#so him destroying something that induces fears would be so cool

[mitsukui]

late night experiences | g.w.

Pairing: George Weasley x female reader.

Summary:  learning new things is always better when it is done with someone else.

Word Count: 2,7k.

Warnings: smut! Masturbation, mentions of innocence kink.

Disclaimer: none of the pictures used in the edit below belong to me; I simply put them together.

A/N: please, leave me some feedback if you feel like it! My askbox is open for your opinions, thoughts and requests. Thank you so much for your time and attention ❤

Masterlist!

Your last year at Hogwarts rushed into your life without warning — and so did your sexual hormones. You swore to Merlin you could feel them tingling all over your body whenever you solely looked at George Weasley, your majestic boyfriend. And apparently, he felt the same way towards you. Wondering the reason behind it all, you were quick to blame the fact that the two of you had just turned 18.

You had been together for a little while now: around nine months or so. But nothing had ever happened, and you were not quite sure why. You two had, supposedly, everything needed: steamy make-out sessions, wandering hands, lustful thoughts, privacy, and all that jazz. Yet, there you were: ground zero.

However, things were about to change even though you still were unconscious about it.

“Psst!” Your favorite quill stopped scribbling your Herbology notes. “Oi!” Your eyes gazed at the direction from which came the voice only to realize it was one of your classmates, Angelina Johnson. “I’ve discovered something last night which I thought you might be interested in.” A mischievous smirk painted her lips as you leaned in closer, already feeling eager to listen to whatever she had to say. She was one of those people who made anyone pay attention to them whenever they said something.

Her hushed whispers filled the existing silence between you two in the Study Area once more. “The boys were talking in our common room last night, and rumor has it George can’t keep his hands off of his cock whenever he thinks of you.”

Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet giggled like little girls when she finally finished her speech. You could feel your cheeks getting embraced by a deep and violent warmness. Uh-oh.

Your mind suddenly produced images by itself: George’s chest going up and down quickly as he moaned under his breath. He had his long and slender fingers wrapped around his dick and, sweet Merlin, he was big. Big and thick and veiny. His eyelashes fluttered as his hand pumped up and down a few times, precum leaking from his tip.

Heaven probably looked like that. What a lovely sight. You would give anything to actually see the great George Weasley in such a position. But, again: ground zero.

Still, the possibility of him pleasuring himself at the thought of you seemed to awake something new inside your chest and offer you a novel tingling sensation. You felt a burning flame in your loins, and it was almost as if your entire body were on fire.

You wanted him to jerk off thinking of you. You wanted his hands to get dirty from his own seed because of you.

You gulped. Snapping fingers brought you back to reality. “Girl, it’s high time you gave that poor lad some love, you know.”

The next few days felt slow and eternal. George Weasley and George Weasley’s thick dick were the only things occupying your mind. Of course, you had fantasized about him before; but it had never been that vivid. Things are always better when they are real, after all.

And you wanted to do something about it. Your soul ached for him to share his hidden and erotic reality with you. Your flesh longed to be painfully close to his. Your body and your hands desired to tease him and give him something to be unbearably hard over. You obviously would not feel in peace until you got what you wanted.

That is why the suggestion of a late night meeting in the Prefect’s Bathroom came to life. It was discussed during another of your studying session with Angelina, Alicia and Katie, being first brought on by Angelina, of course. That girl had many wild cards up her sleeve.

“I happen to know the password. Got it from a Slytherin guy, after giving him a few galleons.”

“And a blowjob, too.” Alicia responded with her eyebrows raised and a mischievous grin hanging on her lips.

As the three other girls laughed carelessly, seeming to be extremely relaxed and confident to talk about such a topic, you chewed on your bottom lip. Jittery feelings bubbled up within your veins while concern clouded your mind. You had a severe lack of inexperience when it came down to anything sexual.

Your temporary anxiety was sharply noticed by Katie, who positioned her hand over yours in a comforting act. Her fingers soothed your skin, her next words slipping out of her lips as motherly advice.

“Don’t feel pressured to do anything, honestly. George is one of the most understanding people I have ever met. But I think a little bit of intimacy would work wonders on you, both of you.” Her grip on your hand became a bit tighter, and her warmth was incredibly pacifying. “You know, just suggest going to the Prefect’s Bathroom tomorrow night. He will surely accept, once he is heads over heels for you. Get in the warm, bubbly water. Kiss him, if you feel comfortable enough for that. And just see where it goes.”

Your other two friends nodded, assuring you everything was alright and that you could always count on them for support and advice. The conversation went on for a little longer, they sharing intimacy tips and encouraging you.

Luckily enough, the next morning was one that you had classes with George. You brought on the subject in the end of the lesson, while he gathered his material quietly.

His lips opened up in a bright smile in the moment you appeared in front of him, but his expression was soon destroyed by your visible tensed posture.

“Hey, gorgeous. Are you alright?”

You sighed shortly, trying to relieve some of your internalized insecurities. The suggestion came out of your lips in a mere murmur, but he was smart enough to grasp onto all of your words. His eyes noticed your dodging gaze and your fidgeting fingers, playing with the hem of your tie. You looked absolutely adorable to him.

“See you later tonight, then. Prefect’s Bathroom, 12AM sharp. I won’t be late.”

The rest of the day felt like an eternity. Perhaps, it was the uncertainty of it all, given that there was no way to predict how the scenario would take place later on. But the time for your meeting agonizingly came, and you were forced to leave your dormitory.

The weather was unpleasantly hot, and it was hard for you to tell whether it was due to the time of the year you were going through, or to the fact you were walking towards your own doom.

You had been curious and tempted to get to know his darker and more lustful façade but, at the same time, you were ashamed of how much you craved him despite being your first time feeling anything like that. Those same novel tingles from before returned to your loins as your made your way to the fifth floor.

Underneath your favorite carmine red pleated skirt and a muggle band T-shirt, you wore a set of lingerie that had not received much attention when previously picked out, which was a simple white bra paired with white panties, covered in tiny pink strawberries. When you were about to reach your destination, you came down to the realization of how childish your underwear looked. You inhaled sharply, concluding you had ruined everything.

Eventually, you and George met, and entered the bathroom hand in hand.

Although you had heard of its wonderful interiors, seeing everything with your own eyes for the first time made you gasp. Your gaze traveled through the place, and you wished to engrave every detail in your heart. The white marble grandness awoke a sense of greatness and admiration inside you, and you almost fell to your knees right then and there.

A tad of small talk was exchanged between you and your boyfriend, until he approached you at last. His big hands cupped your delicate face, and he leaned down to kiss you.

His lips were so terribly gentle that they sent butterflies to your stomach. He showed no shyness in the second his hands roamed down your body and found your back, giving your ass a light squeeze. Unable to control yourself, you moaned and pressed your body against his.

A steamy make out moment was held between the two of you until the moment for the truth hovered over your heads. He rested his forehead against yours, and looked at you with loving eyes as his thumb ran over your lips.

“Tell me why we are here, darling.”

“It’s just that…There had been this rumor, you know?” A shy chuckle escaped your lips, and you closed your eyes, trying to block out all the filthy images suddenly appearing in your mind. “People have been saying that you jerk off thinking about me. But I’m not sure if it’s true or not, because we have –“

“It is true.” The coolness in his voice caught you off guard, and you blinked at him in a mixture of shock and self-induced accomplishment: your boyfriend touched himself at the thought of you.

Your eyelashes fluttered until your eyes were shut, and a sigh escaped your lips. Your mind knew no restrains at that moment, and the images you had been blocking out came to life all at once, violently crashing against your insides, almost like agitated waves at a beach.

Silence embraced the two of you again, but neither of you felt bothered by it. You took your time to let the sinful images sink in, and he took his time to study your face. You had been clearly affected by the truth he had just spilled out, and he secretly enjoyed such thing. He could read you like the palm of his hand, and he knew you were thinking about him with his dick out.

As he breathed heavily, fearing air would forever leave his lungs after what he was about to do, he prepared himself for what was about to come. His thumb ran over your slightly swollen lips but, this time, he parted them with a gentle tug on your lower lip. George timidly shoved his thumb into your mouth, and you, with your eyes still closed, took all of it.

Your tongue swirl against his finger, the feeling of your saliva dancing against his skin sending electrical waves down his spine. You continued on sucking him until your cheeks finally hollowed, and he pulled his finger out with a low ‘pop’ noise.

You opened your eyes in a deep frustration, but he could no longer take it. His cock was hard inside his trousers and it battled for its freedom. He breathed unsteadily and with a bit of difficulty, his mind starting to wonder how your lips would feel wrapped around his tip.

The realization that you two had never done anything before hit him hard, and he felt himself twitching while precum started wetting the fabric of his underwear.

Would it be selfish of him to think he would probably be the first one ever to taste your cunt? The first one to penetrate you, the first one to end your innocence for eternity, the first one to feel your walls clenching around him, the first one to make you cum.

George was forced to step back and groan in bitterness. He really wanted to fuck you, but he would never disrespect you or your limits. Plus, on top of that, he really did not know how he could express his urges.

“S-Sorry, darling. I-I-I don’t know what’d gotten into me, I guess I just lo-“

“Can you show me how you touch yourself?”

The question hung on air for one or two moments. You could not believe what you had just said. You were drunk on a new dizzying and exciting sensation, one that left your panties secretly wet and your clit throbbing, and one which made you ask your boyfriend to masturbate right in front of you.

So he did it. Apparently, Katie was right: George Weasley would gladly accept anything you asked him.

After the enormous bathtub had been filled with water and bubbles, he undressed and you lost all of your senses for a bit.

His fair skin carried grand amounts of both freckles and small scars. His entire silhouette was outlined by groups of yet developing muscles, but each one of them caused more wetness to pool in your strawberries ridiculously covered panties. George was so tall, his shoulders were so broad, and his dick was indeed so big.

When all of his being finally became bare in front of you, you rubbed your thighs together, the need for friction creeping inside your body for the first time ever.

You stood still exactly where you were, but he made his way to the tub, sitting on the edge of the white porcelain. He lowered his dark eyes to his throbbing member and his touch caused a relieved sigh to leave his lips. His hand moved up and down a few times until he looked at you again.

There was something different on his face. His eyelids seemed to be a tad heavier, and the sounds slipping out of his slightly parted lips were the most delicious thing you had ever heard.

George Weasley was jerking off right in front of you. He was moaning only for you. And you hoped he would cum just for you, too.

As the minutes slowly went by the two of you, you watched him quietly. However, it was impossible for him to keep quiet. By now, his moans were loud and shameless. He whispered your name every now and then, the thought of you bouncing up and down his dick providing all the fuel he needed to orgasm only for you.

That was entirely new for you. You felt so dirty, so sinful, so misbehaved, but you were living for it. You wanted more of him, and you also wanted to give George more of you. And that was exactly the reason why you said your next sentence out loud.

“Can I touch myself?”

His ears convinced himself that he had heard it incorrectly, but the way your fingers tugged on your T-shirt, and your thighs rubbed together, he knew he was not mistaken. A new rush of pleasure ran through his veins and he pumped his hand faster. Unable to form coherent sentences, he mumbled something along the lines of ‘please’ and nodded vehemently.

In the blink of an eye, both of your bodies were unclothed and both of you played with your intimacies. George’s right hand applied all the pressure that could possibly resemble your tight cunt wrapped around his cock, and your fingers helped the squelching sounds coming from your wetness to echo in the bathroom. You had never thought that so many lustful sensations could occupy your body all at once and, yet, there you were: masturbating at the sight of your boyfriend doing the exact same.

By now, you also had problems breathing and the tight knot inside your body screamed for a break. You pulled your hand away from your dripping cunt, but you remained connect to your womanhood by a very thin and almost invisible string of your juices.

George obviously noticed that tiny detail and it was too much for him. He announced he was close and, soon enough, his skin was stained by the pleasure you had given him. His eyes were closed as he felt his heartbeat increasing and the images of you still haunting his mind.

The way he accepted and let his orgasm work on his body made you move your hand against your clit faster and you followed him in a matter of seconds. Your body trembled and you could not stop whining.

You had never experienced something so astonishingly sensational.

Your pants filled the bathroom for a little while before his body finally slipped into the still warm water. The comfort offered by the setting relaxed his existence and he weakly called and asked you to join him, which you happily agreed with.

He touched your hips and pulled you closer, placing your body against his chest. With his lips pressed against your temple, he whispered a series of ‘thank you’ and ‘you are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen’.

However, his final words changed the mood completely and you hated him for it.

“That’s a nice pair of panties, by the way.”

Tag list! ❤️  @efyra​ @writingsomewrongs​ @kellsslut​ @pineapplesandpinas​ @fiction-is-the-new-reality​ @hufflepuff5972​ @amourtentiaa​ @emmaev​ @asthmax​ @anchoeritic​ @eunoia-kth​

#george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley smut #george weasley #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter smut #🌼 — personal: writings

[goodieghosty]

Me: Goddammit brain please you already have so many sanders sides aus you do not need to make another one just because of one audio-

Also me: owo modern gods au, all of the sides are gods

But uh ye

Please stop me but also don't because uh, 👀 I'm already imagining all the drama they all would have gone through and I love it.

Roman and Remus are both gods of the arts and are able to create anything so long as they can imagine it. Their creative differences are what split them apart until recent years, they're still in competition with each other, of course. Remus is absolutely responsible for every nightmare inducing creature on the planet

Patton is a fertility god, and is known as a protector of children. It's not easy to get on his bad side, unless, of course, that person is an abuser. Then he will make it his personal duty to make sure their crops suffer. But not many have crops nowadays, so their bad fortune will manifest in other ways. Impotence, for example. A demotion. Success will never come that person's way. He's very morals based, and back in the day if a farmer had bad crops if was often seen as them not being in Patton's favor. Basically if you had "good morals" you'd thrive, if you didn't, you'd suffer. He's a little lost now, as he's coming to terms with the fact that not everything is black and white.

Logan is a god of wisdom and innovation. Scholars would turn to him for insight and he would provide them through visions. He's always searching for bright minds to help further humanity, but often times they do not heed him, and that infuriates him to no end.

Janus is a god of deception and war. Do I really need to explain? Well I will anyways. He really, really liked playing both sides. Didn't matter which one paid him more tribute, he would only help whichever one would benefit himself in the long run. Many have tried to have his head for the betrayal, especially other gods, whose favorite cities were decimated by his actions. It's given him many a scar. Roman is the one who gave him the half snake appearance, after a particularly nasty war destroyed the city that revered him the most

Virgil is a god of darkness and nightmares. He thinks humanity never should have discovered fire, because they were better off being fearful of everything. He exists everywhere there is darkness. His proudest creation was the night sky. Nothing but pitch blackness as far as the eye could see-and then Roman created the stars as a gift for Logan and Yes he is still bitter about it.

I'm just saying as immortal beings they've all gotten around. Remus is the worst about it tho, he's like if Zeus and Loki became one being like-Remus is responsible for so many demigods and creatures. Bish literally once turned up with just a mass of tentacles all swaddled up and went "hey Roman come meet your nephew Cthulhu-" "idk what the hell that is but you can take it right tf back to the depths of the ocean" "aw ;n; "

They're gods and they're all gay and they can all shapeshift so having kids is just, p simple. Janus once tricked a king into marrying him by disguising himself as a beautiful woman, and then had a child who would later on betray the kingdom by killing said king. All because the king killed one of his snakes. Throughout the whole marriage and pregnancy Janus wore a veil-because he can't hide the snake part of his face-and warned the king that should he try to peer beneath it, terrible things would happen. Well the king did, and the rest was history

Roman falls in love too easily, especially with mortals. It's a tragedy really. He did once have something with Logan, but Logan didn't feel the same. Roman thinks if he keeps displaying these fantastic feats and giving these amazing gifts he'll get somewhere, but no. With mortals however-they eat that up.

Whenever Roman comes around with "I'm in love!" they're all over it-except Patton. Patton is just happy for him. Virgil however "you know, you throw that word around so much I don't think you understand what it means" and Roman is always so defensive "and what do you know about love?" "I know the difference between actually loving someone, and loving the attention. If you want attention so badly you should seek out your worshippers. A week from now you're going to get bored of them, just like all the others."

They just constantly butt heads. Until one day Patton has enough and puts them together for a task all "I am sick and tired of you two being at each other's throats, so you're going to work together and make something. Using both your abilities." And that's how storm clouds and thunderstorms came to be and Virgil finally saw how light and dark bring out the best in each other. And now he has a crush on Roman, but Roman is dense af and just keeps falling for mortals

Patton lost his cool one time. Once. And that was when his greatest patron turned out to be selling children into slavery. Logan helped plan it, Janus was the one who managed to get all those involved-patron included-all in one place. And then they just turned Patton loose like, yeah. He destroyed an entire villa and leveled it to the ground

Remus loves making oddball creatures and showing Logan because Logan always finds them interesting and he always gives him input

Now imagine all that, now imagine them all trying to fit in with modern society

#goodie talks #i just??? #u g h #godsides au #sanders sides

[little-murmaider]

Well @offdensmith ‘s Nategaar OTP answer and @frienderbender ‘s Skwisgaar in therapy comic have me feeling A Way so!!!! Also thank you @insomniac-pens for edits!

