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wonhaz · 3 months

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break my heart again - y.jw

pairing : jungwon x fem!reader genre : classmates au, hanahaki au, angst, unrequited love, inspired by laufey's song - let you break my heart again wc : 2.2k warnings : child neglect, sickness, hospitals, blood, major character death, eating synopsis : yang jungwon breaks your heart, but you love him, and you'd let him do it again, and again. because you would rather die than live your life not loving him, and you do just that. a/n : i don't know why all my fic ideas from my bias (jungwon) are all so angsty but here you go ig! i put a lot of effort into the meaning of each flower and their symbolisms in the story so u can even google it if you want the full experience or full meanings. this laufey song makes me want to cry my eyes out but i hope u like the fic!

"one day i will stop falling in love with you."

you loved yang jungwon, but he didn't love you back.

he was the only thing you could think of, but you know well that he doesn't care about you. all of your friends told you to move on, to forget about him. you've tried, you really have, but nothing seems to work.

jungwon was everything any girl could ever want, top of the class, kind, funny, and not to mention, extremely cute. you're pretty sure every girl in school had feelings for him at one point, you were no different. you thought it would just be a happy crush, how did it get this bad?

how did you meet him? simple, he was your classmate, that's it. just your classmate. he knew if your existence, but only because of his role as class president, aside from that he had no reason to interact with you. he never saw how you looked at him with your lovesick gaze as he took down notes, he never saw you in the bleachers watching every single one of his competitions, he never saw you clutching your chest in pain, no matter what you did, he never saw you at all.

but you let him do it. again, and again, and again. as long as you were alive, you would let him break your heart again. all because you love yang jungwon.

your parents were busy, always out on business trips, leaving you all alone at home with no one to talk to. all you did at home was day dream and come up with fake scenarios and alternate universes where you and jungwon were a couple. did that help your current situation? hell no. it made it worse.

you sit at the dining table. alone. your plate with pie and your cup of coffee untouched, you were hungry, but had no appetite to eat. suddenly your favorite foods looked disgusting. you've read about this happening.

it's getting worse.

walking to school, you feel a pang of pain in your chest. quickly running to a hidden alley, you clutch your chest in pain. you feel as if you're about to throw up, trying to cough it out, petals fall out of your mouth instead. you watch as they float down to the floor, looking at them with a bitter smile. picking them up, you stuff them into a pocket in your bag.

arriving at school, you walk into the classroom. there he is. sitting on his friend's table laughing. walking to your seat, you lay your head on your table. listening to him laugh made your day better, but worse at the same time. each laugh he let out increased the growing pain in your chest.

you're grateful your teacher doesn't notice.

that nobody at school notices that you keep going to the bathroom. your friends don't notice either, you don't know whether to feel hurt or happy. hurt that they don't know you're in pain, happy that it will make it easier for you to leave this world since they don't pay attention to you. quickly locking yourself in a stall, you start coughing with no end. daffodil petals leave your lips with red stains. your blood. taking out your phone, you search up the meaning of daffodils. "daffodils symbolize unrequited love, rebirth, new beginnings, and eternal life."

eternal life. something you knew you didn't have.

during lunch break, you see jungwon in the halls. he's smiling holding a small bouquet of pink tulips. you look at him with a sad smile, you know it's not for you, it would never be for you. feeling the need to cough again, you run into an empty hallway and pink petals leave your mouth. pink tulips. crazy to think how quickly seeing jungwon could affect you.

finally deciding to see the doctor, you go to the hospital after school. you sit on the cold metal seats in the waiting room, waiting for your name to be called. "shim _______?". quickly standing up, you made your way into the doctors office and greet the doctor. "so what brings you hear young lady?" he asks. "this." you respond, taking the petals out of your bag and spreading them on his desk. you see the doctor's eyes widen and he looks at you. "hanahaki.." you hear him say, "how long have you been coughing up petals?", "about a month." you say and he shakes his head, "this means that you only have a bit of time left, meaning you've had this for months but only started coughing petals until recently. I'm afraid you only have 5 months left.". your heart drops, but it's alright, it was already broken. nodding, you tell him you understand. "do you plan to have the surgery? or is there a chance the one you love will love you back?" the doctor asks with hopeful eyes. you shake your head, "neither." you say, "i don't want the surgery, and the one i love will never love me back.". "______" the doctor says your name softly, "you'll die.". "i know." you say,

