s everyone, so that pretty much does it for this episode of Ev- Hermitcraft Recap. I was Toon Noah-”
“And I was Mysterious Goofball and our writer was Pin Valentine. If you’d like to see original content made by us, you can find us if you already know where to look.”
“Don’t forget to give this show a good rating and tune in next week for the next episode of Hermitcraft Recap. Thank you all so much for watching and good-Bye~!”
Finally, the screen turned black, signalling the end of the episode. The whole time, Pixl and Zloy had just sat there in shock, watching the episode and not saying anything. The thought of their show being taken over by some new people was scary enough, but the situations the Hermits were now in was so much worse.
Zloy was the first to move, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He had felt it going off during the episode, but had been too stunned to do anything. Apparently, he had missed multiple calls and texts about what had happened with the episode, who had been put in charge, what was with the hermits, and more related to the whole situation.
“We need to see someone about this.” Pixlriffs said, in a similar situation with looking at his phone. “Make sure people know we have no connection to this and hopefully also see if the studio knows who recorded this. I would also like to say that this is all fake, but…”
“Yeah, that footage looked way too real. I think the Hermits are actually in a lot of trouble right now.”
“Then let’s do something about it.”
#hermitcraft#scattered au#pixlriffs#zloyxp#toon noah#mysterious goofball#xisuma#xisumavoid#ijeven#zedaph#tangotek#impulsesv#stressmonster101#falsesymmetry#zombie cleo#mumbo jumbo#grian#grumbot#jrumbot#avian!grian#watcher!grian#the watchers#docm77#hypnotizd#joe hills#vintagebeef#ethoslab#rendog#cubfan135#xbcrafted
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When two worlds collide
Summary: When Wanda finally snaps and attacks the S.W.O.R.D base, she doesn't expect they would have inhuman support. While the battle rages on Jimmy, Monica and Darcy discover a secret about their colleague that might save the day.
A/N: I've wrote this after episode five came out but in this version S.W.O.R.D threatens Wanda again and she snaps. This isn't canon compliant, at least not 100%. Also I'm not an expert on magic in the MCU, I just took some of the pieces I remembered and put them in there, so it's probably not canon as well.
TW: mind controlled, brief mention of violence, panic attack
You had been in the lab when it happened. Something had breached the barrier. Looking around you saw that nobody was in the lab with you. You knew Monica was in a meeting with Hayward but you didn't know where Jimmy and Darcy went.
Running out of the building you almost fell to the floor, as if you had ran into a barrier. The air was full with magic, it was everywhere, wearing you down, seeping into your bones, lapping at your strength. You tried to regain your breath but it was as if your lungs were full of honey, making it almost impossible to breathe. It was unbearable.
Looking around, trying to find a familiar face, you grabbed the first agent you saw by the arm and asked what was going on.
"Maximoff has breached the barrier, she's turning our own men against us. Stay inside ma'am, we'll handle it."
Wanda. This wasn't Wanda. You knew her magic, it felt different, like a thunderstorm. Crackling with energy, unpredictable and ever-changing. This, whatever this was, wasn't her, not entirely.
You had known Wanda since you were little, you grew up on the same streets and had benn unseparable, Wanda, you and Pietro. Then Ultron had happened, you had lost the twins as the battle continued to rage on but you had felt their powers all over the city. It had been agony to feel the wave of magic when Wanda cried out. You had felt all of it, her pain, the shock and the rage, so much rage.
Wanda probably thought you were dead as well, thinking you had died in Sokovia all these years ago, but you didn't. She wasn't the only one with abilities, with magic. The only difference, you were born with it, she had been nudged in the right direction by Hydra.
That's why you started running again, following the awful feeling of dread and agony. Hurting you every step you took, sapping at your strength, wearing you down but you continued running. For Wanda.
You rounded another corner when you fell to your knees, that sensation growing stronger the closer you got. Trying to regain your breath you realised someone was taking to you.
"...you okay? Can you get up?"
Blinking up you could make out two people, shaking your head to clear your vision the blurred figures became people. Monica and Darcy, allies, friends, your brain supplied.