“How’d it go?”

Skwisgaar flopped onto Nathan’s bed face-first, his prolonged groan muffled by the mountain range of pillows. 

“That bad, huh?” 

Closing his book on a faded Burzums receipt, Nathan knuckled aside Skwisgaar’s hair and massaged the back of his neck. Skwisgaar hummed in appreciation.  

“Hads to talks about Little Skwisgaar.” 

“Ugh, I hate when he makes me do that.”

Rolling onto his side, Skwisgaar scooched up to rest his head on Nathan’s shoulder. “He says dat’s de best ways to work throughs my.” He waggled his fingers. “Childhood traumas.”

“Always with the childhood trauma, that guy! It’s like, we get it, we all have an alarming number of unaddressed psychological issues, move on!”

“Pfft, ja. Gets dis, today he says dat my needs to appear as dis untouchables closed off cool guys stems from my fears of emotional intimacys, ands was likelys a copingks mechanism developed durings a volatile childhoods wif a narcissistic and neglectful parent.” He coughed, fingers thrumming against Nathan’s collar bone. “Or somet’ings likes dat.” 

“He can cope with this mechanism!” He palmed his crotch. “Did you say that? That’s what I would have said. If it was me. And I was there.”

Nathan expected a laugh. Dick-based punchlines were a guaranteed laugh from Skwisgaar; for all his posturing, he had the comedic sensibilities of a middle schooler. But Skwisgaar didn’t laugh. Instead, he looped an arm across Nathan’s waist, curling his knees into himself like a moon shell.  

“Cans I stays here for a little bits?” He murmured. 

A cold, disarming pulse rocketed through Nathan’s bloodstream.

“Uhhhhhhhhh yeah dude. Yeah. Yeah.” He leaned toward the night stand, hand hovering over the remote. “You want to put something on, or…?”

Skwisgaar shook his head. “Dat’s okay. I just…”

The arm draped over him curved tighter around his body, hand splaying against his ribs.

“…Wants to be wif you, rights now.”

“Oh. Uh. Okay.”

Thumbing away his makeshift bookmark, Nathan tried to pick up where he left off, the book’s spine digging a divot into his palm as he balanced his wrist on Skwisgaar’s shoulder. He found himself scanning the same passage over and over, unable to focus through the fog of confusion that had settled over his senses. This was…weird. He didn’t know why it was weird, or what to do to make it less weird. He’d never been good at reading these kind of situations. (Or, according to That Guy, he lacked emotional literacy or whatever, he was working on it whatever!) Best he could do was stew in the weirdness, let it simmer around him until it broke down into a delicious broth of normal. Had he missed second lunch? How soon was dinner? Was it too late to ask Jean-Pierre for soup?

Wetness seeped through the material of Nathan’s shirt. He smirked. Skwisgaar must have dozed off—the trickle writhing down Nathan’s chest must have been his drool. Gross, but not an uncommon occurrence. For some reason Skwisgaar was most relaxed when the two of them were alone. It puffed Nathan’s ego with a misguided pride, that the most tightly-wound person in the world unraveled with him.  

But that pride vanished the moment he realized Skwisgaar was crying.

Technically, he shouldn’t have been shocked. Technically, this wasn’t the first time he’d seen Skwisgaar cry. There had been plenty of stress-induced meltdowns; plenty of shaky insistences he was TOTALLY HIGH as globs of corpse paint dribbled off his cheeks. This wasn’t like that. This was new, and rare, and required a delicacy way above Nathan’s emotional pay grade. Oh God. He was going to fuck this up so bad. He was going to destroy Skwisgaar, destroy their friendship, destroy the band and, much less importantly, destroy the global economy. Oh God oh God he was going to fuck this up so bad! The book tumbled from his fingertips, his body on autopilot. One hand snaked through the rolling golden waves of Skwisgaar’s hair. The other anchored between Skwisgaar’s shuddering shoulder blades. Feeling Skwisgaar’s hitching sigh of relief, Nathan’s panic settled. Against the odds, he’d stumbled into the correct reaction. He did something right.   He gathered Skwisgaar closer, the rhythm of his sobs mirroring the beat of Nathan’s heart.

Time grew hazy. Nathan was unsure how long they laid there, how long he held him. Long enough that when Skwisgaar wriggled out of his grip and rocked onto his knees Nathan’s arms ached at the absence.

“H’okays.” Fixing Nathan with a watery smile, he swept at his cheeks with a flourishing flick of his wrists, eyes bright as heat lightning. (Once he’d confided when he was little his mom would purposely make him cry because she loved how deeply blue it made his eyes. He’d shared it as though it was a wacky, hilarious anecdote but it left Nathan with nothing but a gutting sadness.) “I’m normal nows.”

Nathan bobbed his chin. “Sick.” Sick? He’d never said sick in his life, why did he choose to do so now? What was the matter with him? What the hell was emotional literacy???

Skwisgaar raked his hair back from the roots, lips twisting as if he were considering the notes of a wine. Nathan anticipated a bailout. He waited for the half-baked dismissal of what occurred, the flimsy excuse to leave, the tacit agreement to never speak of it again. But when he spoke, Skwisgaar said, softly, “t’anks you.” Nathan balked. “For what?” “Dere amn’ts a lots of people I cans...does dat wif. Most times I just does it by myselfs. But.” His gaze lowered, shyness coloring his smile as a flush colored his cheeks. “Ams really happy I haves you.” Nathan’s face heated, an unfamiliar pressure building behind his sinuses. He felt his lips part and waited for his brain to push something ruinous to fall out of them. Before he had the chance, he curved his hands around the back of Skwisgaar’s neck, drew him back down into the bed. They melted into each other and kissed until their jaws ached.

#metalocalypse #nategaar #my fanfic

[allandoflimbo]

Ashens (Part 7)

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Dystopian.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 4,235 words 

Rating: M for Mature, E for explicit. Enemies to lovers trope, sharing a bed trope, friends with benefits trope, temporarily unrequited love, heavy angry sex, heavy on the angst, and very strong language.

Chapter Summary: Some of Bucky's inner feelings towards Y/N gets revealed on their first day on their own.

Full Masterpage | Part 6

STEVE was the one who tightened your velcro backpack around your small shoulders.

You continued to stare into the rising sun behind the blowing trees. It must’ve been a little after 5 AM, since the orange clouds were beginning to mix in with the dark blue of a new sky, announcing the arrival of a brand new day.

Today was the first day of your mission with Bucky, and to say you were fixated on your ultimate goal was an understatement.

The camp didn’t have a running shower, but they had a secluded and private area off to the side that provided warm water and some soap made with lye and lard. The water had to be heated up overnight by an attended fire and then left for an hour before you had to get ready to let it cool down.

When one of the girls had handed you the freshly made bar, the look she gave you scared you.

She had a certain fear in them that you couldn’t quite place and it shook you to the bone.

Was she unhopeful for your return?

When you had entered the little shower, which was just four pieces of wood tall enough to cover your most intimate areas, and you dunked your mud cup into the warm water, you definitely felt like you were being prepared like a sacrificial lamb.

You felt like you were being cleansed and prepared for death.

But as you rinsed away the lye off your skin, and you shuddered against the cold winter air which was beginning to feel like sharp knives, you quickly shoved those thoughts away.

You had to focus on your goal and what it was you were actually being prepared for. This was your opportunity to give your parents what they deserve; the outcome they would want.

After your shower, you quickly dried yourself off with a long and grey rag that had been draped over the “door” for you, and you slid your arms into your heavy coat.

Quickly, to avoid getting the flu that could potentially kill you faster than any other virus ever could, you ran into your tent and slid on your attire.

It was the same one you had worn before you arrived, but Jessica had been extremely kind to you and had it washed and folded stacked neatly next to your cot.

After you zipped on your boots, Steve had shown up and ran the information with you before your departure.

None of you knew exactly how life in The Capitol was.

There had been just one agent who had ever been close enough, and it had been about a year ago.

Bucky had sent Sharon to collect information that would be vital to help their mission, including how the people in The Capitol dressed, how they wore their hair, how they behaved, and if they used any kind of special currency.

Apparently, the clothing they wore, you would have to buy when you got there. It would be possible for the camp to try and knit them so that when you arrived you would fit in right away, but unfortunately, it would not protect you during the three-day walk to get there.

There was nothing different regarding hair or currency, which was a very helpful piece to learn. It meant you and Bucky would not need to go under any crazy makeovers.

Any specific makeup look or hairdo you preferred, you were free to do as you pleased when you arrived.

The only tricky part of getting into The Capitol and not being caught was your identification.

Anyone who resided within The Wall carried a hologram ID that presented your picture, name, resident number, and occupation.

If there was anything Tony Stark left behind, it was his knowledge and technology that had been left behind and protected.

You don’t know how they managed to save nearly all of it from the war and the bombing, but you didn’t ask questions. It didn’t surprise you that the avengers would go through such measures to have a legacy and vital equipment protected.

It had been just enough for Bruce to take it into his own hands and build an almost identical replica of the hologram ID that you and Bucky would need to present in order to do simple tasks like request a hotel room or enter an important building.

You didn’t take Bruces’ hard work for granted; apparently it had taken almost a year and a half just for him to make them.

It would still be a risk when you used your identification because even though your resident number was chosen with an advanced Linux method if it were to hit a miss in Hydra’s system, you and Bucky could be screwed.

Your arrival in the city would simply be accepted by luck.

Steve continued to tighten your backpack as he reminded you of what would happen when you and Bucky both arrived there.

First and utmost important, you would need to find a place to live. According to Sharon, there was a residency area not too far from the center of the city. You would go there and try to get a room.

Next, you and Bucky would need to discover your surroundings.

What was Hydra doing there? Where is Hydra’s main building? Were there anyone there that could possibly be there against their will? How did The Capitol work? What was life there like?

You would then need to set up your false identity, which would be the majority of the mission.

Once you both found where Hydra’s main focus was and from where they worked, you would need to find your way in. You would need to gather as much intel and information about everyone as much as you could.

That is when the team had presented you with an additional ID card, except this one was physical and just a regular white laminated card.

It was a resumé and well thought out employment card, which you and Bucky would use to apply at a Hydra Facility (but not the same one to not induce suspicion). This was an important key to the mission that both you and Bucky were reluctant on participating on, but after much consideration, it was concluded it was essential to winning this.

After you found out everything you both needed to know, after the six months, you would both escape and return to camp with the intel and information gathered that could successfully bring The Capitol’s society down.

One of them being the ring leader’s location. It would be important to the mission to not have anything destroyed, especially The Wall.

This was the part of the mission you did not like.

Because you would not leave The Capitol without having that man from the diner killed.

Part of you felt bad for secretly planning how to divert the avenger’s plan, but at the same time, you now knew that Bucky was also planning something that could potentially shock everyone.

You considered saying something to Steve as he made sure you had everything in your pack - food, blankets, med kit, and a gun with a silencer (the only thing you were allowed) - but you went against it as you remembered your promise to him.

He wanted you to help Bucky love himself again and to feel like he was meant for something more.

As you both walked out of the tent and fully into the outside world, right away you saw Bucky already strapping his own bag over his shoulder.

You know his bag held the same things yours did, except his held a military gun that would serve to protect you during the walk.

Unfortunately, you would not be allowed to take any weapons with you into the city. They would be left dug into a hole and abandoned.

Your heart skipped in your chest as you observed his dominating aura.

He wore attire similar to yours, except a male version. He had a black coat with a hood that strapped across the front of his chest. Attached to it was a hood similar to yours. You could tell he had layers of clothing under his jacket for protection, and his pants were thick and tucked into heavy boots.

A pair of leather gloves covered his hands. He was tightening the one over his metal arm when he looked over at you.

His eyes were dark and his teeth clenched as he looked you up and down. You quickly looked away and back at Steve.

Steve was tightening your tracker around your wrist.

“Remember, this will only keep you off their radar for ninety seconds and it can only be activated twice. You can only use it when you enter and leave the city,” you were in a daze as you felt the need to look up at Bucky again. The pull was inevitable, “Y/N,” Steve’s tone was sturdy and you blinked at him, “Got it?”

He looked at you apprehensively, his grip tight over your hand. You swallowed thickly and nodded.

“Got it. Just twice. Entering and leaving.”

He nodded and pulled the sleeves of your coat halfway up both hands.

He gave you one more look and then nodded with his head towards Bucky, backing away from you, and walking towards Bucky’s direction.

You flexed your toes in your boots and held tightly onto the handles of your bag.

You took a deep breath and followed Steve towards Bucky.

Bucky looked at his boots and flexed his hands.

You didn’t realize how much bigger he was than you until now. Maybe it was his clothing, maybe.

You cleared your throat and he looked up at you through heavy lashes.

You wondered where he had been this morning while you were showering. It’s then that you catch sight of his heavy and dark bags under his eyes. Had he been up all night?

“Didn’t sleep?” Your question comes out before you mean it to and Bucky’s gaze quickly darkens.

“No.”

You sigh deeply, not knowing if you were more annoyed by his attitude towards you that clearly hadn’t changed or if you felt bad. You hoped his lack of sleep wouldn’t create more crankiness or mess-ups.

“Unlike you, I don’t need it.” He adds. He looks up towards the sky, making his sharp jaw visible to you and you curse the world for making him so attractive. You wondered then what kind of boyfriend he was to Daisy. And you wonder about the rumor of him and the Wakanda girl. Did he sleep with her? Was he good? Your questions in your head are interrupted as he continues, “We should get going. The sun is getting brighter and we can’t afford to lose one more day.”

Steve looked at you both like you were his two children going off to their first day of college and then he saluted you both goodbye.

Not one word was shared as you followed Bucky into the woods until what felt like three hours later.

The entire way, he hadn’t been kind enough to slow down for you, so you trailed behind him by at least fifteen feet.

You didn’t want to admit to defeat, but your lungs were burning and your legs were too. It wasn’t until he briefly stopped that you thanked the heavens.

As you caught up to his side, you saw what he had paused to look at.

There in front of you was an entire city. It was destroyed, defeated, and reeking of death and evil.

The broken and sharp metal of what had once been pretty buildings were now pointed into the sky. Heavy dust with lingering smoke, that had never gone away, still floated above the city like a dark halo.

You swallowed painfully, thirsty, and afraid.

Sure, he was an avenger, but the bacteria...

You looked at him, unsure.

“Bucky, we can’t go through the city. We have to stay on the outskirts,” he ignored you, taking a step forward and commencing his walk towards the city. You watched, unmoved, “It’s too dangerous, Bucky, we don’t know what is in that air—” You finally sighed and ran up to him, pulling on the sleeve of  his coat, “Bucky—“

He quickly snapped around to look at you, “We are going through the city. You think I came all this way for safety? You think I care? You think I’m some kind of coward? That we’ll just be taking the easy way out for everything? Or do you actually have any courageous and strong bone in that pathetic body of yours?” His words attack your ego and you practically flinch at the last question, slowly letting go of his sleeve. He’s breathing hard through his nose and you watch as he runs a hand over his face. He points back with his metal arm, “It’s the quickest route. We’re on atimed schedule. I don’t have time for safety or convenience. I’ll go alone if that’s what it takes. Come with me or not.”

He doesn’t bother giving you another glance before commencing his walk into the destroyed city.  You practically hear the howl of the wind and you pull the hood higher over your head.

You consider his words. You were trying to be safer, but he was right. This would be the quickest way and it wasn’t like you weren’t at least partially prepared for this.

You took a deep breath and followed him.

Bucky wouldn’t admit it, but he was momentarily shocked when he saw you right next to him.

He took the first step into the pavement, a dry leaf crunch under his boot. The sound echoed in the air.

You were both faced with what once was the main road, fallen traffic lights and power lines lined the street.

Cars were overturned, some destroyed completely either by fire or vandalism. The buildings, if they weren’t destroyed, were broken into and also vandalized. Overgrown shrubs were beginning to grow over the street signs and into the cracks of the sidewalk.

It was also terrifying how quiet it was.

You didn’t trust it.

It was obvious Bucky was reluctant just as much as you because his pace matched yours, and at some point, he had even pulled out his gun.

Your eyes darted around as you passed the empty cars and buses. One of the cars even had what appeared to be kids' toys - a stuffed teddy bear and a baby mirror - and you shuddered looking away, not wanting to know what happened here.

Bucky’s gun followed his eyes and immediately you wondered how long its been that he’s left camp.

“How long has it been since you’ve been outside like this?” You ask.

He’s quiet as you both step over a fallen street sign that advertised some kind of clothing brand, and you take his silence as an answer, giving up.

“A while.”

You’re surprised that he responded and your eyebrows shoot up.

You wait a minute and take another bite.

“Not used to it anymore, huh?” He doesn’t respond, “I can tell.”

“Is this your idea of small talk?” He snaps.

“I’m just trying to make conversation. I’m stuck with you for the next six months, might as well.”

“No. I’m stuck with you.”

You have to force yourself not to roll your eyes. Your joyous walk continues for a few more miles until you both turn onto a street where a train now lies.