"but i'd rather die than live a life not loving him."

you leave the hospital that day knowing you have 5 months left. nothing would heal your broken heart. jungwon could never grow love for you, the only thing growing was the flowers in your lungs. you make your way to your home, if you could even all it one. you didn't even know where your parents currently were, but you do know that "business trips are more important." according to them. laying on your bed, you stare at your ceiling, just a few more months you think, and all this will be over.

you try to make the most of school.

since in a few months you won't have to go, grades are not something for you to worry about anymore. it didn't matter with your current situation. you went to school to see him, and only for that sole reason. sitting with your friends at the cafeteria, you stare at jungwon seated on the opposite side of the room. seeing him smiling makes you smile. seeing him happy makes you happy. one of your friends ask you if you're okay. "are you okay, _____? you haven't touched your food at all.", truthfully, you didn't feel like eating anything these days, but you can't tell them that. "yes, I'm alright, just got a little distracted." and they nod. they continue their conversation and your eyes find your way back to jungwon. he's getting up to leave, you excuse yourself from your friends and follow him out at a distance.

"jungwon! when are you asking your crush out? you've already given her tulips!", you hear one of his friends say. "soon, not sure yet." he responds nudging his friend and laughing. "but i found out she likes roses." jungwon says, almost instantly you feel your chest tighten and you know that you need to make a run for it. you run in the opposite direction to the bathroom and lock the stall door. you start coughing, the pain in your chest becoming unbearable. red rose petals with blood on them.

you always thought roses were beautiful, but with beauty comes pain. the thorns growing in your lungs making your breath hitch. you knew that your time was running out faster than expected.

three months left.

you start writing in a journal, in hopes that someone will find it after you leave. that they'll read about your last months loving jungwon. that they'll read about your tragic love story that never even was a love story in the first place. you write about jungwon and all the things you liked about him, about being left alone at home, and about ever single kind of petal you have coughed up, sticking them to the pages and learning about the meaning of each one. you learned that red roses symbolized love and romance, how ironic. two things that you would never experience. not in this life at least, hopefully in the next.

one month left.

you wanted to talk to jungwon before you left forever. even if it was short and made no sense. you knew he got to school early and you made an effort to get there early too. he sat at his desk studying for the test later, mustering up the courage to walk up to him, you stand at the end of his desk and he looks up and gives you a confused look. "hi _____, do you need something?" he asks. "thank you, jungwon." you say and his eyebrows furrow. "for what?", "for everything." you say with a smile. "you're welcome?" he says still confused. flashing him a small smile, you get your bags and walk out the classroom leaving him alone, his eyes follow you as you walk out. he shrugs and goes back to what he was doing. he doesn't care.

that broke your heart again.

one week left.

you thought you were well prepared for your departure. you wrote a letter to your parents, leaving it on their table. you weren't even sure if they would ever come home and read it, but it didn't matter. their not-so-golden only child would be gone and they wouldn't even know. you wrote a letter to each of your friends, it was easy since you only had a few. you gave it to them at school and made them promise to read them in a week. you wanted to go in peace. you wanted to go alone.