"Captain, Doctor." you greeted them, groaning while getting up from the floor.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Monica asked while offering you a hand. "Yeah you look like shit." came the remark from Darcy.
You rubbed your head and dusted off your clothes. "I'm good, don't worry." Looking in the disbelieving faces of your colleagues you couldn't blame them, whatever that was, was sapping up all the magic it could get. So it made sense that normal people wouldn't be affected, they probably didn't even feel a difference. You couldn't imagine how Wanda must be feeling.
"I need to get to her." you heard yourself say before you started to run again, ignoring the calls of your name and the torturous sensation that was making your life a living hell right now. You didn't come far though as you felt a hand grab your shoulder and not so gently halt your attempt at saving your best friend. Turning around you looked in the, now, three concerned faces of your friends.
"Listen I know you believe that this was all a mistake somehow..." Jimmy tried to say but you interrupted him. "It's not her, whatever this is, it's not her." Starting to walk again you heard three sets of footsteps follow you. "What do you mean it's not her?" Darcy prodded. "I can feel it, that's something else." came your curt reply, focusing on the task ahead, trying to shield yourself from the other source of magic you pulled your glamour closer to you. Not ready to show them what was really going on.
"What do you mean you can feel it?" came the cautious question from Monica. "And what something else, is that why you're so affected by what's going on?"
"You have powers too, don't you?"
Turning around you looked at them, you knew you could trust them but there was this nagging feeling in your head that you were losing time, but looking at them again you realised, you couldn't do this alone so you took a deep breath and dropped your glamour, preparing yourself for their reaction.
Taking a deep breath you realised that you were feeling different, the suffocating sensation wasn't as strong and painful anymore, your mind cleared up as well, the feeling of haziness still there but not as present as before.
"Your hands are ...broken...gleaming..?" was Jimmy's confused reaction. Looking down you traced the glowing cracks on your arms, closing your eyes as the familiar feeling of your magic surged through your body. It felt good, after all these weeks, not having to suppress your powers. Taking another breath you willed the glow to go away, only the small white cracks staying visible, you continued marching towards the chaos, your friends not far behind.
"It's a long story but the short version: Wanda isn't the only one with powers here and I probably won't stay as the only magical surprise today."
Continuing your way to the barrier you realised that there were no other agents around, it was completely silent, no sound besides your own footsteps. Something was wrong. The others must have realised that as well, as you could see Monica and Jimmy draw their weapons, Darcy readying her taser. You tapped your foot on the ground, a small wave of energy moving through your surroundings, allowing you to see what your eyes couldn't.
"There's nothing. Not a single person." Scanning your surroundings you started to wonder where all the people went when you hear a deafening bang. Looking at your friends you nod as you all started running towards the noise. It's the sound of gunfire you soon realise and Monica pulled you behind some of the buildings where you could have a good look of what was going on.
You were about 200 meters from the barrier, the open area in front of you a deadly battle. It looked like S.W.O.R.D was fighting their own agents, some being mind controlled, some still with a free will but the numbers were dwindling. Charging into the fight would be a suicide mission, looking at the others they seemed to agree with you. Concern was plastered all over their faces, these people were their colleagues, comrades and friends. Letting your gaze glide through the battle you frantically tried to come up with a plan. You needed to get to Wanda, not having spotted her yet, and try to snap her out of whatever that was. Admittedly the plan wasn't the best but it was the only one you had.
"Can you take her?"
The question snapped you out of your thoughts. "Wanda." Jimmy repeated "Could you beat her in a fight if you had to?"
Now you had the attention of everyone, looking at you with a questioning look. You sighed, rubbing your face, absently tracing the marks on your arms, a nervous habit you had picked up over the years.
"I'd like to believe so. Wanda's raw powers a strong, stronger than mine but its mostly just that, raw strength, raw energy. She isn't properly trained, hasn't worked with other magic users, to my knowledge at least. I was born with these powers, having trained with other sorcerers and mages since I was little. I can tap in energy sources she's probably not even aware of. I'm more in control but she has greater potential." You weren't sure on how big their understanding of magic was, going with Darcy as the one with the most knowledge as she had met some Asgardians.