You both stare at it, confused and surprised, wondering how the hell it got there. But judging by the entry holes on the buildings on either side, it was obvious that it had probably been thrown by means of an explosion of some sort.

And you would both have to somehow get around it.

As you approached the train car, you and Bucky came to a halt.

“I’ll go first since I’m heavier. Make sure it doesn’t topple over or isn’t booty-trapped.” Bucky says, tightening his bag strap over his body, “Stand back.”

You did as you were told and watched from a small distance as he began to climb into one of the cars which had its doors still open. Some bodies that had been reduced to skeletons were still inside.

You held tightly onto the straps of your backpack, apprehensively.

Eventually, Bucky had hopped out on to the other side with a huff.

He turned to face you.

“Your turn.”

You took a deep breath and a step forward, the leaves and glass debris breaking under your feet.

Your eyes met, and once again it was like that first time he saw you in the tent.

You looked down at the cart cautiously before stepping onto it. You clenched and unclenched your right hand, and with your left, you used it to help hoist yourself onto the train.

It rocked beneath your weight with a heavy groan and your eyes shot up to his in fear.

He leaned his right arm on the side of the car for support, and with his left, he stretched it out for you to take.

You look down to where he stood on the ground, and you swallowed, scared at how far the jump looked.

He wiggled his fingers and you were about to stretch your own arm out to take his hand when you saw something move behind him.

A man.

“Oh, my God.”

It was too fast for you to even recollect what happened, but suddenly you were on top of Bucky. You were screaming and he was cursing and you saw the silhouette of the man next to you.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Bucky shouted, until fully turning around to see what you were looking at.

He cursed before pulling you behind him to shield you. He ran you both back towards a destroyed building on the far side of the street and finally aimed his gun at the man who was groaning, a green/black substance oozing out of his mouth like foam.

Bucky didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger, sending multiple gunshots into the man’s chest. He fell forward onto the street, dead.

You stumbled back and found Bucky’s hold on you soothing before he roughly pulled away and looked down at you, disappointed.

“Seriously?”

You inhaled deeply through your nose, feeling the dig of the building behind you.

How dare he snap at you for protecting him.

“You asshole. He was about to —”

“I don’t need you to protect me. If anything, you made it worst.”

“How the hell did I make it worst?” Bucky snarled, “What if I fell on him, huh? What if we both did?”

“But we didn’t!” You could feel your heart in your veins; in your head.

Bucky rolled his eyes as he swung his gun back down, relaxing his stance.

“Jesus fuck.” He mumbled under his breath, walking away from you, “I don’t know how you survived three years. It’s like it’s a joke to you.”

You feel your tears in your eyes before you push yourself off the wall and walked right past him so this time you were the one leading the way.

“I do what I can.” You mumble.

“Pathetic is what you are.” You wouldn’t cry. You wouldn’t. Your pace grew faster as he continued on, “You don’t—” he grabbed onto your arm, making you quickly turn around and face him. You didn’t hide the tears and you knew very well he could see them. He looked into your eyes with his pretty blue ones, “You don’t hesitate to save your own life,” he tucked your scarf that had come loose tighter around your face, and for a second you thought maybe and finally, he had a change of heart. But his next words killed that as he stepped away, dropping his hand, “We can’t risk getting infected. And I can’t risk you getting me infected, either. I might be a super soldier, but we don’t know how that thing affects people like me.”

Him. It was always about him and his safety.

“What about me? What about me getting infected or killed?” He took a step closer to you.

“You signed up for this. You know the risk.”

He walked past you.

“So I should care about your life, but not about mine?”

“What I’m saying is you need to be careful.” You were about to say something else when he finished with, “Now tie your boots before you get us both killed by you tripping onto me.”

With a snarl, you looked down to see that, indeed, your left shoe was untied.

Shit.

An hour after your fight, the winds grew stronger and your visibility was down to two feet. You hadn’t spoken to each other since, and to be fairly honest, it’s not like you wanted to speak to him anyway.

After the winds had calmed down, you had both made it through the city and were now walking through what had once been crops. Now it was just coarse sand and rough rocks.

You wanted to ask him if you could rest for a few minutes, at least to have something to eat. But you were so afraid of what he would say to you.

But as you both walked and walked, it became harder.

Eventually, you stopped, and he also stopped to look at you. Your face was crestfallen.

“I’m not a super soldier like you. I need to eat. Maybe have a sip of water.”

Bucky looked you down but then turned and continued walking again.

You wanted to cry.

Did he want you down on your knees? Would that be enough for him?

After a few minutes, you reached forest land again.

You watched as Bucky walked off to the left side and sat against a tree.

You wanted to cry in relief.

You practically ran to him, sitting next to him against the tree. You pulled off your backpack and he did the same with his.

You both sat there, chewing on some nuts and fruits and sipping water.

Afterward, Bucky threw his eaten apple into the leaves and rested his head up against the tree.

You took that moment to observe him, but not making it too obvious.

Your promise to Steve resonates in your head.

He looked so young to you that you began to wonder how old he was, biologically. There was no way he was older than thirty-eight. You felt pity that he suffered so much so young.

“Can I ask you something?” You know you were fetching far. But screw it. His answer, was a tilt of his head and a peak of a blue iris at you, “how old are you?”

He squinted his eyes at you, “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, I know you’re in your hundreds, but biologically?”

He looked away from you and closed his eyes again. His mouth was in a straight, harsh line.

“A lot older than you.”

You bit your lip, looking away.

“I miss my life before this. I miss Netflix and Spotify. Damnit, I miss Halsey.” His expression is unchanged, “Did you ever have a favorite song? You know, before — before everything?”

He knows what you’re asking but he doesn’t answer you. Instead, he runs two hands down his face and announces that you should both get going again.

You’re disappointed.

You had quickly gotten over the fact that he would never like you, if anything he hated you, but you both needed to find a common ground of respect, especially if you would be spending this much time together.

But he still wouldn’t abide by you. It was like he just didn’t care. Were you going to have to show him your true colors?

Eventually, the sun was beginning to set and Bucky suggested you both should set up camp.

He built a fire using wood and a lighter while you laid down both your blankets. He eyed you over the fire as you put his blanket straight across from his.

He wanted to thank you but his words wouldn’t come out. He was still stuck on the question you had asked him.

After the fire was just right, he tucked himself onto his uncomfortable grey blanket and laid his head on his arm.

Your eyes closed tightly together as you tried your best to go to sleep. You folded your knees against your small chest into a fetal position, to keep warm.

Bucky watched you from across the fire. You were a good girl.

But you shouldn’t be doing this. You were the kind of girl that was supposed to live in the aftermath of the successful mission, not the one fighting for it. You were going to get hurt.

Just like he did.

And he hated you for it. You were so young and had so much to live for.

He hated that he felt so many emotions for you that made him want to scream at you and make you go away. He wasn’t sure what they were but he knew none of them was anything romantic.

He would never feel that way about anyone else ever again.

He turned around in his blanket and closed his eyes tight together.

He did have a favorite song.

#Bucky Barens #Avengers #Bucky x Reader #Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes Smut #Bucky Barnes fanfic #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #Bucky x You #Bucky Barnes x You #Bucky Barnes Series #Winter Soldier fanfic #The falcon and winter soldier fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #MCU fanfiction #Bucky Barnes x Reader Series

[savagenutella46]

And Thus With A Kiss I Die

Jasonette 1/1 - A fic I wrote for @moonlitceleste because she’s amazing

All quotes/title in bold italics derived from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.

"Banishèd' is banished from the world, and world's exile is death."

There's no finite end to where white and black meet. Everything is shades of grey; infinite on a foreboding scale of fate and destiny: entities that push you to make the choices you do.

It had ended with a flash of light—real or her imagination, she had witnessed it between her own eyes. The kind of flashing light that tells you, "you've died."

Ladybug could still hear the shrieks and screams of civilians echoing ringingly around her, confused, scared, as to why an akumatized villain was hurting them the way that it was; this wasn't how akumatizations usually went, maybe a few scratches, worn out knees, but never this.

(—And to think, it had started out as a normal day.

Marinette rose out of bed with the same grogginess lingering at the corner of her eyes, brushed her teeth, kissed her Maman on the cheek as she ran to school, late.

You'd never suspect you were going to die on a day so normal, so domestic.)

What had this person been through before submitting to Hawkmoth with such a vicinity? How had Hawkmoth prayed to a cacophony of emotions like this—to kill, order, destroy everything in its path? Marinette would never catch an inkling, dying and all that jazz.

It's easy to see the world through a rose-colored lens. To believe that people do the things they do because they're bad. (but no one ever talks about why they do the things they do because they're good.)

And Marinette, masked in all her red-and-black glory, had pushed a frozen-with-fear civilian out of harm's way, an absurd amount of unleashed dark magic from the akuma hurtling its way toward them, and she'd taken the hit. Rolled on the ground for yards from the sheer force that the akuma's magic had flew and stricken her and pierced the skin, blood splattering and trailing as she slapped and hit the street from every possible angle.

Ladybug can't move, can't call for help when she desperately needs to, because her partner is miles away trying to fight what has her plastered to the ground, laying limp underneath her dead weight, breathing muffled and heavy underneath her physical detriment.

Ladybug's eyes droop under the weight of exhaustion, barely running on fumes before she had run out in an attempt to defeat what was supposed to be an everyday activity.—Crazy, how something can seem so domestic until its so, so much more.—A hemothorax forming in her chest where Marinette had been hit, a very open thoracic cavity filling up with blood, and she's spluttering for breath, because her throat is closed up, filled with blood from where the akuma hit her to where it burned.

It burns real bad, almost like an explosion stemming from her chest to the nerve endings on her toes. Marinette feels like she's being tortured with every meek twitch of her wrist as she lays on the ground, unable to see over the car shouldering her path, the pain burning behind her eyes, the white-hot disappointment in her heart.

—And she knows it's time. Because this is the work of fate. Her life in its hands. It had seemed miles away from Marinette just this morning, and how she wished she could go back and cherish the moments since she'd arisen from unpremeditated slumber.

She cannot. This is her destiny, as it seems. No one can be saved if Ladybug cannot save herself, can't will herself to detransform and heal herself because she can't, and she feels a gripping amount of remorse before emotions hit her all around—she should've told Adrien something, she can't recall what it is—should've told her Maman she loved her before running out the door in such a rush—should've squealed about the hot superheroes in America with Alya one last time, before she feels nothing.

Nothing except for the white light. And then dark again. Absolutely nothing.

                                               _________________

It's dark when she opens her eyes, and she blinks to make sure her eyes are actually open, and sees a big, fat, load of nothing.

Marinette's—the ladybug suit had disappeared, her normal clothes taking its place—body feels light, floaty, and utterly weightless against the dark mass she's standing atop of. Her head feels eerily light, calm without the weight of the world on her shoulders, and a calm feeling washes over her.

Her voice echoes against endless sound barriers as she utters her first words since death.

"This is what death feels like, huh?" Utterly amazing. Marinette can't believe she didn't do this earlier.

—But, for a moment, she feels empathy. Empathy for the people stuck in Paris, wondering if this was the day they were going to die, the people all around the world living in fear of something so inevitable.

She closes her eyes for just a second, a moment of vengeful peace. Opens them again, and this time, she's somewhere different.

She's in a library. Unfamiliar, but welcoming all the same. The smell of crisp, unopened books float idly in her senses, a synthetic warm feeling creeping up behind her back. Distantly, she realizes that she recognizes the place, tables placed and shelves abundantly filled with books, ranging from science fiction to classic literature, and it feels exactly how it did all those years ago.

Years ago, when she'd first visited the United States of America, the first place her Maman and Papa took her was a public library in Gotham City, New Jersey. It had welcomed her so openly that she couldn't help but smile a little, slip under from her parent's grasp, and wander toward a vast section of William Shakespeare, someone she'd heard so much about in her eight—nine years, she couldn't help but be pulled toward the ordain shelf.

She'd even met someone, too. Her mother would forever deny—if Marinette had still been alive, but Marinette was convinced the little boy sitting against the mass of wooden shelves had been very, very real. Marinette had smiled at him, sat down next to him, even if he gave her a wary, and borderline aggressive look, she'd introduced herself.

"Hi, I'm Marinette." She'd said with a horrible stutter and an almost unintelligible accent. The boy closed his book—a black and white cover with words she couldn't quite understand the meaning of as well as a simple name like Shakespeare's, and she smiled a little harder.

"Jason," He'd said in a heedful voice, staring at her curiously. "Whadda' you want?"

Marinette shrugged as best she could with weak shoulders, and turned her head from the person next to her to drink in every corner of the library that she could see without moving from her increasingly-uncomfortable crouch on the ground.

"Nothing. Just wanted to see what you're reading." She leaned over his shoulder, monosyllabic and complex English text alike filling her view, so many words that blurred together, and she felt a heat at the top of her head in frustration.

She couldn't read English.

The boy next to her—Jason, had seemed to recognize her distress and pull the book closer to him, floundering for a moment before he exhaled loudly, and started to read.

Words flowed out of the him, smooth and languid, and she found herself trapped in the moment, mesmerized by such an eloquent reading from a boy who looked just her age.

"What cursèd foot wanders this way tonight to cross my obsequies and true love's rite?" He reads off, breaking unevenly for gulps of air, and dove back right where he stopped without much distraction, and moments, minutes passed under his voice.

And the memory fell away from view. She opened eyes she didn't realize had closed when a voice seemed to float from the corner of her vision, a body stepping into view and a realized this wasn't imagination.

Another boy, dressed in tattered—but comfortable looking jeans finds his way over to her, a curious glint in his magnificent blue eye and a raised eyebrow, though he looks troubled, aged where he ought to look youthful.

"Who're you?" He mumbles, lips barely moving around syllables as he stares at Marinette, defensive, yet hopeful.

His voice. Despite the clearly street-wise accent, his voice is beautiful. A voice that could recite hundreds of words and never get old in the canals of her ears. Marinette found herself wanting to hear more.

"Marinette." She blinks, seems to realize the way he seems nervous, and, "You like jazz?" Blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, which, just so happens to be the only sentence capable of such utterance in damning—literally—times like this one.

Jason finally cracks a smile after a few more moments of cricket-inducing silence, and the newfound tension in her shoulders seems to melt away again, just as it did with her entrance to a magnificent limbo such as this. "Not in particular, but I do like to read." His smile is utterly contagious, and Marinette feels it spread its way along her own face, eyes crinkling under the weight of emotion.

They spend their days in an endless limbo like that, reading, laughing, sometimes in the comfortable chair in the library, and sometimes they're gazing upon clouds, feeling the prickly sensation of grass under their backs as they lie next to one another under a cool breeze and warm sun—which is the scene they're settling in, when Marinette turns her head toward the boy next to her.

"It's been," She pauses for a moment, adding up the days since they've both died—it had to be around the same time—and Jason turns his head toward her in a similar fashion, an eyebrow raised. "A few months? And..." She trails off, suddenly feeling less confident in a horrid question.

She knows the way she had died hadn't been peaceful, and if the boy she'd grown so close to in months of passing had died as painfully, he might doubt their budding friendship, as new as it is.

But then Jason reaches over and covers her hand with his, a blooming warmth enveloping her hand all the way to her heart, her vision snaps back to where it had wandered down to the rest of her body, reliving a turret of emotions. "Marinette," Jason stares at her in earnest, "You can ask."

Another thing she'd never understand was Jason's ability to read people so well. He'd always know her intentions, as bad or good as they may be, like something mundane, a book she'd eyed for a few minutes before he'd sighed heavily and got up to get it for her, or when Marinette wanted to be left alone. Just for a minute, to pull herself back together.

"How did you die?" She watches as Jason closes his eyes, curling in on himself despite the foretold question, and waits.

She's good at waiting. (A familiar feeling of heat creeping up to her cheeks, the same way it did with someone else, not so long ago, but in a different lifetime.)

"It started out when I tried to steal Batman's tires—" Marinette widens her eyes in surprise.

Oh, so they're going way back then, huh?

But by the time Jason finishes speaking, pats his sweaty hands down on the slacks he wore that day that came from God knows where, Marinette finds the humor and her mood had dimmed significantly.

And Jason, he looks terrible. Like it was the first time he'd said something about it since, well, death. Almost hyperventilating, Jason is breathing heavily, gripping onto his pants with malice and intent, almost as if stopping himself from something. He'd told his beginning to end with an increasingly shaky voice, cracking at the edges where he'd relived the fear and abandonment he felt when trapped in an unfamiliar country, in a dirty warehouse, trapped in his own feelings in a suit that he thought would always protect him.

Without a dad that he'd thought would always protect him.  

Marinette feels a little sick. The boy next to her had died so brutally, alone, scared and slowly.

"I don't regret it. Being Robin." He adds quietly after a moment of hesitation. It's small, but it's there and plain. He doesn't regret something that changed his life, but— "Just the death part."

He would want to change his death, and she couldn't agree more.

If only it meant they could've still met despite living, that is.

She doesn't say that. Instead, she laughs a little. "You and me both." Marinette reaches over to hold his hand once more, and pretends not to see the tears climbing out of his eyes.

"So early waking, what with loathsome smells, and shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth, that living mortals, hearing them, run mad—?"

