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chickensarentcheap · 3 years

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Never Gonna Be Alone

A Tyler Rake/Established Female OC fic

Summary: A lot changes in five years. Now a family of nine, the Rakes are splitting their time between Australia and New York City. With Dhaka nothing but a distant yet still painful memory and the dirty work mostly behind him, Tyler is healthy and thriving. Not only as a husband and father, but as the acting founder and boss of his own mercenary business and co-owner of his wife's well loved and flourishing bookstore. But while love and domestic happiness abound, the past and its secrets are never far behind.

Huge thanks and tons of love to @tragiclyhip for never letting me give up! It’s thanks to her I ever actually finished off the last fic, or started this one. And she also made my incredible banner! <3 <3 <3

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip

Prologue

FIVE YEARS LATER

******

The stand sits fifteen feet above ground and wraps halfway around the gnarled and twisted trunk of a centuries old Kapok tree. No hunter has made use of it in years; the stairs leading upwards weakened by harsh weather and neglect, wood cracking and bowing under the soles of well worn combat boots. Despite the added weight of gear and a kevlar utility vest, long legs and a wide stride make it easy to navigate the missing steps. His movements are purposeful and quiet; careful to avoid even the slightest snap of a twig or the rustle of dried and fallen leaves or the scratch of dirt and pebbles against the pitted and fragile wood. Any sound is a detriment in this environment; the lush and dense landscape so eerily still and silent that even a hint of noise would seem deafening. The slightest of movement has the potential to stir up the wildlife, which in turn would draw unwanted attention upwards from the banks of the Mekong River.

Even under the thick and expansive umbrella of the forest the heat is stifling. Humidity oppressive and choking. A thin layer of sweat gathers on his brow; errants droplets burning his eyes and gathering on the ends of his lashes. His shirt -long sleeved to not only provide cover in the jungle but protect from scrapes and cuts and the burn of the sun- nearly soaked right through; darkened patches under the arms and at the small of the back, the fabric clinging to dampened and slick skin. Fine beads settle around his mouth, and when he drops into a crouch at the top of the stand, he swipes his tongue over his top lip in an effort to clear away the sweat. It had been an hour hike through the jungle; moving swiftly and silently as he listened to directions being given through a transmitter he sports in his left ear. It’s sweltering and he’s thirsty; head pounding and his hands begin to tremble as the beginning stages of dehydration begin to settle in. He takes the time to remedy the situation. Shrugging off the rucksack slung over his left shoulder and dropping it onto the floor of the stand; hands shaking yet able to tear open the zipper. There’s two bottles of water packed in amongst the gear; extra pairs of socks in case of treks through swamps and marshes, two full clips of ammo that will only be used if someone on the other side is able to pinpoint his location and launch a full scale and fully armed search.

He hopes it doesn’t come to that.

Downing half a bottle of water, he uses the remains to cool himself down; splashing a handful of the liquid against his face and then dumping the rest over his head. Ten years ago, the elements wouldn’t have bothered him as much; he would have been thirty seven years old and still in relatively good shape. Physically AND mentally. And despite a consistent and punishing routine of heavy lifting, core training, and cardio, he’s definitely feeling the effects of both age and decades of hard and often dangerous living. Knees stiff and aching from the brisk hike over rough terrain and then through mud and thick brush; the arthritis that takes up residence in the small of his back and the right hip making its presence known. He’ll be sore tomorrow; every step he takes will send pain shooting through him, and for the next week he’ll wonder just why the hell he ever said ‘yes’ in the first place. Each stiff movement and slow step and aching muscle will remind him of just how things HAVE changed over the years. Gone are the days when he could skip a few days sleep; able to function on both little rest and minuscule amounts of food and drink. There’s no way he’d be able to do THAT now; push his body to the limits he’d been testing for so long. That man no longer exists. The one that would take the most dangerous and unpredictable jobs in hopes of catching a bullet. Who’d almost pray, beg and plead each and every time he went out that it would be his last; one sniper’s shot away from finally being put out of his miserable existence.

Things changed, of course. When he’d been least expecting them to. There’s way too much to lose now. It’s why every decision he makes now...every movement...matters so much. Even the smallest of mistakes can change the course of the future; one misstep potentially blowing his cover and leading to his untimely -and likely extremely brutal and bloody- demise. An hour away a helicopter waits for him; on standby to whisk him back to Vietnam and that little ‘hole in the wall’ hotel he’d been staying in. A quick shower and he’d back in the air; rushed to the nearest backwoods airport where a private jet would take him home. It’s been four days now; two spent in the planning stages before his first ‘hit’ in Laos and then the trek to Cambodia. Two for the price of one, Anil had said, although money matters very little now. These kinds of gigs are more a service; wiping out the dregs of society more of a gift to humanity than anything else.

He normally doesn’t take on jobs. A total of three in the past five years. This is the fourth AND fifth. The skills and the mindset quickly and effortlessly returning, the first kill a lot easier than he’d thought it would be. It’s like riding a bike; once the gun is in your hand and you’re peering through that scope, your finger easily finds and pulls the trigger. And this job had been impossible to turn down; the dirty and vile details hitting home and preying on his ‘human side’. Anyone in his position as a husband and father would have been enraged and disgusted. Drug runners and weapons smugglers that moonlight in abusing and torturing their wives and exploiting children. Sometimes even their own. People that evil don’t deserve to live; even a bullet between the eyes considered too kind. But it’s all he has time for. No ‘face to face’ meetings. He can’t be seen or even identified by name in order to protect his OWN family. He has to remain a ghost. An urban legend of sorts. Talked and gossiped about in drug circles and even among the local police and military who’d either been paid off by the criminals or had been hopeless and hapless when it came to stopping the activity. Nothing will be known about him. No glimpse of his appearance, no chance to hear his voice or even know his name. He’ll be known for just those ‘lucky shots’ he’d gotten in. Turned in to nothing more than rumours and speculation that will continue spreading long after he’s gone.

***

“T...you there?” Yaz’ voice through the earpiece. The reception is spotty; words broken up by heavy static.

He uses a forearm to wipe the mixture of water and sweat from his face, then lays a finger against the transmitter clipped to his vest. “I’m here.”

“Hot out there today, isn’t it.”

He smirks, then begins pulling pieces of a semi automatic rifle from the confines of the rucksack; hands moving quickly and efficiently as they snap and twist the weapon together. “I don’t want to hear your bitching. You’ve got air conditioning. I’m the one out in this shit.” His voice is low and quiet as he speaks. Even the smallest of sounds can travel great distances; echoing through the jungle and making its way down to the banks of the Mekong.

The river sits fifty yards to the south; muddy and heavily polluted and dotted with boats belonging to local fisherman. One vessel stands out from the crowd. A large and expensive houseboat; the chrome that lines the powerful motor and makes up the railings on the top deck sparkling in the sunlight. His mark is inside; meeting with some of Anil’s people acting under the guise of weapons buyers. When the time is right, the man in question will be led out onto the bottom deck and he’ll have one shot to get the job done. It’s another reason Anil had personally sought him out; his marksmanship impeccable, no other employee coming close to possessing that level of skill.

“You good?” Yaz inquires.

“Yeah…” he snaps the magazine in place and then switches off the safety. “...I’m good.”

“I’ll let you know when there’s movement. Going silent for now.”

He tears off the lid of the second bottle of water and takes a single sip before setting it down; using his sleeve to wipe both the opening and every side of the plastic. He can’t leave any trace of himself behind. Not a drop of sweat or a hint of saliva or his fingerprints. He’ll wipe the stand down before he leaves; methodically cleaning anything he may have come in contact with. IF his location is discovered, money talks. Anyone remotely related to his mark will pay to get answers, and the police will take what’s offered and collect every shred of possible evidence. He can’t take that chance. A single, unattached person may not care. Had he still been the guy living in the rundown and beaten up shack in the outback, he wouldn’t have thought twice about covering his tracks. But lives depend on him. A wife and seven beautiful little humans that count on him to protect them and keep them safe.

He CAN’T fuck this up.

Up in the stand he’s well hidden; camouflaged by the abundance of thick, lush greenery. It’ll be a tough shot through twisted and tangled branches; not even a foot of clearance between wood and leaves. Depending on exactly where his mark is led, he’ll compensate for that; pulling to the right or left in order to prevent the bullet from getting too ‘dirty’. He’s made tougher shots; mostly in his SASR days. And there’s no doubt he’ll make this one.

He bunches up the ruck sack and places it near the edge of the stand, facing the river. He’ll use it as both a ledge and a form of cushioning; balancing the long barrel of the rifle will provide stability and muffle the sound of the shot, disguising where it had originated from. He winces as he gingerly lowers himself onto his stomach; the cracking in his hip and the soreness in both knee and shoulder reminding him that he’s not as young as he used to be. Forty-seven is ancient in mercenary years. Most never make it that far. The odd few get to retire peacefully, but the majority are taken out by a bullet; one too many lapses in judgment and the smallest of errors leading to their deaths.

But most never get to have what he does either. A normal life with a family that loves him ; thousands of miles away, anxiously awaiting his return. It’s why he’s so careful; every decision he makes and every action he takes is done with them at the forefront of his mind. And he thinks about them now; warm and safe in the confines of a townhome in New York City. Four days ago they’d travelled from Australia and he’d promised to meet up with them as soon as the job was finished. It’s their third Christmas there; an eight bedroom brownstone in Gramercy Park. The kids especially enjoy spending the holidays there. Quickly falling in love with the idea of a white Christmas and enjoying all of the outdoor activities; sledding and skating and seeing the tree at Rockefeller Centre and visiting Santa and the reindeer in Central Park. And while life in the Big Apple had never appealed to him, the draw of Gramercy had been impossible to resist. Quiet and quaint; tree lined streets and a private park and neighbours that mind their own business and don’t ask too many questions. He’d initially worried about standing out like a sore thumb; tanned skinned and the array of tattoos and scars and the ‘Down Under’ accent. It turned out to be everything he HADN'T expected. The feeling of small town life within an enormous city.

The back of his hand swipes at the locusts and mosquitos that hover close to his face; their buzzing and humming both tickling and irritating his ears. The right isn’t as good as it used to be; hearing slightly muted and distorted thanks to years of both firing and coming in close contact with weapons. It’s another drawback to getting old. Along with his eyesight. Needing glasses to read or to spend anytime staring at a computer screen.

“They’re on the move.”

He blinks sweat from his eyes and wipes his lips and chin on the sleeve of his shirt. Then he settles in; bending his left leg at the knee and wriggling his stomach against the wood beneath him. The latter is mind over matter; as if the simple movement and the way he presses the toes of boots against the stand will improve both shot and stability. His finger hovers over the trigger; other hand lightly supporting the barrel of the gun, allowing the rucksack to bear the majority of the weight. Anil’s people come out first; identified by the tan linen suits he’d been told they’d be sporting. The ‘Mark’ is a middle aged man, clad in casual attire; olive green cargo shorts and a simple white golf shirt. He’s short and stocky with greying hair and a noticeable limp; a run in with a rival drug crew years ago resulting in the amputation of his leg and the acquisition of a prosthetic device.

His jaw clenches and his lips settle into a thin, pursed line. His heart hammers in his chest and both his shoulders and his chest tighten. It’s adrenaline. That unmistakable rush that comes before an imminent strike. He remembers it well. And it’s both surprising and disheartening how much he’s actually missed it.

As they chatter and laugh, one of Anil’s men places a hand on the Mark’s back and ever so slightly turns the other man in Tyler’s direction. It’s all he needs; just enough of the Mark’s forehead to ensure a ‘kill shot’. And he takes it; the sound slightly muffled but still deafening as it echoes through the jungle and stirs birds from their perches and wildlife from the safety of their nests and dens. The bullet easily tears through layers of leaves and bypasses branches; finding its target and sending the Mark sprawling backwards and then down into a pool of brain matter, fragments of skull, and quickly spreading blood.

“Target’s down.”

The words are simple. To the point. And as chaos erupts down by the river, he calmly begins his retreat; pushing himself up onto his feet and slinging the rifle over his shoulder. There’s no pressing need or rush; Anil’s people have made their quick escape and the screams and shouts are coming from startled fisherman and colleagues of the Mark that had been inside the houseboat. He has time; methodically cleaning every inch of both the stand and the stairs and making sure he’s left nothing behind.

“I’m heading back,” he says, shouldering the ruck sack and taking the stairs two at a time. He’s suddenly anxious to get on his way; feeling the relief that sets in as he begins his hour long trek.

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Not from the success of the mission or the satisfaction that comes with ridding the world of yet another monster. It’s one of happiness. One of peace.

The realization that each step he takes brings him closer to home.

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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asgardian--angels · 4 years

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Recommend some good folk metal music please

:D i never thought i’d see the day when someone actually wants to know more about the music i listen to *cracks knuckles* my time has come

I apologize in advance for this novel. Feel free to skip to the recommended tracks lol.