Magic was alive, it wasn't just something that was simply there. It was in nature, in plants, in trees, in animals, even in humans. Magic was everywhere, you just needed to know how to tap into it. Some drew their power from other dimensions, some used the the power of the Yggdrasil, others used powerful objects as their source of energy and other magic users, including yourself, drew their power from the aether. The aether was an ancient energy source, as old as the planet itself, maybe even older. It was a feral energy, not as defined as the power of the Yggdrasil, it was more difficult to handle as it was closest to nature and the planet. For you it was perfect, the rough, brute, untamed nature of it. Like the stormy see, it's unpredictable, brachial, brute nature was alluring, tempting. You couldn't just use it, you had to work with it, convince it that you were worthy of it's powers. Once you had passed that test your understanding of what was possible would change forever.
The noise of the battle brought you back to reality. Watching the clash you realised that there weren't many S.W.O.R.D agents left standing. Catching a glimpse of red you looked to the far left end of the barrier to see Wanda blast some agents back into the woods.
The woods. You took note of your surroundings and a plan formed in your head. This could actually work, you just needed to get a little bit closer. Getting up from where you were sitting you realised that this was gonna be more difficult then you thought when you felt Monica tackle you to the ground and a spray of bullets hit where seconds ago would have been your head.
"Are you trying to get yourself killed!" she yelled at you but you just pointed to the trees 30 meters in front of you.
"I have a plan but I need to get there."
"In one piece? That's impossible." Darcy exclaimed, fixing you with an incredulous look, Jimmy just shook his head, agreeing with her statement. "If we don't do anything soon there will be no S.W.O.R.D agents left!" You tried to spot Wanda again but could only see the red flares of her magic, at least she hadn't vanished. Seeing the look in Monica's eyes you knew that she agreed with you, they all did. Realising that you needed to do something fast, you told them your plan. They didn't seem thrilled but it was your only option.
Focusing on the task at hand you closed your eyes, preparing yourself for whatever might happen, trying to shield yourself from the sickening feeling of whatever that thing was.
Taking a final breath you opened your eyes to see Monica, Darcy and Jimmy take cover, the scientist giving you an encouraging thumbs up. Looking to the battlefield you tried to blend out all the noise and screams of agony, focusing on your target, the trees and woods surrounding you.
Kneeling to the ground you felt a surge of power flow through your body, welcoming the feeling of the aether, you poured all of your energy into the ground, the presence of the other thing making it harder than it usually was. You felt the ground react to your magic, adapting to your will. The ancient power cursing through your veins and surroundings, making the world slow down, letting you see the battle through different eyes. The soldiers desperately trying not to hurt their friends but realising there's no other way, the mindcontrolled trying to break free of the spell and crying out in agony when they have to hurt their comrades. It was brutal, brutal and beautiful in it's own horrible way. The ground ached when you jumped over the makeshift barricades, groaning and giving in a little bit when you landed in between the trees.
Your magic creating a shock wave, knocking everything down in a 20 meter radius. Looking up from the ground you could feel all eyes on you, the battle had stopped for a moment, everyone staring at the new arrival. As soon as they got out of their trance they started fighting again, charging towards you and the remaining S.W.O.R.D agents. You didn't hear the gunfire when you got up, you didn't feel the bullets trying to hit you when you started walking. Twisting your hand in the air, a shimmering barrier appeared, blocking them off. As you continued to walk into the battle the ground started shaking, cracks started to appear and the trees you had left behind started moving. Groaning and aching as they turned from lifeless vines to enormous giants. Some as high as a three story building, some smaller, they started walking into your direction, steadily going forwards, pushing enemies out of the way with their branch-like arms and shielding your allies.
There were at least six of them, aiding you in your pursuit as you conjured more creatures, small rock giants, trolls and even a small serpent. Making sure they knew what they were doing you started charging in direction of Wanda's red magic, creating cracks in the ground to stop your enemies, you didn't want kill them, just slow them down.
Conjuring a gust of wind to jump the remaining distance you landed in front of Wanda. Looking her in the eyes for the first time in eight years.