How it felt to tear his way out of the ground, shivering, shaking, flinching at the way his fingernails tore away with every claw and scratch at the unyielding wood before him. Jason was vaguely aware of a horrible groaning noise that might've been his own, but when his hand stuck through to crisp Gotham air, dirt flinging and spilling down on his face as he gasped and choked for breath, he could only think of a single quote from such a cliche play.

He thought of it while tearing out the bloody uvula of his victim, spurred on by the Pit and Talia's ruthless training, starving for the sound of screaming that rung in his ear, continued to clang loudly even in sleep, when it bestowed itself upon him.

Because he couldn't think about anything else. Wouldn't allow himself to, because then he would start thinking about her.

About how she left him.

Jason had turned to retrieve a book from their peaceful library limbo one day, muttering to himself about something so mundane that he didn't even remember, but he'd grabbed the book—a simple fiction, because they were both bored of astronomy—and turned around to silence, instead of the shiny mop of dark hair he was expecting.

"Marinette?" Jason calls, swiveling his head around when the chair previously occupied by her stood empty.

Jason waits.

He doesn't know how long he waits, searches, but she isn't there.

And the feeling of disappointment and fear runs up his spine again, before he knows it, he's kneeling on the ground, trying to catch his breath as tears run down because he's been abandoned again, and it's just as damning as the first time.

His father, his brother, his mother, his birth mother, and now his friend.

Jason breaks down again, gripping harshly onto his hair while he cries, where he'd usually hold onto Marinette's hand.

So he doesn't think of much at all, really. Not when he turns on murder mode, not when he forces himself to stare into the eyes of the person he's killing while they die, because he wants to remember how it felt. How it felt before he met another superhero torn away from her life almost as harshly as he was ripped away from his own.

He wants to go back. Before he flew to Ethiopia unsupervised and unprepared, before he took the Robin mantle, before he decided to make quick cash off of the Batmobile, before his mother died by her own hands, loosely holding a syringe and shaking, shuddering from her overdose.

Jason wants to go back to Before. He can't stand living in the After, where he makes the choices he does.

He’s supposed to be good.

permanent taglist: @nathleigh @stainedglassm @officiallydarkgeek @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @buterflies-and-ladybugs @maskedpainter

#i told yall this would be a Right Person Wrong Time #HOW MANY OF YOU LISTENED #HUH? #jasonette #maribat #mlb x dc #ml x dc #marinette dupain cheng #Jason Todd

[lavendertrash39]

Hanaki Disease AU

(Again, hope you like it!!) Fear, that's what Ryan felt the first time he coughed up a petal. The whole day his easily distracted nature seemed to be amplified, which almost seemed impossible. He stared at the window of his classroom watching a bluebird. It moved around the ground for a while, even sat still for a couple of moments. Finally, as the bell rang, the bluebird flew to the tree.   "Ryan Akagi?" His gaze jumped from the window to the teacher, "Do you have any questions about today's lesson?" He looked around the classroom, realizing that all the desks had been left empty. "Oh--uh nope. Thanks!" He quickly gathered his books and rushed out of the classroom. Like always, Min was standing outside with his books hugged to his chest. "What took you so long?" Min began walking to the locker hallway, Ryan following close behind him. "There was a cool bird," Ryan eventually matched his pace, "Dude, slow down." "Sorry," The two of them stopped at their lockers. By some chance, they managed to get lockers right next to each other. A couple of loose sheets of paper fell from Ryan's locker as he opened it. He quickly supported his stack of books with his knee, making sure there would be an eruption of his school supplies on the floor. "I have a system," Ryan said to Min before he could even say a word. "Your system sucks," He responded with a laugh. Ryan loaded random binders into his backpack guessing based on what homework assignments he could remember. He looked at Min with a sort of envy as he loaded his binders into his backpack. He made everything look so easy, and then when Ryan would do the same thing it would end up closer to a dumpster fire. A girl with long black hair and green eyes walked up to the two of them. Her head tilted slightly to the right as she smiled at Min. Ryan stood up with his backpack in hand, seeing that he was barely taller than the girl in front of him. "Oh, hey Vickie," Min smiled as red spread across his cheeks. A sinking feeling set into Ryan's stomach. He'd seen her before, Victoria Dalton. How did Min get on a nickname basis with her? He shook his head, getting out any jitters kept inside of him. "Hey! My friends and I are having a party tonight, do you maybe want to come?" Her voice was high-pitched, but not in an annoying way. Butterflies danced in Min's stomach, as Ryan felt something get caught up in his throat. On instinct, Min looked at Ryan for help. "Sorry, I'll be right back," Was what he got instead. Ryan dropped his bag on the ground and quickly made his way towards the bathroom. He pushed open the door with shaky hands and hard, painful coughs destroyed his body as he grasped his chest. Beautiful blue petals escaped his throat and danced in the air, some reaching the ground and some reaching the sink. He'd heard stories before, stories of a disease that would eat you up from the inside. Hanahaki, the disease of unrequited love. There was only one person in the entire world that could cause it for Ryan, and that meant that he was going to die. He pushed open the door and squinted in the bright lights. He had just been in them, but now they seem to shine in a brighter and more headache-inducing way. "Ryan!" Min ran over to him as Ryan looked up to see that Victoria was walking away. "Yeah?" He pushed his hair out of his eyes. "First off, you look pale-- you okay?" Ryan silently nodded with a smile, "Second, why did you bail on me?? Now I have to go to a party with Vickie!" "You need me to say no for you?" "Yes!!" The two burst out laughing, which resulted in a coughing fit from Ryan. He took a couple of deep breaths and kept petals from spilling his dirty secret. "I was going to ask if you wanted to come with... but you seem sick, Ry." Min saying his nickname sent a wave of joy through him. "Yeah, I'll just stay home. I gotta catch the bus, see you later Min!" Before Min could ask any questions, he rushed out of the building. That led him today, lying on the floor of his van, suffocating in what he guessed to be a beautiful and perfect field of flowers growing in his lungs. The once bright blue petals that escaped from his destroyed lungs had been corrupted by deep red blood. All of his dreams wilted like a dead flower right in front of him, but he still clutched at the two tickets for a train ride to New York in his hands. Min was fifteen minutes away, even a quarter away if he just called him. Thorns seemed to wrap around his chest with each labored breath he took, but he still pushed himself up and walked over to the payphone nearby. With shaky hands, he pushed a quarter into the machine and dialed Min's number. "Park household, Min-Gi speaking." Ryan let himself be serenaded by Min's voice again for a couple of seconds before responding. "It's Ryan," His once soothing voice had gone raspy over time. "What? How are you? Is something wrong?" He coughed and gasped for air, blood-covered petals falling to the floor. He made one last effort to save his life or at least one last good thing to say to his best friend. "I'm in love with you."

#rymin #ryan akagi #min gi park #infinity train #book 4 #oml im literally dead I really hope this turned out good

[imaginaryelle]

I just re-watched THAT scene and a thought hit me: Lan Wangji just stands there watching Wei Wuxian fall from the cliff... Why doesn't he jump onto his sword and swoops down to at least try to save him? Or is he all out of spiritual power? Or does it simply take to long to start and rev the sword? Not saying it's a plothole, I was just wondering...

I mean, I think this is a fair question and I know I’ve seen it discussed elsewhere. I just can’t seem to find the post or remember if any conclusions were reached, so I’m excited to dive into this. As always if anyone has insights or headcanons they want to add on to this, please do.

Because I like pictures, here’s ep 33 Lan Wangji holding his sword and staring in horror as Wei Wuxian falls (what is Jiang Cheng thinking? Who knows.) 

Why isn’t Lan Wangji doing anything? He just stands there for long enough that Jiang Cheng backs away and leaves him on the outcropping, all alone.

Poor guy.

Okay, moving on. I think there are at least two ways to approach this, and one is from the production perspective (since this cliff encounter is a thing that only happens in the drama) and the other is from the in-universe perspective (aka, Doyalist vs Watsonian), so I’m going to look at both.

For the production pov, there’s really only one scene (I think) where we see anyone actually riding a sword in the drama, and it’s when they’re confronting the water demon/abyss in Caiyi (ep 5). At that point there’s no prep time, everyone just jumps up and then steps onto their swords (which is actually even more ridiculous to me than the image had already been in the novel because I thought they were at least riding on the scabbard but no! Riding the bare blade like a skateboard. I love it.)

How majestic.

Lan Xichen is the only graceful and cool person here. The only other sword-riding shot in this scene that shows more of a person’s body than their head and shoulders is when Lan Wangji drags three people into the air at once and we get a brief glimpse of Su She’s feet kicking wildly.

So, based on this scene’s execution and the general scarcity of other sword-flying scenes (even with the Nightless City confrontation, Lan Wangji just flies in with his quqin, no sword under his feet), my out-of-universe theory would be a combination of budget and aesthetic at play. If the production can get by on wire work with super extra long jumps that don’t seem to require actually riding the sword, they will. It’s logistically simpler, and it frankly looks better on screen. It’s also a staple of the entire film genre, whereas this sword thing is not, so the crew and effects people would have more experience with it as well. (In-universe I have a lot of questions about Wei Wuxian’s retained ability to do those jumps. Do they not use spiritual energy? Does he still have spiritual energy, just not a golden core? Is he using resentful energy instead? How does this work?)

From a more story-side view on the production, they’re working against the fact that they changed the plot to add Lan Wangji’s presence at Wei Wuxian’s death and they want to capitalize on that relationship, so having Wei Wuxian knock himself over the edge as he destroys the seal (or something where he steps back as Jiang Cheng rushes him or any other number of possibilities) no longer fits with the emotional beats they’re trying to hit. Also they really need Wei Wuxian to die here for the plot to function. Having Lan Wangji mount a sword and swoop down to try and save him again just adds extra complications and delays the desired outcome of WWX = dead and LWJ = distraught. In that sense, it really does start to look like a plot hole, because it feels like they’re ignoring the capabilities of a character in order to get the result they need. I do think they try to address this, but since multiple people have this question and I personally had to watch the scene more than once while actively thinking about it to notice all the relevant details… the efficacy of those efforts is maybe questionable. (Also like.. why does Jiang Cheng wait three days to go look for Wei Wuxian’s remains? Why is anyone waiting at all? Why is anyone surprised they can’t find a corpse when the visual we get implies Wei Wuxian is falling into lava? There are many, many questions that can be asked here and for a lot of them the out-of-universe answer is probably going to resemble “because the plot/original source material demands it” without much helpful in-universe support.)

In-universe (and probably more pertinent to your question), yeah, Lan Wangji could be low on spiritual power (and upon rewatch, I think he genuinely is). He could be physically exhausted as well as injured, too. For someone who carried three people in two hands 2-3 years ago and canonically has only gotten stronger since, he sure is having trouble pulling one person up over the side of a cliff. And that exhaustion really isn’t outside the realm of possibility, no matter how strong and powerful he is. He just traveled pretty far! If the theories that he found A-Yuan before coming to Nightless City are true (since he’s not injured in those flashbacks), he likely spent a ton of spiritual power even before getting into this battle where he first confronted Wei Wuxian and then started fighting pretty much everyone on the field by himself. Then, in a moment of fear-induced distraction, he gets injured! He’s actively bleeding! So yeah. He could definitely just be physically exhausted.

All that blood loss is not a good sign, and it actually speeds up (visually) as he expends this effort. We can see his arm trembling all throughout this scene, and then his grip slips (thus the face). Even after that he slips again, not losing his grip, but losing the strength to hold himself up at all. In the end he’s literally just lying on the rock depending on gravity to keep him in place and putting everything else he has into holding on to Wei Wuxian. He can’t do more than glare in Jiang Cheng’s general direction and tell him to stop.

Bichen is right there. If he had spiritual power left, I think he’d probably be sending his sword out to block Jiang Cheng’s angle of attack. That, or he needs two hands to accomplish such an action (It doesn’t require hand motions later/in the future, but maybe he develops that skill precisely because of these events). So yes. He’s physically exhausted. He’s spiritually exhausted. But I think there’s more going on here, too: He’s also at the end of his rope emotionally, and that’s how he ends up standing there, horrified and unmoving.

He’s had a rough time recently: Everyone hates his best and only friend/love of his life, and he has to listen to them call for his death/judgement at fancy dinner party meetings on and off for over a year. No one will listen to him when he tries to present a different view. Even his own brother is (not unreasonably) much more concerned about Lan Wangji’s personal safety than what his silence on this issue is costing him emotionally, and his uncle is distinctly unsupportive of the friendship from the beginning.

I think Lan Wangji spends a lot of time questioning his upbringing in those months (we see him actually verbally do so when he’s punished after Wei Wuxian’s death, but I think it starts well before that). What is right and wrong? Who decides it, and how? When does justice and holding people responsible for their actions turn over into unjust persecution? What is true, and what is a lie, and how much does that matter when weighed against social/political/spiritual harmony? These are concepts that are buried pretty deeply in the Lan Sect’s teachings but the world is twisting all of them before his eyes, and I have to think that takes a toll on him. Additionally, just as things start looking up (they let him write the letter to invite Wei Wuxian to Jin Ling’s celebration! They listen to him, other people support his idea!), he has to deal with the facts that:

1) His best friend who he’s in love with just killed a bunch of people, including Jin ZiXuan and some of Lan Wangji’s own Sect brothers.

2) Wei Wuxian is clearly losing control of his resentment-based cultivation path, and is thus personally in danger on a spiritual level, and

3) Everyone now wants to kill Wei Wuxian again, possibly even more than they did before, and anyone who supports Wei Wuxian is an enemy of the entire cultivation world.

Later in the series, Lan Wangji says he regrets that he wasn’t at Wei Wuxian’s side at Nightless City. That he didn’t support him, despite what we see of him trying to help Wei Wuxian find Jiang Yanli and then, after she dies, stop him from killing himself. To me, this could very easily imply that Lan Wangji is still trying to walk a tightrope in those scenes, or perhaps trying to be a bridge. He’s deliberately not choosing a distinct side, because he refuses to hate and reject Wei Wuxian, but he’s also refusing to declare open support. He’s acting entirely on his own, in a balancing act between friendship and love vs his family, his entire life’s teachings, and all of his society. Certainly I find that sort of situation exhausting, and I’ve never had to do it for something so high-stakes or large-scale.

Then there’s the actual cliff scene itself, where he’s visibly desperate. How intense does an emotion have to be for Lan Wangji to so clearly show it?

Wei Ying, he says, come back. He knows Wei Wuxian is breaking down. He at the very least guesses that he’s going to do something wild like step off that outcropping, which is why he follows him in the first place. But he has no idea what to do, so he tries the same thing he’s been trying for years: Come with me. Let me help you. This is a bridge, and he’s offering to help Wei Wuxian cross it. But just like every other time he’s tried it since the Sunshot Campaign ended, it doesn’t work.

Note that Lan Wangji actually is flying here, without the sword, so if he doesn’t have any spiritual power when Jiang Cheng shows up, this is probably a last, desperate burst to go with this last, desperate act.

I don’t think he really has a plan here. Not a new one, anyway. This is a still a plea of Let me help you. And, notably, Wei Wuxian doesn’t accept his help.

Not once during this whole scene does Wei Wuxian reach up with his free hand or try to help Lan Wangji help him in any way. He smiles, and he says: Lan Zhan, let me go. Because he doesn’t want a bridge. He doesn’t want to go back. Honestly it’s a pretty explicit and heartbreaking message: Lan Wangji’s offer of help is not enough to make Wei Wuxian want to stay alive. Not right now. He needs more than that. He’s lost too much to believe, right now, that anyone is going to choose him and his side, or that he’s worth that effort. And to be clear, Lan Wangji isn’t even offering that in this situation. Wei Wuxian is one slippery handgrip away from death, and Lan Wangji is still not saying “You, I choose you.” From anything Wei Wuxian can be expected to infer, his offer here is no different than it’s ever been: let me show you the way back to the right path. Let me help you fit back into the world the way you used to. And Wei Wuxian can’t do that; he has no golden core, it’s literally impossible even if the rest of the world would let him try. But at this point he doesn’t want to go back either. He doesn’t even want to try. That world hates him, and willfully misunderstands him, and has taken too many people from him now for it to be worth staying in. He wants to die.

And then Jiang Cheng arrives.

Wei Wuxian’s reaction to his brother’s presence is to smile, say his name, and just–accept his hatred. He closes his eyes and waits for the sword to fall even as Lan Wangji calls for Jiang Cheng to stop. The only time he shows distress between stepping back off the cliff and his actual death is when Jiang Cheng twists his sword and compromises the stability of the outcropping so that Lan Wangji is also in danger.

I think it’s possible that if Jiang Cheng had also reached for him and tried to pull him back up, things might have gone differently. Maybe that would have been enough to alter Wei Wuxian’s thinking. But as it is, when Wei Wuxian falls, he falls with his limbs relaxed and a smile on his face. There’s no flailing and screaming like when he was thrown into the Burial Mounds (in ep 33. There’s some arm-waving in ep 1). And I think that moment of him pushing Lan Wangji back and then letting go, more than anything, is what stops Lan Wangji in his tracks, because Wei Wuxian could have saved himself. He had strength and energy left. Enough to push Lan Wangji up and back and nearly to a standing position. He could have accepted Lan Wangji’s help, easily. But he didn’t, because he wanted to die, despite all the effort and inner turmoil Lan Wangji has gone through on his behalf (most of which Wei Wuxian doesn’t know about but, still).

