#my greatest fear is that after death there will be absolutely nothing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ssinboo · 2 years

Text

Grasp The Thorn

summary: As your loyal knight, Kim Mingyu is more than willing to serve any and all of your commands.

“But he who dares not grasp the thorn Should never crave the rose.” ― Anne Bronte

pairing: Historical!AU - Knight!Mingyu x Queen!F!Reader, somewhat friend with benefits? you’ll see

word count: 2.7k

warnings: sexism, mentions of blood and murder, detailed smut. Oral (F rec.), Fingering, Monster Cock Mingyu Agenda™️, praise kink if you squint, massive breeding kink, they absolutely adore each oher

a/n: I’ll be mostly out of commission for this week, longing after my missing wisdom teeth, so do enjoy this in my absence!

The loaded atmosphere felt so thick you could touch it. Though the woman sitting at the end showed no sign of emotions, every occupant in the long table fervorously disagreed with her actions.

“We will not go to a meaningless war. My word is final. Meeting adjourned.”

Her voice rang velvet smooth, not a single syllable too loud. Among grumbling, the council quietly stood up to bow as she exited.

“The throne should have never gone to a woman.”

The words stung more than she ever led on.

Inheriting the throne after your father’s death brings endless expectations to be met. Especially when you’ve been painted as the Kingdom’s shameful little spoiled princess. Your spending habits and luxurious life were targets of nothing disgust, even if your siblings and cousins enjoyed the same extravagant lifestyle you did.

From the second you were born, you were set on the path to inherit this great Kingdom and received the greatest education available. Despite your father’s greatest efforts, your coronation was met with rebellion from power-hungry nobles.

They wished for your abdication and quietly, for your death.

Even if you led your country into success, even if you ruled with an iron fist, getting rid of corrupt officials and lowering the misery of your people.

Oh, you would never convince them, so you gave up convincing them.

“You will take care of him, please?” You pout, flashing puppy-eyes at your loyal Knight.

He smirks, running his tongue over his teeth.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mingyu was your beloved servant, assigned to your protection since you were kids. His father protected the King as did his grandfather before. You know he would lay his life on the line if it meant you wouldn’t be as much as inconvenienced.

Differing from when you were young, he had grown into a terrifying, mountain of a man that set fear in the eyes of anyone who dared cross his Queen. That fear is justified, of course.

“I will be in my chambers,” You smile, watching the darkened glaze of lust flare over his eyes.

“Oh, your majesty, you spoil me,” Mingyu whispers dangerously close to your ear. His hot breath fans at your skin, lighting a fire in your chest.

But he leaves before you can lean into his body and relish in his warmth.

Not too long after, — Your knight never left you waiting, — Mingyu climbs into your window and jumps down with a thunderous thud. He’s still wiping the blood off his skin, not bothering at all with his clothes, he wouldn’t be wearing them for very long.

He finds you completely relaxed in the large tub, rose water filling the air with its sweet scent. You lean over the edge, watching as he strides toward you, pride dripping down his rugged clothes.

“Done so soon?” You ask, biting at your fingernails, eyeing his body up and down.

“I had someone better waiting for me.” You giggle at his response and raise your hand, gesturing at his clothes.

“Get out of those and join me.”

Oh, he did not need to be told twice.

You’re torn between wanting him naked as rapidly as humanly possible and enjoying the show of watching him slowly rip away every blood soaked piece of cloth that hides that gorgeous body from your view.

Your rebellious subjects were very upset to hear your disinterest in taking a husband. How could you accept a spoiled, boring prince from a shitty Kingdom when you had your beloved knight?

Soon, he’s joining you and almost draining the tub with a big splash.

You flatten your hands against his broad, defined chest and push him back, until he’s settled at the edge. Eyes soaking up his glistening, tanned skin, you run your fingernails along his scars, circling his nipple.

Mingyu bites his lip, intently watching your fierce study of his body. He hesitantly reaches for your waist, waiting for your approval, when you lean into his touch, his arms are fast to grip your body.

“How was it?” You whisper, doe eyes absolutely bloodthirsty, his second favourite lust.

“Absolutely delightful,” He mimics your low tone, “He did not see it coming.”

You laugh, “How did you do it?”

“Slit his fuckin’ throat. Neat and clean just like you like it.” His fingers trace your jaw, eyes very clearly scanning your face, craving your praise.

You smile, “You did so well, so good.” Leaning forward, you’re the one to initiate the kiss, but he’s the one to deepen it.

His mouth is on yours hungrily, almost angry. His arm is curled around your waist, easily pulling your body up and settling you on his lap.

Tongue bullying into your lips, he pulls you to his chest. Your fingers find his hair, dampened in blood but still soft, so soft against your pulls.

Lips devouring yours, hot and demanding, Mingyu has you whining under his kiss, your stomach jumping under the scathing electricity that runs down your arteries.

He pulls away, all breathless and lustful-eyed, gazing you down so hungrily you feel your body shudder in anticipation. Soon, his lips are attached to your neck, tongue running hotter than you’d ever get accustomed to. He sucks and kisses your skin, leaving his claim for anyone to see — Not that he’d ever let anyone pay attention to you for more than a second.

You’re painfully aware of the way his tongue obviously avoids your nipples, so you shove his head toward the right spot, not missing the way he laughs against your skin.

Head thrown back, you focus on the way his lips expertly suck at your nipple, pinching and pulling until it stands hardened and tight, just begging for his attention.

Your fingers dig into his scalp, bringing a welcome stinging sensation that has Mingyu moaning into your chest.

“Need to taste you— Please, Please—“ His voice is breathless, a desperate plea that falls heavy on your core.

You nod fervorously, letting him manhandle you as he wishes. His large, muscly arms have no issue lifting your body from the water and bending you over the edge. — He lays your towel over the wood, not allowing its rugged texture to ever bother your skin.

Mingyu moans at the sight of your dripping pussy, glistening under the dim candle light begging for his lips. Not once, would he ever tire of watching your body react to him.

He licks a long stripe along your slit, collecting your juice along his tongue, moaning at the way your taste immediately coats his lips. You feel the vibration of his humming straight in your core, ripping out the sweetest sigh out of your lips.

Pulling your legs apart, he settles in his favourite spot. Slowly, he laps at your clit, watching it swell under his attention. Your body shudders at the slightest of his touch, of course, he trained you well to react to him and him only.

Sucking and kissing at your sensitive bud, Mingyu watches you lose thread of sanity slowly. He expertly devours your cunt, fingernails digging into the abundant flesh of your hips drawing crescent-moon shapes along your skin.

Your hips thrust to meet his tongue, rubbing your pussy along his nose and lips, and he whines sweetly, not wanting to miss a single drop of your essence.

“Give me more—“ You moan out, gripping at the tub with all your strength. “Give me your fingers—“

He smirks against your skin, your juices dripping down his chin in a glorious, sinful coating. Hand running down your ass, he kneads at your skin, slapping and pinching. Mingyu is completely drunk on you.

“Does your tight little cunt want my fingers?”

You hum in agreement, hips leaning back to meet his hand, presenting your gaping cunt in a shameless show.

“I can’t hear you, beautiful,” He whispers against your throbbing pussy, you clench around nothing, sending your lubrication running down your thighs.

“I— I want your fingers— My pussy wants your fingers,” You bite your lip, making sure you would punish him for so much teasing. “I want you to pound your fingers into me until I come around them—“

Mingyu hisses at your words, feeling them run down his skin and wrap around his cock, stirring it into a painful erection.

He gives you two fingers at once, your walls immediately clinging to them even as they scissor your hole open. His fingers reach places yours could never dream of, curling into your favourite spot.

Once he starts moving, you can only moan his name.

“God, you’re so tight, how does my cock ever fit?”

Mingyu leans forward, trailing kisses along your back, his fingers not stuttering once in their unforgiving pace. He admires the way your pussy swallows his long fingers, coating them completely.

You can hear nothing but the lewd squelching of your pussy as his fingers pound in and out.

When he notices your cries getting louder, Mingyu promptly wraps an arm around your waist, supporting your body as you reach your orgasm

You lean into his hold, riding out your climax with faint moans of his name. He doesn’t stop until you’ve gone limp in his arms, a satisfied smile on your lips.

“You did amazing,” Mingyu kisses your neck, slowly pulling out his fingers. He brings them to his lips, sighing at your taste, greedily slurping up every drop of your come. “You’re so good to me.”

“Oh, we’re not done.” You state, turning around to face him with a tired smirk, “You’re gonna carry me to bed and I’m going to milk your cock dry,” The borderline innocent smile you dawn on makes him choke.

Mingyu can only nod enthusiastically,feeling dizzy at the sudden bloodrush, “Yes, ma’am.”

He throws you over his shoulder, true to your command, and sends you onto your soft bedding — a couple of your many pillows fly toward the floor.

You watch him tower over your body, erection reddened and angry against his stomach. Head throbbing, aching and oozing glistening precum down his generous length.

No matter how many times you ever laid with him, his size never failed to surprise you. Long and deliciously thick, decorated with thick pulsating veins and curved just the right angle to hit all your favourite spots. His body emanates heat like a furnace, burning at every inch of your skin that meets him, his eyes ate you alive with their searing gaze.

Reaching your hand forward, you watch Mingyu lean into your fingers as you pump him a couple of times, making sure he’s all ready for you. He almost whines, puppy eyes begging you to give him the go.

He trembles under your touch, hands gathering into fists with low pleas. “Please— I won’t last— I want to come in you—“ His words do make your stomach flip with arousal.

With a smile, you spread your legs apart, running your hands over your thighs, presenting your sensitive, swollen, pussy.

With a pained groan, Mingyu reaches forward, running his tip along your folds, collecting your juices and spreading them over his length. You mewl at the contact, pushing your body to meet him.

He bullies his thick cock into your spent pussy inch-by-inch with a pleasured cry, “God, baby—“ He sighs, steadying his body with his arm, “You’re still— So tight.”

You’re both too overtaken by the breathtaking, wondrous feeling to come up with any intelligible words. You hum, feeling his cock split you open, filling you so deliriously good.

“Oh, look at you pussy taking me so well,” He hisses, watching you greedily take every inch of him.

His name falls out of your lips like a prayer as he bottoms out, stuffing you completely full to the very brim and you swallow him up all nicely, walls welcoming him, pulsating in anticipation.

It takes a minute for you to settle, a long, torturous minute of your whines and incessant clenching. Mingyu grips your waist so tightly, gathering every ounce of his self-control to not cum right then and there.

Pulling his cock out is just about the hardest thing he has to do, giving up on your warmth feels unnatural and almost a sin. But knowing he gets to pound back into your little pussy makes it worth it.

You whine when he’s out, clenching around nothing, missing his cock stretching you out to your limit, but he doesn’t let you wait long.

Shoving himself back in, Mingyu groans out praise, never once letting you forget you’re absolutely made for his cock, taking him so perfectly. Lips agape, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a crashing kiss, you want to feel his beating heart against your chest, want to feel every bump and scar of his skin pressed tightly against yours.

Nothing feels as comforting as his body smothering you, his whole, unadulterated self completely loose in the safety of your bedroom, for your eyes only.

His body presses into yours, his arms holding your legs under your knees, folding them into the perfect position. The new angle allowing his cock to kiss your sweetest spot repeatedly. He moans into your lips, hips thrusting into you langlidly at first, letting you accept the stretch.

Oh, but you were so greedy for him.

“Faster—‘ You breathe out, eyes glazed over in cockdrunk lust and Mingyu can only admire the exclusive beauty of your lustful desires.

“Mhm— You sure?” He teases with a kiss on the corner of your lips.

“Yeah— Go harder—“ Nodding, you chase his mouth wanting to taste his tongue.

Mingyu smiles into your kisses, speeding up his pace, pistoning into your cunt. He feels your tits bounce against his chest, hardened nipples rubbing against his skin, you’re lucky your pillows soften the blows of his harsh thrusts.

Your essence pools into a ring around his cock, a white halo of your mixed juices. His balls slap against your ass with loud, obscene sounds, sending your body forward with every hard, calculated thrust.

This new pace, though absolutely dizzying, don’t allow either of you to last very long.

“I’m gonna—“ Mingyu whispers, burying his head in the crook of your neck, lips drunkenly running over your hot skin.

“I know— You’re gonna give me your babies?” You hum.

He nods with a drawn out whine, head dazzled with thoughts of fucking his seed into you, making you his the best way possible. Watching you grow heavy with his babies, all round and pliant under him.