Most folk metal comes out of northern Europe (Finland, heavily) though you can find it all over the world (Hu Band comes to mind but I mean, it’s on every continent). I am one of those people with like, a small handful of favorite bands that I listen to mercilessly so I am sure that I am only representing a miniscule percentage of what’s available out there. What’s great is that folk metal is much more versatile than many other genres in its sound; the essence of folk metal is simply to 1) utilize traditional (or rather, in the sense of a metal band, non-traditional) instruments such as violin, accordion, brass ensemble, bagpipes, what have you, and 2) have lyrical themes which revolve around regional folklore, mythology, cultural heritage, or place (what I particularly like is a frequent reverence and respect for nature). Other genres of metal (death, black) have the second element but not the first, and tend to incorporate darker overall tones and consistently harsher or lo-fi vocal styles and sounds. Folk metal can be a gateway genre into metal and can often be quite hopepunk (if you will). Because of these criteria, the actual sound of folk metal can range from sea shanties to ‘spooky walk in the midnight woods’ to scathing social commentary to SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SH

Basically you can find a range of styles within the genre that fit what you’re looking for, from those that have an orchestral, ballad feel, to things that border on death metal but have a hurdy-gurdy in there. There’s also a much higher percentage of female-led folk metal bands than other metal genres.

I’ll go through my top picks.

Turisas. These motherfuckers. My boys.

Turisas is based in Finland, but sing primarily in English (with occasional Finnish, a smidge of Greek and Swedish too). Four albums out to date, fifth in progress. Sound is absolutely fucking bonkers god tier shit, if I may say so myself. Every single song sounds like you’ve been transported into an Iliad metal musical. Heavy use of a full orchestra and choir, along with sick violin and accordion solos. Their lyrical themes focus heavily on ancient Greco-Roman and Viking military history - but before you raise any red flags, rest assured they’re liberal as fuck and trust me the tea is scalding when Mathias feels like making a Point about Then and Now. No seriously, I don’t know how to express the beauty and depth of his songwriting - Mathias Nygård is an incredibly talented composer, musician, and songwriter (nay, POET), and an extremely intelligent and down to earth guy. There are plenty of bands that are happy to write Viking songs about pillaging and glorious death in battle and all that (Alestorm comes to mind), those are a dime a dozen. Turisas makes history come to life in a way that transports you back in time and thrusts you into the living breathing world of the past. They deal with the horrors and tragedy of war from both sides, consequences and motivations, fears and pride and loss, home and family, despair and hope. They write songs about people, big and small, and their role in weaving the great tapestry of history. And the best part is that it’s informed - Mathias does his damn research and the tales he tells are rooted in fact. He brings them to life so we can experience what it must have been like for those real living people, with the goal of forcing us to confront our own selves in them. He’s a modern Homer, I shit you not.

Did I mention there’s a song about pirates that’s actually really complex and nuanced, about how the hypocrisy and vile colonialist deeds of emperors makes them no different than the criminals they persecute?

Or that they do a badass cover of Rasputin?? yeah?????

Anyway enough gushing. Their second and third albums (The Varangian Way, Stand Up And Fight) are consecutive concept albums that follow the story of the Varangian Guard (the legendary Viking battalion that defended Alexander the Great) so the songs are actually chronologically linked to tell this epic tale. It’s a fucking listen, lads. The Varangian Way is probably my favorite album. But all their albums are top notch.

My favorite songs: End of An Empire (this one comes for 2020 hard), Piece by Piece (AKA die fascists 2k20), Cursed Be Iron, Among Ancestors, Greek Fire, Miklagard Overture (you gotta earn this song tho, it’s the finale)

Good first listen picks/hits: Battle Metal, To Holmgard and Beyond, March of the Varangian Guard, Ten More Miles, One More

Finntroll. These other motherfuckers. My other boys.

Another big name in the Finnish folk metal scene. As you can see, their band revolves both aesthetically and musically around Scandinavian troll folklore. Yall weird elf-fuckers who like the really big ears? Here you go. Look at those ears. They’re good friends with Turisas. Both love their facepaint.

Musical style leans much more towards black and death metal influenced, with a heavier, fuller sound and growling vocals. But it’s an incredibly rich and creative aural tapestry, with layers of masterfully executed sound that’s a real delight to lose yourself in. Use of fiddle, brass, keyboard, accordion, and banjo, and strong folk melodies make their sound unmistakable and unique. They are known for their ‘black humppa’ beat, which basically gives the effect of feeling the primal need to stomp around loudly to their music. It’s great cardio. They also utilize orchestra in some great intro tracks. They know their stuff.

The majority of their songs are sung in Swedish (they do some English cover songs which are FANTASTIC holy SHIT), but don’t let that stop you. The mood and power and emotion of their music transcend language, and you can be sure the lyrics are about either trolls, witches, the dark woods, spirits, or something of that ilk. I think Swedish as a language works very well with this kind of music, and honestly having it in English would lose something.

They have been around a long time and so have many albums, but I personally have only listened to the last three which feature their current singer, Mathias Lillmåns, whom I adore. Those albums are Nifelvind, Blodsvept, and their recent release Vredesvävd (that i’ve had on repeat since I got it three weeks ago). I’m sure their other ones are great too, I just can’t make a personal recommendation since I haven’t heard them.

My favorite songs: Galgasång, Tiden Utan Tid, Ylaren, Skogsdotter, Två Ormar, Ett Norrskensdåd, Skövlarens Död

Good first listen picks/hits: Forsen, Under Bergets Rot, Häxbrygd, Trollhammaren (older song), Solsagan

I’ll go through these other ones a little faster, I haven’t heard quite as much from them but I do love them.

Korpiklaani.

Great, full folk sound, utilizes a lot of folk instruments including some less commonly seen ones like hurdy gurdy. Songs are mostly in Finnish but plenty in English too. Jonne Järvelä has a really unique voice that grows on you, but it’s not for everyone. The band started as Sami folk, and Jonne is trained in Sami yoik singing, which makes an appearance in a few songs. I prefer the Finnish tracks, as a lot of the English ones are drinking songs lmao. But again, really well-executed music with layers of sound that keeps you hooked. I haven’t heard enough of their discography to really recommend enough to cover everything.

Song picks: Minä Näin Vedessä Neidon, Metsälle, Ämmänhauta, Lempo

Moonsorrow.

Definitely a darker, black-folk band. Probably not a great pick if you aren’t accustomed to black metal - very long tracks (8-15 mins is standard), growling/shrieking vocals, a ‘thinner’ but encompassing wall of sound usual of black metal, but with the benefit of wonderfully entrancing dark folk elements and chants. It’s done really really well. Sung almost entirely in Finnish (apart from cover tracks). Lyrically, focuses on themes of Norse mythology, man vs nature and similar elements. Definitely one of those bands whose music gets you into a zone. I can lose serious time just putting a whole album on and letting my mind wander elsewhere. My favorite album is Jumalten Aika.

Song picks: Ruttolehto Sis. Päivättömän Päivän Kansa (my fucking FAVORITE), Suden Tunti (well known hit), and also uhh check out their cover of Non Serviam cause it’s a fucking banger

Other bands that I like what I’ve heard but really can’t say much about them, whoops - Tyr (from the Faroe Islands, great stuff, Faroese is a baller language), Ensiferum, Nightwish (female-led).... I’m open to suggestions. Like I said, there are folk metal bands all over the world, and each is intrinsically linked to a sense of place and cultural identity that makes them unique. I’d love to hear about more tbh.

#koschei-the-ginger #folk metal

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sammysreelreviews · 5 years

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Counting Down The 10 Most Shocking Moments From My Favorite TV Shows

So I just finished Jane the Virgin and it inspired me to make a list of moments in television that had me fucking SHOOK. Maybe some other things happened in the show that were just as crazy but these are the moments that affected me personally. This list was so spontaneous but it might be my favorite one cause it was a nice trip down memory lane. Any who, here are the moments that have fucked me up along the years!

WARNING: LOTS AND LOTS OF SPOILERS!!!

10. Gossip Girl: The Dark Prince

Let’s be clear Gossip Girl stopped being the show it was by season 4 by adding insane story lines but one that was realistic was Queen B marrying a real life prince! Although there are some minor hiccups Blair finally has the dream wedding she always wanted. Unfortunately everything comes crashing down when Louis basically tells her that she means nothing to him and the marriage is now just for show. This SHOOK me cause Louis was such a good guy until that exact moment. Ugh the moment he whispered those vile words to Blair her heart dropped and so did mine.

9. Elite: So who’s actually dead?

From the beginning it was clear that one of the promiscuous teens of Elite was going to die it’s just not who you’d expect! In the first episode you find out that it’s none other than Marina! She was such a big part in the first episode I didn’t think her character would be the one to kick the bucket. Yes I am aware that the real mystery of the show is who’s the murderer but Marina being dead threw me for a loop.

8. On My Block: The Quinceañera from Hell.

On My Block is supposed to be funny and it was until the last fucking episode of season one. Ruby decides to throw his crush Olivia a Quinceañera and everything goes smoothly, she even gets to face time her parents that got deported, until Cesar’s past comes to crash the party. Let me explain. Cesar finally joined his brother’s gang and had the job of executing Latrelle who’s from an opposing gang. Cesar is too sweet for his own good and lets him live. Unfortunately Latrelle shows up to Olivia’s Quinceañera, uninvited, and fires at Cesar but hits Ruby and Olivia in the process. In the end of the episode two ambulances are on their way to the hospital and ones lights go off indicating one of them has died. At the beginning of season two we finally find out that Olivia has passed which is sad and like talk about the worst birthday party ever!

7. Pretty Little Liars: Boo!

There were literally 100 different A’s on this god forsaken show but the final A reveal was definitely the best. Spencer and Ezra have been kidnapped by A in a weird underground whatever thing and Spencer wakes up to her reflection only it’s not her reflection ITS HER TWIN. The elite PLL fans like myself always had theories of Spencer having a twin but when it actually happened I couldn’t believe my eyes. When Alex puts her hand down and says “boo!”... chills literal fucking chills.

6. Vampire Diaries: Dead girls walking.

I could honestly make a list of the top ten shocking moments from the Vampire Diaries alone but this one had 15 year old me shaking in my Ugg boots. Jeremy’s first love Vicki died in season one, which was like WILD for 2009 let me tell you, and his other lover Anna also died. In the season two finale we see two shadows walking around following Jeremy in his house and they’re none other than Vicki and Anna looking straight at Jeremy and even speaking to him. At this point in the show people coming back from the dead was unheard of and this is why it beat everything else.

5. Dark: What REALLY happened that night?

Ok so Dark has a lot of WTF moments like the entire show is a total mindfuck but in season 2 they answered a question and I was not prepared for the answer. Let’s back track realllll quick. Mikkel goes missing in the woods one night and no one finds him BUT Mikkel is alive and well he’s just in the year 1986! In the cave he went through there was a wormhole that took him to the past but the question was, how the fuck did he even end up there!? In the last episode of season two Jonas, Mikkel’s son (I know it’s confusing) goes back in time to stop Mikkel from disappearing to make everything right. Jonas talks to his dad, adult Mikkel, and Mikkel drops the bomb that Jonas was the one to lead him to the fucking wormhole in the first place!!! Everything about this show is absolutely insane but I mean this shit was INSANE. I literally could not believe what I was hearing and honestly neither could Jonas.

4. Jane the Virgin: Have a nice day bae!

Michael begins his day going to take a test and he doesn’t come back. I am so team Michael just so y’all know so I loved the flashbacks of the fair with Jane this episode. What I DIDN’T like was the end of this episode. When Michael “died” I dead ass did not watch the rest of season 3 until it was streaming on Netflix. I sobbed so bad and then at the end of the episode when Jane gets the phone call that Michaels “dead” WOW that shit HURT. Thankfully I decided to keep watching the show cause at the season 4 finale Michael is alive and well but has a little amnesia. I literally will never forgive the writers for ripping my heart out and stomping on it.

3. American Horror Story: Running in circles.

Violet tried to kill herself and Tate saves her by making her throw up except, she didn’t actually survive. Violet is depressed and stays home and it’s not until she tries to leave the house do you realize she’s actually been dead for a couple episodes. Its heartbreaking cause she’ll be stuck in that house forever but the moment you see her dead corpse was absolutely disgusting and heartbreaking at the same time.

2. Skins: Where’s Cook’s main hoe?

When Skins came back for a 7th season wrapping up the lives of Effy, Cassie, and Cook I thought we were gonna get some closure but what I got from Cook’s episodes was very unexpected. There’s honestly a lot going on in Skins Rise but Cook’s second episode has him facing off his psychotic boss Louie. Let me give a little backstory. Cook deals drugs for Louie but Louie made Cook drive his girlfriend Charlie around. Cook being Cook fucks Charlie while simultaneously cheating on his own girlfriend Emma which makes it super awkward when the three of them runaway together to get away from a psychotic Louie. Before Cook absolutely beats the shit out of Louie he’s in the woods looking for Emma and he fucking finds her in a clearing HANGING on a tree!!! Like WHAT THE FUCK!!! Skins has never been THAT brutal and I honestly think it was the most jaw dropping moment that ever happened on the show. God I love Skins but I did NOT love that death like can my baby Cook just be happy!?!

1. Degrassi: The Next Generation: A night to forget.

I was 13 the first time I got my heart broken, the perpetrator, Degrassi: The Next Generation. I was OBSESSED with this show I watched it from the very beginning. JT was my literal MAN like I loved him so much and when they CRUELLY killed him off I legit didn’t want to go to school the following Monday. JT dying is number one because it was my first big TV death and I’ll never forget it along with Liberty’s blood curdling screams.

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monstersandmaw · 5 years

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Ko-fi commission - male mongoose monster + male naga x reader (sfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Whoooff! This was a great prompt from a while back, which then turned into a ko-fi commission!

So, here it is! Sfw, featuring one feisty, grumpy little mongoose, and a snek who’s not prepared to put up with his shit... and a gender-neutral reader.