If she was surprised to see you she didn't show it, blasting you with a ball of energy. You caught it fairly easy but she just started blasting energy ball after energy ball towards you. Not being able to withstand her assault you threw up a barrier. You didn't want to hurt her, you really didn't but you could feel your shield cracking so you summon a waterspout to knock her back. You both got slammed away from the brute force of the wave, the ground now being covered in a layer of water you froze Wanda to the ground, knowing it wouldn't stop her for too long.
You saw her struggle to blast off the ice, watching her grow more frustrated when it came back stronger than it was before, your spell working against her magic. Cautious you started walking in her direction, wary of her magic and her current state of mind as she grew more agitated every second she was enclosed in the ice. Something was wrong, she could have gotten out of there if she really wanted to in no time. Why was she struggling so much? Getting closer you realised that she was crying, tearing streaming down her face, getting more desperate every second.
"Wanda..." you asked tentatively.
Whipping her head around at the sound of her name she stared at you, mouth hanging agape, not struggling against her bonds anymore. You two were staring at each other, saying nothing.
Suddenly she started shaking her head, letting out a terrified scream. "You're not real, you're not real, you're not real..."
She started repeating the same phrase over and over again, shaking her head, crying, throwing all of her energy into trying to break the ice. Sensing the danger of her actions you made it dissappear, letting her fall into the shallow water. When you looked at her again she was rocking back and forth, still repeating the same phrase over and over again, silent tears streaming down her face.
You crouched down next to her, still keeping a short distance.
"Wanda, I'm here, this isn't fake, please look at me."
She shook her head and an almost not audible "that's what it always says" was heard. "Says who Wanda?" you tried, wanting to dig deeper.
"It's all in my head, it's all in my head. They said I could live my perfect life but it's not true. They lied!" Tears were streaming down your face as well as you pulled her close to you.
Putting your glowing hand on the ground the water started to float, little droplets dancing around in the sky. The tree giants started to walk back to their original positions, shrinking down, becoming normal trees again. The small rock giants burying themselves in the ground, vanishing into the earth. Cracks in the ground the only indicator they were even there. Starting to shimmer and fade away, the trolls gave one last bow in your direction until they too, disappeared. Now the only thing left were you and Wanda, sitting amidst the battle field. S.W.O.R.D agents regaining their free will, getting escorted away by their comrades, happy that their friends were back.
While you were ridding the scene from the marks of the battle Wanda was staring at you in awe.
"It's really you."
"Of course Wands, I promised you I would always come back."
Sniffling she took your hand in hers, examining the glowing marks on your arms, tracing them like you did before the battle.
"I always had a feeling you were special." she whispered, not really believing that you were alive.
"Well what about being special together?" Offering your hand to her you both got up, walking back to the S.W.O.R.D base hand in hand. The small serpent you summoned before slithering towards you, shrinking down until he was wrapped around your finger, molding back into the ring he was before.
Yes there was gonna be a lot to undo but together you were unstoppable, friends by blood but sisters in heart.
#wandavision#wanda maximoff#darcy lewis#jimmy woo#monica rambeau#wanda maximoff & reader#yes yes im really proud of that one
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On the other hand, I don’t think he’ll run out of monetary resources that will prevent him from taking the time and energy to become a veterinarian. There’s a benefit to having rich families owe you a great deal / Why should the Hales and the Argents be obligated to pay for Scott’s studies exactly? Scott’s father is an FBI agent and his mother is a nurse. He’s not poor lol
I'm glad you asked.
(As an aside, it should be remembered that the Asshole Anon is an extremist. Their comments cannot be taken seriously because they're not actually about the show. They're about twisting the experience of watching the show in order to provide cover for fandom's racism and misogyny. I would find it a lot easier to simply ignore them if their points weren't continuously reflected by the majority of the rest of this fandom in less extreme ways.)
Why should the Hales and the Argents help pay for Scott's educational future? Well, there are many reasons, but there's one scene from the first season's episode, The Tell (1x05) that sums it up nicely.