“Yeah—“ He gulps, “Gonna fill you up.” Reaching a hand in between your bodies, Mingyu places his heavy hand over your stomach, he can faintly feel the contour of his cock thrusting in and out. “Right here. I’ll fuck my cum into you so deep it takes— Can you feel me, my Queen? Can you feel me pounding into your little pussy?”

You whine, nodding frantically, saliva drips from your gaping lips, “Yes—! So deep!”

“I’ll send you out there carrying my baby, looking so, so pretty— Everyone will know who knocked you up—“

You sigh, clenching at the tempting picture he paints with hazy, lustful promises in the quiet of the night. The very next thrust sends you into a shuddering climax, your hips shaking under his with the head-emptying electricity that burns through your limbs.

Your orgasm sends Mingyu right after, cock throbbing, spurting out thick white ropes of cum that fill you heavy and hot, painting your walls with his ownership.

He feels your walls clench incessantly around his sensitive cock, milking every last drop of seed so greedily, swallowing his very essence. You feel full, so full.

Mingyu collapses next to you, lazily pulling you into chest. He kisses your hair, laying back on the soft pillows, fingers unconsciously caressing your skin.

You know he always gets incredibly tired after sex, so you would have limited time to talk.

“I love you,” You whisper nervously, eyes not daring to meet his.

You held these feelings for decade, how could you not fall for his incredible charm? Mingyu was the only constant you had in your hectic life, he protected, cared for you in a way only he knew how. You had long fallen for your best friend.

When he doesn’t respond, you look up.

He’s fallen into deep sleep, a soft snore escaping his gaping lips.

You smile, maybe next time, he’ll be awake to hear your confession.

1K notes · View notes

thekingofwinterblog · 20 days

Note

I recently did a few polls on my yt channel community page - which (ok not many people votes so the data may be irrelevant) seem to have kinda shocking results - it showed that the Baba Yaga arc in the manga, contrary to my belief, was not the most popular part of the manga - and to the contrary, maybe the least liked part.

So that made me curious, is the only arc I as a famous dick that shits on the manga too much like actually not that good?

What is your oppinion on the Baba Yaga arc,especially compared to the following manga arcs?

It's pretty strong to be honest. Vwry strong, with good villains, good character moments, and set in motion by manga Maka's greatest moment of weakness, when she was too much of a coward to either confront and talk to Crona about learning about medusa and then go from there, or go to the higher ups about it, which would have had crona suffer the consequences.

Instead she hides it all away, like a coward, unable to decide on a course of action and what it could lead to.

And she is punished for it by being separated From Crona, which thematically means that her moment of weakness set into motion the entire rest of the series.

And unlike a lot of shonen arcs, the story does NOT end on a happy note, at least not for Maka, as while arachne and her faction is defeated, medusa used her like a puppet, and didn't hive her any hints of where Crona was, meaning that for Maka it was all for nothing.

Amd thats just our main character's journey. There is plenty more.

No the problem with the arc, and the reason why i think a lot of people might sour on it, is that taken as it's own, the manga version of the arc is great... But the anime version has the benefit of leading directly into the final part of the story, and so while it doesnt aim as high from a character standpoint regarding the whole archne/medusa plot, it works just fine as the events that sets the final battle into motion.

By contrast the manga version is soured by everything that comes after.

Noah is the single most forgettable and BORING villain in all of Soul Eater, with his faction being little better, and so his defeat of Musquito and kidnapping Kid doesnt feel particularily interesting when you know where it leads as it's extremely dissapointing.

The whole Liz and Patty being on their own, starts off interesting as post timeskip Patty seems to be completely losing it and backtracking to who she used to be, but it doesnt go anywhere.

Black Star is pretty much the only one of the characters who gets a good outcome, as while the following arc is rather shit, his development from Mizune's death and eventual rematch with kid is the best part of that arc.

The single worst off though, Is Maka.

The baba yaga arc should for Maka, have been what the whitebeard war saga was for luffy. A great story, where all of her efforts are ultimately all for absolutely nothing.

The point of ultimate failure who's effects would define her decisions from then on.

But that's not what happens, because while Maka has a lot of nice moments after this, the climax of the arc is where Maka's journey as a coherent journey where you can trace her development in a logical manner ends.

The timeskip afterwards, rather than have her being utterly depressed or angry at the world, at Medusa and most of all at herself, instead has her in a great mood, and playing around with wanting to look cute, which isnt out of character per say(as maka is defintily a tomboy with a girly streak) but is utterly BAFFLING to have her be like this at this point when she should have been at her lowest.

And following that, her next development is her fears of holding Soul back after he became a death scythe? Like... That could have worked if the development post timeskip was about her having come developed a svere self hatred for failing Crona with her moment of weakness, but that really is not the way it's portrayed at all.

Her interaction with Crona post this is something i have covered before, as while there is plenty of great stuff there, the whole package is utterly ruined by the terrible ending the manga ultimately got.

Overall, the baba yaga arc is good on its own, but it very much marks the point where the manga had reached a clear and coherent direction(after some early less than perfect chapters) to the point where afterwards it would begin to spin it's wheels.

#questions and answers #soul eater #maka albarn #crona gorgon #medusa #arachne gorgon #meta #baba yaga arc

11 notes · View notes

mwhiteshelley · 1 year

Text

My Chemical Romance and the foundations of an endless night

It’s over…for now.

We knew it would have to end, we even knew the date, but who’s ever ready for the best things to end? After some of the greatest moments of our lives over the last year, we’re left to cling to our memories, replay our videos, scroll through every photo and wait with held breath for the next crumb of information from the band we love so much.

This tour was a journey for all of us, the band, the fans, the crew, the friends, families, everyone in its wake was traveling it together. The postponed dates for over two years, three years for some connected us through that passage of time, the wait for the thing we wanted so much to start, the delay of the inevitable end, the start of something new. It meant something at the beginning back in 2019 and 2020, it meant something even more after those that survived the pandemic made it to the other side and could count down to their first show. We waited for so long then, we can wait for a while now, right?

We weren’t sure the journey would continue, kept hoping to just see the word postponed instead of canceled on our tickets, and somehow, the first shows finally started to happen, and the return was in full motion, and we just had to wait for our turn. It was all so different even when some things were so much the same, but so much was different, and only in all the best ways. We saw them all reach for and gain their footing over the first set of shows. It was a learning experience, get back on the wheel, get it turning and fitting into the grooves again. And they all did it with so much more ease than seemed possible after so much time away, the best friends that you can connect with after years have passed, and it somehow feels like no time has passed at all.

Yesterday is today, today is the present and the past, and those kids were back, not the ones that ended their 12 year journey with the feeling of crushing pressure and lack of joy and the final parting gift of “Fake Your Death” lyrics that represented everything they felt back then. But those kids that started in the basements with only handfuls of people paying them any attention, the kids who put their hearts together after experiencing tragedy and wanted to do something right in the world, the kids who never dreamed they would be the anthem for so many and so much, those kids were back, but they were the grown up versions that knew better what life should be now. We saw these kids of today that beat their demons, marched beyond their fears, battled the addictions, held on for everything they had and came out on the other side to show all of us that it’s possible, and it’s very much real, and you can do any of it just like they did.

There was a new found joy that we hadn’t seen for years, maybe not ever because how is there ever real joy if you’re not fully free to be yourself? And that’s what this tour was if nothing else, it was being their true selves, being everything they all wanted to be, no matter when, no matter what, no matter who was watching. It was freedom, and they gave us the gift of watching that unfold and curl around the entire world as we looked on with an element of pride and absolute relief at the happiness that radiated from their faces.

That might be the biggest reason why it’s so hard to let this go…for now. Happiness of that amount is irresistible and infectious, and it didn’t matter if you were a new fan or a long-time fan, we wanted to hold on to that shared joy for just a little longer, forever if we had our way. So, in a turn of absolute surprise, even with ever-changing setlists and encores, they gave us an ending that was such a shock and so perfect that we all held our breaths even tighter, even longer together for those few moments after that last song. “Vampires Will Never Hurt You” was never something that had ended a show before, and yet, how could there have been a better way to end something that we ultimately didn’t want to have an ending at all? This full circle last parting gift of this tour was to leave us with the very first single they ever released over 20 years ago rather than something else in their catalog that was full of pain and goodbyes. And this band that delivered us a tour of being free, of being happy, of being yourself, gave us a perfect finale with no parting words and no goodbye group hug, the actual antithesis of an ending, complete with the words “Endless Night” emblazoned across the drum one final time.

It’s over…for now (if you want it), but we’re no longer waiting in the rubble of decay. We’re standing in the foundation of what’s to come, and our whole hearts will be ready for what’s next.

All photos shot by me (Twitter & Tumblr: mwhiteshelly / IG: @jmfstopimages https://www.instagram.com/jmfstopimages/) and cannot be reposted without credit

61 notes · View notes

blackjackkent · 1 month

Text

The brain shudders under the final blow of Hector's fists and he feels something deep and vital give with the impact. It howls, a noise of agony and rage that chills him to his soul.

"I----impossible--- ---------PAIN-- --FEAR- ---TERROR--"

It wails, and he watches dispassionately, exhausted, overwhelmed, as it writhes in pain. Even watching the deaths of many of his greatest enemies, he has felt a certain level of regret, or of compassion. But he has none for this thing that has destroyed so much, claimed so many lives and so many more minds...

The pain in his head is tremendous. The brain's pain is his, and his is the brain's. They are still bound even in this moment of its destruction.

"-- reconsider-- -------assess--- -----implore---- ---SURRENDER---"

As if they would even consider it.

"There," Orpheus says hoarsely. "At last. It is subdued."

The brain screams again, desperate bellowing pleas that echo like thunderclaps.

"--SPARE ME-- --JOIN ME------ --WIELD ME----- BECOME ABSOLUTE"

He can feel the demand all through him, the compulsion that grows out of the worm in his head. The desire to evolve as the Emperor called it, to take power, to control.

But he has never wanted it. Even in the darkest moments he has never even considered it as an option.

"And thus I honor my mother's legacy," Orpheus murmurs. He sounds incredibly tired, worn, inexpressibly sad. "The Grand Design, once again, ended by my line."

Narrator: The brain is on the cusp of its final thought. And it's taking all of Orpheus's strength to keep it there. An opportunity perhaps?

(A/N: Obviously Hector isn't at all interested in taking the control option here, but I have to say that just looking at the dialogue choices when they popped up kind of gave me chills.

)

"Go ahead..." Hector whispers. His head is throbbing, tears hovering at the corners of his eyes. It seems almost impossible that after so many months of suffering and struggle, it could possibly be over. He feels Karlach's hand on his shoulder, Jaheira and Lae'zel's presence at his side, and it brings more strength into his voice, greater volume. He speaks more steadily now, fists clenched at his sides. "Command the brain to destroy all tadpoles and the itself."

Orpheus does not respond, but power pulses out from the Netherstones. The brain convulses, seems to curl into itself.

"--- my master--- -i must---- OBEY-- --I must... END"

In the blink between one breath and the next, they are shoved forcibly out of the strange plane where the brain resides. They are back out on the platform where the portal tossed them, and the shock of cold air makes Hector's breath catch in his lungs.

Narrator: Hopes, nightmares, and the screams of legions upon legions of unborn illithids...

Sudden agony. Pain lances through Hector's head, stabs at his temple; it should be familiar, but this is an entirely new kind, like flame, like lightning.

Narrator: The pain rips through you, obliterating all thought, all feeling. Your tadpole burns in your brain.

Just as the pain reaches its peak, blinding him, just as his skull feels like it will collapse... there comes an explosion. The crown shatters apart with a burst of white energy. The platform rocks under his feet. He cries out, feels Karlach grasp his arm hard enough to bruise.

The pain clears. The pieces of the crown fall away. He sits on his knees on the platform that houses the brain, and everything for a moment is blissful, utter silence.

There is nothing within his mind but him. No Emperor, no Netherbrain. None of his friends, bound to him by fate and love and hope, either; it is all gone. It is all over.

A strange sort of panic takes him at not feeling the gentle, everpresent brush of Karlach's presence within his mind; he spins frantically, only relaxing when his eyes settle on her.

She smiles shakily at him. "Did we do it, Hec?" she whispers. "Is it really over?"

He isn't sure he can speak. His heart is still pounding. The whole moment feels unreal.

Narrator: Silence. For the first time in a long time, your thoughts are entirely your own.

Narrator: And then... gravity.

"Oh, hells--" he manages to get out, and then the whole world turns sideways.