You rarely cursed, but when you felt your ankle go, sending you sprawling to the gravel of the trail with a sharp cry of surprise and pain, you definitely let out a curse. The river gushed away on your right, frothing and a beautiful bright blue as it churned at the base of the limestone cliff on the far side, while the dry pine needles of the evergreen forest scented the air on your left. The crack of a breaking twig set your heart lurching into a wild rhythm and you scrabbled frantically to sit up. When you saw the short, feisty looking, lean creature come poking its way out of the trees, you relaxed a little. These mongoose folk were rare, but the weren’t known for attacking humans.

Well, you relaxed until you realised that what you had at first taken for walking staff was in fact a guandao: a pole weapon with a large, curved blade at the top. The reason you hadn’t recognised it as a weapon was because of the leather wrappings bound tightly around the blade.

He seemed as surprised to find you there as you were to find yourself on the floor, and his golden eyes went wide at the sight of you, while his brindled fur, which had dark shadows with coppery and golden flecks, stood up on end in alarm. He walked upright on his hind legs, standing at perhaps just under five feet tall, his modesty covered by simple fur and leather, and he stared stupidly at you for a moment before shaking himself and approaching slowly. His movements were twitchy and nervy, his little ears flicking back and forth, but his voice was confident and quiet as he asked, “You alright? I thought I heard you fall.”

“I think I hurt my ankle,” you admitted, rotating it experimentally and wincing. “It’s just a twist, nothing serious, but I don’t think I really want to walk on it yet.”

“Maybe it would help if you dipped it in the river,” he suggested, his eyes darting to a boulder that jutted out from the path into the gushing water. “It’s cold with melt water at this time of year. I’ll help you if you like? I’m Tavi, by the way.” He grinned and you saw some sharp little teeth, and then he laid down his weapon at the edge of the path near the top of the gentle slope leading down to the river.

Accepting his help was surprisingly easy. Tavi was deceptively strong considering his lissom body and slender appearance, and it seemed to take no effort at all as he hooked his arm beneath yours and hoisted you cheerfully to your feet and half carried you down towards the water. He nattered away about the river and the forest and the uncommonly pleasant weather of late, constantly chirping on in order to distract you from the shock of the water on your inflamed ankle and the pain of the joint itself.

It worked, and just as you had opened your lips to thank him for his sweet kindness, he stiffened, nose in the air, his fur bristling all over, and a high pitched, intense growl sounded in his throat.

“Tavi? What is it?”

“Shh…” He began to breathe more rapidly, his chest heaving as he snuffed the breeze. “Naga,” he finally hissed. “Stay here. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

“Tavi!”

But your new friend was scuttling up the bank through the tall grass on all fours, even as you stood clumsily and yelled after him.

The bank was not steep, still affording you a good view of the path, and as you watched him, he stood upright again, snatched the covering from the guandao, and took up a fighting stance on the track. His delicate hind paws dug into the grit, and he snarled, thrashing his little bristling tail back and forth. You couldn’t even see a naga, but he was so clearly agitated. You knew that his kind and nagas were mortal enemies, having waged war on each other for centuries, but it saddened you to think of them fighting right there in front of you. Naga, however, unlike Tavi’s folk, were frequently extremely hostile towards humans.

A figure slowly emerged from the shadows of the trees a few moments later, and drew up short at the sight of the creature confronting him with a weapon. “Easssssy,” he hissed, holding up pale hands.

Your eyes widened. He was beautiful. His skin was two toned, his back and shoulders being inky black, as well as the upper side of his tail, while his human chest and stomach, and the belly of his tail, were a warm, creamy ivory colour. His face had the sharp, serpentine features of all naga, and his orange eyes bore the vertical, slit pupils familiar to you from others of his kind. The smooth skin of his face was mottled black and cream, and his glowing eyes darted straight over to you the moment he noticed you staring at him. Tavi took the naga’s distraction and pressed his advantage, jabbing the weapon forwards.

“No!” you screamed, and in the split second your cry reverberated off the rocks and trees, the naga darted backwards, drawing himself upright and hissing defensively. As he did so, two large frills puffed out like a cobra’s on his neck, and he began to weave slightly from side to side as his opponent readied himself for a fresh attack.

“Come to feast on helpless prey?” Tavi snarled, darting in and bouncing back again.

“I heard a ssssshout,” the naga replied in a soft, lisping, susurrating tenor voice, never taking his eyes off Tavi. “I came to invesssstigate. Pleassse, I didn't mean any harm.”

“A likely tale,” Tavi sneered. “You’re here for an easy meal. You’re vile scum, all of you. Heartless, soulless, venomous worms the lot of you…” He lunged for the naga with a whirling, spinning attack like a dancer, and in defence, the naga brought up his tail in a wide arc. The thick, supple muscle connected with Tavi’s midsection and he flew, winded, to land heavily in the dust a good ten yards away from where he had been standing.

“Stop it, both of you!” you screeched, standing painfully. “For goodness’ sake! Stop it!”

And to your immense surprise, they did.

Tavi picked himself up, brushing bits out of his coat, and turned to glare at the naga. The naga, however, lowered the cobra-like collar and turned to you. “Are you alright?” he asked shyly.

“Yeah,” you said. “I just twisted my ankle, like an idiot… Tavi here suggested I soak it in the cold water to help any swelling.”

The naga smiled. “A good idea,” he said softly, and then he looked up at the sky. “It’ssssss going to rain,” he murmured.

“No it’s not,” Tavi countered immediately.

The naga sighed and rolled his eyes. “It issssss,” was all he said as he began to slither away. With gasp you noticed that the blade of Tavi’s weapon had nicked his shoulder, and blood was slowly oozing down the sculpted muscles of his arm.

“You hurt him!” you glared at Tavi, but the mongoose only shrugged.

“Sure I did,” he laughed. “He would only have shot his poison at me if I hadn’t.”

The naga turned, eyes aflame with indignation. “I came here to help, you little ssssshit,” he fired. “To help! How dare you accusssse me of anything. You attacked me!”

“You shouldn’t have tried to sneak up on me!”

“You didn’t have to attack me on sight!” he blared back. “You could have waited!”

This was ridiculous. As the first few spits of drizzle hit your cheeks, you clenched your fists and gritted your teeth. The other two fell silent the moment you began to climb up the short bank, bravely ignoring the flare of hot pain in the joint each time it bore your weight.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Tavi asked, plainly baffled. “You shouldn’t be walking on it yet…”

“I’m sure as hell not going to sit here and listen to you two insult each other to death,” you said. “Besides,” you added, looking at Tavi pointedly, “It’s raining.”

“But… where are you going to go?” the mongoose asked, deeply concerned, his little ears all pricked forwards as you struggled to join them on the path. “It’s too far back to the town from here.”

The naga began to slither slowly towards you. “Here,” he said, extending an elegant, clawed hand down to you. His blue-black skin was mottled with pale spots, as though someone had splashed white paint over his thumb and up the inside of his wrist.

As he did so, Tavi’s guandao flashed down, stopping mere inches from the naga’s wrist. In turn, the naga flicked his tail up so quickly you saw nothing but a dark blur, and he knocked the weapon from Tavi’s paw-like hands.

“Son of a -” Tavi began as it fell with a clatter, but you slipped before he could finish his exclamation, and you gave a grunt of pain as searing heat shot up your leg and your ankle gave way.

The naga lunged forwards and caught you before you toppled over, drawing you easily back up onto the path and carefully setting you down without letting go of you. You smiled up at him and thanked him, letting him take most of your weight for the moment.

Tavi picked up the guandao and jabbed the point of it up straight into the naga’s face, stopping just shy of his slightly flattened nose with its almost vertical nostrils. The naga never let go of you, but you felt his grip tighten on you and the very tips of his sharp claws just pricked you through your jacket. His forked tongue shot out and he hissed a warning at Tavi, those cobra-like frills rising out once again. Fascinated, you ached to touch one, but sensed that now wasn’t quite the time.

“Get your hands off -” Tavi began, but the naga just rolled his eyes.

“Pleassse,” he said snorted. “If I let go, it will put more weight on that ankle. Better we go to my cave - you can even come too, furball - and sssit out this ssshower than all get sssssoaked ssstanding around out here. Hmm?”

Tavi’s breathing was rapid and shallow, but eventually he nodded grudgingly, and you let the naga help you gradually up the path.

“What’s your name?” you asked him, stealing a glance up at his unusual and handsome face. The skin around his hairline was dark as spilled ink, and his black hair fell down loose over his shoulders. There was the remnants of an old, thin braid in it, and from the end of it dangled a small charm with a feather. Around his golden eyes he had two blotchy, paler patches, and the one on his right cheek spilled down to his lips which were full, the corners sharply defined.

He paused his gentle slithering and smiled softly. “Jhinyu. My name is Jhinyu.”

“Tavi and Jhinyu,” you grinned, “My two heroes.” Tavi growled softly at that, and you laughed. “I mean it!” and then the mirth died in your voice as you winced, catching your foot on an uneven patch of the track.

“You know,” Jhinyu said, “It might be easssssier, and quicker, if you let me carry you?”

Tavi interrupted sourly, “What, so you can dart off through the trees and make your escape? No way, buddy.”

“Perhapsssss you should offer your sssservices insssstead,” Jhinyu said calmly, eyeing Tavi’s small stature. The mongoose warrior was clearly strong, but he was shorter even than you, and would probably have struggled to carry you very far. That he knew this was written all over his face and he chirruped something angrily to himself.

“Relax, Tavi,” you smiled, trying to assuage his fears.

“Easy for you to say: swept off your feet by a big handsome naga…” he grumbled.

“You think I’m handsome?” Jhinyu grinned at him as he did precisely that and picked you up in his arms, carrying you as if you were newly-weds.

Tavi sputtered, his ears pricking forwards and then pinning flat back to his skull. “Of course not. Nagas are all far too… slithery for my liking. Makes me want to bite something.”

Jhinyu chuckled softly but made no further comment.

Tavi stumped along next to you, slashing at the undergrowth with his guandao, until you reached a homely looking cave in a rocky outcrop amid the trees. The wind sighed through the branches and seemed to echo in chorus with the soft sliding of Jhinyu’s pale belly scales over the scattered pine needles. Raindrops spattered down through gaps in the canopy as the cloudburst intensified, and Jhinyu began to move more slowly, shivering now and again. Tavi too looked decidedly dejected as he scuffed through the leaf litter on the forest floor with his little hind paws. His little ears were wet, and his fur was beginning to mat and become bedraggled, and you would have reached for his arm to reassure him if you’d been able to.

Jhinyu ducked low through the narrow opening of the cave, and set you down on top of a huge boulder in the centre of the small cavern, beside a large fire pit. A hole in the roof would draw the smoke upwards when the fire was lit, and the naga shivered visibly. His mottled blue-black and cream body shone with the rain, accentuating the muscles of his arms and torso, but his black hair was stuck limply to his head and shoulders. He looked honestly miserable.

“Sssshould I sssstart a fire?” he asked, his voice trembling with the cold.

“That’d be great,” you smiled, but it soon turned into a frown when you saw him fumbling with cold, clawed hands to pick up a flint and steel from a ledge nearby.

Tavi watched for a while and then snorted. “You get the firewood,” he said. “And I’ll actually light the fire, alright, icicle?” and he held out his palm for the flint and steel. Reluctantly, the naga acquiesced, and slithered sluggishly off to a back corner of the modest cave to bring over some dry logs and kindling.

Tavi’s glittering eyes met yours and he said playfully, “I like it when they’re cold. They’re slow…”

You rolled your eyes, catching the jest in his tone nonetheless.

Jhinyu didn’t seem to get it though, because he hissed a warning at him, and said, “Well, if you need usssss to even the oddsss a little, I ssssuppose you’ll take what you can get.” His already lisping voice was thick, as though his tongue wasn’t working properly, and you stared once again at the cut on his arm. It had been washed by the drizzling rain, but still it wept a thin sheen of pink down his wet arm.

“Have you got a bandage, Jhinyu?” you asked.

Both of them looked up sharply and asked as one, “Are you hurt?”

You gazed from one to the other of them, and then burst out laughing.

“What?” they again asked together, and then, with matching scowls, glared at each other.

“It’s for Jhinyu,” you said. “I’m fine. But maybe you two aren’t as different as you claim…”

Neither of them liked that suggestion, but you shrugged it off with a laugh. Tavi got the fire going and helped you down off the boulder once you’d patched up Jhinyu’s arm. You squeezed Tavi’s hand as he steadied you, feeling the smooth, warm, leathery skin of his palm beneath your fingertips. “Thank you,” you said. “I’m very grateful for all your help.”

“How’s it doing?” he asked quietly, nodding down at your ankle.

“Much better for having cooled it immediately,” you said. “That was a good idea.”

He smiled a cute little smile and helped you to lower yourself to the ground beside the fire. The flames danced and flickered, smoke coiling up towards the ceiling, and you took a deep inhale. The cave was pretty small for the three of you, and the rough-hewn ceiling was barely high enough for Jhinyu to move about without cracking his head on it. In all, it was perhaps only about six or seven yards wide, and maybe ten yards deep.

The naga saw you gazing around his home, and bowed his head, his shoulders drooping. “I know it’ssss not much,” he said, trying to put a brave smile on.

“It’s cosy,” you reassured him.

Tavi chimed in with a muttered, “Filthy viper’s nest.”