That’s a pretty serious emotional kick in the head. Lan Wangji cannot ignore, at this point, that even if he did have any physical or spiritual energy left, Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to be saved. And that’s when we get this face (actually from ep 1):

He has nothing left. He has at this point spent over a year, maybe two, trying to save someone who, when it came down to the final moment, didn’t want to be saved. There’s nothing more he can do, in this state of exhaustion and despair, and it wouldn’t matter if he tried.

Personally, I think he looks like he’s about to be sick, and I don’t think it’s just the image of Wei Wuxian falling and dying that’s working on him here. It’s also the knowledge that he fucked up. He didn’t do enough, or more accurately, didn’t do the right things, in order to encourage Wei Wuxian to keep fighting for himself or anyone else (I’m not saying this is a healthy or reasonable thought, I just think it’s a thought he’s having). And I think this realization plays directly into how he treats Wei Wuxian when he comes back sixteen years later. He knows that questioning Wei Wuxian on his path of cultivation doesn’t go where he wants it to, so he doesn’t do it. This time is going to be different. He’ll break rules. He’ll drink alcohol. He doesn’t scold Wei Wuxian for making dumb, selfless decisions like transferring the curse mark from Jin Ling’s leg to his own, he just accepts it and expresses concern over Wei Wuxian’s well being. He stops asking if he can help and starts just doing it: Wei Wuxian can’t walk so he’ll carry him. Wei Wuxian needs someone to speak for him, so Lan Wangji will do that, with his brother and with the whole cultivation world. And then we come to this:

This is exactly the same move. Wei Wuxian will protect Lan Wangji, but not himself.

But.

Lan Wangji is no longer trying to be a bridge. He’s not going to hold out his hand for Wei Wuxian to accept or disregard. He’s crossed over to be on Wei Wuxian’s side. And that’s what makes the difference.

#lakritzwolf #cql meta #the untamed #chen qing ling #wangxian #lan wangji #wei wuxian #possibly i got a bit carried away #but this was fun #tw: blood #tw: suicide #in the novel lwj makes that change before wwx dies #and is thwarted by a combination #of wwx's breakdown and his own clan #but the drama cut that scene #so it had to happen after #long post #so long #seriously

[secret-engima]

*kicks down door* WHO WANTS TO READ ME RAMBLE/RANT ABOUT THE GRALEA LEVEL IN FFXV AND WHY IT ACTUALLY WAS A GOOD LEVEL AND EVERYONE SHOULD PLAY THE NOCTIS ROUTE AT LEAST ONCE RATHER THAN THE GLADIO ROUTE EVEN THOUGH IT’S TERRIFYING AND FRUSTRATING.

No one?

WELL TOO BAD.

(Unless you haven’t played or watched the game yet and don’t want spoilers in which case TURN AWAY NOW).

...Ahem. *deep breath* Okay so I will forever stand by my opinion that chapter 13 of the game (the one that takes place on the train and then in Gralea) is Good™ and does exactly what it's supposed to in the narrative. That is not to say I don't hate it with a passion and didn't cheer when they added the Gladiolus route for those of us (like me) who didn't want to replay the Noctis route again, but I will stubbornly insist to anyone that wants to listen that the chapter's difficulty and wildly different tone and pacing was THE POINT of the darn thing and deserves some respect for it.

See, the game up to that point is, if not always lighthearted (because it's not), has still been something of an Adventure Story™. Yes there's horrible tragic things like Insomnia falling and Regis dying, but for the most part the gameplay is exploration and cool combat mechanics and the relationship between the four brothers. It's ... happy for a good chunk of it. There's this light at the end of the tunnel, this comfy assurance that there can be a happy ending, that this can all be fixed and tied up in a neat little bow somehow.

Then Altissia happens. Luna dies, Ignis is blinded, and the game puts you on literal rails, forcing you to go hurtling toward A Different Tone. Everyone is stressed, everyone is scared or angry. You’d THINK that this is the lowest point of the story and that surely there’s going to be an emotional reconciliation between Noctis and Gladio and then we’ll get back to exploring and saving the world and all that jazz.

Except we don’t.

The train scene with Ardyn and Shiva happens, and the entire heartbreak with Prompto happens, and that’s when things start to seriously crack. You lose all access to your magic while stuck in this narrow train, then you lose the Regalia, your symbol of freedom, your main way to travel through the game (even when you fast travel, the animation of arrival shows you getting out of the Regalia). You are now trapped in Gralea. In dark, hostile territory with one of your party missing, one of them blind, the other angry at you, and still no magic. Then a few minutes later you are forcibly separated from the rest of your party, the characters you’ve spent all game getting attached to, and leaning on, and laughing with. They are your last anchor points to the brother dynamic that has kept the whole game on a lighter note and now they are GONE. You have none of your weapons or skills, you have no idea where the others are (first time playing the game without spoilers anyway), you have NOTHING. No hope. No backup. No distractions from the fact that, oh yeah, this is a story where the Bad. Guys. Win. Are winning, have won, and all Noctis (all you) can do is take out the Ring that slowly killed Regis, that Luna died for, the thing that represents everything going wrong and all NOCTIS must do to fix it even when he is painfully, woefully unprepared ... and finally put it on. 

Noctis (and by extension you, the player) MUST shoulder the responsibility of being the king of a lost kingdom, of acknowledging that he IS the king, his dad was MURDERED, and Luna was killed for the thing you are now wearing and everything it means. It’s your only option until you eventually find the dead Ravus and take back Regis’s sword toward the middle/end of the level, which you can’t use recklessly because every swing drains your very life-force, forcing the Ring to still be your “best” option in many cases.

Most of that level is spent running, and hiding, and praying that the MT Units on the floor don’t leap up and try to murder you, or that the daemons don’t notice you, or that the teleporting daemon doesn’t find you, or that Ardyn will just SHUT UP because his taunts are really unhelpful right now.

The only hope you have left in this level is to grit your teeth and get through it with the Ring until you can reunite with your brothers and get magic back and go get the Crystal, the mcguffin of this whole game, and put the game back on the normal track of brotherly dynamics and fun quests. Just get to the Crystal, and everything will somehow start going back to normal.

And then that turns out to be a trap too.

Welcome to the final act of a tragedy, and your character is the one living through it. There will be no restoration of the norm until you’ve seen this to its final conclusion. There will be no light save for the one Noctis dies for.

Even when I first played that level (vanilla, not even a day one patch version btw because I was an idiot like that) and hated it because it was terrifying, I never thought it didn't belong in the story like ... quite a few comments I saw on the internet later insisted it didn’t. This is Noctis's story. This is Noctis's tragedy. THIS is the level that strips every last distraction and security blanket and shelter away from him and makes him put on the Ring and thus shoulder everything it represents. There is- terror here, there is trauma, there is GRIEF. This is practically Noctis's headspace without his brothers, because let's not forget that while we the players are having fun fishing and catching frogs for a silly scientist lady, Noctis is a refugee from an empire that MURDERED HIS FATHER and the FATHER OF HIS SHIELD-BROTHER, destroyed his HOME and then, right before Gralea, murdered Luna, the girl who he's known and talked to and confided in via letter for twelve years. This is a world falling into literal darkness (and if the player hadn’t noticed how the daytime cycle in the game kept getting shorter and shorter before this point YOU CERTAINLY NOTICE NOW) and it's up to Noctis- JUST Noctis, ONLY NOCTIS thanks to a Prophecy made long before he was ever born, to somehow Fix It™.

One person. Just one.

And he has to fix ... all of this.

How?

He doesn’t know. During the Gralea level he DOESN’T KNOW. All he (all we) know is that the Crystal is the key, but since the Crystal only answers to Lucis Caelums, that means Noctis is the key, and Noctis (and you the player) is painfully aware of how Not Ready he is.

And the weight of that is enough to render you helpless in the face of it. The fear of that is a maze. The terror of it is a monster following you down the halls that you cannot escape from and cannot kill while it laughs at your misery.

All of that is GRALEA. The capital city of the people who overthrew his home, killed his father, killed his fiancé, and isolated him from the last safety nets he had.

The entirety of chapter 13 isn’t meant to be enjoyed. It’s meant to make you scared. It’s meant to frustrate you and make you feel helpless. It’s meant to make you feel sick when you learn what the daemons and MTs you’ve been killing really are. It’s meant to make you RAGE against Ardyn, and the Empire, and this entire situation because you’re one person and you’re not prepared for this and it’s NOT FAIR and you just want things to go BACK TO THE WAY IT WAS AND ALL OF THIS SUCKS.

Yeah. It does.

And who else do you think feels like that?

Noctis.

Chapter 13 isn’t meant to be fun. It’s meant to make you feel like Noctis does.

And what emotions would you expect from someone who has just lost everything and is expected to fix everything for everyone else, and now has no distractions or shields between him and his grief?

I remember reading an article about “why this chapter failed” and it was basically to the order of “this game is about a fun road trip with your bros and reuniting with your fiancé and chapter 13 breaks away from that too hard” and I respectfully have to disagree.

This story isn’t about a “fun road trip” and it isn’t just about “reuniting with your fiancé”. From the very first cutscene we are told that it’s not in Regis’s desperate (and soon revealed as last) words to his son about setting forth on a journey and not being able to go back. We are told it’s not in the first hour or so when Insomnia burns and Noctis cries and Cor tells us that “in his last moments together he didn’t want to be your king, he wanted to be your father”. How is that a “fun story about a road trip?”. Yes the road trip IS fun for us, and it IS about the brother relationship, but in a large, LARGE part-

Final Fantasy XV is about a young man setting out into the world and facing the hardships of it. It’s about loss. It’s about regrets. It’s about how no matter how much you want them to, some things can never go back to the way they were yet you must keep going anyway. It’s about how the darkness of the world will just keep taking-taking-taking until someone is willing to pay the price to make it stop, and that sometimes a happy ending for the people you love most means giving up your own personal happy ending on their behalf.

Final Fantasy XV never really hid the fact that it was a tragic, bittersweet story.

But it’s in chapter 13 that the story refuses to let you mistake it for anything else any longer.

Could the chapter have been structured a little better so that the gameplay itself wasn’t so frustrating? Probably. I know almost nothing about game design so that’s not really my call. But does the chapter, for all its frustration and anger-inducing inversion of pacing and tone, brutally get the point across?

Maybe it’s just my opinion, but I’d say yes. Yes it does. Because this video game was the one that fully 100% convinced me, in a way that no other video game had before, that the platform could tell heart wrenching stories, could give me characters I would care for, cry over, rage on the behalf of.

And a big part of that clicked for me at the ending, but it likely wouldn’t have if I hadn’t first struggled my way through chapter 13 and all the emotions it causes and represents just like Noctis did.

...

There. I’m done. Thanks for reading my long-suppressed rant on the most hated chapter of FFXV.

#Secret Engima Rambles #SE rants #ffxv #storytelling things #writer things #I will die on this hill

[plush-rabbit]

Shigaraki Tomura W S/O Ex Pro Hero

A/N: I hope I did it justice!! This was a lot harder to write than I had expected  (-｡- ;)

Shigaraki doesn’t trust you at all. He’d rather slit your throat than be alone in a room with you. He’s wary of every movement you make, careful to watch where your hands rest, how you speak into the phone, what words you use. His eyes are on you. Staring at you, unblinking and always following.

It’s honestly a bit unnerving.

He doesn’t even know how he came to be romantically attracted to you. Physically, he can understand well enough but romantically? It sickens him, makes his stomach churn but he’s still sitting at his desk, his heart skipping a beat as he recalls you saying his name while a hand is wrapped around his length. It’s a depravity inside of him, something that was once good and praised, now shunned and unwanted, and he’s salivating over the thought of getting to be the one to truly corrupt you.

But even your corruption isn’t total corruption. You didn’t leave for a life of crime. You didn’t want to rob jewelry stores, blow buildings to smithereens- no, you left because the hero society was so corrupted. But you were in no position to make the change. And you yourself could feel the corruption tainting you, wrapping its slimy, strong hold onto you, threatening to drown you. You joined them and you’ve proven your loyalty, your knowledge about the inner workings of the hero society- how sickening it is, repulsive, putrid, something that you’re never going to go back to.

 Dating Tomura, dating a villain, is something that terrified you at first. Realistically, you know that he would never hurt you- he’s had many chances and you always came out unharmed, unnerved, yes, but unharmed. But it’s still odd to be around him and not be able to hold his hand, or go on dates. But when you get to rent some movie, and curl onto his chest, it makes every silly worry disappear.

It’s an unlikely relationship but not really. He’s aiming to destroy hero society, and there you are, an ex-pro with knowledge about weaknesses, timing, regrouping, tactics, and anything else they could think of to ask. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship. 

Despite all the perks that it comes with dating you and getting closer to his goal- he cares for you deeply. He never really thought he’d ever be treated with such delicacy that you give to him. You know what he does, the crimes he’s committed, you’ve seen the feral look in his eyes and fear-inducing grin he’s worn when committing atrocities and yet you still hold him and play with his hair. You massage face cream and body lotion onto him when he’s lying in bed, and you press soft kisses against him.

He almost finds it funny really. How he’s a wanted man and here you are, an ex-hero, sitting on his lap, and nuzzling into his neck, while he has a protective hand on you. He never even entertained the idea that he would ever find love and yet when you brush his lips against a sensitive part of his neck, he’s reminded that you’re still here- that you are giving him all of your love. You’re trusting him so openly and easily, as if it were as simple as breathing and he still can’t believe it at times.

There are fights. You both agree that hero society is corrupt, poorly established and working for all the wrong reasons, but you were still trained to be a hero. Still trained to value citizens’ lives and risk your own and old habits die hard. Conflicting views, needless destruction that you want to avoid, destruction that he sees has to happen, has to be for something. Fights escalate quickly but before it can reach its peak, you both leave- choosing to cool down before anything regrettable is said. You both come back sooner than later, mumbled apologies, and cuddles where he has hands splayed open and your head buried in his chest.

He’s not one to get insecure over little things but he can’t help but let his thoughts drift when he stares at your sleeping form. He sometimes wonders if he took you from your old life, if you secretly resent him for dragging you farther and deeper than you ever expected. He wonders where’d you be now if you weren’t on his side. If you two would have already faced off, if the hero killer would have reached you before he ever had the luxury to. He wonders how far you would have climbed in the ranks. High, he presumes.

He did a background check, constantly looking for something and he found that you were popular. Loveable and caring, interactions always commented as genuine and he’s sure that you would have been a hero if it weren’t for the corruption that you witnessed. 

But he has you now. And you two make a formidable team, lethal and competent. You may have been a hero, but you aren’t anymore. You chose to join him- you saw the potential he had and you stuck with him. You chose to kiss him and sleep in the same bed as him-you’ve placed  your trust in him and in return, he’s placed his trust in you.

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura headcanons #tomura shigaraki imagines #shigaraki tomura imagine #shigaraki tomura headcannons #i'll probably put the fic up later tonight

[bewaretheidesofmarchyall]

Dream SMP Good Omens AU

I wrote a Good Omens AU! It’s on AO3 here, but I’m also posting it here

Sixteen years before the apocalypse, three babies were dropped off on the doorstep of an orphanage. Two of them were human as human can be, while the third was prophesied to bring about the great war between heaven and hell, start the apocalypse, and just have a generally fun time. 

How exactly did the antichrist get left on a doorstep on a rainy night?

A few hours before

Our journey starts in a graveyard, where Baby No. 1 was found. 

Now, when I say "Baby No. 1", know that I mean the great destroyer, future doom of the world, bringer of death, currently wrapped in a fluffy blue blanket in a wicker basket, etc. 

He glanced around at the tombstones almost judgmentally, as though to say I don't think this is where one-day-old children go, but hey, I don't know enough about existence to dispute this. 

The wicker basket remained tucked away in the graveyard for a while, a few drops of rain gently falling down. Apparently, the poor weather was what Baby No. 1's escort was looking for, as he appeared as the mist began to gather. 

Wilbur Soot always had a penchant for dramatic atmosphere.

Quite a few lords of hell would call Wilbur the worst demon ever to walk the pit. This was absolutely untrue. Wilbur was a fairly mediocre demon that happened to be walking the pit, but certainly not the worst, putting that stupid fiddle contest bet aside. 

The gossip-mongers would only say things like that (and other, harsher things) because Wilbur had been one of the best fallen angels to ever swear vengeance on a broken sword. 

But it's frankly hard to keep up an emo phase for 6,000 years.

He strolled over to the basket, checked to make sure that there was still a baby in it, and waited impatiently for the thing's ride to arrive. Technically, he was supposed to be the one driving the antichrist to St. Beryl's Orphanage, but he had tickets to see Heathers that night and decided to use that most clever trick: Getting someone else to do his work instead. 

Still, he didn't have much trust in the guy he'd asked, and wanted to make sure that the child actually got from the graveyard to the car.