In a slow, graceful arc, tumbling, the brain begins to collapse down out of the sky, its spinal cord dragging into the ground, knocking aside buildings and crashing through roads in its headlong careening downwards.

There is no time to make a plan, to reach out to each other, even to cry out-- only to hold on for dear life as the movement threatens to throw them clear into the city. Hector is conscious only of a sudden terrible fear, and the pain in his fingers, and a sort of bewildering frustration--

After all we've been through, there's still THIS?

And then they hit the water.

He's thrown sideways in a stomach-churning arc, hits the surface almost a hundred feet away; the cold shocks through him like a blow and he opens his mouth to cry out, taking an unexpected mouthful of putrid harbor water.

For a long moment the brain floats unmoving. Hector struggles for breath, flailing in an attempt to keep his head from submerging.

And then because, frankly, everything wasn't awful enough, the brain explodes.

-----

Hector is lifted entirely out of the water by the explosion, sent flying another twenty feet, and slapped back down into the surface hard enough to knock the breath out of him again. "Gods, please..." he howls, choking, struggling against the urge to simply sink and not fight it anymore. "Gods, please, no more... let it be done... I have given all, and still it does not end! LET IT BE DONE!"

The water calms. There are no more explosions. In time, his breath returns to him, and he floats quiescent amid scattered bits of flesh and wood.

"Karlach?" he calls weakly. "Karlach, are you there? Jaheira, Lae'zel--"

Silence. His heart stutters in his chest.

Then-- "I'm here, soldier!" He hears a heavy splashing behind him, turns to see Karlach barreling towards him at top swimming speed. Without hesitation, she throws her arms around him, pulls him into her chest to send them spinning lazily through the water, tangled together. Her engine is practically aflame now, he can feel the heat painfully even through her armor, but he doesn't care, and clings to her with exhaustion and relief that makes his heart ache.

In the distance he can hear Lae'zel shouting, and Jaheira even further off.

"We did it..." he whispers. "We did it... we did it and we lived..."

She kisses him, so hard that it almost hurts, her lips crushed to his desperately. "We did it..." she agrees shakily, burying her fingers in his hair. "It's really over... and we lived... you lived... thank the gods..."

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #bjk writes her own party banter #LET'S. FUCKING. GO!#SO PROUD OF MY BOY!

9 notes · View notes

dannyphantom-justiceleauge · 1 year

Note

I kinda wanna see a fic where a civilian, maybe retired military, accidentally kills the Joker in self-defense. Like, this man was just minding his own damn business, maybe he's new in town, & the Joker runs across him & decided to try & use him for one of his schemes so, thinking that he can take the slightly older, overweight gentleman, attacks the guy, but dudeman, like... pulls out a Glock 43 & *bang* roadkill.

However, I think the central focus of such a fic should be on the reactions of everyone else to this turn of events.

Like, no avoiding it. All tests say the body is the Joker's. There was no tampering involved. The Clown Prince is dead.

I kinda wanna see Gotham create a holiday in the civilian's name. A festival even. Legends are already being told of the galant "Bob Smith" or whatever & how he ended the clowns reign of terror once & for all. Like, absolute revelry!

Jason is just enjoying the hell out of it while Bats is sulking away at home, trying to look into Bob Smith & finding jack damnit. Other than being ex-military with 37 confirmed kills & a Concealed Carry permit (maybe a report of small town shoplifting or underage drinking/smoking once or twice, but after starting boot camp, that all dropped off the map), he was completely clean.

Just your Average Joe who happened to believe in the Second Amendment & practiced it freely.

Literally, his middle name is "Joesaia."

Besides, it'd be the biggest FU to the Joker's legacy that you could possibly imagine.

Remember episode 7 of Batman the Animated Series, Joker's Favour, where at the end, Charlie Collins pulls the wool over the Joker's eyes. The rant about how having a mediocre death was one of the Joker's greatest fears?

Like, imagine the Joker laying out on the ground, bleeding out, his body growing colder, & flashing back to that moment & slowly realizing that he was going to die. To some... Nick Nobody! That Batman was not going to save him this time because last he heard (which was not even an hour ago), the Caped Crusader was all the way on the other side of the world on some Justice Jockies mission.

Then, nothing. He dies with a deep frown on his face.

It'd be incredible!

i'm thinking of the professional goon from those redpanda tictoks as our joe normal.

and i def appreciate the joker dying to something as mundane as a citizen defending themselves. part of me want to push how mundane the death could be though. i feel like somewhere in the comics joker may have died of cancer, from them chemicals. i also just have the mental image of a stone gargoyle falling and killing him loony toons style.

i think it would be more important alternatively if there wasn't a holiday or something that big about the joker dying. in the injustice game, the joker saw the future and realized that no one remembered him or his reign of terror. that was something he was far more afraid of. less the mundane death and more, being considered mundane at all. he's a narcissist, he wants to be acknowledged as important.

so giving a day to joe normal while, probably interestesting for joe, would be giving too much power to the jokers memory in my opinion. at the end of the day he was just a shitty terrorist with a gimmick. yes there should be a memorial to his victims, yes people are relieved and will call joe normal a hero. jason will probably even shake his hand and drink a toast to him on holidays. but i'd want the joker to fade to nothing in the gotham's zeitgeist. there is always other criminals, so why should they care about the dead one once he's gone - hestia

#dpjl #dc x dp #batman #joker #ask

125 notes · View notes

green-ville · 4 months

Text

Remnant Pt 2

Synopsis: She was going to die. The blade was to her throat. The identical spots where her wings were freshly stolen from bled profusely. The pain was sharp, paralyzing. It didn’t help the fear that crippled her the rest of the way, stealing even the breath from her.

Death never came.

Roslyn woke in a foreign land, with foreign kings and queens, and foreign problems that she wound up in. She watched the downfall of a great nation, she helped save that nation with the woman named Aelin, she had a child. She had moved on. There was nothing else to do, she didn’t know how she ended up there or how to get back to what she once considered home.

Until she wakes up, and she’s there again.

She had moved on. Old memories resurface. Feelings that she suppressed but never got over boiled to the surface. Revenge screamed in her mind, and Roslyn went after it.

In her pursuit, she made her gravest mistake of all.

When Rhysand found out his sister was alive, he sent his greatest hunter after her. It was only a matter of time before they reunited, and Roslyn had buried that part of her hundreds of years ago.

“You used to do this?” Margareet asked, disbelief and awe lacing her words.

Roslyn laughed, the sound with the same whimsical air as bell chimes. “Only once, mother said I was too young.” That’s what she said, but Roslyn knew what she meant, and they were two different matters. “Rhys stole me away and took me here one night,” Roslyn grinned, staring down the large mountain.

They were bundled up, Roslyn liberating a shop of the equipment just for the two of them. They’d return them before they were ever found out, but they needed the extra layers. It had been a while since she had seen snow, let alone sled in it.

“I broke my leg,” Roslyn said, the memory warming her. “Mother was furious.”

Margareet looked at her with wide eyes. “Am I going to break something?”

“Dearest,” she reminded, “you’ve survived a war. And you have wings.”

Margareet breathed out a puff, relieved. The panic shown again; “Are you going to break something?”

“There’s always the possibility,” Roslyn agreed, fitting her feet in the slots, “but I like to think not.” She hopped forward, teetering on the edge of the slope. “Now, remember what I taught you about this.”

“You didn’t teach me anything! You didn’t even tell me what we were doing until now!”

“I believe in you!”

Roslyn tipped forward, and was off. The wind hit her hard, infiltrating her hood and ruffling the fur. There was that fear, it tightened her stomach and turned her legs to jelly, but it was gone right after.

For the first time since they were taken, Roslyn truly felt free. Irrevocably free. Could she soar through the skies on wings on her own? No, but she was flying across the mountain right now. She commanded herself, and no one else ruled her.

Her laugh graced the night of childish delight, and with a wavering squeal, her daughter joined her, wings flapping to push her to the edge and then over. She laughed with her mother, wings catching the air and taking her off the ground in a different way than her mother.

Roslyn slowed for her daughter, looking back, making sure she followed, and her grin burst wide. Her daughter sped ahead, and Roslyn followed suit, swerving back and forth.

“Look at you go! You’re amazing!” Roslyn cheered, finding an incline and catching it. She bent more at her knees and soared off the end, flying through the air.

The world turned upside down, blood rushed the wrong direction, and the landing was soft. She cut across the open snow, feeling absolutely unstoppable.

“There’s a drop up ahead!” Margareet cried, fear hitting again.

“Use your wings!”

“You don’t have wings!”

“Don’t worry about me! I’ll be fine!”

And she would be. Roslyn had heard Rhysand’s tales a thousand times. She could do this, nothing would stop her.

The drop came up, Margareet reached it first by seconds. Her wings flared out, and she shot over the edge, a dusting of snow trailing after her.

Anticipation crawled along her skin, the cold brutal air sucked into her lungs, and Roslyn followed, shoving away from the cliff at her last possible second. She flipped again, slower this time, not caring to rush it. Her hand grabbed the board beneath her feet, holding it close.

This was what Rhysand always felt, no wonder he was so empowered. If she could have done this half as many times as he had, perhaps she would’ve had the strength to save her wings.

She stopped her flipping, hands carried into the air as she planned her landing. It was going to be soft, there was enough snow to cushion her, it was only a matter of not caving under the fear and allowing herself to slice across the land.

Margareet landed, wings softening the blow. She looked back, watching Roslyn and cheering as she landed, snow flashing as she swept back and forth, quickly reaching her again.

“This is fantastic!” Margareet screamed over the roar of the wind as they slid back and forth, intertwining with each other, fastening their speeds down the long and steady slope.

“It’s only the beginning!” Roslyn promised, and her heart dropped as a figure appeared directly in front of her. Too close for her to stop, her brain froze too long for her to swerve.

He turned slowly as if questioning where he was. He saw her, eyes widening, and darkness encompassed him as if it still had a chance to save him. It didn’t. Roslyn slammed into him, hearing a faint scream of:

“MOM!”

Before the darkness stole her away too.

The breath flew from her lungs as the world reformed again, and she slammed into the ground hard on her shoulder, rolling and rolling and rolling and SLAM!

Her hood covered her eyes, and even then, she left them shut for a long moment. There was a shocking change from winter cold to castle cold, from frigid fresh air to crisp fresh. Her body went from no pain, to a world of pain.

A door burst open, she heard groaning, and then shouting.

“Azriel, by the maker, what the hell happened?!”

“Az, are you alright?!”

“Someone get Madja!”

The quietest of them all belonged for her. “Roslyn?”

Her head raised, stars bursting in her vision. Her head pounded, her leg throbbed, her shoulder screamed. Blood slid down her head, and she looked into the matching eyes of her brother.

“Rhysand. . .If anyone lays a hand on her. . .I will soak your crops in blood and feed it to your livestock,” she cursed from the bottom of her heart, snarl painted on her lips as the crowd doubled in size not because of additional members, but because her vision replicated everyone.

At least it did before everything went dark, pain overwhelming her and slipping her into a stormy sleep.

Was her mother going to kill her for this? Yes. Hear her out; her mother would destroy a continent if it was Margareet in her place. At the very least, Margareet should be allowed to sneak into a mountain based home to get her back. She would take the argument in stride later, for now; get her mother back.

Once her mother disappeared with that man, she followed right after, darkness swirling and sucking her in. She reappeared in the city they left behind five days prior. Through common sense, Margareet figured her mother to be in the House of Wind, the very place her mother said to steer clear from. If her mother said avoid, that had to be where they took her.

Spotting it was difficult. There was a hefty amount of stairs leading up, and even then, she couldn’t necessarily sneak into it by going up the stairs. Not like she could climb that many stairs without wanting to fling herself from them.

Margareet would have to fly, breaking her mother’s second rule.

One: no matter what happens to me, you always run away.

Two: never let anyone see you fly.

Guilt wracked her to the point she was almost sick. Sick with fear and worry and stress. She had never been apart from her mother, and therefore she had everything to prove. That she could do this, that she could get her mother back and protect herself while doing it.

Margareet would sneak in from above, and from the storm clouds rolling in, she was going to have to do it quick.

Margareet was not quick. The storm clouds beat her and she was drenched in seconds, hair clinging to her face, trousers and blouse weighing her down. Her wings beat harder as she fought higher, higher.