“Oh and I suppose your little worm-filled burrow is sssso much more sssssanitary,” Jhinyu snarled.

“It’s better than this!” Tavi retorted.

“Stop it!” you yelled again. “Please! Can’t you just try to get along?”

“He doesn’t have to sssstay,” Jhinyu said sharply.

Tavi sighed. “I don’t trust you,” he said flatly. “I’m not going anywhere til I can see our human safely back to the town.”

You grinned at that. “‘Our’ human?”

With a grumble, Tavi stood abruptly from where he’d been sitting cross legged beside you, and stalked to the entrance of the cave to stare out at the sheeting rain.

Jhinyu approached, and the mongoose turned to watch, but all the naga did was hold out a small log and two cushions. “Here,” he said. “Sssslide that under your ankle. You ssssshould raise it up a bit. And you can sssssit on thissssss one.”

Your hands brushed his fingers as he handed the cushion to you, and you gasped. “Jhin, you’re freezing! Come and sit by the fire!”

“You don’t mind?” he asked, his teeth chattering.

“Of course not!” You shot a glance at Tavi, who was marching back over to you, and rolled your eyes. “Sure, let’s have both of you over here. Play nicely now, boys…”

Jhinyu parted his lips, his jaw unhinging unnervingly wide, and hissed possessively at the mongoose, who curled up beside you and laid his head in your lap, growling like a thunderstorm in a leather bag.

As you began to pet Tavi’s ears and head, the growling subsided into something much gentler, and with a jolt you realised he was purring softly. “There,” you whispered to yourself a while later. His breathing had evened out, and you realised he must have been exhausted. He was fast asleep in your lap with one hand resting on your thigh.

You glanced over at Jhinyu, who had leaned his human torso against the boulder in the centre of the room, and coiled his tail tightly around himself to form a perfect little knot beneath himself. He had folded his arms across his chest and was nodding off too, his head dipping slowly, only to snap up again.

“It’s alright,” you whispered. “You can sleep too.”

He smiled shyly at you. “I’m so cold,” he whimpered.

You raised one arm and invited him to come closer and lay his head on your shoulder. “It’s warmer by the fire… Bring a few of those blankets,” you added, eyeing a small pile of them on a rocky shelf at the side of the cave.

Reluctantly, he uncoiled himself, grabbed the blankets, and slunk over to you. He draped the first around your shoulders before you leaned back against the large boulder with a moan of satisfaction, and then, even more reluctantly, he shook a second out, letting it fall slowly down over the sleeping warrior in your lap. You smiled up at him, and he rolled his eyes before pulling a third blanket around his own shoulders and leaning his body against your side, resting his head on your shoulder.

“My two heroes,” you said again, and he hissed a soft laugh.

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Thank you for the ko-fis! I really appreciate your support!!

Want a drabble all of your own? Buy me a ko-fi, and specify any monster/reader/(n)sfw combination, and it’s yours!! The monster doesn’t have to be one of my existing ones! One ko-fi buys you 10 sentences, and feel free to stack ko-fis up to create a longer story! (10-sentence drabbles tag - some nsfw in there too)

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#ko-fi commissions #10 sentence drabbles #though this is clearly not 10 sentences #i need it for the ko-fi stories tag...#anyway #male monster #male naga #mongoose monster #gender neutral reader #sfw

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honestsycrets · 5 years

Text

Locked In II: Your New Beginning

↳ prison au

Author’s Notes | heed warnings

❛ pairing | hvitserk/reader

❛ word count | 3993

❛ genre | angst & smut

❛ summary | hvitserk is excited to bring his newest toy to their hideaway. hope it lasts.

❛ warnings | violence, dub/non-con, angst, convict!hvitty, exhibitionism, mention of breeding rings, drug use, criminal behaviour, kidnapping, abo dynamics, humiliation, masochism, guilt tripping etc.

The bite must have hurt.

On the after thought of the escape, Rollo tends to wiping his wet fingers over his chest and jerks off his button-up shirt from his chest, flinging it on the floorboard of Ragnar’s car. As his father pulls off, you realize that around the main entrance there an influx of police filter in. None of them realize that such a threat has escaped, nor that medical staff lay in the medical wing deceased.

“Your plaything is a cobra.” Harald says, victim to an onslaught of your sneakers shoving against him his torso while he changes into a t-shirt. Hvitserk too changes quickly, unable to help the disgust that runs through his skin from wearing a uniform of a what might as well have been a dirty fucking cop.

“You’re telling me.” Rollo responds from the front seat.

Hvitserk laughs, “Yeah but she smells amazing and I need a fucking hole that don’t feel like STD Russian Roulette. You got my lollipops, uncle?”

Rollo tosses a bag of brilliant red lollipops over his shoulder, landing in your lap. “Let’s hurry up and change out the license plates.” He reaches around you to grab his lollipop, unraveling it from its wrapping and popping it into his mouth with a long, pleased groan.

You shift uncomfortably on top of him-- unsure which to wiggle close to. Did you wiggle closer to the insane Ragnarsson you briefly knew or this strange, older man with tattoos reflecting a lifelong world of crime on his face? Either he was an idiot-- or he just didn’t care who knew who he was.

So instead you make the mistake of scooting back over Hvitserk’s lap where he kept you. He can’t help his long, jagged moan behind his lollipop, loosening the tie in your hair and turning his nose in your silky hair.

“You already trying to scent me?” He laughs. “Fuck you smell good as fuck.” Hvitserk’s hand slides from the lollipops in your lap to the stringy bow ties of your pants, tugging them loose. Rollo hands Harald something in a warm cup. At first you think, booze. Not the case. The car is filled with a nutty smell of coffee beans.

“I’m no, I’m not!” You all but shout as his large, slender fingers slide over your dry folds. He’d have to try a hell of a lot more than that to make you bend!

“We got shit to do, Hvit.” Harald rumbles beside him.

“Not for a good ten minutes.” Hvitserk shrugs, making nothing out of the fact that he’s petting you right in front of the other men. Harald seems more concerned with nursing his headache and coffee-- but you know those blue eyes linger upon you as much as Rollo’s were. Even this strange ‘Dad’ snuck a look in the mirror above at least once.

“Let’s see that pretty pussy.” Hvitserk ignores your complaints, looking to Harald for assistance. He provides Hvitserk with a knife-- and the older man looks to you to stop wiggling with a hard raise of his forehead. Bunches of wrinkles strain his forehead. The hard side of this new knife prods the crotch of your scrubs causes you to jump, outright sobbing this time.

“Please don’t…” You sob inhale a breath, full of the thick odor of three potent Alphas. Fear soars up your veins, sending shockwaves of hard palpitations when Hvitserk affectionately sliced through the fabric. He chuckles, soft and conceited.

“Keep still.” His voice deepens, ordering you to do as he willed. The knife slits a long line from ass all the way up to the waistband, stopping a inch or two short. Perfect, he thinks. He flicks the blade to the side, smoothing over your pussy that slowly-- but oh, oh so surely, becomes wet for him. In a test, he dug his digits in between your slick.

“Please don’t…! “ You sob, losing yourself when his digits come back out connected by a long string of thick lubricant. He slips the fingers into your mouth to shut you up, flicking you in the cheek when you bite down on his fingertips. In place of his wiggle fingers, you feel the hard stickiness of something all too man made.

“Knock it off.” His father says from the front seat, glancing over his shoulder to his son. His knuckles twist the candy he was once eating with a spin, glancing up with trifling green eyes to him.

“Leave it to you to not let me play.” He pouts, spinning the lollipop once, then twice before pulling it out again. You flinch when he brings the soiled candy back up to his lips, knocking the candy around his full cheeks contently. “We almost at the stop?”

“We’re here.” He throws the car into park. Hvitserk shoves you off of his lap towards Harald-- who looks down upon you with a small, smug smile. The doors to the car open and thrash closed once again. Two of the men have left. Did you make the wrong choice? You fear asking anyone anything, flailing to sit back up on your ass. There was a good reason for your fears too…

“Do I… get to go home?” You ask. At the wheel, the man has his short and thick fingers at his lip. He glances to the rearview mirror where Hvitserk is, flicking his stick in another direction as he replaces the plates on the car with the help of Rollo.

“You’re an omega.” Harald says beside you. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

It couldn’t have been worse. You bury your hands into your face with an outright sob when Hvitserk comes back into the car, it’s with his lit cigarette and a cheesy smile, flicking the plates onto the ground.

“Hey.” He takes another long drag of the cigarette, nudging you. When you don’t respond, he pokes you with the hot end of his cigarette. The sear is immediate, raising the hairs of your arm that haven’t been singed by your new, raw wound. Ragnar starts the car for their new hide away.

“Sup, princess?”

Oh god, help you.

You should have been looking out the window.

In the stress of your seizure, you had lost it. No longer were you awake looking at the many trees whizzing by. Not until the blackness you were shaken out of your empty, black dreams.

“We’re here.” The voice, deep ease you awake. It took a few moments to snap awake-- and when you did, it was by the crack and squeak of old wood under feet. The Ragnarsson Hvitserk had you yet still in his tattooed arms. Moments later, he creeps into another room. You know that the entire house was peculiar. It’s aged walls peel with a dull yellowing wallpaper, sure. There is also thin, dusty curtains that would scarcely hide any sun.

“You smell better by the minute.” Hvitserk turns the corner, kicking open a cramped bathroom. It elongates just so to fit a bath, a toilet and sink all in the room. It could have been nauseatingly small all on its own. Hvitserk sets you down on the edge of the bath, grabbing a plastic pack from underneath the sink.

They must have owned this house.

“But, there’s some modifications I could live with.” Hvitserk shrugs, turning one green eye to you. He flicks his fingers at you to get into the bath. It’s… stained. You fear with more than just day to day grime. He stops what he’s doing to throw you an almost irritated look.

“Think I’m gonna shoot you? You have a pussy, don’t worry.” Hvitserk laughs. “You’re safe.”

That was consoling. Still you do as he pleases and strip off the grimey-- ruined scrubs, setting them just outside of the bath with your bra and panties. It was almost neat. Hvitserk swipes them up, tossing the into a large trash bag.

“Trust me, where you’re going, you won’t need them.” He says.

“Where I’m going?” You respond with thick concern. Hvitserk sits upon the toilet, flicking the handle of the bath. Scalding hot water fills the bath causing you to flinch back, folding your feet against your breasts to hide your body fro him. He tilts his head, gazing to your folds that are unprotected from his gluttonous eyes.

“Yeeaaah, shouldn’t’ve worn tight clothes to work. Why would you do that working with a bunch of alphas?”

Now this was your fault? You huff heatedly.

“C’mon, tell me. You like the attention, don’t you?”

You admit to nothing-- even if you did! It wasn’t for the attention of a bunch of pussy starved inmates. It was for the hope of what all the other women wanted. Male or female or somewhere in between, most to everyone wanted a special somebody.

“But don’t worry.” He laughs, flicking out a razor to hand to you. “We’ll take care of you. Now shave it pretty for me.”

It’s all cryptid. Hvitserk then turns to an carribean blue ice chest sitting upon the floor. He plucks it up by the grey strap, pulling out a glass vial. Your stomach clenches hard upon an empty stomach, feeling the anxiety bubbling with every sweep of your blade over your smooth skin. Hvitserk pops the cap off, plunging it into the white permeable membrane of the vile.

“What is that?” You shudder, shaking now.

“A suppressant, if you can call it that. Has a poison to destroy those stupid receptors you omegas got. Arm.” Hvitserk sweeps his eyes over you, drawing on the orange plunger to pull the strangely clear liquid out. You’ve heard of those very suppressants-- a pricey drug not cleared by the Omega Drug Association.

“No.” You wiggle through the hot, burning water to keep your distance. If he came close, you could always use the razor! A deep sigh bounces off his lips, flipping up his t-shirt to pull out the handgun that was tucked in the rim of his joggers. He turns the gun on you next, crouching down beside you.

“Don’t fuck with me.” You drop what you were doing enough to give him your arm. He smiles, winding the black tie he uses for his hair around your upper arm. He eases the needle in without falter and so you know he’s definitely experienced in such things.

“See babe.” Hvitserk laughs, pulling out the plug to the water before drawing another bath. “It’s not so bad if you just listen, right?”

Your heart was telling you that you knew far better than that.

The light streaming in from dust littered, sheer buttercup curtains should have woken you up that morning. After an arrival like that you should have been knocked out upon the thin, craggy stained mattress pad. Instead you sprawl over the stained covering with a bursting heat within your tingling inner walls of your pulsing cunt. Yet you couldn’t touch it, tied like a dog and told to sleep it off. The drugs coursing through your system were filtering out. You curse yourself at that very moment for not taking suppressants. Despite the pulse of your cunt, you know what will happen.

He should scare you.

They all should scare you.

Yet the demon that brewed in these alphas were unlike the ones in normal alpha males. They were disposed to be what they were: greedy, lusty, gluttonous. Oh, a great many things. The difference between these convicts and normal men was the ability to keep the demon inside of them at bay. In days of your heat, you were just the same; spilling needy little cries of an omega through the house until the alphas were at war among one another.

“She can’t go on like this.”

The alphas had been awake for a great few hours. His chest stung as he flexed, bloody with pink at the edge of the black wings of Hvitserk’s tattoo. Hvitserk had been in a fight with Rollo as the hours raged on. They sat arranging their flight out of Denmark into sweet, innocent little Sweden. Or at least, that was the original intention before your scent trickled down to where the other alphas were bickering that Hvitserk wasn’t tending to you carefully enough.