3 days left.

you go to school to gather everything from your locker, touching the cold metal door for the last time. you greet your favorite teachers before you leave, you even buy your favorite drink from the cafeteria, you were going to miss how it tasted. you walk out of the school and turn to look at it. it would be the last time you see the school. the school you dreaded going to, the school where you met yang jungwon. you decided you were going to spend your last few days at home before making your way to where you plan to depart forever.

one day left.

you tidy up your room, straightening up your pillows and bedsheets. you clean your messy desk and leave the journal right in the middle. the journal that contained your thoughts, your fondest memories, the memories of your last months on this earth. making your way to the kitchen, the light the refrigerator emits feels blinding. taking out the last slice of leftover pie, you make yourself a cup of coffee to go with it and sit alone at the table. you didn't feel hungry, not anymore, but you forced yourself to eat your favorite foods one last time. you savor the taste of the coffee, the warmth temporarily soothing the pain in your lungs. you felt sick that night, maybe because you forced yourself to eat, maybe it was because you knew your time was running out. either way, you tried your best to fall asleep.

3 hours left.

you make your way to a field deep in your favorite park. it was off limits but you used to go there alone anyways. laying under a big tree, you stare up at they sky, you'll be up there soon. you feel your eyes start to tear up, you're crying. you don't mean to cry, but it's as if your body knows that your time is about to run out.

1 hour left.

"one day i will stop falling in love with you."

you tried to stop loving yang jungwon. heaven knows how much you tried. jungwon would never love you, but you would never stop loving him. you would love him even if you were dead. you would love him as you watched from above.

"some day, someone will like me like I like you."

is what you thought. that wasn't going to happen anymore, maybe not in this life at least. you were classmates. and you would remain classmates for the rest of his life, and your short one.

10 minutes left.

you look at the green grass and trees surrounding you. the sun was setting, painting the sky a mix of purple, pink and orange. you smile. if only jungwon was beside you enjoying this too.

but he wasn't. but the thought of it made your heart flutter.

your heart. your broken heart.

you loved yang jungwon, but he broke your heart. he has multiple times but he never knew. you would still let him do it again in every life, because that's how much you love him.

you begin to feel sleepy, it's almost as if your life is being drained out of you. you bring your hand up to your chest, to where your broken heart lies. the vines in your lungs suffocating you.

you look at the now dark and starry sky and let out one last breathe.

"i love you, yang jungwon." you say and close your eyes for the last time.

epilogue.

10 years later

the wind rustles the leaves of the tree you once lay under. some leaves fall and slowly land on the grass by the base, beside it, a flower has grown. a daffodil. the first flower you ever coughed up. you searched its meaning back then.

"daffodils symbolize unrequited love, rebirth, new beginnings, and eternal life."

maybe, just maybe, fate will let you have your new beginning.

that fate will give you another chance in your next life to be with the one you love.

#wonhaz #enhypen #jungwon #yang jungwon #enhypen jungwon #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #jungwon x reader #jungwon imagines #enhypen angst #jungwon oneshots #enha x reader #enha jungwon #enha imagines #yang jungwon x reader #jungwon x you #jungwon x y/n #enhypen scenarios #jungwon scenarios

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itgetsbetterproject · 2 days

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📚 QUEERBOOK 2024 is hereee! We made a book by and for LGBTQ+ youth! 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈

Last year, we asked LGBTQ+ youth: what's your idea of a "queer utopia?"

Not gonna lie - with more than 150 bills introduced in 35 states in 2023 that aimed to restrict student access to inclusive and diverse books and other library materials, the theme felt pretty radical.

And you DELIVERED. With the help of our Youth Voices (amazing queer youth activists from across the country), we compiled your amazing submissions of poetry, short essays and letters, visual art, photography, and more into Queerbook 2024. Like a yearbook, it captures what queer youth are feeling, going through, and hoping for - right here, right now across the U.S.

It's also no accident that it's the perfect small-ish size to stash in your locker or backpack so you can crack it open any time you're looking for some queer connection. :3

Read some more about the book and grab your own limited-run copy of Queerbook 2024 now here.

#itgetsbetter #queerbook #lgbtq youth #queer youth #trans youth #queer lit #lgbtq books #studyblr #lgbtqia

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bardicbeetle · 6 months

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sitd bsi - the baring of teeth

Today I start NaNo (but that is for the daytime hours) So tonight, have a little blatant self indulgence, have an alternate ending that never was for The Massacre(TM) Warnings for vampire typical violence and blood, and given the context, major character death <3

“Do you think you can stop this?” Eric cracks a smile again, Alex’s blood dripping across his face. “Do you think you can hide from what we are?”