Lightning flashed, blinding her, and thunder cracked a second later, deafening her too. She covered her ringing ears, stomach taut, back aching –

She burst from the storm, rising above it with clouds trailing behind her. She breathed the icy air, now wet and frozen to the point. The moon shone on her again, still as bright as the last time she saw its crescent shape. The air felt thin, her head felt light. . .lighter. . .

Her wings stopped flapping, hands reaching towards the sky as she fell. Lethargically, she blinked, reentering the storm, clouds blocking out all moonlight.

A curse rattled in her head and she flipped, stomach to the ground, and angled herself towards the House of Wind, wings flaring their entire length and turning her fall into a glide. A sharp glide, really. She was almost directly above it, having hidden herself in the clouds to prevent herself from being seen.

Her heart rammed in her chest, finding her landing point and willing courage into existence.

She had fought in a war. Her Auntie had been captured too once and came back different.

Margareet would not allow her mother the same punishment.

Her wings angled differently and instead of angling a decline, they caught air, slowing her landing. She beat then, resisting the impact so that when her black covered feet finally touched down on the balcony, she was as silent as the dead.

Her elevated breathing slowed, remembering the wise teachings of her Uncles. Her tiny build was an advantage. She was quick. No one expected a little girl to pounce. Be quick, act first, question later. Go for the neck. If you can’t get that, the knee or ankle. Anything to slow them down. Then run like hell.

The wise words of her Auntie echoed inside her. Her name was Margareet, she would not be afraid.

With the twist of the door handle, Margareet entered the house of wind. Nothing gave her away as the door closed behind her, quietening the gentle rise of the storm outside. Thunder cracked again, providing her drips and steps additional coverage. She removed her boots, electing to go barefoot for the sake of eradicating the noise it created from being wet.

She was in a study of sorts, her mother wouldn’t be here. She swept through, searching for any aids, and found a tunic thrown across a chair. She grabbed it, drying her dripping hair, wiping her eyes, brushing it gently over her wings. She abandoned in back on the chair, and crept towards the door out, ear peaking out first to get a sound.

Her eyes shut, listening carefully, and she picked up on indiscernible chatter.

Naturally she headed towards it, without any real plan for what she would do when she got there.

To her credit, she did make it down an entire flight of stairs, now in a different corridor, when she sensed the disturbance. She kept prowling like she hadn’t sensed it, trying to figure out why they hadn’t attacked her right away.

With a burst of action she whirled, ducking down and aiming for the knee.

The tree like figure evaded and she pursued, on a vicious offense of jabs and sweeps and arching stabs that he evaded every. Single. Time.

“You rely too much on your hands,” he noticed, dropping down, sweeping her leg out from beneath her.

She stumbled, would have fallen if it weren’t for her wings flapping. She snarled, feigning for a stab when instead, she swept her leg up with every intention of kicking him in the legs.

Something dark grabbed onto her leg as he stepped back, and she was yanked up, falling onto her butt with a shrill of pain up her spine.

“Your mother already tried that on me,” the shadow consumed figure admitted lightly, “forgive me for not allowing a reoccurrence.”

She scrambled to a stand, giving herself space again. “Give me her back or I’ll cut out your heart and feed it to my ghost leopard.”

“We mean her no harm – “

She attacked, somersaulting across the ground and disappearing, reappearing right behind him. She shouted, a terrible decision on her part but she was used to doing that. No one was quiet in war.

She shouted as she tried to stab her blade into his ankle. He jumped up high, she rolled onto her shoulders and kicked him in the rear when he came down.

He stumbled a step, disappearing into his own darkness.

Margareet stood and ran, knowing she was outmatched and figuring the best offense now was alerting her mother she was here.

“MOTHER! MOTHER!”

A dark tether gripped her ankle and pulled her down. Her wings flapped, trying to keep her up. It was one thing to fight on her feet, to be on the ground was harder.

She was on the ground, screaming her head off.

“I’m not going to hurt you! – “

She flipped onto her back, no longer being dragged, spotting the shadow man again. She threw her dagger, or at least attempted to. Another shadow tendril grabbed her wrist – she tried with her other hand – grabbed too.

Restrained, all but her right foot. That was absolutely useless.

She thrashed and screamed again, pouring out her rage and hate. “I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you, you piece of shit! I’ll feed your eyes to ravens – “

“By the maker Azriel, let her go!”

“She’s trying to kill me!”

“You have her in restraints! We have her mother! Of course she’s trying to kill you!”

Her restraints vanished and shadows consumed her, depositing her behind the newcomer. She shouted, kicking him behind the knees to bring him down to her level. He crumbled with a chortle of surprise, and she grabbed at his neck with one arm, tightening her hold with the second.

On his knees before her, she glared to the man in the shadows.

“I will have my mother,” she ordered softly, “Or you will have death.”

“Your mother is sleeping. – No we did not drug her.”

Her fangs bared, not believing a single thing that came from his mouth.

“My dear, we are not your enemies,” the man she currently had a chokehold on addressed her softly, hands raised in surrender. “This is all a misunderstanding.”

“You kidnapped my mother.”

“Your mother is my sister.”

Surprise hit her like a flash of lightning.

“And I thought she died over 500 years ago,” spoken in the voice of a broken man.

Margareet pulled him back, his hands grabbing her forearm in shock, the shadow man stepping forward in warning, but she paid it no mind. She looked at his face, brows straight and judgmental, assessing for dishonesty and reason to tighten her hold.

Instead she found violet eyes, the same as her own.

“Prove it,” she whispered to him.

“You’re named after our grandmother.”

Margareet cursed, stepping away and dropping her hold on him. “Well damn, what a greeting you made. Auntie Aelin gives me sweets, Uncle Rowan gives me piggyback rides – and you kidnap my damn mother. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“She ran away!” He guffawed. “And Azriel didn’t mean to kidnap her, he winnowed like he’s never winnowed before,” he spared a quick glare to Azriel, “and reacted poorly when Roslyn came barreling towards him.”

“You should terminate his position and hire someone competent.” Her uncle smiled brightly, a gleam in his violet eyes.

“I did stop you,” Azriel commented dryly.

“I’m a 10-year-old girl. That is not impressive.”

“But you’re a rather impressive 10-year-old girl, not many could sneak into the House of Wind without my supposedly well trained guards spotting you first.” Another glare to Azriel.

He sighed. “I did see her, it was a choice to not stop her. The last time I put myself in front of a female going that fast, she broke her leg. And,” he stressed the word, “I wanted to see what she would do.”

“You broke my mothers leg?” Margareet snapped, anger revived. She pulled another dagger from her person, storming forward. “I’ll cut off your dic-“

He vanished from sight and her Uncle rose, hands out to her. “Darling Margareet, I understand your anger. Why don’t we go see Roslyn?”

She pivoted, dagger raised, glare fixated on him. “Understand this, Rhysand, I have a large family. I have more Aunt’s and Uncle’s than I care to count, the King of Adarlan thinks I am an angel, the Queen of Terrasen would break the world if it pleased me, and the Queen of Witches would gladly kill anyone I point my finger at.” She stepped closer to him, looking up at his unnecessary height. “If for one second I deem the best interest of my mother is not in your heart, Manon Blackbeak will tear your throat out with her iron nails. Do I make myself clear?”

He had the audacity to smile down at her. “I want nothing but the best for my sister, and for my niece. It seems you have an arsenal of allies already, but it cannot hurt to have one more.” He rested his hand on his chest, and bowed his head. “You have the High Lord of the Night Court at your back as well, darling Margareet.”

“Then take me to my mother.”

#azriel x oc #rhysand #rhysand sister #acotar #aelin ashryver galathynius #dorian havilliard #manon blackbeak #azriel shadowsinger #azriel

10 notes · View notes

ladyhindsight · 1 year

Text

Okay. So.

I started this book going chapter by chapter, but the flame was lost for a long time and I couldn’t pick it up anymore. As a result I just powered through and read it all the way to the end to be rid of it. Otherwise, as my shitty personality and brain dictate, it would’ve just nagged on me forever as an unfinished project.

I have so many thoughts about this book and none at the same time. It brings no joy, no laughter—it’s as atrocious as a book can be. Chain of Gold is such a disaster of a book, such a Mess, such unholy, godawful piece of writing that I have lost most of the words to even describe it.

I will now, consequently, complain discuss my grievances.

It’s hard to even begin from the beginning. The whole character ensemble is brought to you almost all at once, but the plot takes forever to properly start. No wonder, it is almost nonexistent. The story then progresses in extremely lazy waves, and whenever there is any momentum, it falls flat because the ball is only tomorrow so we have to wait to make room for relationship troubles or a thing is finally happening but let’s cut to this other, not so action-heavy scene right in the middle of it. Even at the end, it never really rises to a proper crescendo. The climactic battle is fought 100 or so pages before the book honestly even ends. After Belial’s momentarily defeat, the story structure really loses every little bit of coherency that remained up to that point. It’s a mess, and the book just refuses to finish itself before the set up for Chain of Iron.

The further the story progresses, the more evident it becomes how the writing alludes to all the companion stories that exist elsewhere. And at the same time they exist in this book as these huge secrets though all of it is already been revealed in previous writing—reason for Matthew’s agony, Tessa’s parentage, Alastair’s bullying days in the Academy, etc.

There are so many secrets that even the writing says there are so many secrets. That is fine. What is not fine is the flimsy reasoning for keeping things secret. Don’t tell anyone because otherwise they will die. Instead of writing compelling and complex reasons, everyone is hushed to silence by the fear of death of their loved ones because that is the greatest and unarguable reason. Many misunderstandings and a lot of the pain could be spared if the characters just talked to each other. Many of them could be solved if the characters were at all prone to actual intelligence instead of just praising each other and telling each other how clever they are.

The writing has a lot of exposition and info-dumping, a fact that repeats itself in every first installment of Clare’s trilogies. I’ve said and I will say it again, The Wicked Powers is going to be magnificent considering how much clumsy recapping of previous series like in this book has to be shoved into it. In addition to all that, the writing constantly explains itself—not only the concepts, but also characters themselves, their actions, personalities, any and every single thing. Clare throws around titles of classic works, of writers, of poets—uses poems as intros to the chapters but they add no substance to any of the writing. Again, just atrocious. A ton of words saying absolutely nothing. This book was a chore to read.

THOUGHTS ON SOME CHARACTERS:

CORDELIA. Cordelia was a nice main character. She is kind and brave and compassionate, which is nice. Cordelia is nice. It’s just that she is used, like any female lead in Clare’s writing, to narrate the other characters, especially the main male characters like James and Matthew. She’s also incredibly and unbelievably sheltered. Unbelievably. She recognized Matthew’s problem with alcohol, but does not connect that to her father being “ill”. She’s constantly surprised that Alastair is considerate of her when most things Alastair does is her in his mind. Alastair lost his childhood and his father because he (and Sona) tried for years to protect their family from society that does not understand addiction. And to give Cordelia a happy childhood and a father to love, all while Cordelia did not know any better. It just doesn’t fly by me when she is written so “perceptive” of everyone else around her. And by perceptive I mean leaps in her intuition to narrate other characters for the readers. At times she only becomes a cog in the machine that does its damnest to convince you how great the Herondales are. Just telling this and telling that to hammer it in. And if it wasn’t enough, Clare throws yet another voyeurism scene at the readers AGAIN, in the same vein as with Magnus and Alec or Mark and Kieran, this time Cordelia bearing witness to her brother and Charles.

JAMES. He has a lovely melancholy face. Crow-black hair. Amber eyes. Big golden eyes. Pale gold tea eyes. Pale gold eyes. Golden syrup eyes. Eyes color of fire and gold. Again pale gold. The burning gold of lion’s eyes. Dark gold eyes. Eyes the color of sunlight through pale yellow leaves. Eyes of the tigers in Rajasthan, golden and watchful. Tiger eyes that glitter in the dark. Tiger’s eyes that darkened into something richer and deeper, like gold of Cortana when it flashed in the air. Lacquered gold eyes. Eyes deeper gold than usual. Wild and hot and golden eyes. Deep gold eyes.

And for Alastair or Cordelia Clare could only conjure up black and dark.

Absolutely no feelings about James. He was there. He did things. Somehow he is more important progeny to Belial than Lucie. He explained Belial’s Master Plan in excruciating detail while being paraded as clever like it wasn’t obvious from the get-go. He’s amazing. He’s the leader. Leave it to Cordelia to narrate James and his awesome qualities.

“It’s about me. It’s always been about me.”

Says James before he hops off to see Grandpa. Pretty much sums up every Herondale character ever.