“She’ll be fine, uncle.” Hvitserk chides, thrusting his towel over his shoulder and lazily walking over to drop a plate in front of his father. Ragnar’s trademark braid was done away with in favour of a short crop on the top of his head.

“You have… intention to breed her?” Ragnar twiddles a bit of floppy, chewy bacon. Hvitserk listens to your soft sobs above-- slipping into the ragged, natural desires of the flesh.

“Of course I do. She’s an omega! When her heat soars, she will be screaming for release.” Hvitserk says. “Then you can take her for your ring.”

That was no sort of life and all four of them damn well knew it. The highest bidder would lay down their coin for a night with the most delicious of dolls. Each slamming their fat palms down on their red buttons, thrusting up cards to dib coin upon their fixations. The winner walked away with the toy. Then the same would happen… night after night until Ragnar thought them fit to be given to Rollo. From Rollo-- there was no coming back.

“But she’s educated.” Harald says gruffly. “Can’t we use her for better means?”

Ah Harald, always making half-baked plans. Hvitserk turns to set his plate of crunchy bacon and medium done eggs before him.

“No.” Hvitserk snears. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You’ve been around Ivar for too long.”

“I was stationed with him.”

Ragnar’s hand hovers lazily by his lips. His blue eyes flicker down to his plate, then back up again to look at the stairs just behind the meager two floor home. They had to airlift out of this hellhole as soon as your heat settled. Ragnar slips out of his chair as son and uncle bicker tirelessly together. Before either notice, up Ragnar goes up the stairs.

Each step brings him closer to the princess’s den so to speak. He can already tell that your soft mewls of desperation are stringing out longer and longer. Ragnar knocks the door open with a rippling creek that swells down the steps. It creaks apart. The yellow wallpaper on the walls matches the drab brown wood coming half way up the wall, dull. Your eyes lock onto him through the wildness of your hair. A thin rim of colour surrounds the deep black of your eyes.

Ragnar does not find this something new or unique. He’s seen that very eye in a willowy, alpha female-- his wife, before she attacked and bred him for his seed once upon a time. Ragnars’ lips twitch and so he moves closer.

“(Y/N), that is your name?”

“Fuh… fuck you.” Comes the hiss. Ragnar closes his eyes, motioning his head downwards tiredly. He’s surely heard this one before and yet he carries on, moving closer. Like an animal she sits there, rubbing her legs together and massaging herself through heated frustration.

“You’ll have the chance.” Ragnar hums, reaching forward to moved your hair from the messy manner it was displayed. He could feel your heat burning through his skin, attempting to get under his own, to implore him to breed.

“What do you… mean?” You make out between deep, harsh breaths. Your thighs press tightly together. Despite the heat between your legs, you can rub them together for some friction. But it’s not enough… it’s never enough. Ragnar’s eyes course over your freshly shaved mound up to your breasts before relenting his gaze.

Then he makes a face of indecipherable emotion. It’s short lived-- because shortly after, Hvitserk resurfaces through the door. Ragnar slides back up and within a brief few steps, disappeared back from the way he came. The scents mingling overpower any humanistic qualities you may have had previously.

“Guess omegas are kinda indiscriminate, right?” Hvitserk muses, rolling you onto your back. His touch sends a shock wave of tingles through your walls. Damn your body. Damn whatever he gave you too. Hvitserk senses the hitch in your breath and it brings a stupid smile to his lips, palming your breasts while you squirm. “As long as it can pop a knot, right?”

No, you want to say, it wasn’t write. Yet as your walls moisten and your cunt burns with a hot, eager need you know that he is right. In this state you would give it up for anything-- convict, or no convict.

“You ask stupid questions.” You huff out, moaning outright when he pinches both nipples between his fingers. Instead of the fear he was so damn sure you would exhibit, you writhe under his fingertips.

“You like it?” His tone shames. He twists again-- and pleasantly your legs kick out, betraying your mind screaming everything that Dagny committed to your knowledge. Hvitserk Ragnarsson was a murderer. A breeder. The last alpha male that crossed him had shown up to your clinic with great tears to his jaw up to his cheekbones. Fibrous strands of connective tissue attempted to string his cheek and jaw back together, a testament to the quick wound healing of an alpha.

“Of course you like it. I bet you're into all types of kinky things, aren’t you? Don’t you got someone special at home?” Hvitserk rustles within his own pants, drawing his cock out into the cold air. Your curious eyes can’t help but sneak a glance. He’s of what you think might a comfortable size. Or at least it would have been if not for those barbells along his shaft.

“Just shut up.” You answer between painful huffs; even if you did, it wasn’t like you would tell an insane alpha male that. Men like him were regularly euthanized. Who would tell him anything? Your eyes keep attended to his cock in his small strokes along the shaft. It only serves to build his huge ego-- and it’s nothing that you would admit to freely. Hvitserk slips onto the soiled mattress before you, taking your hand in his gloved one to force you to look at him.

“No? Then let me guess.” Hvitserk chuckles, fisting the root of his cock to lead the tip to your unprotected pussy. He shoves himself forward unceremoniously, forcing you to roll from your side onto your back.

“You’re one of those li’l sluts that binges xvideo porn all day and daydreams all about a certain little someone, right?” He chides, pinning your shoulders down. A long groan escapes his lips, hissing. “Fuck, no one been in this pussy for a while.”

Oh you hate him. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him!

“Those are the kinda pussy princesses I love, ya know?” He slurs, moving his hands down your back to your waist. He pins you there, enjoying the bounce of your ass against his hips with every bouncing thrust. The balls of his piercings pop into your hole, gliding in cool. They’re quickly warmed by your juices coating down his cock.

“The ones that just can’t get enough. Just like me.”

“I’m not like you!” You hiss and despite his dick just smoothing over the right bundle of nerves, you fight him tooth and nail through the long, bruising thrusts that relieve your swollen need. He’s so thick-- and when he fills you, it’s as if you could never be more full.

“Aw that’s cute pretty baby.” He leans in above you, placing his palms down flatly against your head. You glare at the black lines on his right forearm, wanting nothing to do with him. But in the end of it all, you knew he was right. “But it ain’t true. Omegas are meant to be bred like this. This is what you were always meant to do.”

His balls slap against your ass-- hard, then harder when your hips defy you. You lean into his thrusts, taking them like only an omega could. Hvitserk’s lips churn into a wide, bright smile. The more he warmed you in your heat, the more attention you craved. And Hvitserk-- was far too gladdened to give you everything you craved. As a true alpha, It wouldn’t be complete if you weren’t gasping for it first. And so you were, oozing your excitement over his dick before he even came! Hvitserk gives you a long, deep stroke of his cock to fill you properly. Your vaginal walls respond by squeezing him perfectly, milking him while he strains to hold himself out above your with a few forced pants.

“Nnn- nooo.” You sob, this wasn’t it-- this wasn’t… wasn’t you. And yet all the same, yesss.

At the end of your week long heat, your legs were wiggly like the jello and thin, light foods that Hvitserk had been feeding you so often. Never again did you want to see breads, brothy soups and crackers that made it so easy for Hvitserk to breed you and breed you all week. You felt the heat subsiding little by little through your cunt until finally, it was little more than daily annoyance of breeding and sex.

Hvitserk woke up before you that day, preparing everything that had previously been used in the house for the fireplace. Your wrists were bound when he finally came back to gather you onto two feet with a short, white flowing dress.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask-- stupidly so.

Hvitserk keeps his head level, hair smoothed out into a neat bun on the top of his head. He takes a drag of his cigarette, losing the smoke in your face yet again. You were getting used to his asinine actions over the week that you knew this Ragnarsson.

“You’re flying back with Dad.” He answers.

“Back… home?”

Hvitserk stops around the area where a jeweled pair of flip flops are. Whoever picked these pretty things-- it definitely wasn’t any of the four idiots you came to know over the week. Though Rollo did have a soft spot for prettty things, so maybe it could be him.

“You’re not going home.” Hvitserk explains. Ragnar comes to stop beside him, and so suddenly, the dread pits in your stomach. “You’re going to his breeding rings.”

Breeding rings?

“You’re not serious.” You state the question as a blank statement. Ragnar grasps your upper arms, tugging you away from the only man that you knew up to this point to stand closely against his toned chest. The young man stuffs his hands into his pocket.

He’s deadly serious.

“You can’t do this to me!” Your voice cracks at the end of the statement, beginning to panic as to what exactly a breeding ring might be. It was a running joke that Omegas were only good for breeding rings but like any things, you never gave it any credence until now. Almost like a lead weight you drop in Ragnar’s grip, refusing to go anywhere. Much less tot the sight where you would be airlifted in a separate direction with the Sigurdssons Ragnar and Rollo.

“No, no I’m not going!”

Instead of giving your fit any weight, uncle Rollo coes to the other side of you. He lifts you up onto two feet. Hvitserk lifts his hand and like magic, Rollo pauses.

“C’mon princess. Don’t make this painful. I like you, but I don’t like you like you. Besides, you’ll be nice and cared for by my brother Ubbe. Don’t that sound nice?”

It didn’t sound nice, it didn’t sound nice at all!

“It sounds awful!” You shrill out, jerking in the two brothers’ arms. At long last, Hvitserk digs his hands into his pocket. You shrill all the way to your next mode of transport until Hvitserk is nothing but a small speck. He shakes his head, rejoining Harald, still in his thoughts.

“You’ll thank me later.” He chuckles. “When you can’t get enough.”

@igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok (no mix), @romanchronicles, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @concretewaywardangel, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @dorned, @lisinfleur, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @Kirah34, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns, @mixedwiththemoon, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @rubyquartzshades, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @titty-teetee, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @piebytheocean, @strangunddurm, @atequila, @rekdreams247, @justacrush, @ivarswonderlust, @peachesnpisces, @elenawrit, @equalstrashflavoredtrash, @roxxck, @dylanowhyyien, @ilvebeenabad, @vikingsmania, @huntingbears, @My-Little-Wolfe, @seize-the-droid, @Certifiedpoison, @hotshotstar, @deans–chevy–baby, @moondustmemories, @colourmeinblue, @ilvebeenabad, @squirtleandeeveearethebest, @rubyquartzshades, @queenmissfit, @calaena-banrion, @hallowed-heathen, @Kirah34, @lulura, @looneytunes20033, @Imamom-makingadifference, @sunlightdaniel, @neeadinghugs, @Funmadnessbadassvikings, @mblaqgi, @Natmors, @triumphantreturnofpies, @dmv49, @imavulcanatheart, @attorneyl, @nina2697, @iconicvaleria, @lovelynerdytraveler, @tierneygonzalez, @zabee113, @meganjudee, @nininstinct, @sdcyumyum, @ms-allenbrown, @pancake-blonde, @ivarswickedqueen, @starkiddreamer, @Orange Darko @austenkingmylady, @thisisparadisemylove, @pinkrockstar19, @jeowjungkook, @threewintersoldiers, @end-of-night, @yaminax-kuss-a , @gruffle1, @arses21434@natalie-rdr, @tempt-ress, @Sirena-wesker, @thevikingsheaux, @poisonedjoinery, @smokealone, @chewythecatus, @glopsifum, @laughinglikenialler, @lefrenchfrye, @she-walks-in-the-moonlight, @mybarnesmyhero, @vengefulflange, @imcreepininyourheartbabe, @therealmrshale, @that-goodgirl, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @athroatfullofglass justrepostandlove

#Hvitserk #Hvitty #Hvitserk x Reader #Hvitty x Reader #hvitserk's heathen feast #Dark!Hvitserk #Vikings imagines #vikings/reader #vikings imagine #implied!ragnar x reader #dark!hvitty

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zaggitz · 6 years

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VIDEO GAMES 2017: ONE MILLION GAMES ENTER, TEN GAMES LEAVE.

Well that sure was the best year in video games since probably 1998, wasn’t it? Nintendo put out a new console and 3 major franchise entries, basically every anticipated game of the early 10′s finally frickin’ came out, we got 4 new English Falcom games, 3 of which with good locs, and they made a new Nier? What???

What a time to be alive.

Let’s not waste any time getting to the list, lord knows VIDEO GAMES 2017 has already sucked out enough time from me for a lifetime.

Before we begin, here’s my lists for 2015 and 2016.

Honorable Mentions:

Persona 5:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jaIo82uT0qs

It’s insane that this game isn’t in my top ten, hell, it’s insane that it isn’t in my top five. It’s less a commentary on Persona 5′s quality and more that the games that did make the list resonated with me a whole lot more. VG2017 truly was too powerful.

P5 is mired with stiff localization problems, but even without the loc in consideration, the thematic through-line of the game gets muddled and becomes a toothless version of the promising rebellious first ten hours the game provides by the time you reach the finish line, which also just happens to come 20 hours too late, in my opinion.

What a great looking and feeling game though.

Tales of Berseria:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oYXwD2CfxOs

On the flipside we have this game, the first Tales game I’ve enjoyed since Tales of Vesperia back in 2008. This game has an amazing story and great characters with a thematic backbone that sticks to your ribs after you finish it.

Now if I didn’t hate the act of actually playing it and having to scour its way too big boring empty dungeons and crappily designed world, it’d be a list maker for sure.

OKAY NOW IT’S TIME FOR THE CERTIFIED BANGERS:

10. Metroid: Samus Returns

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yhQWJG-_Oco

Somehow my least favorite Metroid game got two remakes that both made my list two years in a row?? This game is pretty great in it’s own right though it has a few control scheme imperfections and I could see a switch port easily being the definitive version to get.