It was already five minutes past the scheduled time, and the weather was terrible, and he was fine with starting the end of days, but why did he have to work overtime? At least Schlatt wasn't here to laugh at him being on babysitting duty. 

Almost on cue, a raspy laugh came from the shadows of the church in the center of the graveyard. Ugh. Speak of the angel. 

Almost everyone would call JSchlatt the worst angel to ever wear a suit. 

And they would be absolutely right. 

He had no care for heaven, or the great war, or any sort of noble deed. The only predictable thing about him was his biting snark and the ever-present stink of cheap alcohol. 

When he entered a room, everyone there knew that they would soon regret not keeping him out by any means necessary, and he knew that they knew, and he enjoyed that. 

The greatest miracle ever performed in all of earthly and non-earthly history was that he hadn't been thrown out of heaven by his horns yet.

"Are you on babysitting duty, Wilbur?". Wilbur crossed his arms, trying and failing to hide the annoyance on his face. He could have had a cool arch-nemesis, but no. He was stuck with this dick.

"Laugh all you like, Schlatt-"

"Oh, trust me, I am."

"But once the child reaches 16, he's going to bring about the finale of this pathetic excuse for an earth".

Okay, so maybe he wasn't entirely rid of that emo phase. Schlatt looked at him, smug.

"Whatever you say, Soot. Hey, did the lower-downs tell you who's watching over your little finale?"

"I am. I'm watching over the antichrist, being a "corrupting influence" (whatever that means), that sort of thing."

"Well, my higher-ups had a similar idea. They seem to think that if the kid is nudged in the right direction, he'll start the apocalypse and fight on heaven's side. Bla bla bla, defeating Satan and/or Slimecicle, honestly I zoned out during the briefing. Long story short, they thought the kid needed a positive role model, and my name got picked.". 

The idea of "positive role model" and "Schlatt" being considered at all similar rattled Wilbur enough that it took a few seconds for the implications to sink in.

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. We're going to be neighbors!"

"No, no, no, no-"

"Isn't this exciting?". Wilbur barely restrained a scream, and only shuddered in horror. Before he could lose what was left of his sanity and discorporate anyone, a car horn beeped. It's about time.

He half walked, half sprinted over to the black car. The window cranked open, revealing a nervous foxlike face.

The general consensus was that Fundy was too mediocre of a demon to be worth any notice. 

He'd never been seen doing anything appropriately horrible or failed spectacularly, so according to most of hell he didn't exist. 

In truth, Fundy was about to prove tonight that he was much worse of a demon than they thought.

"Sorry I'm late, I forgot I cursed a major highway, and then I had to drive on that highway to get here, and-"

"Just take the kid.". The basket was passed to Fundy, who looked at it with fear and wonder.

Baby No. 1 didn't look like an antichrist (I mean, he was the only antichrist at this point and could only look like himself, but he didn't look like how one would expect an antichrist to look). He just looked like any one-day-old baby. Fundy tried to disguise how grateful he was about that. Maybe, just maybe, the plan could work. 

He looked back up to Wilbur.

"So, what was the important demonic business?"

"Hmm?"

"I mean, you said you had "important demonic business", and that's why you couldn't drive the kid yourself."

"Ah, yes. That important demonic business. Well, Fundy, that's for me to know and you to not know.". Wilbur shifted, hiding the Heathers tickets in his coat sleeve.

"Enjoy your drive!". With that, he teleported away from the graveyard. Schlatt shrugged, and continued eating protein powder out of the jar.

-----------

Fundy drove like a maniac down the highway, swerving off the road to avoid the cursed-induced traffic. 

He'd pulled off hundreds of scams before, but they were all on the humans. He'd never scammed the forces of heaven and hell simultaneously before. He was pretty sure that was called "treason". Which was punishable by death if he got caught. This is the worst idea of my entire fucking existence. 

As he sped down the road regretting his life choices, rain pouring down on the windshield, his co-conspirator teleported into the passenger seat.

"Hey, you ready to do something illegal?"

The executives in heaven had no idea what to make of Quackity. 

They could hardly call him the worst angel when there was Schlatt running about drunk off his ass, and he was even good at his job most of the time. Even now, the executives couldn't quite pin down a time he'd directly broken a rule.

However, he had a habit of taking the rulebook, shaking it out, finding whatever loopholes existed, and using them to do whatever he pleased.

There wasn't a rule saying he couldn't wear yeezys and sunglasses to important board meetings. 

There wasn't a rule saying that he couldn't try to seduce the archangels, that was implied at best. 

And there wasn't a rule saying that he couldn't get attached to the human world. The higher-ups had never considered that anyone would, so it hadn't been written down in the paperwork. 

Their mistake.

Here was the truth: Quackity didn't want the apocalypse to happen. If you spend 6,000 years in any place, how can you not care about it? Sure, humans are there and gone in the blink of an eye, but the things they make to show they were here can stay for centuries.

He knew too much history about the place to just stand back and let it get set on fire. 

So, he'd searched through all of heaven for a collaborator. There was no one willing to help him there, their reactions ranging from "I'd love to help, but I don't want to get hellfire poured on my face" to "If you're insinuating what I think you are, I'll turn you in to get hellfire poured on your face".

So, he took the escalator down to the basement. It took him a while to find someone, even there, but eventually he met a familiar fox-faced demon, and a plan was hatched.

Why did Fundy join in on a dangerous scheme like this one?

Attention, mostly. Humans were the only ones to really acknowledge his existence, even if it was almost all negative attention. Which was fair. He did steal their things a lot.

"Ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

"Great.". Quackity looked into the basket containing Baby No.1, breathed a sigh of relief that he looked like a normal human, and revealed a cardboard box. Inside the cardboard box was Baby No. 2, wrapped in a green blanket.

When I say "Baby No. 2", know that I mean a quiet mortal child with wisps of light blond hair, born to a regular human that didn't want him.

"I found him on the side of the road.". The two of them sat in silence for a while at that, before Fundy brought up the plan again.

"So, we drop them both at St. Beryl's."

"Yeah."

"And then they think that this kid is the antichrist, and the antichrist is the kid."

"Yeah."

"And our bosses try to raise the kid and sway them to the dark side or whatever, while we raise the antichrist and keep them from destroying the world."

"Yeah."

"Um. Quick question."

"Yeah?"

"If we're putting them both on the doorstep at the same time, how do we know they won't think the antichrist is the antichrist and the kid is the kid?"

"....I didn't think about that.”. They pondered the problem together. Eventually, Fundy conjured a sharpie and wrote "antichrist, this side up" on the side of the cardboard box in bold letters.

"That should work. Also, you need to stop teleporting into my car while it's moving. You could fuse with the seats, and that would suck to clean up."

And so, Baby No. 1 and Baby No. 2 were dropped off on the doorstep of St. Beryl's Orphanage. It was harder than expected to say goodbye to Baby No. 2, but they managed. 

The duo was somewhat confused by the third baby on the doorstep, who hadn't been put there by any of them, and actually just so happened to be dropped off at the wrong orphanage at the wrong time.

Baby No. 3 was in a red blanket, and when I say "Baby No. 3", know that I mean a human child that was currently doing what he would be doing for much of his life: Screaming at the top of his lungs. 

It is assumed that he was born to humans since he was one, but the kid could have been dropped off by a galaxy for all we know.

All that we need to know is that fate had not favored Baby No. 3, and that would continue for a while.

And so, three babies were dropped off on the doorstep of an orphanage, sixteen years before the apocalypse.

--------

Quite a few people (and things that at least looked like people) were excited about this. It was supposed to be a secret that the antichrist was at St. Beryl's Orphanage, so obviously everyone from purgatory to Portland had heard the news.

The lobby was jam-packed with a few demons with extremely good disguises, far more demons with very bad disguises, a mafia-style group of angels, another mafia-style group of angels but they were pretending to be a book club for some convoluted reason, a few very lost ghosts who didn't even want to be there in the first place, the man who was going to burn the orphanage to the ground in a couple of hours, the dread Charlie Slimecicle, hassled orphanage staff, and, notably, the owners of two motorcycles in the parking lot. 

The two motorcycles were a sickly hospital white and an empty-seeming black respectively, and their riders were lowkey famous (not that they liked to brag about it or anything). 

Any and all apocalypse enthusiasts knew their names (or at least their titles), and once they met up with two more friends Doomsday would truly be underway.

But that party wouldn't be started for another sixteen years. 

For now, only two out of the set of four were gathered, and tonight was less about the apocalypse than the drama and firsthand gossip to get. They sat in the corner, watching the chaos unfold with reflective eyes.

-----------

Now, someone would eventually have to adopt these babies. The antichrist would have to grow up among the mortals, and St. Beryl's Orphanage was always more of an apocalypse creating scheme than an orphanage to begin with, so they would have to find some unwitting soul to take Baby No. 2 and Baby No. 3 soon. 

Thankfully for everyone involved, three humans that showed up that day ready to adopt, with varying degrees of dread.

The first was a man seemingly in his late thirties, wearing a green coat that could almost be considered a cloak.

The second was a young adult with sunglasses and an almost royal quality about them.

And the third was a sweet-looking young woman in a soft striped sweater, who clutched an ancient book tightly under her arm.

They were quickly hustled through the lobby by the head of the orphanage, who tried her best to keep anyone in the group from seeing anything odd happening around them (Which is a bit of a challenge when certain demons think that a fake mustache from a corner store is enough to look completely non-supernatural). 

She rushed around from the tiny waiting room with the potential parents to the room with the babies to the stampede outside, internally wishing that she'd done what she'd planned in college and been a therapist instead of running an orphanage/doomsday cult.

All of the humans in the waiting room were understandably confused, but their questions were unheeded. 

The three of them sat in silence for several minutes. When it became clear that no one would be coming to check on them, small talk was attempted. 

Names were learned (The first parent went by the name Philza, while the second was named Eret, and the third Niki), the weather thoroughly discussed, and finally, the conversation turned to the inevitable:

"So, why are you here?". The question was asked by Eret, who seemed genuinely curious. Phil looked down from the clock he'd been watching, annoyed.

"To adopt a child. Why else?"

"I figured that, but what led you here? You don't have to answer if you don't want to, I'm just trying to break the silence.". Phil continued staring at the wall, preparing his words.

Half an hour before

"You want me to what?"

Phil had been driving home when he got the call. If he really had a say in the matter, he would have sent that to voicemail in two seconds flat, but his caller wasn't the kind of person you could hang up on ("person" wasn't even accurate to him). The rain was falling down on the windshield, the traffic was abysmal, and apparently he was supposed to adopt a child. 

"Listen, with all due respect, I owe you nothing anymore. I don't have to do missions for you, I don't have to kill for you, and I especially don't have to take care of a baby for sixteen years for you.". He nodded along as the other side of the call said his bit, before responding.

"Sixteen years is quick? Maybe to the likes of you it's quick, for me it's actually a sizeable chunk of time! I don't care that I have to 'just keep him alive-'". He was cut off, and he waited impatiently for his chance to speak again, which he got.

"You and I have gone our separate ways. Me and Technoblade are both in retirement, and there's no way in hell I'm adopting a child. That's my final word.". 

The voice on the other side of the call spoke how he usually did: Methodical, calm, devoid of mercy. Mentioning Techno had been a mistake, and the conversation eased into detailed and pointed threats. Finally, he gave up.

"If I do this, you'll finally leave me and Techno alone?". An affirmative answer. Phil sighed, already weary of the experience.

"Fine. Screw you, but fine. I'll take your stupid project."

Current

Phil folded his arms, a scowl on his face.

"I'm just very paternal."

For some reason, Eret doubted that, but they nodded anyway.

"I decided I wanted to adopt a few months ago. I mean, I have the money for it, and there are so many kids without parents. I think I just wanted to do something about it, and try to give some kid a good childhood.". They laughed quietly under their breath.

"Sometimes I feel like something else put the idea in my head.". Phil and Eret looked towards Niki, expecting her to speak. She held her book close to her, fingers drumming on the cover.

"I've known for a while that I was going to adopt a baby today. St. Beryl's Orphanage, April 1st, the year I turn 19."

"How did you know?". Niki opened the book, re-reading the same familiar page.

"It's just fate."

-----------

Meanwhile, the two horsemen of the apocalypse were tired of just watching. 

If they stayed any longer without doing anything, this trip wouldn't be worth the motorcycle fuel. 

They rose from the seats in unison and slipped casually into the baby room. The head of the orphanage had been slumped against the wall, exhausted. However, when the duo entered the room, she leapt to her feet.

"Excuse me, no demons, no angels, nothing dead or dying, no refunds, no Charlie, and no one I don't want here is allowed in this room!". The one cloaked in black stepped forward, hands raised in a pacifying gesture and a kind smile on his face.

"Well, I'm none of those things! My name's BadBoyHalo, but most people are kind of formal and call me Famine.". That last bit of the sentence was accompanied by a sheepish eye roll, as though to say I know it's silly, but I can't help being well-known.

"My friend over there is George. What's your name?". The head of the orphanage tried very hard to feel suspicious. There were two strangers in the most important room there, she should have her guard up as far as possible. Yet, for some reason, she couldn't feel any distrust for the Famine in front of her.

"My name is Puffy. Why are you here?"

"Us? We're just here for a look. Right, George?". George hadn't really been interested in the conversation, although it was hard to tell what he was thinking about behind his white sunglasses. He raised his head, looking bored.

"Yeah. Sure.". 

Puffy could see several concerning things about letting two horsemen of the apocalypse take a quick look at the antichrist, but she couldn't quite think clearly.

She tried to focus on the current situation, but all she could think about was how much she wanted a good night's sleep, and a vacation, and a different life. Bad's smile remained constant, cheerful and understanding.

"Is this the job you want, Puffy?". She shook her head, eyes glassy.

"When I was a kid, I wanted to be a hero. Help out people who needed helping. I really have no idea how I got here.". Bad nodded.

"Well, Puffy, you seem tired. There's a lot of muffin-heads outside making a racket, and it seems like a lot to deal with. If you want to just go upstairs and take a quick nap, we can handle things for you!". Puffy quietly agreed and walked out of the room in a daze. Already, she could tell something was wrong, but she felt sapped of the strength to care.

As her head hit the pillow, she made a vow to herself that if she came back and the kids were harmed in any way, she'd personally bring hell to their doorsteps.

-----------

"Bad, did you seriously hypnotize a woman so you could hold a baby?"

"Not just a baby, George! Three babies!"

"That makes it much better, yes.”

"You're just upset that they like me more.". Bad bounced around the babies, cooing over them.

"Who's the cutest little antichrist? Who's the tiniest omen of doom? You are!". He picked up Baby No. 2 and tapped his nose.

"Boop!". George stood there quietly.

"He's going to be mad if he finds out we came here."

"Exactly, if he finds out. Besides, he needs us."

"I know he needs me. You, on the other hand, are kind of on thin ice."

"Calm yourself. Hold a baby.". Bad picked up Baby No. 2 from his box, where antichrist: this side up was clearly visible, and handed him to George. George held the green-blanketed baby, staring intently into his eyes. 

Baby No. 3 started screaming once more, and Bad ran over to pick him up and shush him.

"Aww, it's okay. You're not going to die for another 16 years, you have nothing to scream about now!". Baby No. 3 seemed to take in his words for a few seconds, before shrieking even louder. 

The door was flung open by the ominous angelic book club, who tried to shove their way to the child in George's arms. Bad sighed, exasperated, and shifted into a more monstrous form.

"Seems like I have to do some security work. Can you hold this one too?". Without waiting for an answer, he passed Baby No. 3 to George and walked out into the hallway, using his hollow iron scales to push otherworldly paparazzi aside.

After the first act of Heathers, Wilbur slipped out of the theater. It wasn't a particularly good production, and he didn't see the point in staying. 

He decided that if he wasn't going to do anything else, he should probably teleport to St. Beryl's and do his job. 

The orphanage was even more chaotic than before, and he had to light one or two minor demons on fire to clear his way. 

Finally, he reached the room with the antichrist. The room was mostly empty, except for one basket in the corner, and a familiar stranger holding two babies and panicking slightly.

The stranger turned to face Wilbur, and he realized who he was speaking to. He'd never met a horseman of the apocalypse before, but he'd heard of their reputations and seen them from afar.

"Pestilence. Pleasure to meet you.". Pestilence leaned nonchalantly in the doorway with a smile, which was quite a feat for someone holding two sobbing children.

"Please, call me George."

"George. Interesting name, for someone with your position."

“What's wrong with it?"

"It's fine, your colleagues have just mostly had ridiculous names. I mean, who in their right mind names themself Sapnap? No offense, don't discorporate me."

"Well, relatively speaking, I'm pretty new to the job. Stick around another 500 years, and who knows what will happen?"

"With your name, or with discorporating me?"

"Both, I guess.". Wilbur checked his pocket watch (it had been broken sometime in the 1910s, and he hadn't had the time to get it fixed, but he still liked the idea of checking a pocket watch).

"Fun as this conversation is, I was thinking that I should be the one to deliver the child to his parent.". George opened his mouth, probably to say no, but the sound of the babies crying increased. He stopped, irritated, and nodded.