LUCIE. Lucie is fun. Somewhat naïve but fun. The writing also wants you to think that there ever was some kind of tension between her and Matthew once Cordelia detects it has lifted. But alas, there was none. Ever.

GRACE. This girl, so boring. I get it, she is only looking out for herself with some wicked-ass ways to go about it and at the cost of other peoples’ relationships, but still. Her mother has left her completely defenseless against harm and danger, there is absolutely no one (alive) in her corner, so girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do to get that sense of safety.

I just really, really despise that bracelet and wish the story was already done with it. Cordelia notices it multiple times as a wink, wink, nudge, nudge to the readers but is totally incapable of drawing the line between it and James’ behavior.

ANNA. She is glamorous. She smiles like the sphinx. She can seduce multiple people in one evening. She is elegant, composed. Her bedchamber is infamous. She had the Herondale blue eyes. Her hair was the same black as James’s. Herondale black, the color of the wings of a crow. Her blue eyes were the exact color of Will’s (despite that Cecily is her mother and has the same eye color as her brother, violet-blue or not quite blue, not quite violet). She and James share the same crow-black hair, like Will’s and Cecily’s, and the same chiseled, angular faces. Her blue eyes sparkle. Her blue eyes narrow. Her blue eyes darken. She rolls her blue eyes. She has a considering look in her blue eyes.

Did you know Anna has dark hair and blue eyes? Of the Herondales?

She also doesn’t seem to remember her cousin Eugenia.

“Anna flipped through the book. There were many pages, and many names written in a bold, sprawling hand.

“Hmm, let me see. Katherine, Alicia, Virginia—a very promising writer, you should look out for her work, James —Mariane, Virna, Eugenia—”

“Not my sister Eugenia?” Thomas nearly upended his cake.

“Oh, probably not,” Anna said.”

What. The. Heck. Man.

TATIANA. She has just become a laughable villain. Though the writing offers her some empathy for her grief, the epilogue makes her even more cartoonish than the Enclave meeting after the mansion in Idris burnt down. Also, as the laws of wanking for Herondales dictate:

Herondales, Tatiana thought as she made her way to the Italian gardens. Tainted blood ran in their veins. In her opinion, their name dominated the history books more than it should. There should be far more instances of the name “Lightwood” and less of the name “Herondale.”

C’mon. Seriously. You thought you were sly, didn’t you?

ALASTAIR. The only emotionally charged scenes were between Alastair and Cordelia. I enjoyed Alastair and Cordelia’s scenes together, though I don’t think Clare understands a thing about siblings. Similarly how Isabelle never stands up for Alec, Cordelia never stands up for Alastair.

Grace has no one in her corner, Alastair only has Cordelia. And I so hate that Matthew, James, and Thomas are protecting her affection by not telling Cordelia what Alastair has done and said. There were beautiful moments between Cordelia and her brother that actually showed the depth and strength of their siblinghood, so imagining that Cordelia would completely turn against her brother if she knew is bewildering to me. Especially since, like Thomas knows little, Cordelia knows Alastair’s true nature, and it is not all angry and bitter. So this scene:

“There are some people who do not deserve one.” Matthew’s voice was fierce. “If I ever catch you considering befriending Alastair, James—”

“Then what?” James said, arching an eyebrow.

“Then I will have to tell you what Alastair said to me the day we left the Academy,” said Matthew. “And I would rather not. Cordelia should never know it, if nothing else. She loves him and she should be allowed that.”

Cordelia. There was something about the way Matthew said her name. James turned to him, puzzled. He wanted to say that if Alastair had truly said something so awful it would threaten Cordelia’s affection for him, Matthew should not suffer it in silence, but there was no chance. Christopher had burst out the front door, pulling on gloves.”

Really gives me no hope that Cordelia would remain loving her brother and knowing the truth despite everything because this is Clare. There is no gray, no in-between when someone in the Clique is slighted—you choose your side. Alastair is already singled out, just so a groups of rich boys can be the victims (though I recognize Matthew, for instance, has a big personal demon to tackle too). But it’s the singling out that always provokes my ire. Alastair who is already been subjected to racism, discrimination, and bullying. But guys, James has incredibly beautiful demon eyes and was bullied for them. And someone talked shit about Matthew and his family.

Once again, herein lies the problem I have with this setting with these kind of characters. As always, there are the characters that are central to the story, and they can do no wrong in ways that are actually wrong and recognized as that. James gets expelled from the Academy because of false accusations and, by extension, discrimination against the demon blood in him. It was really Alastair’s fault. All of it really is. None of them can do (though don’t I think Thomas or Christopher would because they are pretty much sweethearts) reprehensible things that would make them actually flawed (like characters like Alastair and Jessamine). Actually making mistakes and doing bad things, having misjudgments and misbehavior, and above all, overcoming all that and growing and trying to do better and be better.

MATTHEW. Matthew has green eyes. They also sparkle and glitter and shine a lot. Or something.

I don’t think there were many scenes where Matthew wasn’t drinking. Obviously his alcoholism is the central battle he faces in his journey through the book. But only handful of the scenes ever really had characters addressing it—or really at all. Lucie was the only one to speak frankly, but she brought it up from the perspective of James’ safety.

When Elias Carstairs was reveal to have been drunk (at least at this time, I don’t know if Chain of Iron somehow again will change the story as I know it) and that had cost many lives because of an error he made while drunk, it did mirror how Matthew hadn’t done the same yet but could very well be walking towards the same future where his drunkenness could cost other people their safety or lives in battle.

It is such a serious matter, but it was treated as an open secret the whole book, rather on the nose too which made it irritating seeing all the characters gloss over it most of the time. Teenagers can’t help teenagers, it’s understandable, but Will, for one, seemed acutely aware of Matthew before they got interrupted in that one scene. No one brings up their worries to the adults either—well, they tell the adults absolutely nothing and then try to trap a major demon in a Pyxis.

The problem of having all previous characters from TID be present in the story is also making them seem rather absent parents at times, unaware how their children fare in the world.

RANDOM THOUGHTS IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:

i. Tessa is luminous. Tessa is wonderful. Can someone go take the keyboard away from Clare.

ii. “Your mother had brutal teachers. They held her against her will and forced her to Change. It must have been terrifying, and painful. James was silent. You know that your mother has not used her power since the end of the Clockwork War. Since then the act of shape-shifting has been… difficult for her. Painful. She has chosen not to do it.” Must have been? Wouldn’t Jem know that it was? The point: Tessa has suffered paaaaain, you see.

iii. “James had gone to Shadowhunter Academy for only a few months; he’d met Thomas, Matthew, and Christopher there, and they’d promptly blown up a wing of the school.” This is so strange to me that they only met when they were a lot older even though they are relatives and children of people that are incredibly close? Because when James is thinking about Barbara: “He had not been extremely close with his cousin—the difference in age between them meant she regarded him indulgently as a child, as she did Thomas— but she had been there all his life, kind and cheerful, without her sister’s sharp tongue, always expecting the ready best of everyone. He had never lived in a world without Barbara in it.” Which would suggest otherwise???

iv. Can the plot not always feature the Big Dumb Clave with their heads up in their own assess? Also, it is important for the book to remind that even though the Clave is being Big Dumb, Tessa and Will are doing all they can to make things better at least!

v. “The four of you are tightly knit,” said Cordelia. “Anyone could see that. And none of you is so simple. Thomas is more than just kind, and Christopher more than beakers and test tubes, Matthew more than wit and waistcoats. Each of you follows his own star—but you are the thread that binds all four together. You are the one who sees what everyone needs, if anyone requires extra care from their friends, or even to be left alone. Some groups of friends drift apart, but you would never let that happen.” Are you trying to tell me how to read these characters? No, they really are that simple.

vi. Charles, I don’t even know. Seems to really want to be a Consul, I guess.

vii. Note to self: Lucie cannot be trusted to keep watch.

viii. Merry Thieves is a dumb name.

ix. With James, Cordelia, and Matthew, it’s the same love triangle all over again.

x. Same immortal characters circle the series. This time also featuring Lily. Once they were all in England. Nowadays in America.

xi. I’m honestly not rooting for any romance. Just rooting for Cordelia and Alastair getting their shit together as siblings and family.

xii. Belial outright refuses to be an interesting villain.

xiii. Elias’ trial was wayyy easily solved. Pretty fucked up for their justice system that continues being fucked up anyway.

xiv. The Clave never evolves because the Clave needs to be the scapegoat for every minute thing that could go wrong and hinder the protagonists’ love lives/zero-to-hero journey.

xv. Only quote I really liked: “Sona smiled at her—a weary, worried smile, the smile of so many Shadowhunter parents down through the ages who had watched their children march into the night, carrying blades blessed by angels, knowing they might never return.” Highlights the Shadowhunter aspect of being a parent in their odd, odd world.

xvi. A lot of the characters in the different series are really interchangeable. Slap Jace somewhere here and I probably wouldn’t question him talking. These kids are once again another renditions of their parents.

xvii. Belial says he wanted James to be a bit older as his vessel, so why the hell he started implementing his plan before James got to grow up and mature more?? The whole plan was only to make them soft against the demons he sent. Surely even more time could do that.

xviii. This book was flat as hell. My brain is fried. This was a mess.

#James Herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #Matthew Fairchild #Alastair Carstairs #Lucie Herondale #Anna Lightwood #Thomas Lightwood #Christopher Lightwood #Grace Blackthorn #Chain of Gold #The Last Hours #Anti CC #Anti Cassandra Clare

66 notes · View notes

fortheloveofwonderland · 2 years

Note

The very first time I ever requested anything it was to you and I absolutely loved it!! Congrats on your milestone, very well deserved 🥳 also I’d like to request:

😡 👫 🔫 ⁉️ 🤕

Oh, no way! What was it you requested? Thank you so much! ❤️

Send me emojis for my milestone celebration and I’ll write you a blurb.

😡 enemies to lovers

👫 friends with benefits

🔫 hostage situation

⁉️unrequited love

🤕 tending to each other’s wounds

Summary - in the aftermath of a hostage situation, Spencer and the reader find comfort in each other.

This is 14.1 300 reimagined where reader is held hostage instead of Garcia.

CW - typical CM violence, slight mentions of blood, kissing, allusions to sex but nothing explicit, swearing, idiots in love, hopeful (?) ending.

Word Count - 2.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Foolish Hearts

Ben’s Believers.

Well there was a name you never expected to hear again.

Initially when you’d been held at gunpoint by Meadows in the BAU elevator, that case from ten years ago at that ranch in Colorado was the furthest thing from your mind.

You hadn’t gone into that church with Prentiss and Reid, you’d never see Meadows before. You had no reason to suspect she was anything but the FBI Agent she claimed to be.

Until you stepped in that elevator with her and Owen Quinn and the hairs on the back of your neck had arbitrarily stood on end.

You still didn’t make the connection to the Colorado cult, but you knew somehow that Meadows was dangerous.

When she drew her firearm and shot Quinn, you didn’t even blink. You figured it out the second before she unholstered her weapon.

A second too late.

You were hit over the head and shoved in the back of a car, your phone and gun removed from your person.

And when the car pulled up to the scene now unfolding at the elevators, Meadows pointing her gun at Reid and him pointing one right back, you were sure the two of you were both going to die.

How apt that you would be resigned to death with your least favourite person on the face of the earth.

Spencer Reid had been a thorn in your side since the day you joined the BAU twelve years ago. No one understood why the usually benevolent Doctor took a dislike to you but for some reason he had.

He kept you at arms length all these years, never once hiding his disdain towards you or putting it aside for a moment.

You’d been in countless scenarios over the years where you thought you might die in the line of duty. But dying with Spencer Reid was the world's greatest joke.

When he arrived at the warehouse you’d been taken to and thrown to his knees in front of you, you saw a fleeting look in his eyes, one you’d never seen before.

Fear.

Spencer was scared. And if Spencer was scared, you knew to be too.

His face was battered and bruised, his hair damp with sweat and adhering to his forehead.

When Meadows took a call he was fast to curl his body closer to you and whisper instructions for how you were to escape.

And even under the circumstances you couldn’t believe Spencer was helping you.

Soon after he was dragged away again by the collar of his soiled shirt and you watched him go wondering if you would ever see him again.

And the most curious thing was, the thought you might never see him again made your stomach coil and your chest constrict.

Because outwardly you portrayed that Spencer was your least favourite person on the planet. In reality, you were implausibly in love with him.

It was the stupidest thing. The man had spent the last twelve years treating you like you were a stray puppy that wouldn’t leave him alone. He was rude and standoffish towards you.