The reason this game really makes the list though is because of how it lives up to its title. Finally an official Nintendo Metroid game that comes out and undoes Sakamoto’s vile character assassination of Samus back in Other M. .

The queen is back, and she has been missed.

9. Horizon: Zero Dawn

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FD0DByDxJBA

An engrossing open world, great stealth/hunting/gathering systems AND robot dinosaurs are just a part of what makes this first outing for what seems like an extremely promising series great.

No, what really sets this game apart from its contemporaries is how it fleshes out its backstory, culminating in the creation of what might actually be the most despicable piece of shit villain ever put to writing for a video game. And he’s been dead for a thousand years so you can’t do shit to him.

Fuck you, Ted Faro.

8. Night in the Woods

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o2UUFFMGcgY

This game hit extremely close to home for me. Forced to come back home to a small, dying town full of people clinging to the good old days instead of doing anything for the generation after them, having this game to play and have it be said out loud that yeah, other people are living this nightmare too, was insanely refreshing.

For as much as we all need a bit of direction sometimes, sometimes what we also need to know being a directionless 20-something asshole trying their best is okay too.

Also Gregg rulz ok.

7. Ys VIII: Lacrimosa of Dana

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNgph1g422Q

Great gameplay, great music, fun characters, one of the most fun to explore worlds in an action adventure game. This game truly nails the sense of pure adventure Ys is known for.

It’s a shame then that it’s plagued with one of the most laughable translation efforts in the industry, much of the games personality comes from the fact that even a bad localization job can’t overwrite some character quirks, but this still leaves the rest of the script feeling extremely stiff at best and incomprehensible at worst.

I hope the re-translation patch is good. Until then, Fuck NISA and have a good day.

6. The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fiU65nQdZE8

I would describe this game as a great first step in evolving the Zelda formula. That’s not even really that accurate, the real first step was in Link Between World’s item rental/no dungeon order systems.

Nevertheless, BOTW amazes with a sense of scope and exploration no game has ever really come close to, and achieves it almost effortlessly by simply giving you the ability to climb anything.

More music, more proper dungeons, a deeper story and a few durability tweaks are basically all you need to make the next Zelda game the easy best in series.

5. Yakuza 0

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MYB-D9qEwzI

This isn’t the best game this year, but it is easily, no question, the MOST video game this year. 110 hours in and only 60% complete, Yakuza 0 is the game that keeps on giving, with an enthralling true crime story that reshapes what we know about its protagonists. It’s pretty much a non stop emotional thrill ride to the finish line.

It effortlessly incorporates the best side story aspects from the many games in the series to come out before it, and utilizes them with a fantastical glee that keeps you with a smile on your face for the whole run. This is easily the funniest game I’ve played this year. Thank you SEGA.

4. Hollow Knight

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1unm0LS10ao

God I can’t wait for this game to get ported to consoles. I bought a new laptop basically just to play this game and the absolutely enthralling metroidvania world design, hand drawn and animated aesthetic, and fantastic npc characters blew me away.

The encounter designs are tough but fair(except maybe the Colisseum) and the DLC so far has been great. I can’t wait for all the post release content to come out so I can play through it all again on Switch and probably PS4.

It’s insane only 3 people made this game.

3. Super Mario Odyssey

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PhciLj5VzOk

Nothing to say here that hasn’t been said by hundreds of others. SMO is pure joy distilled into video game form.

I can’t wait for Odyssey 2 to come out and somehow blow this one out of the water like Galaxy 2 did for Galaxy.

2. Nier: Automata

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CKOM3lNFajE

An amazing contemplation on what it means to be alive, and a thoroughly satisfying conclusion to a story that, for me at least, has been told since Drakengard in 2003. Game after game of sad tragic stories with bad endings and characters fighting an imperfect world imperfectly and only making things worse while temporarily making things better for themselves.

And really even in those cases there’s caveats.

Caviats???? Anyway.

Ending E of this game finally brings some semblance of peace for this fucked up world where a deranged killer and his dragon fell through the sky and made things the worst for everyone for literally tens of thousands of years. Finally Devola and Popola can sleep. All is well.

1. The Legend of Heroes: Trails in the Sky the 3rd

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wld2q4mLhYM

Another year, another Trails game at number 1. I’ll be real with you, I’m about to drop a bunch of personal rambly stuff about what this entire trilogy means to me so if you don’t wanna read that, that’s fine.

This game is basically a perfect epilogue to a game that means a whole lot to me and serves as an amazing capper to an amazing jrpg trilogy.

When I first played Trails in the Sky First Chapter, it was the PC version in 2014. Now in 2014 I was coming off being in college for about 6 years, switching majors a few times and not really being into what I was doing but, yknow, you gotta major in something and then you gotta get a job, that’s kind of what getting started as an adult is.

So I played this weird little jrpg that was, fundamentally, about a country and the people in it trying to move on from a tragic war years prior, hiding their still fresh wounds in plain sight and just trying to go on with their lives.

It was an extremely interesting game, for how plot-light it was in the early goings, you got to really feel the struggle of these people and the unseemly past they were trying to run away from or avoid repeating. This underlying conflict builds and builds until we can’t ignore it anymore.

When I played Second Chapter a year later, I had been laid off from a job I got right out of College and had no employment prospects. I hated the fact that I’d spent basically my entire adult life up to that point doing something I wasn’t passionate about and then got let down by the system.

At the same time, the shame of my situation lead me to close up and not tell anyone about the problems I had, I was broke, I owed two months rent, on the verge of getting evicted, I felt extremely alone.

All this to get to the point that Second Chapter was ultimately a game about pulling out the dark shit we don’t like talking about and saying “it’s okay to talk about this stuff, there’s always someone who will listen.” It got me to get over myself somewhat and actually reach out for help, and I’m really thankful for it not letting me hit rock bottom.

Two years later still, I’m in a much better place, I finally feel happy about where my life is and what I’m doing and oh boy here comes Trails in the Sky the 3rd.

Completing the journey I started back in 2014, I found myself playing a game all about how it’s okay to acknowledge the bad things that happened to us, so long as we learn and move on from them accordingly.

This trilogy has so much heart, and so many memorable characters, and so much to say. It’s so, so special to me, and I was openly weeping when all the characters I’ve come to know and love over 4 years finally parted ways.

Thank you Falcom for making these games, and thank you Xseed for bringing these games to us.

TL;DR

#game of the year #trails in the sky #nier automata #night in the woods #ys #metroid #mario oddysey #hollow knight #yakuza 0 #zelda breath of the wild #horizon zero dawn

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sirbadgerduke · 7 years

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Retrospective Thought: “Top Ten Video Game Bosses”

BI figured I’d give my thoughts and opinions about some video game bosses I’ve fought and beaten, maybe even multiple times. No doubt a great villain can often times become a just as great or better boss for you to face; utilising everything you’ve learnt up to that point and then applying whatever other tricks you’ve gained along the way to the boss...or you completely exploit a glitch, use some really OP, nearly broken something or other. my own guidelines upon how I’m constructing the list: No more than two bosses per franchise, sometimes a franchise just has a bunch, so I’m going with two at most here. Emotional factor, badass factor and impact factor are all the judging components for this list. This is MY list and MY list ONLY, some will agree, others will venomously not, this is just my opinion and not more espousing this list as fact. So lets begin the list! 10) Vergil - Devil May Cry 3: Dante’s Awakening Devil May Cry is one of my personal favourite franchises in the Hack ‘n’ Slash Action genre. DMC3 is the creme de la creme, the magnum Opus of the DMC Franchise, boy does it have some really awesome bosses. I went with Vergil because he is just like Dante, only less of a joker and more serious and willing to live up to his father’s legacy, for better or worse. He is quite literally the twin bro of Dante and polar opposite too. While Dante is goofing and joking, Vergil is serious and focused. The battles you have against Vergil show that not only are they different, they skill level are not even on the same level, often rocking you around like a game of pinball while you struggle to gain the upper hand in his counters and zoning techniques. The music, the stages, and the combat itself is all superbly done well, you never quite feel like you can rest on laurels against the darkside of the Sparda Twins. it goes without saying that this fight is as emotional as it is badass, especially the last fight against him, to which when you beat him? you found out his fate. Oh yeah, it’s also a prequel to the first game. Great battle, great character. 9) Nemesis - Resident Evil 3 I’m a huge fan of Survival Horror games, whether it be the psychological fuckery of Silent Hill or the despondent, bleak teeth gritting pulse pounding Alien: Isolation. Silent Hill is not quite known for it’s bosses, that I can say, and Alien does not really have one. Hence why Nemesis is on the list. Possibly most intelligent of the Tyrant Class B.O.Ws from Umbrella, Nemesis is one vile, deadly, and ugly as fuck Tyrant. He Pretty much bursts on the scene, kills Jill’s acquaintance via tendril through the mouth and then proceeds to chase you. You are often give the choice of either actually facing the fucker head on, or to escape. Facing him nets you some pretty good rewards, but escaping allows you to conserve your items and ammo. From its first introduction and throughout the game there’s this sense of paranoia, sense of foreboding that he’s following you, even stalking you. This is a masterclass for Survival Horror bosses, and Nemesis stands to be the example that sadly, no one else follows. 8) Brainiac - Injustice 2 Fighting Game bosses are, for the most part, really hard to pull off. You don’t want them to be pushovers, but at the same you can’t have them be stupidly cheap and OP(See Azazel from Tekken 6, Shao Kahn from the MK Series). Brainiac, while no push over, is definitely a balance struck; Not too difficult and quite possibly conquerable. His characterisation, personality and dialogue are all well put together as well, making for a fantastic fighting game boss. A believable threat for the heroes, that even forces them to desperately look for desperate measures to take him out. 7) Grigori The Dragon - Dragon’s Dogma I’m not going to lie, Skyrim’s Dragons are very lackluster and disappointing in regards to fighting one. Grigori though? quite possibly one of my favourite monster boss battles from a game to date, especially from an RPG to boot. Starting out as a harrowing, tense as hell chase, with Grigori rampaging like all good Dragons do, then proceeding to an air battle, in which you are scaling the body of this giant flying dinosaur to a grounded battle. This boss can easily described as epic, in my books. emotional factor and impact come in the form of Grigori taking your heart, and then much later takes your “beloved” to bargain with you. This battle is fantastic and highly underrated. 6) Liquid/Revolver Ocelot - Metal Gear Solid 4: Guns of The Patriot Metal Gear Solid is one helluva fuckin trip of a series. Often times goofy, often times really fucking serious, but mostly all tims “fantastic”, so no doubt the final chapter in Solid Snake’s life has a big boss battle right at end to send it off? Eeeeeh, kinda? you pretty much confront Ocelot, and engage him in CQC, up close and personal fisticuffs. This is personal shit, this fight hangs a lot of stuff at stake in the balance, and oh boy is it nail biting. Plus as well the health and stamina bars go from 1 all up to 4 as you punch, kick, throw and choke Liquid Ocelot who then slowly becomes Revolver again. 5) Senator Armstrong - Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance OH BOY, is Metal Gear Rising just the stupidest, most badass shit to come from PlatinumGames? Well yes it is. This boss battles is just off the walls, equally, stupidly badass, silly and profound to some really strange way. The battle starts off with Raiden facing off against a huge Metal Gear for starters, which in most games would’ve been the final boss and thats it. Not Senator Armstrong though, he’s got “NANOMACHINES, SON” that allow him become the most anime as fuck villain in a MGS Series. 4) Slave Knight Gael - Dark Souls 3:The Ringed City DLC. OH YEAH?! I COULD’VE CHOSEN ARTORIAS, GWYN, ORNSTEIN AND SMOUGH, FUME KNIGHT RAIME, SOUL OF CINDER ETC ETC. But I didn’t chose thoses badasses, I chose a pathetic slave knight consumed by the Dark Soul all for the long-haired girl to paint a new world for those who’ve suffered too long. Admittedly, the battle serves as a “Best of Compilation” but by god it’s done nearly perfectly. Gael will most certainly fuck you up without hesitation and proceed to do the same again, again and again. Lore wise, the battle is fantastic and quite saddening too. An ally who helped you, driven mad as you must slay him. His design is also one of my favourites of the more humanoid bosses of the DS Trilogy. 3) Giygas - Mother 2: Earthbound Well then, this final boss came out of nowhere with it’s creepiness, it’s rather dark as hell atmosphere that somehow makes it even worse since most of the game has been rather weird and goofy up and till this point. Straight up fighting will not work against it, you gotta pray to beat him, and boy does it get weirder. Any further and I’m heading into spoiler central, but I’d recommend everyone, especially Undertale Fanboys. 2) Colonel Nohman as The Pilot of Anubis/Aumaan Anubis - Zone of the Enders/ZoE:The Second Runner. Both games use Anubis, ZoE1 he’s an undefeatable boss to which you just manage to distract him to live once more. in the Second Runner? it starts off the same but eventually, you begin to fight on with him, especially gaining the Zero Shift ability. Nohman is the perfect example of a recurring boss/villain that does not suck. He’s easily fantastic, and oh god he’s just so over the top it’s really fu, you clearly hear how well the VA gets into it. The battle is pretty hectic and superbly solid. One of my all time fave mech based game. 1) Gehrman - Bloodborne Where do I begin? The fantastic boss theme, the superbly designed boss arena or is it one of the coolest human enemies in which it feels like you’re fighting a close friend who has no real objection to fighting you reglardless. The hunt calls for him and he beckons without a question. The battle itself is near perfection personified and quite possibly one of the best boss battles. The music plays, giving you a sense of dread, and surprisingly, sense of melancholy. the Bloodborne has countless epic and fantastic bosses in their own. It’s a battle through and through, one of my faves as well as legit being one of the best bosses in most games. This is my list! how you enjoy reading it, if you disagree or one of your faves is not only list, just remember its MY list of my OPINION, some bosses not on are super great or I just never played them

#video games as art #video games #games #devil may cry #resident evil #dark souls 3 #bloodborne #Injustice 2 #devil may cry 3 #zone of the enders #dragons dogma

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jenroses · 7 years

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Sometimes it’s really hard to write about other people��s happy times when it reminds me of when I was strong and thought I could do almost anything.