"Why not? It's not like I actually work here."

"Excellent. Just give me the antichrist, and I'll be out of your hair. Unless you want to meet up again after this-"

"I'm good."

"Alright.". George held Baby No. 2 and Baby No. 3 side by side, as if weighing them. He titled his head from the child wrapped in a green blanket to the child wrapped in a red blanket. Finally, he handed the one in red to Wilbur.

"I'm pretty sure this is the antichrist. I'm a bit colorblind.". The sentence was accompanied by an airy laugh and a small grin, and Wilbur smiled back before leaving the room with Baby No. 3.

-----------

Phil was going to murder him. 

The guy couldn't die, but he was going to murder him anyway. Of all the petty things, he had to threaten Philza and his loved ones just for him to sit in a room for hours for absolutely no reason. 

Was this that creature's sick idea of a prank? 

Five seconds before he was going to storm out, agreement be damned, there was a polite knock on the door. He got up to open it, and Baby No. 3 lay on the floor, silent and peacefully sleeping for the first time in his short existence. 

Phil shrugged, deciding not to question it.

He gently picked the baby up from the ground, and headed home. 

(If he'd been looking more intently, he would have noticed 1) A certain demon sitting cross-legged on the ceiling, having decided that he probably shouldn't come face to face with someone he was supposed to spy on, and 2) His closest friend hiding behind a newspaper in the lobby, ready for some good old fashioned arson).

-----------

Anyway, once the antichrist was safely adopted (or so they thought), all that was left was to find a place to put all of these bonus babies. George picked up Baby No. 1 and Baby No. 2, and headed for the waiting room, where Eret and Niki regarded each other as friends already.

Unfortunately, Quackity decided that he had some meddling left in him for the evening, and he decided to make sure everything was going according to plan. He teleported into the orphanage seamlessly, folding his wings into his coat and looking over his sunglasses.

George strolled into the waiting room.

"Pick a child, any child. I don't have all day.". Eret tilted their head in confusion.

"Isn't there paperwork, or an application process, or something official we're supposed to-"

"Do you want the kid or not?". Niki reached for Baby No. 2, and Eret shrugged and took Baby No. 1.

Quackity watched the process take place through the keyhole. 

This seemed alright. They both seemed like non-horrible humans, and he'd be fine watching over either of them for the 16 years. Then, he noticed the book under the young woman's arm. 

The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. First edition, which should be impossible, unless she's some kind of descendant. And I'm not dealing with lying to a witch. 

He tried to remember which kid was the actual antichrist and which was the fraud. 

The green one and the blue one were both important. The blue one was the fake, and the green one was the real deal, right? Or was the green one the fake, and the blue one fake? Wasn't there a red one at one point? Fuck. 

At the last moment, Quackity decided that he couldn't just stand still and risk it. He did the first thing that came to mind and killed the lights. 

The lightbulbs exploded, leaving everyone in darkness. In the chaos, he telekinetically switched the babies.

Alright. No witches today, thanks. I'll just follow the other one home from afar, and everything will be fine.

----------

Later that night, when the orphanage was almost empty, a man set his newspaper aside and crept through the building. 

He lit Molotov cocktails with precision and chucked them wherever a fireball seemed needed. Flames weren't his usual method of destruction, but he had to get creative sometimes. 

His plan had been slowed down by Phil showing up at this "orphanage", but once he left the game was back on.

If anyone wanted to start the apocalypse and take away everything the two of them had worked for, they'd have to go through Technoblade.

The entire building was consumed and burnt to the ground. The arson case would remain unsolved, like most of his work, and Techno hadn't seen any potential casualties that would make people want to investigate. 

Sadly, there was one person left in the building when it burned, and she couldn't wake up from her dreams of the sea and a sword in her hands to smell the smoke.

----------

Wilbur followed Philza home unnoticed, disguised as wisps of shadow and cigarette ash. 

In lieu of a cradle, Phil temporarily arranged a drawer as a bed for Baby No. 3 and set him down. Once the baby seemed safe and calm, he left to collapse on the couch. 

Wilbur frowned. Where's his name? Names were important. They could be bargained with, broken, foretell fate, and be used as a lifeline if need be. You didn't just leave a child without a name.

This had to be remedied. He conjured a post-it note and a pen, and snuck over to the drawer considering the merits of different names. 

Kraken? Should I name him Kraken? No, he doesn't seem like a Kraken. The child stirred once, yawning, bright blue eyes nearly opening.

His name is Tommy.

The realization hit Wilbur all at once. Tommy wasn't a particularly demonic name, but it just felt too right to pick anything else. 

So, he wrote "Tommy" on the post-it note and stuck it on the blanket, hoping that Phil would think it had been there the whole time. 

The baby grabbed his finger as he pulled back his hand, not letting go. Wilbur's heart wasn't melted at all. Not a bit.

"I'm going to need that back, Tommy.". Carefully, he took his finger out of the tiny hand's grasp.

"It's very nice to meet you. My name's Wilbur. I'm your guardian, Tommy, and you're going to burn down the world one day."

-----------

At the same time, Quackity followed Eret back to their home (although mansion might be more accurate. Was the chandelier really necessary?). 

They'd been planning for this for months, and anything that Quackity could worry about had already been taken care of five minutes ago. Baby No. 2 was even named quickly and with care.

The angel breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing evil could be named "Tubbo", right? 

Eret disappeared to a nearby room, allowing Quackity the chance to formally meet him and Fundy's charge. He teleported down to the cradle and contemplated the kid.

"Hey, I know that this has been a long day, but I'm Quackity. Me and my friend are going to be looking after you for a few years, because Tubbo? It's up to you to save the world. Good luck."

-----------

At the same time, Niki went back to her home. 

The rain finally stopped, and she put the Nice and Accurate Prophecies back on the shelf to hold Baby No. 1, the real prophesied end of days. 

I don't know if I'm ready for this. I don't know anything about being a mother, or stopping the apocalypse, but I'm expected to do both.

The child opened his eyes. They were the one usual thing about an otherwise average baby: One eye was a fiery red, while one was a leafy green. They vaguely reminded Niki of a forest fire.

She set up the cradle and cast various charms, determined to get this right. 

She was so focused on protecting her son (for he was her son, now) that she didn't notice a skeletal green hand reach out of the shadows for her book and cut out select pages and phrases with a knife of bone. 

Niki gently put her child down, already full of intense care for him.

You're going to be okay. I don't know about heaven or hell or any of those idiots, but I can promise you one thing, Ranboo: I'll make sure you're safe. I swear it.

Hope you enjoyed!

#dream smp #dsmp #good omens au #fan fiction #writing #beware the drafts of march #ranboo #wilbur soot #schlatt #fundy #quackity #badboyhalo #tommyinnit #georgenotfound #philza minecraft

[justarookiewriter]

Prom Night

Pairing: Diana Prince x Reader

Summary: It’s prom night and your plans to spend it with your “boyfriend” are cancelled when Diana asks you to help fix her dress which leads to an interesting turn of events to say the least.

Warnings: Mentions of an abusive relationship, name-calling.

Author’s note: This fic is based off of a dream I had a while ago but I did change it up a bit because the dream was kind of all over the place. This is also my first work here on tumblr so I would really love some feedback from you guys.

Key: y/d/n = your dad’s name

Word length: 1,583

“There,” your mother gave you a smile as she locked eyes with you in the mirror. She had just finished styling your hair for tonight and she couldn’t help but think how proud she was of you; this was your first night out since the incident. “You look beautiful, sweetheart. Michael is going to love it.”

You gave your mom a tight lipped smile as you unconsciously tugged on the sleeves of your hoodie. You didn’t want to risk getting anything on the dress in fear of what Michael would do. He had gifted it to you weeks ago and… made sure you didn’t wear it until you were supposed to so you didn’t ruin it and you’d be damned if you messed it up now.

Truthfully, you didn’t even want to go tonight but you didn’t have the heart to tell her that. Out of all your siblings, you were the only one who had showed any interest in these milestones and she wanted to make sure you had the best night of your life. You remember the way her eyes had lit up when you told her that prom was a few months away and you couldn’t crush her spirits by telling her that you didn’t want to go.

“I wish I could stay to see how beautiful you look in the dress, but I really must be going. This is an important night for the company.”

“I know, mom. It’s okay, really.”

Your mother gave you another smile before pressing a kiss to your forehead as she rushed to get her next words out. “Okay, Diana will be here soon to pick you up. She’ll be staying the night too. Take lots of pictures for me and make sure you’re both back before midnight. I should be home sometime before then. Have fun and I love you.”

“Love you too, mom.”

You released a breath as the door shut behind her and let your face rest in your hands, careful not to mess up your hair. This was just great. Your date to prom was somebody you thought you loved and could care less about while the girl you actually wanted to go to prom with had stuck you in the friendzone. God, you just wanted the world to swallow you whole.

“Guess I better finish getting ready.”

✯ ✯ ✯

The sun was just starting to set over the horizon when you finally heard a knock on your door. It was a gentle knock and had it been anyone else at the door you would have assumed you were hearing things, but Diana always knew just how much power to use to gain your attention. It was one of the reasons you fell for her; her ability to be sweet and gentle and powerful all at the same time.

You opened the door with a smile, your heart fluttering at the sight of Diana in front of you. At least, until you saw her dress and you didn’t have time to suppress your giggles or your words. “What are you wearing?”

Diana gave you a frown as she looked down at her dress before tilting her head at you in confusion. “I do’nt know what you mean? It’s a dress. Is there something wrong with it?”

“No, no, nothing’s wrong. It’s just… it’s not necessarily a prom dress.”

“There are… specific dresses for prom?”

You released a chuckle as you saw the look of confusion on her face. Her eyebrows were furrowed together creating the smallest of creases on her forehead and her lips were formed into a slight pout. By God, she looked adorable like that. One of these days your heart was going to explode from how cute she was.

“Kind of,” you said, doing your best to fight off your upcoming blush. “But it’s nothing to be worried about. It’s just a dance.”

A very important dance that I’d much rather skip… or at least spend with you.

“I am not worried,” Diana spoke drawing your attention back to her. She had a smile on her face and a gleam in her eye that oozed so much confidence you couldn’t help but be jealous. How did you ever manage to make a friend with someone so confident when you were just… you. You sighed internally. Diana deserved so much more than you in a best friend. She needed someone to match her level of confidence; someone who wasn’t you. “But still, I would like a more appropriate dress. Would you mind helping me, daughter of y/d/n?”

Your breath caught in your throat as Diana gently wrapped her hand around your wrist and gave you that smile that you loved oh-so-much. You stared up into her beautiful blue eyes wondering if this was all a dream or if Diana was really leaning down to kiss you.

Wait… what?

Your mind was swimming in overdrive as you attempted to process if any of this was actually happening or if you were just going through some kind of self-induced mental breakdown. Your eyes searched hers and your heart pounded against your ribcage as Diana’s lips inched closer and closer to yours.

But as fate would have it, the kiss was just not meant to be.

Just as her lips were about to descend upon yours, your phone began to blare through the room with a familiar ringtone making you jump away from Diana. You tried to ignore the hurt look in her eyes as you scrambled to answer your phone. You released a quiet breath before sliding your finger over the screen and pressing the phone to your ear. “Hey, Mike.”

“Bitch, where the fuck are you? You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. I can’t walk in without your dumb ass; I need your dress to compliment my suit,” you flinched as you heard the building anger in his voice and you knew that he was clenching his fists in an effort to keep his cool.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that -,”

“I don’t want to hear any excuses, bitch, just hurry up and get your ass here… or else.”

The call ended with a click before you could respond and you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding when it was over. How did you two end up like this? Everything had been perfect and then it all just came crashing down. You hadn’t even realized you were crying until you felt Diana’s hand on your cheek, her thumb wiping away your tears.

“He doesn’t deserve you, you know,” she whispered, her free hand pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear before coming down to gently rest on your hip. “Anyone who dares to talk to someone as sweet as you like that shouldn’t even have you in the first place.”

“You don’t know him like I do, Annie,” but did you even know him in the first place? A person doesn’t just change from the sweet and caring person you’d known since you were kids to a mentally abusive self-absorbed lunatic in the span of a few weeks. Deep down, the rational part of you, the part that Michael had slowly been destroying, knew there was a chance that you had never known him in the first place. But the irrational part, the part that was growing dependent on him; on his love (no matter how twisted it could be), his affection (despite how rarely he gave it), just him in general, refused to believe that he was a bad guy. Troubled, maybe, but that’s your own fault; you haven’t shown him enough love. “He needs me.”

“But does he love you? Like you love me?” The question came out as a whisper, almost like she was scared of your answer.

“He -,” you struggled to find a suitable answer to her question, unable to fight off the new bout of tears building in the corner of your eyes. She knew. Oh god, of course, she knew. She wasn’t your best friend for nothing. She had always been able to see right through you. Why did you ever think that you could keep this from her? “Diana, I -,”

This was just a disaster waiting to happen. You were about to lose your best friend because you couldn’t keep your feelings hidden and Michael was going to kill you. You knew there was a chance this day would come, you were just hoping you’d be more mentally prepared. Diana was your only piece of happiness in this world (besides your mom) and you weren’t ready to lose her.

“Do not fret, little one,” she said, her hand tilting your chin up so you could look her in the eyes. You could just barely make out the small smile curled upon her face through your tears. “I like you too.”

“You do?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, her lips mere inches from yours. “And I would be honored if I could show you what love really looks like.”

You could feel a blush rising to your cheeks and if the grin on Diana’s face was anything to go by, she was enjoying making you flustered. You licked your lips staring up into her ocean blue eyes. Then after a moment of hesitation, you spoke. “I’d like that, Diana.”

And finally, after years and years of pining, Diana’s lips descended upon yours.

#diana prince x reader #diana prince #wonder woman #diana prince imagine #dceu #wonder woman x reader #dc #wonder woman imagine #au #prom au #high school au #x reader #first work

[nyctolovian]

this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore

This was written for @tma-safehouse-fest day 3-5 prompt (pining). But its sorta a dedication to the way the romance is written cos jon and martin legit try so hard to make things work :’ Please enjoy it!!

Summary: A study of Jon's love for Martin and why he kept it. (set in S4)

link to AO3

Jon knew exactly what this was—pining. Very useless and painful pining.

He was surprised by how quickly he recognised it. Less emotionally constipated people have taken longer to notice their romantic feelings for another. It was all rather strange and hilarious, if you asked him. (But he’d heard plenty of people criticise his sense of humour so he suggested you take this opinion with a pinch of salt.)

During the first few months in the hospital, despite his coma, he heard Martin—sensed him even. He noticed Martin not in words, though Jon knew he was being spoken to, but in presence and genuineness. And he came often, and would always be exuding tender care. Then, his presence began to dwindle with each passing visit, before it dropped off altogether.

Jon didn't (or couldn't, given his unconscious state) think much of it. Then, while asking Basira about what happened in the Unknowing, he was abruptly reminded of him—Martin, where was he? How was he?

Then, came the first thing he would Know after becoming an Avatar. Jon was overwhelmed with the somehow already deep-seated knowledge that he had feelings for Martin, something that had apparently been left brewing like wine in his chest during his Not-Death.

Almost immediately after he came to this realisation however, he was also struck with the fact that he hadn't been visiting lately. Not within the last month. Suddenly, cold dread that Martin didn't care about Jon anymore thrummed in his chest. Had their affections missed each other? Like two fleeting trains on opposite sides glancing off one another?

No, Jon was to learn that it was much worse. Martin was working for the Lonely.

Jon's chest tightened with worry at the thought. What was he doing? Didn't he know working for any of the Fears was bad news? Jon didn't want Martin to be put in danger like this. He didn't want Martin to become… like him, whatever that meant—not human, trying hard to be not-monster…

The dread expanded in his chest when he finally saw Martin. The sheer relief he had felt when he first set his eyes upon Martin could easily set him afloat. He had lost a little weight and grown slightly pale, but he was still alive and well nonetheless, cupping a mug of tea and wearing his usual large faded sweaters.

Jon, on the other hand, must have looked awful with his coma-induced haggardness and messy bun.

When Jon called out to Martin, a look of shock passed over his face at the sight of the man. His eyes darted down to Jon's outfit.

Self-consciously, Jon fiddled with the sides of his ankle-length skirt. His usual clothes had been more or less destroyed by his numerous kidnappings and near-deaths so he had to get new ones. He had made the decision to ditch professionalism entirely and gone for 100% comfort as a petty rebellion against the institution he was trapped within. Unfortunately, his outfits of choice resembled that of a little old Grandma, he belatedly realised.

When he glanced back up nervously, Martin's initial shock was already plastered over with composure. Cheekily, however, the Eye had let Jon Know that Martin's glances were rather appreciative ones and that sent his heart fluttering uselessly.

This short interaction replayed in Jon's mind for days and days, and he found himself drenching in mortification. Every interaction after that too. He would find himself thinking back to it and regretting his every word and twitch. (Not seeking Martin though. He never regretted seeking him.) And after the first sting of embarrassment subsided, he was left with the gentle aftertaste of his pining. To be frank, it was a bitter thing, as expected of something left brewing as long as it had.