Yet your foolish heart had taken it upon itself to fall despairingly in love with him, as though he single handedly hung the damn moon.

It was without doubt the most moronic thing you’d ever done. Falling for Spencer Reid was about the most ill advised thing you could have done.

But your heart wanted him, yearned for him, when your brain knew it would never happen.

So watching him being dragged away by Meadows, knowing you might never lay eyes on the golden eyed genius hurt more than anything these assholes could do to you.

***

Thanks to Spencer’s advice you’d managed to escape the warehouse on extremely shaky legs, dragging your agonised body with you.

He’d saved you. He’d put your safety ahead of his own. If you never saw him again you would never forget the way he’d looked at you in that bustling warehouse and whispered, “the team needs you.”

It felt like the hours ticked by at a fraction of the speed as you helped the team try and find where they were taking Spencer.

Emily tried to get you to the hospital, you had multiple cuts and bruises and a potential concussion but you dismissed her.

You weren’t going anywhere until you knew Spencer’s fate.

By the time you hauled your aching limbs up the two flights of stairs to your apartment, you were dead on your feet. Each step caused pain to shoot to one or more of your extremities.

But you didn’t care about the pain. The pain was all but washed away with the relief that came when you’d saved Spencer.

Witnessing him with Merva’s knife pressed against his throat, ready to claim Spencer as his three hundredth victim had been the most horrifying thing you’d ever seen in all years with the BAU.

You thought you were going to see him die. And all you could think was that you’d never gotten to tell him how you felt.

But he was safe. The team had shown up in the nick of time, seconds later and you would have found his corpse, stripped of its hyoid bone.

And as he was being unstrapped from his restraints, for a brief second you considered telling him how you felt about him.

But then he passed you, glancing at you with a look that could only be described as frustrated, and you pushed all those feelings back down in an instant.

How could you be so recklessly in love with such an asshole?

You pushed on up the stairs towards your apartment looking forward to soaking your sore body in a long, hot bath.

As you turned the corner and saw the silhouette outside your door, you knew your hopes were squandered.

The first thing that struck you was that he’d changed his clothes, probably an outfit from his go bag as he’d been covered in dirt and blood.

The second thing was how he knew where you lived. He’d never in twelve years been to your apartment, even when you had the whole team over he always declined.

Garcia, you rolled your eyes as you fished your keys out of your purse.

His hair was still draped lifelessly onto his face that was bruised and cut much like your own was.

Something flashed behind his eyes briefly as you approached but it was too fast for you to register what it was.

“As if today hasn’t been exhausting enough?” You let out a sigh as you reached where he leant on the wall next to your door.

“Can I come in?” His voice was croaky, after what he’d been through today it was to be expected.

The last thing you wanted was to let Spencer Reid inside your apartment. But the day had beaten all the fight from you. So you simply nodded before slotting the key in the lock and opening the door.

You observed him as he cast his eyes quickly over your apartment as if trying to sum you up by the contents of your home.

You hung your bag and jacket up and dropped to the couch.

“I really want to just relax in a bathtub with a bottle of wine, so can you tell me why you’re here so we can get this over with?” You didn’t even try to disguise the annoyance from your tone.

He chewed on his lip as he stepped closer to where you’d fallen to the couch.

“You’re bleeding.” He whispered, a fleeting look of concern on his face. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

It was only then you realised you could feel the wet, sticky blood trickling down your cheek and your fingers flew to the cut on your cheek.

“Uh bathroom. It’s through my bedroom on the left. In the cabinet over the sink.” You pointed towards the door at the back of the room.

Spencer nodded, hands in his pockets as he slumped towards the bedroom.

An uncomfortable sensation settled in the pit of your stomach as you thought about Spencer Reid being in your bedroom.

You just hoped you hadn’t left any errant pairs of underwear strewn around on their journey to the laundry basket.

He returned soon after, clutching the kit in his hands.

His steps were deliberate yet tentative, an oddly fascinating combination.

He dropped to the couch next to you and it shifted slightly under his weight.

You watched his deft fingers open the kit and procure an antiseptic wipe before tearing it open.

His eyes flicked to your face and his free hand made a slow voyage to your face. When his fingers wrapped gently around your jaw you inhaled sharply.

It occurred to you then that in all the years you’d know each other, you’d never once been alone together.

Until now.

He raised the wipe to your cheek and he was effortlessly gentle as he removed the blood from your cheek and cleaned up your wound.

It probably hurt. You might have noticed if you weren’t so hyper focused on his fingers on your jaw and the way his skin felt remarkable against your own.

His breathing was measured and even, every now again you’d feel it fan across your face and you hoped to god he didn’t notice the goosebumps it sent soaring across your skin.

He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth in concentration, nimble fingers making quick work of the blood.

When he let go of your face you felt disheartened, immediately missing the way it had felt.

He rummaged in the kit again, not noticing your shift in demeanour, until he found a bandage large enough to cover your wound.

“I think it’ll keep bleeding unless it’s covered.” He whispered, opening the package.

You simply nodded, worried your voice would give way to the nerves pooling into your stomach.

Spencer leant closer and cautiously pressed the bandage over your cut, smoothing it out lightly with his finger tips.

When he sat back you blinked a few times and your eyes dropped to his lips but not for the reasons you thought they might.

Spencer’s constant lip gnawing had caused the laceration through his bottom lip to split and now he was bleeding too.

He must have sensed this as his tongue crept out his mouth and swiped along it.

“Darn it.” He groaned, making a grab for another wipe.

You put your hand gently on his wrist to still him, before picking one up and ripping it open.

“It’s ok, I got this.” You smiled shakily at him.

Mirroring his actions on you, you cupped his jaw, the few days worth of stubble growth on his skin was scratchy beneath your fingers.

You exercised caution as you delicately removed the blood from his lip.

Spencer’s eyes fluttered closed, his long eyelashes grazing the dark skin beneath his eyes.

He had a bluish bruise on the side of his mouth and cuts on his brow. There was another bruise situated in his hairline, dipping into his forehead.

But he was still somehow so incredibly exquisite, like a painting or a sculpture.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You were drawn to him and his magnificent beauty.

The wipe fell from your hand but your fingers remained on his pouty lips, brushing over them.

Spencer’s eyes remained shut and he exhaled heavily through his nose. Your hand cupping his jaw tightened a little, fingers ghosting over his stubble.

When you moved your hand from his lips it didn’t venture far. You found purchase on his cheek, fingers curling around his ear.

Spencer’s chest heaved with another large breath and when his eyes finally opened you were barely inches from him.

His deep hazel eyes flecked with gold questioned you, but not in a bad way.

“Have I stopped bleeding?” He whispered, voice breathy and if you didn’t know any better you could have sworn it was laced with seduction.

“Yeah.” You whispered back, unable to reign yourself in from your hold on him.

“Good.” His lip turned up at the corner into a wry smile. “So are you going to kiss me, or what?”

Your eyes widened instantly at his words but you still didn’t let up your hold on his face.

Spencer chuckled at the reaction he’d pulled from you and you felt the way the contours of his face changed at the action.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about it Y/N because I’d be inclined not to believe you.” His hand came up and rested on top of yours on his cheek.

His hand was so much larger than yours, practically eclipsing it under his.

It was warm and slightly rough from callouses but it felt amazing nonetheless.

“I saw the relief in your eyes when you found me today.” He continued when you didn’t speak. “And suddenly everything made so much sense to me. All these years we’ve been fighting it right? There's an obvious attraction between us. So I ask again, are you going to kiss me or what?”

You froze for a fraction of a second before you gave in.

You drew him closer by his jaw and pressed your lips against his, softly at first so as not to disturb his cut.

But clearly Spencer had other ideas as he gripped your neck and teased your lips apart with his tongue before sliding it in your mouth.

He tasted like the remains of antiseptic and coffee and it was magnetic.

How you ended up in your bedroom was beyond you, your head had been a complete jumble since the moment your lips touched.

You found yourself undressed in no time at all with Spencer hovering over you, also free from the confines of his clothes.

He was firm yet gentle, letting you know he was in charge without exerting too much force.

You came faster than you would be happy to admit, the feeling of Spencer inside of you almost too much to bear.

Afterwards he placed an almost loving kiss to your temple and tore himself out of the bed.

You watched dumbly as he dressed with his back to you.

“That was one way to blow off steam.” You spoke quietly, hating the awkwardness that suddenly flooded the room.

He turned back to you as he was buttoning his shirt. His eyes had a spark to them and he had a mischievous smirk on his lips.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to blowing off steam that way again.” He told you playfully.

After that he left and you felt equal parts elated and downtrodden.

You’d waited twelve years for that moment only for it to be over much faster than you would have liked.

He’d claimed your body and your heart and he had no idea.

As Spencer dragged himself away from your apartment, closing the door softly behind him he sighed sadly, running his fingers through his messy hair.

He’d spent over a decade pushing you away because he was scared of this exact moment.

He knew the second he kissed you he would be bound to you entirely. He’d been on the cusp of falling in love with you for all these years and when he kissed you, he fell in an instant. Hook line and sinker, tumbling down a rabbit hole of his own creation.

Of course there would never be anyway you’d feel the same and for years he’d been ok with that. But now he’d had you, he wasn’t sure he could live without you.

He left a piece of his heart tucked between your sheets that night.

Maybe one day the two of you would find the words to convey your feelings for each other. Maybe one day you’d both realise your love wasn’t quite as unrequited you both thought.

But for now you'd both settle for not being enemies anymore. Friends with benefits had to be better than that.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #build a blurb #spencer reid x you #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds

346 notes · View notes

stlsystembuster · 29 days

Text

Shared from a lady on another Platform … A very brave and moving account from someone who obeyed all the "rules" and now regrets it … "For those who cannot imagine what it's like to be vxd and living with that once the evidence is available …….l can answer you, it's a day to day grieving and cellular remorse……many of us were just living our daily lives without any idea of WEF, UN, WHO, and DEW was what was on the grass in the mornings…..Movies showed scenes of satanic practices and we had no idea about blood drinking celebrities 😳 We trusted our drs - (l had mine for over 25yrs) we knew our government lied at election times and we voted the best we could based on the bs presented to us, we went about our lives innocently working, raising kids and babysitting grandkids and many had not one person in our circles to warn us of the dangers - we didn'teven know we had to do " research" 🤷🏻♀️……unbelievable as that may seem, it's absolutely true - and that shocks others…..so off we went and had the shots. Now……us "sheeples" are we are all referred to, are dying in our millions, some suddenly, some are destined to slow malingering pain filled deaths….but we are dying, and ironically, we are the evidence, the proof you will all use later. Some - l wish l knew the percentages - argued with others who knew the dangers and words and actions hurt both sides……and that is the greatest weapon of the psy op….it's actually greater than the vx itself. There is a level of toxic hatred and gloating online that condemns the vxd to silence in regards to seeking help….l see it in the forums….. how they are abused by total strangers……so we stay silent and die alone and unforgiven for our naivety and fear. But back to the point in question. IT IS HELL…..living with the knowledge that l took 3 of them, that my wonderful, kind hardworking husband took 4, that our children and grandchildren had them…..it haunts me, it breaks my soul, it has destroyed me……simply because we were naive. My husband and l were already done when a cousin contacted me through messenger after seeing a post about my rapid decline in health and asked me questions…..l then spoke to my sons but it was too late, they had been done already. It's reading endless detox protocols and wondering IF they truly work or IF they too are part of the bs, because how would we ever know as there is no longterm proof 🤷🏻♀️ It's endless medical tests that come back " normal" and you just know and feel the changes in your body, it's seeing the videos of the calamari clots and reading about graphene microblades slicing up veins, and spikes adhering like velcro to tissues and organs…….it's the breathlessness and palpitations on slightest exertion that drs can't explain…..it's the " knowing" that it was for nothing though we believed it was for the best of intentions. It's this tattoo on my arm of the vx batch numbers that l use to open conversations and share my adverse reactions with every dr, specialist and pathology, radiologist and ambulance paramedic l meet. It's knowing that any second…….any second…..could be IT…..the last one l breathe before l die. It's grief… deep empty gut wrenching grief for all my family and friends, all those l love and care for. It's loss…..the loss of my future dreams and plans, the loss of my husband and family……it's the pain felt by the name calling and ongoing online abuse. l may be a sheeple to some…..and cop endless abuse online for speaking up with my truth…..but that will not stop me. Not every vxd person acted like an Ahole when approached by someone who cared enough to take that risk. Yet we have ALL been tarred with that one brush……and it's there that humanity devolved even further……and they did not have to do a thing except sit back and watch us fall apart" - Poster wishes to remain anonymous.

https://x.com/toobaffled/status/1770362908679258303?s=20

3 notes · View notes

aces-and-angels · 1 year

Text

thoughts on ilw ch 21 (spoilers below)

first, a deep dive on matthias x mc:

Matthias McQuoid: a man ready to let the world burn if it meant he’d get his greatest wish... which poses a very important question:

Is it possible for Matthias to have a happy ending?