Sometimes it’s an escape, but sometimes it’s just a really rough reminder of how hard I’m struggling right now.

The true answer to “How are you” behind the cut. It ain’t pretty.

The nausea is bad right now. Every week it’s a little worse, Saturdays. The dosage hasn’t changed, once a week I sit on the toilet lid while my husband is in the bathtub, and I swab alcohol between the stretch marks on my belly while he reads some old book or another (literally old, he’s on this kick and I think he’s up to the late 18th century? Maybe 19th? Idk.)

I swab the top of the tiny vial of vile chartreuse poison. It’s thick: in the little glass container it rolls thinner than honey, but thicker than oil.

I pull out a syringe and draw .8 ml of air into it to push into the vial, in order to not create too much suction inside when I’m trying to pull the thick liquid into the needle.

The flashback comes when I get ready to inject, every time. When I was pregnant, I pushed a much larger amount of fire into my belly twice a day, every day, for most of ten months. It hurt, it bruised, and it kept me from clotting, and it meant that I survived a pregnancy without clots, long enough to give birth to a bundle of ornery sunshine.

Methotrexate does not keep me from clotting. This is poison, and it’s only once a week, and the needle doesn’t even hurt going in. It doesn’t hurt pushing the medication in. But I know what’s coming.

I do this before I head to bed. It’s almost always six or seven in the morning, because I dread it, and I want to milk the last of the “feeling okay” I’ve finally managed to achieve by the time I’m six days out from the shot. So I stay up too late, and then collapse into bed and cease to function for the rest of the weekend.

I sometimes think that I’m making too much of it. It’s only a little bit of chemo. For cancer, it would be 10-25 ml, not .8. It could be worse. I could be taking it orally and killing off my gastrointestinal tract. With the blood thinner I’m on, that seemed like a bad idea, so shots it is.

When I let myself think that way, I do ill-advised things like decide I can fix shit and push through, like I did today when there was a crisis in the house over the fact that a DVD had come from the library as a blu-ray, for which we have no player. So I went to a store that had no electric cart to buy things that are literally way more expensive than a season of Game of Thrones could ever be, and came home to discover that there was literally no way to install anything on the computer that was supposed to get it. I sat there for an hour trying, on the wrong chair, which I should not have done, and then spent another hour trying to figure it out on a different computer. I emerged victorious, with a migraine and a blossoming fibro flare.

I take... take feels like the wrong word. I subject myself to methotrexate in order to keep my immune system under control, to prevent my body from waging war on my gut, my liver, my salivary glands, my lacrimal glands and the membranes around my knuckles. It doesn’t work nearly as well as steroids at making me feel good, but might have fewer side effects long term? It’s hard to say. Something is going to kill me, and whether it’s the rheumatoid arthritis or the medications to fight the rheumatoid arthritis, or the blood clotting disorder, or the meds I take to prevent clots from forming (when the real problem is that once clots form, they just don’t STOP)... I don’t know. My grandmother lived to be 101 and right now that feels like too damn long.

I have children. I have a husband. They need me, god knows why, and so I stay. I spent most of my time with my son today yelling at him. He’s five and it’s absolutely not his fault that my skin is so sensitive that touch is painful to me. I’m sure there’s probably a more graceful way to tell him that I just spent every last bit of energy I had making a couple of eggs that may or may not stay down and no, I don’t have the energy to deal with him wanting a new packet of salami and cheese when he hasn’t finished the cheese from the last one. He spent most of the day hanging out with his dad and his oldest sibling. My daughter is fortunately well cared for. We are protected from each other, but I wonder often what she thinks of our new reality, where she always has someone, but it’s almost never her mother because I can’t risk her feet or her teeth, because I can’t risk my temper or my lack of coping. Because I can no longer lift her, this child that I carried on my back for three straight years because she hadn’t learned to walk yet. I only stopped because I ended up with a clot and couldn’t lift anything.

Writing has been hard this week, because when I write I draw on my experience, and right now it hurts to remember that once, I was a dancer, once I was a competitive swimmer, once I stood in front of people trying to ignore a bigot and roused them to speak out against him.

When I write I remember the things I could do and the places I went. I did so much. And it feels like that is over. The last convention I went to hurt. I had a scooter, and pillows, and a hotel room to retreat to, and it hurt so, so bad that I now associate conventions, which were fun, once, with blinding pain.

The last one I went to was just before I was diagnosed. My joints were on fire. I thought I would need a wheelchair forever afterwards.

I’m afraid to go back to the doctor and tell them how much the methotrexate is hurting me because the alternatives are thousands of dollars per month.

We can afford it, I just hate being that much more of a burden. That money was supposed to let us enjoy my husband’s retirement. But the idea of going on a cruise? I don’t see it happening and I don’t know how to break it to my husband that it might not be possible.

I keep feeling like there are things I should be doing, like I should be trying, TRYING to exercise, like I should be trying to do something about my weight even though I know that trying to do something about my weight is not actually going to result in making healthier choices. There are barely any foods I can eat. No foods that are unambiguously healthy for me. The last thing I need to do right now is tell myself I can’t eat the few foods that don’t actively make me sick.

But today I tried to push through and I feel like I’m going to lose the entire week to it.

I have no extra resources for social niceties. I’m completely social-scripting my responses to comments on my fic (please keep making comments, it matter so much, just understand if my responses are short.) I’m making huge social errors because I’m misreading things because the only way I social is by applying cognitive effort and I just don’t have it right now.

I hear about people living and doing relatively normal things with RA. But my RA was not correctly diagnosed in a timely fashion. In retrospect, I think it started in 2014, but they didn’t have the right test in common usage so they shrugged and attributed my symptoms to “I don’t know some sort of inflammatory process probably related to EDS” and so by the time I was diagnosed, 29 joints were on fire and the antibody levels were so high they could not be accurately measured.

A lot of people with RA just have RA.

I have RA, EDS, Hashimotos, Sjogren’s, fibro, sleep apnea, allergies, IBS, and Factor V Leiden. I’m probably autistic, definitely neuroatypical, with massive sensory issues and a brain that does amazing things in a lot of areas and is utterly inept at the things people expect to be easy. If I write people well it’s because I’ve been studying human beings like an anthropologist since I was three years old. (I gave my mother a sheet of paper on which I’d drawn a wide variety of facial expressions because I was trying to understand facial expressions.)

Someone asked me once, “Have you considered that your problems might be psychological?” I laughed in his face. The idea that I could, via mental illness, magically clot the blood in my veins or sabotage my own thyroid? I mean, I absolutely have anxiety and intermittent depression issues, but ffs, those things don’t make my salivary glands swell to the size of golf balls. I get tired because my body is attacking myself, and exercise makes that process worse because it fucks with my immune system which is pretty good at fucking its own self up.

Someone asked me once why I pursued so many diagnoses. The answer was, “Maybe if they figure out the right one, they can fix something.” It’s not because I *like* collecting diagnoses. I miss being able to eat normally. I miss being strong and physically fit. I used to swim 10 hours per week. I used to ride horses. I used to go camping and loved it. I used to be able to build things with my hands.

I have to remind myself not to do those things.

I have to, because pretending I’m not sick makes me sicker.

Every shot I take seems to push me into a flare. Not a huge flare, just a few joints reminding me that this isn’t over. That this will never be over.

I got through the twice-a-day-Lovenox routine because I knew it was finite and i knew there would be a baby I wanted very much at the end of it.

I will be on methotrexate or something like it for the rest of my life.

It feels like poison. The sneaky poison that you think isn’t poison until your lips go numb even though you didn’t drink it. And then I sleep and think, “Well, at least I can sleep.”

And then I wake up and my whole body hurts, and the exhaustion pulls at me so hard, and I’m supposed to eat something so that I can take the small dose of steroids I’m still on, and I don’t want to eat because my stomach is on a boat.

Saturdays might as well not exist. Sundays aren’t much better. By Monday I can drag myself to physical therapy. By Tuesday I can drag myself to the grocery store. By Thursday I start to think, “I really should exercise” and on Friday I fight dread about the coming shot.

This morning my husband said, “I blame Trump.”

And I said, “You might as well. Stress increases inflammation, and most of my stress in the last six months has started with That Man.”

It is no mystery to me that so many people died last year.

The mystery is how we keep going when it’s hard.

“How are you doing?” asks a cashier. They all ask this. Everyone, locally. It’s a reflex thing.

And my brain won’t let me give the flip lie of an answer. I can’t say I’m fine. I’m not fine.

“I’m doing,” I echo. (Right now this feels like a lie, too.)

Sometimes they say, “How are you today?”

And I just say, “I’m here.”

Sometimes what doesn’t kill us just doesn’t kill us (yet).

I’m not stronger, I’m just not dead.

#Mine #rage against the chemo #I'm not fine #medical reality #rheumatoid arthritis #writing (or not)#needles #I cried at the best buy counter today

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macbetha · 7 years

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What are some of your favorite books of all time?

sorry this took a bit to answer, i took this question prettyseriously because books mean so much to me haha. so, i made a list! thesearen’t all specifically books; there are plays and poems as well, just becausethose have a tendency to have as much of an impact me as novels and such.

D R A M A / P L A Y S

Tennessee Williams: A Streetcar Named Desire- On a streetcar named Desire, Blanche DuBois travels from the railroad station in New Orleans to a street named Elysian Fields, where her sister, Stella, pregnant and married to Stanley Kowalski, lives in a run-down apartment building in the old French Quarter. Having lost her husband, parents, teaching position, and old family home—Belle Reve in Laurel, Mississippi—Blanche has nowhere to turn but to her one remaining close relative.

William Shakespeare: Macbeth- Macbeth is thought to have been first performed in 1606. It dramatizes the damaging physical and psychological effects of political ambition on those who seek power for its own sake.

G R E E K D R A M A ( C OM E D Y & T R A G E D Y )

Aristophanes: Lysistrata- Originally performed in classical Athens in 411 BCE, it is a comic account of a woman’s extraordinary mission to end the Peloponnesian War by denying all the men sex - and it works.

Sophocles: Oedipus Rex- Oedipus was a mythical Greek king of Thebes. A tragic hero in Greek mythology, Oedipus accidentally fulfilled a prophecy that he would end up killing his father and marrying his mother, thereby bringing disaster to his city and family.

C L A S S I C S : G R E E K L I T E R A T U R E

Homer: The Iliad- Set during the Trojan War, the ten-year siege of the city of Troy by a coalition of Greek states. The Iliad mentions or alludes to many of the Greek legends about the siege; the earlier events, such as the gathering of warriors for the siege, the cause of the war, and related concerns tend to appear near the beginning. Then the epic narrative takes up events prophesied for the future, such as Achilles’ looming death and the sack of Troy, although the narrative ends before these events take place. However, as these events are prefigured and alluded to more and more vividly, when it reaches an end the poem has told a more or less complete tale of the Trojan War.

The Poetry of Sappho- She was one of the few women mentioned in ancient Greek literature and doesnot frequent the topics of other writers of her time, such as politics and war. She writes about compassion and love; her work is really beautiful andheartfelt.

C L A S S I C S : E N G L I S H/ A M E R I C A N L I T E R A T U R E

Jane Austen: Pride and Prejudice“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”This first sentence filled with irony and playfulness. The novel revolves around the necessity of marrying for love, not simply for mercenary reasons despite the social pressures to make a wealthy match.

Emily Brontë: Wuthering HeightsAlthough Wuthering Heights is now widely regarded as a classic of English literature, contemporary reviews for the novel were deeply polarised; it was considered controversial because its depiction of mental and physical cruelty was unusually stark, and it challenged strict Victorian ideals of the day regarding religious hypocrisy, morality, social classes and gender inequality.

F. Scott Fitzgerald: The Great Gatsby- The best third-wheel story of all time.

P O E T R Y / S H O R T ST O R I E S

Sylvia Plath: “Lady Lazarus”Out of the ashes / I rise with my red hair / And I eat men like air.

Sylvia Plath: “Poem for a Birthday”“Eaten or rotten. I am all mouth.”

Lucille Clifton: “Homage To My Hips”these hips are mighty hips. these hips are magic hips. i have known them to put a spell on a man and spin him like a top! Maya Angelou: “Phenomenal Woman”It’s the fire in my eyes / And the flash of my teeth, / The swing in my waist,/ And the joy in my feet.