Their legs are shaking. It’s not going to be long before they give back out. “There is no we here.” Alex spits back. “This is a sick fucking power trip you’re pulling. None of them are like you.”

Eric laughs so loud it seems to echo inside their head. “Oh sweetheart, I don’t know what they told you, but Daniel is worse than this. He has always been worse.”

“Shut up.”

“D-”

“I said shut up!” The words leave Alex in a scream that drags all the air from their lungs. It doubles them over, but for a bare moment, Eric is silent.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” Alex whispers, slowly pushing back up to stand straight, “Or how bad you think this is for me, but I have been through too much—lost too much—to let this be the end of it. I’m not about to lay down and die just because some jackass wants to play god.” Every word carries them another step forward, Eric matches them until his back is to the wall. He’s smiling again, that split open grin, not really a smile, just baring teeth.

Alex is hoping for some kind of miracle.

Because once they run out of words, they’ll have nothing.

Somewhere, they wonder if killing Eric would count.

Somewhere else they wonder if they even care.

If he would let them.

If any of it matters now.

“You stand there and think you can make this fucking hurt me—calling me by the wrong name and telling me the people I care about are monsters—I know monsters. I’ve spent my whole goddamn life getting as far away from them as I can. So kill me if you want, make me kill that girl if it gets you off, but you’re nothing, and the second I can, I will take you with me.”

He laughs again, softer, private almost. Like it’s not for them.

“You want to, don’t you.” It’s the first thing he’s said all night that doesn’t carry an edge of mirth. That doesn’t play like some sort of sick joke. “You’re barely upright, barely alive, all rage and adrenaline and desperation. You want to rip into me just to shut my mouth if nothing else.”

“Stop it,” Alex growls, staring him down and fighting the urge to shut their eyes to the vision he’s painting. Everything is so hazy at the edges they’re not sure if the next blink will even result in continued consciousness.

“You think it would feel good don’t you,” Eric whispers, leaning back against the wall now, body relaxing into the brick. “You’re not wrong, nothing better than the moment your fingers run red—but it would be wasted on me. Wouldn’t fix anything. Wouldn’t sate anything.”

“Stop.”

“It’s her you want,” He nods towards the bar where that woman had vanished. Lilacs. Sweet and cloying and overpowering—

Alex shakes their head, regrets it when the room spins. “No. No.”

“Pity,” Eric mumbles, and they wonder again if it’s just for him. It’s not like the rest, it doesn’t project like the words he speaks at them. “I’d let you, you know.”

And those words don’t sound like him.

Alex hears Daniel.

Hears their discussion in the darkened yard.

If I really thought you couldn’t do this, if you didn’t want it—

I’d let you.

Eric has a stake in one hand—the one he’d made them drop at the house?

“One more round then, —?”

“Stop fucking calling me that.”

He raises both hands in surrender, eyes never leaving theirs.

“Fine. One more round, Alex.” He holds out the stake, blunt edge towards them. “You can kill me, or I can kill you and flower-girl over there. Catch.”

It’s still horrid and mechanical, watching their body move without their own input. But Alex catches the stake as it’s thrown towards them.

“No getting out of it this time. Me, or both of you. Decide. Now.” The room goes airless with those words, heavy and vacant in a way that makes Alex almost drop to their knees.

Decide.

I’d let you.

Something breaks.

The haze at the edge of their vision goes red.

Alex has moved before they really realize what’s happening.

To his credit—fuck that, fuck him—Eric is true to his word.

He lets it happen.

Alex’s next moment of clarity is with both hands wrapped around the stake where it’s lodged in his chest. Sliding down the brick with him, inches away from breathless laughter that is getting wetter and redder with every heave. Nothing is different. Nothing changes. Their body is still screaming and raw and starving.