Ch 21 gives us readers the classic villain’s monologue- a peek into grandpa Matty’s twisted mind. A part of me was waiting for the ball to drop- to make Lincoln proud and finally be able to say Matthias is an evil bastard. Period. No discussion needed. But then he comes at me with ‘I wanted to spend an eternity with my family by my side’ and I can’t help feeling the slightest pang of sympathy. Grandpa Matty, complex till the bitter end 😭

How could someone determined to do absolutely anything for his loved ones be so bad? While Matthias can claim he’d move heaven and earth for his loved ones (and he damn well near does), it’s not received with open arms. Instead, it drives them further away until he’s left with a dead wife and a son who wants nothing to do with him. I fear that an MC romancing Matthias faces a similar, tragic fate.

They say, "a villain would sacrifice the world to save you*"

*but in the case of grand-daddy Matty, only until you no longer serve him. he’ll sacrifice the world, but never himself

MC x Matthias’ plan to make Devon/Noah the new anchor is only a temporary fix. Eventually that anchor will weaken. Yes, you could argue that he’d just wash, rinse, and repeat the same steps he did with Devon/Noah for the rest of time without batting an eye:

Manipulate the world to his will

Bask in his riches

Spend another millennia with MC at his side #dearcreature

Who knows? Maybe that’s how their arc will end come ch 23. Bring me the epilogue scene of Mathias and MC sipping cocktails poolside. Let the villain have his cake and eat it too, right?

This particular scene makes me think otherwise:

Matthias’ cruel nature is no secret to MC, regardless of their relationship status with him. Romancing him, however, allows MC to justify it. But that doesn’t stop that bit of doubt from creeping up. What happens when they're no longer enough? Deep down, they already know the answer. But as of right now, Matthias loves them. Wants them. Ironically, they voice out this hidden fear to Adrian:

“It’ll never be enough. No matter how much you get, you’ll always want more.”

Stripped down to his most basic parts- Matthias is a selfish, self-serving man. One who takes, but never gives. He commands, but will never follow. It’s not an if, it’s a when; after enough temporary fixes, Matthias will want a permanent solution on his quest towards unlimited power/immortality and no amount of ‘love’ will stop him.

If we’re defining a happy ending as getting everything you want, then yes, it is possible for Matthias to have one. In fact, it is guaranteed. MC’s happily-ever-after with him, however, will always come with strings.

me @ my matthias romancing mc: wake up and love yourself hoe

---

now, onto some general thoughts:

man, what. a. ride. the whiplash from going between these incredibly wholesome moments to these gut-wrenching death sequences is way too jarring. *continues to see what other atrocities i can unlock*

we finally get to see lincoln’s item in action- and as speculated- we can time-travel bitches🔥 how many ways can our scooby gang die in the next two chapters??? the answer will probably traumatize me.

as someone who was blindsided by jocelyn’s betrayal, her flashback scene was amazing to read. the call outside the school, why she wasn’t immediately at MCs side after the cave collapsed- it was all right there 😭

adios to gunnor- im gonna miss his feisty ass lol. ilw has made me a connor stan, so that connor x mc reunion was *chef’s kiss* perfection

the ily scenes 🥺🥺🥺

s/o to the peeps in the ilw discord for sharing screenshots of the good, the bad, and the positively horrifying. yall are real ones ♥

one down. two to go. happy finale weekend!

23 notes · View notes

tessiete · 1 year

Note

For the latest prompt list, meriggiare.

Korkie Kryze.

An Italian word, unusual to us too but known anyway because one of the greatest poems of our literature starts with it. Meriggiare pallido e assorto…

https://www.slow-words.com/to-rest-in-the-shade/

I...don't know @piccolaromana. I'm not.....unhappy with this? But it's a little weird. It's not my usual style, though I mean, at least the purple prose is me. Am I coming back to myself, or am I only more and more lost?

I don't know!

But I thank you for the prompt and I hope you don't hate this! <3

FIRE THAT'S CLOSEST KEPT

Korkie Kryze lies down to sleep when the sun of the Empire is highest.

It is not giving up. He’s only tired. So tired. It is impossible to keep going. Like sunrise over a desert, the ascent of Palpatine has been swift and deadly. The fury of his power has burned away every good and growing thing. All life. All love. All freedom.

All of the Senate.

All of the Republic.

All of the Jedi.

Mandalore, he left for Maul. The wasted frame of a dying beast writhing in its last throes of resistance, and all the Sith had to do was wrap his hand around its throat and squeeze. There was hardly any strength left. All of it had been spent on the throne room floor in Sundari.

His aunt’s death was a mortal wound. They just didn’t know it at the time.

But Korkie knows now. He knows how you can bleed and bleed and bleed and hardly understand you’re wounded. He knows how infection can slip beneath the skin and boil your blood without anyone noticing. He knows how something can break deep inside, and fester, and rot, and waste away until all that’s left is ash. He learned all of that after he woke up to the feel of beskar against his skin. Not his aunt’s cool fingers, but Bo-Katan’s clad in armor. Her voice low and rough, telling him the Duchess was dead.

He blinked, not understanding.

The blind mask of the Nite Owl’s visor stared down at him, half-familiar but only in the way a hologram looks like a loved one. Distant. Inverted. Warped.

She’d cocked her head, and sighed. Through the vocoder, it came out like a growl.

“Guess you’re coming with me.”

But she was wounded too. And Korkie couldn’t save her. Rage, he knows, is also a kind of injury. So is grief. And fear.

Let it go, let it go, let it go.

He repeats the mantra in his head, reminding himself that there are some things outside of his control, that will always be outside of his control. He can’t save everyone.

The bandages on his arm come away easily, melting beneath the warm spray of water. Dantooine is a charming planet absolutely brimming with resources, but too many lightyears away from anything of true worth. There are no deposits of rich metals, no crude oils, no gases, no precious stones, no spice. There is only grass, and grain, and fresh water.

This is where the Rebels have been stationed for almost two years, living double lives, mingling with the locals, and selling their wares in the traveling markets that pop up as the seasons pass. The small population of farmers and laborers take them for refugees. There have been enough of those in all corners of the galaxy that a few here are hardly suspicious, and they live quietly enough that even the nosiest of traders learns nothing worth tempting the Empire’s wrath for.

But in the caves by the old fortress, there are hidden ships – a whole fleet of fighters stolen and repurposed, or donated by nameless politicians. Korkie has filed off the royal seal for Alderaan so many times that he has calluses in the shape of their desecration across the pads of his fingers.

And those ships are equally marked with the black blaze of laser burns and torpedo strikes. They are pocked with shrapnel, and held together with binders and chemtack. Korkie can hardly believe they’re spaceworthy, but they keep going back.

He keeps going back.

But this was the last time.

The water runs over his skin, and the blood, turned black with oxygen, falls away down the drain. Black dirt falls off his skin, and black smoke is washed from his hair.

After, he looks at himself in the mirror and thinks that black and red are the only colors left. The only colors the Empire hadn’t burned away, fading like laundry in the sun. Ashes and embers. And once he’s cleansed himself of them – of the blood and the dirt – he is a ghost.

His hair, once a burnished gold, is stark white. His cheeks, bloodless and white. His eyes, as blue as crystal water, but the closer he looks the more they appear clear, and empty like an ocean glittering back the reflection of that burning flame above showing nothing of what lies beneath.

At his mouth, there is a slash of red as though every bloody thought, every gruesome deed sits poised on the tip of his tongue waiting to be told, and at the centre of his eyes, there is a black, dark void where light is swallowed up. He looks into it as if he might see himself on the other side, but he sees nothing.

Korkie Kryze has finally bled out.

“You should rest,” she says. “You should lie down and sleep.”

“And dream?” he asks. “And only dream of death?”

After all, what else is left is there to imagine?

As a child, death was something distant and impossible. A strange thing for a Mandalorian. Through the sheer force of his aunt’s will, a whole generation was born to a people whose great-great grandparents had not known peace. He was the first. And he was the last.

The very last, he thinks. It’s an idle thought now. When he’d first had it, he’d panicked. The possibility that every other person he’d known, every other childhood friend, or passing acquaintance, or despised bully was dead had crushed him. The weight of their loss piled on top of him until he couldn’t breathe, and he was certain he was meant to join them. But he hadn’t then. And soon, the thought grew stale and dull. Then amusing. Then tragic.

Now, he repeats it to himself to remind himself that the end is very close.

“You can stop,” she says, and she pulls him down to bed. “We can stay here. We can keep our eyes closed, and keep our arms around each other, and let it all pass over us.”

Like a corpse in the ground, he thinks.

Mandalorians do not bury their dead. But there are tombs on Dantooine. Old Jedi ones. He thought they’d burned their own, too. Yet the barrows are there, on the outskirts of the enclave. He visits them often, and sits between the mounds. The hills are ancient and so they are worn down to gentle swells, like ripples on a pond. He sits in the tall grass and his hair blows and he sways because the wind goes right through him, like branches or like old bones.

“Sleep,” she says. “Sleep, sleep.”

Die Mando, die Mando, die Mando. Die, die, die.

“I can’t sleep,” he says.

“Go to sleep. It will all be clearer in the morning.”

The Rebellion is leaving Dantooine. The fight is heating up. The princess of Alderaan is loud, and she is being heard. She is young, Korkie thinks. She is younger than he was when he lost everything. She has never known peace. She is not softened by it. Weakened by it. She was born with armor, and she has not been wounded. Not yet.

“We will lose everything,” he whispers in the dark.

“No,” she says. “We are letting it go.”

“And what will we have left?”

“What do you want to keep?”

“Myself. I am only living my life in pieces, and this one is already dead. But there is something else they’ve tried to kill. I’ve kept it hidden for so long that it is all that I have left.”

She kisses him then, so gently, on the mouth. “Then don’t let them take it. You know who you are.”

“I know who I want to be.”

Korkie Kryze lies down to sleep when the Empire burns the brightest. But Korkie Kenobi burns brighter.

#my fic #idek #korkie kryze #korkie kenobi

22 notes · View notes

the5n00k · 10 months

Note

Colours: kiss me, sunshine, soup, why

Video games: I want to know your 23! Also 8 and 27?

Colors: well you putting kiss me first makes me think you need to tell me something come kiss me if you want to so bad /p

Video games: 8, maybe Terraria? Zelda? I don't play a whole lot of games nor usually have the desire to unless it looks super interesting to me

27: EPIC MICKEY. HANDS DOWN. The depressing, run down environments really sell the feeling that Wasteland was left to rot. You can see the Thinner Disaster's ugly remnants all over in the waterways and pooled around random locations that really sell the consequences of Mickey's ignorance at the start of the game. Oh yeah, and Mickey inadvertently caused every major event prior to when he actually gets to Wasteland lol the music too? ICONIC. IMMACULATE. You can really feel the depressing, clunky, melancholic nature of the entire game. Disney will never make another game as great as EM I swear

Now the big one, 23, my greatest wow moment was probably before I even started playing the game. (Big The Binding of Isaac spoilers ahead)

My bf had offered to buy me the game and I was thinking hey cool, I had heard of this game years ago and watched all the cutscenes, it wouldn't hurt to get a refresher. Don't wanna look like a dummy in front of him so I did. I however did not realize Repentance added new cutscenes and holy shit.

The one that hit me the most was the "True Ending" or Home/Beast ending. There, after defeating the "mother of harlots" (the third or fourth mom boss variant otherwise known as The Beast) you hear the narrator describing her death and Isaac's ascent into heaven:

"and as he flew, he could see echos of his past before him;

He saw his mother mourning the loss of her son.

He saw his father leaving them without turning to say goodbye.

He saw his mother sleeping, and his father taking money from her purse.

He heard the late night fights they had that kept him up at night, and the guilt he felt for what he believed he was causing.

He felt the pain in his stomach during those sleepless nights, and his shadow in the closet waiting for him.

As he rose he felt his fears drop from his body. His shame, his worry, pulled from his being. As he became lighter, his ascent became faster.