He often found himself lying in bed, bolster held tightly against his chest, imagining Martin in his arms. And he'd feel a pang of pain. One that could only be relieved by the warmth of another.

Pining was not something Jon was familiar with. He was not the type to develop crushes to begin with. On the off chance he did, however, he had always been quick to stamp out the first flames of affection, with Georgie as the only other exception. Thus, the pain of yearning for someone you could only watch and think about from afar was incredibly foreign to Jon.

It was pathetic. It was embarrassing. It was unbearable.

But he cradled it in his palms, gently cherishing, refusing to let drop. Anyone who so much as implied that this feeling was something he couldn’t help would be dead wrong.

Jon chose Martin.

He had decided for himself—vowed it to whatever sick god that was watching him—that he was going to love Martin. He found the nascent affection growing in his chest and chose to keep it, let it bloom, chose to foster it even. He saw the red string of fate on his pinky and stubbornly wound it around his wrist, twice, thrice, over and over, tethering himself to this stupid love against all rationality.

He wasn't letting go.

He wasn't letting go of Martin.

Because everyone seemed to think he was gone, lost to doing the Lonely’s bidding. Not Jon. When Martin reassured him that he was doing everything for their sake, to protect them, Jon wholeheartedly believed those words. Martin wouldn’t do anything to hurt them. He didn’t just Know this; Jon trusted him.

But if Martin kept giving and giving, what would be left of him by the end? Surely somebody had to give something back. Jon couldn’t just watch him wither away into nothingness under the aegis of the Lonely.

Who was going to pull Martin out of the Lonely when it's time for him to return? (Surely he would come back. He'd come back when this was all over. He had to.)

Jon knew it had to be himself. Because Jon loved Martin, and loving him was the most natural thing to do. And, by god, Jon was fighting tooth and nail till his body fell apart to protect this.

If he had to die to keep his love, he would.

***

“Uh,” Martin muttered. “Jon, I, uh, I appreciate this but um…”

Jon looked down at their interlocked hands, not quite registering.

“I have to open the door.”

“Oh.” Jon’s face heated. “Oh. Yes, of course.” Reluctantly, he released Martin’s right hand, shivering as he did so. This was the first brush of cool air against his now-sweaty palms in hours.

He hadn’t noticed how long they had their hands linked like this. They must have been holding hands since their reunion inside the Lonely’s realm. He had been so petrified of losing Martin again that he had clasped his hand in an almost-death grip while he navigated through the mists and fogs.

Yet, Jon found himself missing the contact already. It hadn’t even been three seconds and already Jon was longing for Martin’s touch like a needy child. His fingers were growing cold and his heart was palpitating with the ferocious urge to just grasp Martin’s hand and superglue it to his. Never in his life had he ever felt this possessive but he really couldn’t be blamed after losing so much.

As soon as Martin got his front door to open though, he turned to look at Jon with the most tender smile, and held his left hand towards him. “How about we switch hands? My other one’s gotten quite moist.”

The warmth that swelled in Jon’s chest was a ridiculous thing but he quickly snatched up that offered hand anyway.

It was stupid, trying to pack clothes into a suitcase with two hands of two different people, but they somehow made it work. And when it was Jon’s turn to pack his bag, they allowed the same silly process to repeat itself. And if they shared a hug in the middle of the living room, no one would ever know.

Jon wasn’t letting go.

And Martin wasn’t letting go either.

#tmasafehousefest #jonmartin #pining #tma #the magnus archives #magpod #tma fanfic #fanfic #my writing #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #hurt/comfort #tma season four

[noro-noro-noro]

here’s dreams from the past 3 days that i forgot to post on tumblr

8.31 - beach trip with the fam turns bad 9.1 - video game character x me, high school au 9.2 - running with the highschool theme, i go back to school & it sucks. then there’s a blood incident

8.31.2021 Me my dad & my sister were at a house on the beach for vacation. i spent a lot of time walking around by myself & I remember making a frog full of mud. the streets weren't great, they were in circles and no rails on small bridges over water. we were on a one week vacation. i was also at the beach with a male friend & it was our first ight there bc we were tracking down something. 

my family went to the grocery store. in the store I had brought something with me that's liked? anyway we were browsing in the food lion & suddenly something happens. like an evil scientist pulled some shit...we had to evacuate the store immediately or else something would happen i the next 2 minutes - he story would explode. everyone is panicking and freaking out & stampeding the exit and the lights went out too..it was around sunset time of day. this was a real terror inducing moment. an old lady wasn't letting people exit through the enter door so traffic was really congested but we left through it anyway. i had a bunch of pistachios in my hands? we got to my car which was parked a bit far from the store & there were the three of us but the 4th person wasn't there & I was terrified I was like dad where's he at?? & my dad said ",23 have to go there's only 12 seconds, & I floored it. The fourth person was Liu Dongcheng from kengan omega. at the 4 second mark I saw him emerge from the store leisurely confused looking for us but then I went around the corner and he was gone. 

there was no instantaneous explosion so I kept driving to get away - but the roads were convoluted and I ended up going in s circle and getting right back when I tried to leave.  there was a huge energy ball orb thing green and disgusting floating above the store & as we watched it rolled off & hit the ocean  & destroyed everything in its path and vaporized the ocean. complete terror. 

we went into our beach house which was unfortunately near the store & turned all the lights off closed all the windows etc. the beach house was just a copy of my mom's house tbh. then someone pulled into our driveway driving a large red suv. there were2 older white guys at the wheel and passenger seat & a pretty middle aged asian lady with her daughter in the back. her daughter was apparently my sister's friend named Janna who came.to visit ?? so it was cool that she was there I guess?. she seemed very young, like 10 years old. anyway we were trying to act happy to see her but we wanted these people put of our house so the thing in the store wouldn’t know there were people here. I was upstairs trying to close all the windows without being seen when she showed up. 

then I woke up. I am not conveying the sense of fear from escaping the grocery store in time. it was scary. we were scared.

9.1.2021 some video game character had a twin brother that also had a crush on me. this was in a school environment and we were in class? i skipped my math class to hang out with him. Idk how many exactly there were of them at first in thought there was just 1. We were affectionate with each oth were holding hands under the desk and in the hallways when walking and both of us were apparently bullied by the popular people so when they looked at us we glared back. At some point the school turned into a mall & we had like a project to do, but also the mall was destroyed in a cataclysm of some kind some kind of electro dragon was tearing the school apart. 

& this part isn't canon but I was thinking of if it took me, would that video game character transform in public to get me back and the other brother(Maybe he was just a friend honestly idk?) stayed behind for us to get out or was left behind. he died but he lived somehow. He might have gone to attack the dragon too but got smacked out of the sky. He woke up again as some kind of undead elf??? & I found him in the rubble & was so happy to see him we held hands too? anyway then we met up with original dude & I got to hold his hand too. The brother/friend looked like a completely different person at this point. Second guy was blond with long hair looked kinda like a younger commodore norrington also had black streaks under his eyes as if he was crying sludge.

We were in the mall again & e were meeting with group members for a project just some random girls & we sat at a table outside a froyo place to discuss.

9.2.2021 a dream I had during my second sleep section was related to the first dream that I still haven't posted so I'll edit this post when I finally get on my laptop. 

anyway, I was on the bus going to highschool again all of a sudden. usually on the bus to highschool I just sleep until I get to school since I had to get on that thing at 5:30am, so I had a dream about sleeping..great. anyway in that dream the people sitting in the seat in front of me talking quietly & the other guy at my stop that I had a very compulsory-heterosexuality crush on for like 7 years straight who would also sleep on the bus didn't bring his bookbag, which made me super self conscious because my bookbag had 2 binders crammed full of random papers & etc & I waslike it's the last 2 weeks of school, so maybe I didn't need this?? also since he usually leaned on his bookbag every time I glanced over at him he was sleeping in increasingly weird positions. 

suddenly it was 3:55am & the bus was totally empty except for me & the bus driver & I was like "ma'am what's going on, was school cancelled?' & she was like "bitch I have no fucking clue" & she drove past my mom's house & I was like can you let me off here & she was like no ❤️. so I ended up going to school. 

i got there at 7am the normal time. the classes I was taking in the first dream were relevant at this point but I don't think I wrote those down - a chem class that I was actually trying in even though I hate chem, & then the calc class I skipped to hang out with that guy from the first dream - somehow I was conscripted into this art class instead, which was fine because I'd wanted to be in that class but it filled up & my credit for this class would replace the calc class I kept skipping. the lady teacher was a middle aged white lady that kinda resembled my old piano teacher (not the one whose husband died last year, the one before her) & she had no furniture in her art studio, which was also a T shaped room with the doors at the bottom of the T & shelves high enough off the walls that everyone would sit under them. the left crossbar had a door at the end that went into like a labyrinth of hallways & offices with the lights off. it was kind of like a horror movie back there tbh really hated it. there was a girl sitting on the floor across from me doing an origami model I think for a samurai? I wanted to ask her if I could see the diagrams, but It was during class. oh i also remembered i was wearing jeans & i was mad about it since i hate jeans

class eventually ended & school was out, but I stayed behind to ask the teacher why I was in her class & she was like "well I bent the rules bc I wanted you here". & i was like oh cool I guess. & then started trying to get my stuff together to leave, except stuff in my bookbag kept teleporting out & my friend Carly (based off a girl I literally haven't seen since kindergarten) was waiting on me & by the time we left it was 8pm & the buses obviously weren't coming anymore. 

another part: I was playing a game with my sister - idk if it was a video game or real life somehow? - where we were the blue team & we were made up of small little people with different proportions that moved at different speeds & we had to use springboards to get ahead & also attack the other team somehow. there was a red team that was this girl with small eyes & long soft hair that kept targeting the characters I was controlling specifically. I didn't understand how to play at all & my sister wasn't explaining it well. 

i stopped playing the game when my period abruptly started but it was a really weird one?? blood was somehow all over my entire bodyaube coming through my pores? & all my clothes were dirty & I got bloodstains on my blankets & sheets & carpet & etc while walking to the bathroom. but my dad shrank the bathroom & took the sink out? like the room was just cropped to the size it would be without a sink & my shower size was cut in half & I turned the water on but it was freezing & the showerhead was facing out of the shower & wouldn't go back so I was spraying cold water all over the floor & I was like DAD WHY DID YOU TAKE MY SINK & he said "TO CLEAN IT OBVIOUSLY JUST SHOWER I'LL PUT IT BACK LATER" 

#dreams

[cattearambles]

Dionysus, the different aspects of death and how Nico gets caught in the middle

So I was on anon and told @jerseydevious that I did this for my “dissertation” and that I had a HC on this matter. And then people started saying they wanted to read it? So.... uh... here it is in summary form?

Before I get into the summary and post the full length essay link, I want to say that yes, I did my dissertation on it. However, I am far from an expert on the matter. There was only so much I could write for a 5000 word essay with a 10% leeway. This is just what I found. If you find anything that contradicts this, please do bring it up! I love discussions and debates! Also, I guess trigger warning for extreme violence, death and blood? If I’m forgetting something, please do tell me so I can add it. 

Let’s get into it.

Dionysus and his Mysteries

Dionysus had these Mysteries that were mostly aimed at women where they were initiated into an ecstatic cult which they believed would allow them to live happily and die with hope, according to Cicero. They used a bunch of intoxicants to induce mania or inspired frenzy and provided liberation by removing social constraints. As the name suggests, we don’t know much about what exactly happened in these initiations (telestai), but we can make assumptions based on extant descriptions and iconography.

Some background into what the Mysteries entailed, their background and ultimately how they relate to death and rebirth:

1) In one retelling of the myth (Orphic myths of the chthonic Dionysus), Dionysus was the son of Persephone and Zeus, not Semele. which brings up a whole plethora of uncomfortable whys but anyway  In this myth, Zeus names Dionysus as his heir and so the Titans plotted to kill him. The Titans shred him into pieces, boiled him and then consumed him. Zeus blasted them with lightning, reducing them to ash. The remaining ash would later become humanity, which led them to believe that humans being were Titanic in body but divine in soul. Dionysus was recovered by Demeter and thus reborn. 

2) Even in the more familiar myth of Semele being flashed by Zeus and Zeus saving embryo Dionysus by sewing him into his inner thigh is reminiscent of being twice born, establishing his connection to rebirth. I still don’t understand how this is possible... the skin would bulge so much??? How would Zeus walk if he had a melon sized lump on his thigh? How did the gods not notice this??? I have so many questions for the Ancient Greeks

3) In one myth surrounding the Alcyonian Lake in Lerna, worshippers blew trumpets by the lake to summon Dionysus from the Underworld. 

4) His companions are also associated with death, for example the maenads and the nymphs. In Euripides’ Bacchae, these maenads were whipped into a frenzy that later led to them ripping apart bulls, heifers and later a man. So death is pretty obviously connected to them. Nymphs were known in their roles in mourning (eg: Thetis sending Achilles off in a shroud in the Illiad) as well as their roles of guiding the dead to the Underworld.

5) Some things that were thought to have occur during these initiations were things like ritual violence like flagellation, vigourous dance with cymbals and tympanon and the drinking of wine. 

Death oracles were considered a powerful form of divination and the Ancient Greeks believed that the dead held knowledge beyond mortal comprehension. A lot of the information on death oracles is given in the Odyssey, if anyone wants to read further into it. Long treks were made to get to these death oracles and they asked stuff about death funnily enough. The client would typically undergo a series of preparation rites like fasting, purifying baths and eating certain seeds to get high.  They would enter the caves and the ghost was thought to appear to them in several ways eg: in their dreams, deus ex machina or hallucinations. 

Death Oracles and Necromancy

Comparing the two

 I go into a lot of depth about the similarities in locales between these two rituals and and also the way in which they induced an altered state of consciousness, but this is meant to be a summary so I’ll link the full essay below and you can read it if you like. I want to talk about some of their rituals. By consuming wine in the Dionysiac Mysteries, it not only served to alter the state of consciousness but it was thought that they were receiving Dionysus himself into their bodies and through divine possession (entheos) they would also receive a revelation. In that sense, the consumption of wine is comparable to how blood was offered to the dead in order to revive them and be imparted with their divine knowledge. Furthermore, there are metaphorical associations with wine production and the recurring themes of violence in that the grapes had to be broken down thoroughly before being brought back as something new and is also described as being the “blood of grapes”. This emphasises Dionysus’ tie with rebirth and also death. 

Both rituals helped to consolidate the clients’ status in life by reassuring them with the knowledge of the afterlife, eschatological hope and also by removing their fear by giving them a symbolic death. 

TLDR --> the Dionysian mysteries draw many comparisons to death oracles in location, ritual and iconography. It addresses their hope for what is to come. Death oracles, on the other hand, aided in answering questions about death, and so the two of them addressed different aspects of death. 

If you’re still here after reading all that, kudos to you! Here is the full length essay: https://we.tl/t-OdwbdNpNJ6

So how does this all tie in with my HC? We’ve established that Dionysus is actually more entrenched in death as previously thought. I’m just saying, the potential for Dionysus to be grudgingly chill with Nico is something I find immensely funny. Not to the point where he cares for him like his own child, but like a cool wine uncle (ha!).   I’m thinking he would turn a blind eye to a lot of things that Nico has done. If he wants to sit at another table (which he does in ToA but semantics)? Wow this Diet coke is exquisite. Just the right amount of carbonation. The colour is not as fullbodied as the 2017 batch I had earlier. Nico and a camper, let’s say Percy, do some damage because Big Three kids must have a lot of repressed power that sometimes bubble over. Anyway, Nico and Percy destroy something? Perry Johansson, organise the weapon shed. Did I just hear you sass me? Okay, now you’ve got cleaning duty with the harpies. I like to think that in TTC, when baby Nico excitedly points out that Dionysus is the wine dude, Dionysus doesn’t smite him where he stood not just because of the Mythomagic card, but because he had an inkling to his parentage but couldn’t be sure. Especially since he’s also connected to death.  But also think about the possibility of Dionysus trying to challenge Nico at Pacman. And Nico obviously obliterates him because if you were stuck in a time loop full of games, I’m pretty certain you’d be a pro at arcade games as well. And an interaction like this happens or something:

Percy: “You beat Mr. D at Pacman? And you’re not dead or a porpoise?!”

Nico: “I guess?”

Percy: “What did you do?! How??”

Nico, in utter confusion: “I existed???” 

Nico is confused and low key concerned, Percy is aggravated and also very confused, Dionysus is chilling, diet coke by his side and aware of the confusion he’s sowing but would turn anyone who brought it up into some sort of animal and Chiron is just there side-eyeing him, like “are you serious?” and very done. 

#pjo #percy jackson #nico di angelo #dionysus #what I want: good friendships that have a tonne of interaction #what I get: forced romances in HoO and more white bread ass Jason than I care for #I genuinely find this so interesting and the fact that people want to read it makes me super happy #it feels good putting one of my hyperfixations in the context of another hyperfixation #meta #long post #tw: extreme violence #tw: death #tw: blood #the great british queue off #now I'm just thinking that I've gotten this all wrong and wasted everyone's time!?!? #shush haz and go to sleep #but monkey brain won't let me