Warsan Shire:Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth- “later that night / i held an atlas in my lap / ran my fingers across the whole world / and whispered / where does it hurt? / it answered / everywhere / everywhere / everywhere.” - “give your daughters difficult names. give your daughters names that command the full use of tongue. my name makes you want to tell me the truth. my name doesn’t allow me to trust anyone that cannot pronounce it right.” - “every mouth you’ve ever kissed / was just practice / all the bodies you’ve ever undressed / and ploughed in to / were preparing you for me. / was it a long journey? / did it take you long to find me? / you’re here now, / welcome home.” -“I have my mother’s mouth and my father’s eyes; on my face they are still together.” -“I want to make love but my hair smells of war and running and running.”

Maya Angelou: “Still I Rise”Does my sexiness upset you? / Does it come as a surprise / That I dance likeI’ve got diamonds / At the meeting of my thighs?

Maya Angelou: “Chicken Licken”When she saw a bed / locksclicked / in her brain

Edgar Allan Poe: Murders In The Rue Morgue- i read this in eighth grade and it is a mystery that stuck with me for therest of my life. it is fascinating in the way that poe always is, i so recommend it.

Edgar Allan Poe: “Evening Star”- “I gazed awhile / On her cold smile /Too cold - too cold for me.”

M E M O I R S / B I O G R A P H I E S

Christine Wiltz: The Last Madam: A Life In the New Orleans Underworld- In 1916, at age fifteen, Norma Wallace arrived in New Orleans. Sexy and shrewd, she quickly went from streetwalker to madam and by 1920 had opened what became a legendary house of prostitution. There she entertained a steady stream of governors, gangsters, and movie stars.

Stephen King: On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft - Shares the experiences, habits, and convictions that have shaped King and his work.

Y O U N G A D U L T / C H I L D R E N ‘ S

Cassandra Clare: The Mortal Instruments- so, i didn’t finish this series but it’s the memories of reading these books that makes me put it on this list. i remember reading them on the bus rides home from school, in my eighth grade history class, running to the store on their release date and begging my dad for the newest addition. it is a very fascinating universe; i haven’t watched the show shadowhunters, which is based on this series, but the books were good.

Lemony Snicket: A Series of Unfortunate Events- i read ALL OF THESE BOOKS THEY WERE MY LIFE. they were so depressing but i loved these three siblings so much that i refused to leave them alone in that horrible world. haven’t watched the netflix series!

Rick Riordan: Percy Jackson Series- for me, as a bored thirteen year old, this was one of the things that opened the door to greek mythology, which is now one of my favorite topics to study.

S O U T H E R N G O T H I C

Flannery O’Connor: “Good Country People”- Southern Gothic literature is a genre of southern USA writing. While it may include supernatural elements, it mainly focuses on damaged, even delusional, characters. The humor is strange and even when it is finally realized, it might not be all that funny, because humor in Southern Gothic stories is twisted, and usually quite vile. There are consistent grotesque themes of decay, desolation, and supernatural forces that are often credited to lost family honor, ghosts, witches, faeries, or god - but the shit all takes place on an isolated corn farm. It is a very fascinating genre and “good country people” is a prime example of this. (personal note: most of ewoatt chapter one was inspired by the southern gothic genre).

R E F E R E N C E

Thomas C. Foster: How to Read Literature Like a Professor: A Lively and Entertaining Guide to Reading Between the Lines- THIS IS THE BOOK I REFERENCE MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE WHILE WRITING. It’s an introduction to literature and literary basics, including symbols, themes and contexts, that shows you how to make your everyday reading experience more rewarding and enjoyable.

Joseph Bates: The Nighttime Novelist:Finish Your Novel in Your Spare Time - Franz Kafka was an insurance agent. William Faulkner was a postmaster. Stephen King taught high school English, John Grisham was an attorney, and Toni Morrison worked in publishing. Though romantic fantasies of the writing life don’t often include a day job, the fact is that most writers have one. Yo, if you’re wanting to write a book or just a big fanfic, please get this book. I give it so much credit.

Barbara & Allan Pease: The Definitive Book of Body Language: The Hidden Meaning Behind People’s Gestures and Expressions- It is a scientific fact that people’s gestures give away their true intentions. Yet most of us don’t know how to read body language–and don’t realize how our own physical movements speak to others. Now the world’s foremost experts on the subject share their techniques for reading body language signals to achieve success in every area of life. Great writing reference.

Natalie Goldberg: Writing Down the Bones- This text offers encouragement and advice on many aspects of the writer’s craft, from first thoughts to the use and misuse of adverbs, from where the best places are to write - both public and private.

#ask macbetha #recommended #recommendations #book recommendations #references #ref #writing #writing references

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katmac95 · 6 years

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Why the fuck do I have PTSD?

Some first blog post, eh?

I’ll be using this blog to say things that are a bit too long for Twitter, but things I still feel the need to say.

First, I want to talk about my PTSD and why I have it.

Some people don’t like talking about their trauma. I need to. I don’t enjoy talking about it, but it does make me feel freer when I do. It gets it out of my head and off my chest, so to speak. And that helps me.

This post may not be pretty but it’s not supposed to be. The stuff I’m going to share is all very raw and rough, so its delivery will reflect that.

*deep breath*

I’ll start from the beginning, I guess.

From the time I was small, my father beat my mother. Often, he did this in front of me. My mom left my father with me in tow after sixteen months of marriage, and they were divorced shortly after. I still remember him coming after us with a knife when I was a baby. I remember times when I’d hide behind the toilet and refuse to let anyone touch me. I remember screaming at the top of my lungs because I was scared to death and that terrified energy had nowhere else to go.

When they divorced, my father was awarded partial custody of me by the state. God knows how a man with multiple convictions of DV and drug possession could get partial custody, but whatever. He did.

During his visitation weekends, he would often: hit me, swear at me, call me names, hit me with a belt or other objects, hit my dogs, break my things, withhold medical care (I once broke my foot under his care, and he refused to take me to a hospital), didn’t feed me (I taught myself to cook at 5 years old because of this, though he’d get angry if I tried to feed myself on the days when he wouldn’t).

And when he’d get new girlfriends, he’d beat them, too (again, in front of me). I remember one night, my dad was mad at his long-time girlfriend (they were off and on for most of my childhood) for one thing or another, and he slammed her hand in a door and broke it. I was in the next room, and I still remember her screams and the mangled mess he’d made of her hand. She filed a police report against him, and he went to jail for that.

I believe he’d been to jail quite a few times by the time I came into the world. When I was a kid, I remember him being incarcerated three separate occasions. I’m pretty sure two of those three were for domestic violence, the other for drugs. Or perhaps vice versa. I’m not sure, but his buddy would always bail his sorry, stupid ass out. Even as a kid, I remember hating that buddy, and wishing my father would stay incarcerated until I turned eighteen. At least then, I wouldn’t have had to see him.

Yeah, so, about the drugs... My dad’s drug of choice was meth. Or, well, his buddies referred to it by its street name, aka “crank”. He smoked it, sometimes around me. It smelled like sweat, cat piss, and cookies, in case you wondered. Now, meth has a rep for being one of the worst drugs on the market, with good reason.

First, there’s the rush. The person will wig the fuck out, but at least they’re “happy”-ish… It’s mania to the extreme. If depression is a low, then meth is high, HIGH, H I G H. Some people gouge their eyes out, others talk seven miles a minute and make you watch Alex Jones and read Andrew Anglin (yeah, my father was a keeper). He was never quite “gouge out his eyeballs” bad, but I do remember some weird manic shit (he once hooked a package of hamburger meat to some jumper cables from his car because the government had supposedly installed nanotechnology in this particular package of meat to spy on him).

Then would come the downward spiral when the rush began to fade. His mania would very quickly shift to irritability, anger, paranoia, and he would threaten to (or actually) beat the shit out of me for “looking at him wrong”. Or he’d threaten to kill himself if I did something he didn’t like. Or he’d threaten to drive us off a cliff, to kidnap me, or to [insert suggestion here]. Being with someone coming down from a rush is fucking terrifying, to say the least.

Finally, there’s the crash. The user will become so tired, they’ll spend entire days in bed. They don’t eat, they don’t acknowledge their responsibilities, they just kind of lie there like they’re dead for the whole weekend and get upset with you if you ask them to make you food (even though you’re a child and afraid of burning yourself on the stove because you’re not tall enough to actually reach it yet).

Through all this, my mom did pretty much nothing, despite the fact that I told her literally every single weekend that I was scared my father was going to kill me. I implored her to ask for sole custody (the fact that I knew that term at six should’ve been a clue that I knew what I was talking about), but she refused because she was scared of him. I was, too, only I couldn’t do anything about it without her help. CPS was called twice on him, but I wasn’t bruised “enough”. And my mother was too afraid to act, so nothing was done. Though I estranged myself from my father at fifteen, he had partial custody in the state’s eyes until I was eighteen.

Next up, my childhood babysitter, who was a right piece of work. Her children would steal my belongings and then claim they were theirs (I remember this little foam souvenir I got from Seattle that her kids took, and when I went to retrieve it, I was punished). This daycare provider’s methods of punishment were archaic. She and my father would’ve been great friends, I think. This woman would punish us by literally locking us in a 2x2 coat closet for hours at a time. We couldn’t sit, we had to stand. We couldn’t make noise, we had to “think about our actions”. And it was completely dark; even the gap under the door was covered. Now, I was kid who–with my trauma history–acted out a LOT (I mean, daily), so I dare say I likely spent more hours inside that closet than out of it when I was 3 and 4.

Oh, and when she was extra angry, she’d step on our hands or backs.

Yes, that sounds unbelievably barbaric. Her daycare facility was closed down in 1999 or 2000, I think, because a parent threatened to sue (or did sue, I’m not sure).

When I was young, my dad used to leave me with people I didn’t know in our neighborhood, while he… well, I don’t know what he was doing, but I’m guessing it involved something illicit. Anyway, this one time, when I was six, he left me with a teenage boy who lived across the way (my dad gave him a few dollars to babysit or whatever). And this kid had seemed nice enough. But, part of the way through the day, we rode our bikes down to the local creek to skip rocks. The boy threatened to drown me if I didn’t let him grope me. I’m not proud of this, but I acquiesced. He got mad at me for resisting, and threw me and my bike into the creek. My dad got mad at me for it.

And onto the next trauma, which is definitely in the same vein as the last. I mentally and emotionally cannot handle going into specifics here, but when I was ten, I was raped by a doctor. I was then groped by another doctor when I was eighteen. This is the only chunk of trauma I will keep relatively private, because it remains the most traumatic experience of my life and I just can’t talk about, it other than to acknowledge that it happened and that I’m terrified of doctors as a result.

Last one about my dad, I promise.

My dad would sometimes show up at places where I was (school, out to meals, etc.). These were places he was not supposed to be, mind you, as he wasn’t supposed to see me outside of visitation weekends. Sometimes, he used to threaten to kill himself/ me/ others/ pets with his rifle (the only reason I knew he had a rifle was because he kept threatening to use it). He would physically block my exits, always had to control where I was or who I was with, and liked to grab my wrists to physically restrain me. I mean, he was the epitome of abusive white male. My father is the most vile excuse for a human being that I have ever had the misfortune of knowing.

While we’re talking physical abuse, when I was a kid, I had a scout leader. This one time, when I was fifteen, she was mad at me for “mouthing off” when I refused to do something (a chore, because I’d been doing all the chores and I didn’t think it was fair that I was always working while my peers had all the fun–that was a valid complaint, btw). She got mad, came up on deck of the scout boat, grabbed me hard enough to leave bruises, dragged me down a ladder by the arm, and physically prevented me from going back above deck until I had done the stupid chore.

Because I felt unsafe, I left the program and tried to join another unit. But they turned a blind eye (because that’s scouting in America). I left the program altogether and forfeited all the awards I’d spent multiple years to earn. I failed my junior year of high school because of the resulting period of depression (I also dissociated the entire year of 2012, and don’t remember 99% of that school year).

Throughout all of this, my mother was... I mean, she tried in her way. I believe that. But when I sought comfort or told her I was suicidal, she’d say things like I was annoying or she should’ve aborted me. So, while I’m sure she cared in her way, she didn’t (or couldn’t) be what I needed in a mother. She was often just as angry and unpredictable as my father, though far less violent.

My mom also tends to shut down or change the topic if the current one makes her uncomfortable. She’d often give me the silent treatment as a kid, until I dropped whatever it was we were talking about. Or she’d yell at me/ call me names/ whatever. Unfortunately, many of these conversations had to do with my abuse, so these hurtful things often came during times when she knew I was already vulnerable. While I believe my mother cares and has always cared, she was not able to protect me as a child, and I don’t know if I can make my peace with that. She wasn’t able to be what I needed, and that has weighed on me for most of my life now.

I’ve never really had a safe adult in my life to turn to. I don’t know if anyone can be what I need, but I know I still need it. And that’s a tricky place to be. My therapist has said I should’ve been placed in foster care, and I’ve often thought maybe my life would’ve turned out different—better, even—if I had been. Though, I suppose there’s little point dwelling on this; I will never know, and I’ll have to be okay not knowing. I just wish I had a safe “chosen family” to kind of balance out all the chaos. Like an anchor, I suppose.

I have tried to kill myself three times, the most recent of these attempts in September 2017. I regularly struggle with nightmares, suicidal thoughts, shame, guilt, anger, lying (I tell people I’m fine when I’m not, or that I’m taking better care of myself than I am), trouble focusing, and the list goes on and on. I also curse like a fucking sailor, in case you hadn’t noticed (it’s angry energy that needs a place to go... I’m not punching anybody).

So, that’s why the fuck I have PTSD.

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