He saw his one true companion alive and well!

He saw his mother and father together again, holding each other!

He felt his mother kissing him on the head after he had said his prayers, and the comfort in knowing someone was watching over him.

He saw his own birth and the faces of his parents, filled with joy and optimism.

And then, he saw nothing."

The "narrator" had been previously revealed to be Isaac's father and he asks him if he wants to write a different story, one with a happy ending. He asks Isaac if he's getting sleepy (the voice actor for him is so authentic and adorable I'm tearing up thinking about his delivery of his lines) to which he says yes. He begins another story; "Isaac and his parents" instead of "Isaac and his mother" like at the start of the game.

There're two ways to interpret this; the "it was all a story made by Isaac and his dad" theory which is really dumb because it doesn't make much sense at all given what we know about the other endings and what the story bosses represent.

The theory I personally believe is Isaac is dead and in heaven. Isaac was never a bad kid like he thought he was and given what I know about Christianity (as I am a Christian myself) Isaac would absolutely get into heaven. I believe the narrator who is telling him these stories is God, or at least how Isaac is perceiving him with a similar voice as his own father since he probably grew up with pastors teaching about how God is our Father in heaven.

This ending did and still wrecks me. I'm emotional thinking about it. Such a powerful ending nobody really expected from a nihilistic, satirical, shitposty game like TBOI but it's probably my favorite. And now you see why I said I have my own personal answer for 23 prepared lol

Hope these are the answers you wanted, I could go on for ages about Epic Mickey and The Binding of Isaac, probably my two favorite games of all time

#ask me things #epic mickey #the binding of isaac #crying sobbing weeping isaac my baby boy my child #there's a reason i still rep him on discord #and I'm afraid if i change my pfp my bf won't be able to find me lol #I've had that isaac pfp for like 2 almost 3 years now and I'm afraid to change it #edit: CRYING I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED MY SCREENSHOT OF THE VG ASK NUMBERS HELP

8 notes · View notes

ntls-24722 · 1 year

Text

i HATE this bitch. but i LOVE HER. I DESPISE THIS BITCH

ok. LISTEN. dont let these cute pics fool you. she's fucked up. but i love her as a character

Clavier is pretty much a bastardization of my Glamrock DJMM concept where he just leaves the plex on account of the fact he's no longer limited to the fact he's like 2 stories tall. There's two timelines of how this plays out that lead to radically different DJMMs, Creek and Clavier. (btw i made them both bigender so i'll be switching up pronouns a lot. so watch out lmao)

Creek, instead of gradually assimilating into society like Clavier, befriended all the birds in a 10 mile radius and used her massive bird army to force the local government into letting her be a person. I adore Creek.

Clavier, on the other hand, had a very slow transition into society which also led to her trying to be as human as she can with modifications to her model, like her face being covered in silicone and having actual eyes instead of black voids of nothingness (this, storywise, comes off a lot like him transitioning, which personally hits home). They also have a lot of... like... dysphoria? Over not being human? Which, originally, mostly led to her "transition" but like, this also lead to... extreme measures. Which leads me to why i want to throw her down the stairs 😳

So, Clavier is aware that there is nothing for her after death since she's powered off and has faced the robot equivalent of death. So she's just scared shitless of that. But he believes that humans do have an afterlife (and, iirc, in fnaf lore, he's right?) that he is unable to access due to not having a soul, which is very convoluting for him as someone who is. very religious.

I forgot to mention but in both timelines, they have a gf who they love the absolute shit out of named Bea. They're so disgustingly in love and its really sweet and Clavier ruins it by being... Clavier. Because she learns about Afton's work and realizes that she could take a soul for herself and hopefully get an afterlife of some kind. (by the way, i feel like its worthy to note that she isn't scared of hell. she doesn't mind suffering for eternity as long as she is somewhere.)

And because he fears that he can't take any old soul, it might possess him and take him over - if he wanted to assimilate with a soul he wants it to be a good one, and he immediately and begrudgingly targets Bea, since he believes she has the greatest soul around.

So he writes down just about EVERYTHING about Bea. Cataloguing hypotheticals, her dreams, everything she loved, and for years he works and works to make them come true so that she wouldn't have regrets when she died. When he feels like it's been enough, he takes her out on one last date and kills her with a shot of pentobarbitol, so she'd die painlessly just as she hoped.

As she withers in his arms she admits that if he had waited just a little longer, she would've proposed to him that night and Clavier is left with the crushing realization of just what he had done and his empty victory of having her soul and heart, torn from her and stuffed inside himself.

get fucked clavier, L bozo

Anyways other than creepy christian DJMM i have Comet as a Bigass House

Usually for versions of Comet I keep him, like, organic? Idk what I was doing here? But i made him into a giant sentient spider house and its also a redesign from this, which changed almost nothing about him.

In the giant list of music man aus he's known as the solarpunk one since in the loosely developed world that he's a part of, its a cool solarpunk future and everyone actually grows much of their own food. The world is back to a massive trading community, it's great

While not a music man, these guys are part of SOS - The hemonymphs, shapeshifting bloodsuckers who all have daddy issues.

They were SUPPOSED to be mosquito people (they still are) but as i developed them they became these weird teethbirds. as weird as they look i actually really love these guys i think they're so silly

Weird bit of their lore, but they're kind of not a species??? They're all siblings since they all almost exclusively come from THIS creepy asshole: Dr. Hemlock, a mistake from the facility (the Oort Cloud) that created Comet - He's a psycho who goes around decapitating people and sucking the soul out of em, and began asexually reproducing to do the same thing to his kids or to use them as pawns. zoinks‼️

#dj music man #djmm #djmm oc #fnaf au #ntls-24722 #(almost) daily music man

10 notes · View notes

dragonmuse · 2 years

Note

what about Izzy's thought process (or lack thereof) in Sing a New Song when he beats that guy up for Lucius and then is ashamed of his violence, and confused when Lucius is okay with it?

(oooh excellent *rubs hands together*)

Putting himself out there like that had been more frightening than Izzy would care to admit. He'd almost backed out, but the sure knowledge that Jim would never let him live it down had pushed him out there. He'd survived it by just concentrating on Lucius, an audience of one.

And then he'd gotten to stumble off stage right into such a rough embrace that it would climb the charts of the greatest hits that played in his head during his lonelier moments. Lucius was so rarely out of control, definitely never that vicious in public. It had sunk Izzy down to the depths almost immediately and he went to collect his bag in a dazed state.

Vaguely, he thought someone tell him something, maybe pat him on the back, but it was lost in the buzz and the direction. He made it outside just in time to catch the guy pushing Lucius up against the wall.

Izzy dropped his bag.

In the end days of his time with Eddy, then with Jackie, he had forgotten how to reach this place. The violence had become something he did mechanically. A well greased machine going through the motions.

But it hadn't always been like that. Once it had been more personal. Once it had been about adrenaline and hate. Once it had been the beast. And just now, the beast in him woke up and growled.

There was no finesse to it, not that there was the need. This guy had muscles for show. To push people around. He took the first punch badly, staggering back and that's the only weakness Izzy needed. There was nothing, but the target. Nothing, but death on his mind.

"Iz, enough!"

He stopped dead. The adrenaline still pulsed through him and he wanted to...fuck he didn't even know. He didn't actually want to kill this dumb piece of shit. But maybe keep hitting him for a little. But Lucius had said stop. Lucius didn't want him to do it. He flexed his hands uselessly.

Someone gasped and that broke his concentration. He looked up and found half of the Revenge staff staring at him. They were all in various states of surprise and probably repulsion. Jesus, these soft motherfuckers hired other people to do this so they wouldn't have to see. They didn't hurt people. Didn't know from it.

He found Lucius' eyes. This is what I am, he tried to say. Not whatever you just saw on stage. This is my stage and this is what I do. All the civility you've shellacked over me can't hide it.

Lucius walked carefully forward, stepping over the man on the ground like he was so much garbage. Was this how it ended? After he'd just made such a ridiculous display of himself? After nearly four years? This was what had exposed him?

Then Lucius' fingers closed around his wrist so hard that the leather bit into his skin. His lips grazed Izzy's ear. Izzy tried to brace himself for anything Lucius might say.

“You’re going to take me back to wherever you’ve pitched your tent and we’re doing exactly what you begged me for.”

Fear drained away in an instant and it was replaced with a lust so sharp he could taste it in the back of his throat. So fast that he didn't even fully get what Lucius was implying.

“What I-” The song. The fucking song that Oluwande had dug out, presented to him with a cheeky grin and absolutely no way of knowing it was exactly what Izzy had wanted. “But that’s on your red list. I didn’t actually-”

“Because you’re making me fucking feral, goblin. Are you going to ask questions or are you going to show me where you parked so we can get the hell out of here?”

He was making Lucius feral? Because Izzy was just about to howl at the fucking moon. He'd been seen, exposed and ripped apart tonight and all Lucius wanted was to give him everything he wanted? He'd ask questions in the morning. Worry about it in the morning. All he wanted right now was the run of a knife against his skin held by a beloved hand.

#leda house and the kraken verse #ficlet #izzy hands #lucius black #goblin king and the pup

28 notes · View notes

metamelonisle · 2 years

Text

Recently I was listening to an Earthbound fan composition about Ness' fight with Giygas. it had two samples. a speech by bray wyatt about the false nature of heroes, and a sample of J. Robert Oppenheimer reciting the Bhagavad Vita.

These two samples made me think a lot about a scene from earthbound, but it wasn't the Giygas fight. I think it was the title that made me think this.

"i am the evil in your heart"

I think this song is about Ness' Nightmare.

And it fit so well.

Ness was picked by Buzz Buzz to destroy Giygas, the strongest PSI user in the universe, because his potential for PSI was also the greatest in the universe.

To unlock this power, he had to use the whole Earth as a conduit for his PSI by absorbing the power of the eight Your Sanctuary locations around the world. Doing so would raise his PSI to the level of Giygas, allowing him to vanquish them once and for all.

So here we are. At the center of the Sea of Eden, the heart of Magicant.

And it's at this point that this really gets to me.

Ness is the strongest organism alive at this point. His power is literally matched only by the greatest evil in the universe.

And if Giygas turned evil because he was corrupted by his own strength...

This is the meaning of the Nightmare.

Ness knows that once he wakes up, he will no longer be "just a boy with PSI". He will wake up with the definitive ability to end the world.

"Now I am become Death, the Destroyer of Worlds."

I suppose that quote, recited from a scripture he knew little about by a scientist famed with creating the worst invention, rang in his head as he made his way to the statue.

I suppose he thought that of himself, in in one way or another.

And the speech. The speech.

Ness has been hailed as a hero by everyone around him. From Buzz Buzz and Picky to the Tendas of the Lost Underworld to his own friends and enemies, he's had no shortage of people assuring him of his own kindness and greatness.

But does Ness really believe that? Does he truly think of himself as a good person, let alone a hero?

Are heroes even real?

Giygas wasn't always evil. Before he was a cruel tyrant, he was the kindhearted son of Maria.

But Giygas grew powerful. He became so powerful that nobody could ever face him. So powerful that he lost his respect for others. He lost his sight of the value of life. He lost his love for anyone.

He grew so powerful he lost his mind.

Ness could probably take Giygas. He knows this. Giygas himself is not what worries Ness anymore.

What worries Ness at this point is what happens afterwards. After everyone goes back home.

With Giygas dead, Ness' power will have no equal. He will be the uncontested strongest individual in the universe.

And if Ness knows anything...

It's that absolute power corrupts absolutely.

If Giygas became evil because he was corrupted by his own power, then...

What will stop him from suffering the same fate?

What will prevent him from becoming just like the evil he journeyed so far to defeat?

One of my favorite interpretations of Ness' Nightmare is that it doesn't look like the Mani-Mani statue. It looks like Ness. Identical to him in every way. There are no bloodstains, no red eyes, no scars, nothing. Just a boy with a certain look in his eyes, a mirthless expression on his face, an unnervingly relaxed body language.

But Ness already knows. He knows by the look in his eyes that this is his worst nightmare, staring him in the face. He knows that this is more than just a fear.

This is him.

This is who he will be when he wakes up from Magicant. When he leaves the Fire Spring. When he faces and defeats Giygas. When he goes home. When he falls victim to his own power and loses his mind and his heart.

This is his greatest fear. His nightmare.

That he'll win. He'll beat Giygas. And in the end..

He'll turn out just like him.

#paint.txt #mother #long post #ness' nightmare #ness

15 notes · View notes