Scott: Whatever. I have homework to do. I have to go to a parent/teacher conference tomorrow because I'm failing chemistry.
Derek: You wanna do homework? Or do you wanna not die? You have less than a week until the full moon. You don't kill with him, he kills you.
No matter how much fans of the Hales want to twist the narrative, they can't argue that Scott's life wasn’t disrupted during a crucial time of his emotional and educational development. The Hales and the Argents dragged him into their struggles and he never left.
Think of everything that happened to Scott because of the Hales of the Argents? Even if you could accept the ludicrous idea that Peter Biting Scott was an accident (if he was so out of control, why didn't he simply kill Scott like he did the janitor or his nurse?), you can't dismiss the way Peter summoned him out of his bedroom and chased him through the woods, summoned him out of his bedroom and tried to force him to kill Garrison Myers, trapped him in the high school and tried to force him to kill his friends. Trapped and mentally violated him in the locker room. Assaulted his mother. And that's just Season 1.
In our society, if someone assaults you or hurts you, you have the right to demand redress. It's why we have courts. (As an aside, the reason that they couldn't demand redress in return is because Scott is a minor. They would have to sue Melissa, as minors aren't held to same standard of behavior as adults. Shocking, I know.)
But somehow, what the Hales and the Argents -- beating, manipulation, violation, threats, extortion, poisoning -- did to a minor child isn't worth helping Scott out to them. While many parts of the fandom aren't as rabid as the Asshole Anon, they still strongly believe that Derek or Peter Hale Deserves Nice Things, and many, many, many times them deserving nice things requires Scott 'getting over himself.' Scott's reaction to Peter mentally violating and transforming him is considered a petty grudge. Scott's reaction to Derek endangering him and his friends in his war with the Argents is stubbornness.
After all, they argue, while the Hales manipulated, clawed, mind controlled and attempted to murder Scott repeatedly, Peter or Derek did it because they had no other choice. Oddly enough, this exact same reasoning doesn't seem to apply to Scott's Master Plan for them, but we've gone over that.
But the idea that the Hales and the Argents might owe Scott some redress for the suffering they put him through is simply ridiculous to most of the fandom, and where the racism shows itself is that these same people think what Scott owes other characters. The expectation that Scott make up for his missteps is endemic in this fandom. Every slight is a dire insult, every mistake is a terrible crime.
I mean, look at Season 5's fight between Scott and Stiles. Parts of fandom think that Scott was totally and completely wrong to assume that Stiles, someone whom he had personally witnessed advocate pre-emptive and preventative execution and whom he had personally witnessed commit violence in the defense of his father, would be capable of preemptively killing someone who had threatened his father. These people believe that Scott's words, which at the very worst interpretation can only be meant to "I think you murdered someone so go away," demanded redress. Many believe that this behavior should allow Stiles to kill Scott or deprive him of his abilities. Many believe that a flaw in the show was that Scott never apologized to Stiles, a lying traitor who laid into Scott with the cruelest speech I've ever heard between characters who are supposed to love each other.
You see the presumption of entitlement is only given to ... and I'm sure this is going to stretch your imagination (/sarcasm) ... white male characters. Derek can hit and break bones and disappear for three days while people are trying to kill the children he involved in his war, and this bad behavior engenders no obligation to make up for it. Stiles can hit Scott while simultaneously demanding Scott act like a superhero and it demands no reciprocity. The Argents can literally hunt him ruthlessly, and it's his fault for daring to have feelings for their daughter.
Scotts makes a few reasonable mistakes as a teenager and we're still, nearly four years after the show's conclusion, arguing whether he deserved to be treated as a hero, let alone entitled to redress. Or in need of it. Scott can have actual scenes where his mother is close to losing the house, the family car can remain unrepaired for an entire season, Scott can be filled with regret because he didn't send in a scholarship application, but you know, his mother is a nurse and that's a really well paid profession (/sarcasm).
The underlying principle is clear -- Scott, as a character of color, is invalid because he wasn't flawless and should have been replaced, but white male characters deserved more even though they consciously committed vile acts.
BUT IT'S NOT RACISM.
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