It's almost a relief.

“Told you,” Eric chokes out, one hand lifting to their face. Still wet with the blood of one of the many dead. Alex’s blood now mingling with his own as it runs from behind his lips. “but just in case—kill her.”

~*~

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @kaiusvnoir /

#writeblr #writeblr community #vampire writeblr #amwriting #writers on tumblr #lsdente #sitdsnips #safe in the dark #sitd #character ref ab #character ref esc #anyways have this i kicked it around for a while and ultimately decided i did not want to further traumatize both alex and daniel #by having the additional layer of fuckery that was alex Doing That

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themonopolyhat · 1 year

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shoulder the sky au: helix whump

[ETA: this one-shot has become a round robin fic via the reblogs, but mind the tags folks!]

i have been dared by @shootingstarpilot to contribute to the helix whump “what-if” for his fantastic shoulder the sky series on ao3, so here we go.

pilot, you and i had the exact same idea on how to make helix’s life even worse than it already is -- namely, we both envisioned him on iwanaga along with obi-wan during dooku’s science project / torture spree. this brainshare is hilarious all by itself.

(i should probably CONTENT WARN for torture, misery, and major character death right now haha)

my thoughts:

+ not sure whether dooku grabs helix on purpose or if it’s an accidental acquisition -- but since helix is along for the ride, and dooku is a bastard, dooku decides to make use of him.

+ therefore it is helix’s job to monitor vitals, update certain chart fields, and administer the antibiotics and pain meds while dooku’s minions or droids or whatever perform the experiments.

+ also because dooku is a bastard, helix has been outfitted with an explosive slave tracker right inside his skull. no escaping or even going where you’re not supposed to be on the base, pumpkin

+ so helix is in the fucking room with obi-wan when dooku questions him, and when dooku threatens him, and when the experiments begin. dooku threatens helix, too -- like shut up and do what you’re told or something real bad will happen. obi-wan all but orders helix to comply because of course he doesn’t want anyone else to suffer on his behalf. so helix shuts up and complies.

+ obi-wan is as quiet as he can be, quiet and straining at the restraints. it’s just another tuesday for helix, watching somebody he cares about fucking suffer while he’s unable to save them

+ helix loses his cool probably around the time that dooku proposes to drain obi-wan’s blood completely? or some other horrible thing, idk. anyway helix responds as any horrified medic with his temperament might, and dooku has him knocked the fuck out.

+ helix wakes up in time to hear obi-wan screaming, and he gets to listen to the screams for a while before dooku wanders in like “oh yeah, if you’re not around to monitor obi-wan’s pain meds, i’m certainly not going to pick up the slack -- he’ll just suffer through the knives au naturel lol”

+ so helix goes back to work. he gets obi-wan’s pain back under control, but of course he can’t do anything about the other sensations, or the sounds, or the smells, or the existential horror of being vivisected alive by your grandmaster who gave you tea

+ helix holds his hand, strokes his hair, tells him again and again: “look at me, look at me, don’t look down, obi-wan, you look at me”

+ they both quickly give up on apologizing for their mutual wracking sobs because they’re in this together, sweetheart

+ one night helix asks obi-wan how he can pray to the force and obi-wan (ever the teacher) haltingly talks about other force religions, the difference between praying and chanting for mindfulness, etc etc etc. he quotes the guardians’ mantra: “i am one with the force, and the force is with me -- and i fear nothing, for all is as the force wills it.” obi-wan seems to find it a little comforting (or maybe dissociative) to say it and hear it said, so helix bends over him and murmurs it over and over and over and over and over, even when obi-wan can’t speak the words himself. he can’t save his general but he can do this thing until his throat rips if need be

+ i don’t actually know whether sidious shows up, but if he does, he gives an Order via holo ahead of time and helix Goes Away for a little while. when he comes back to himself, obi-wan is blinded and deafened.

+ no help is coming. they can’t get out. dooku strips the skin from obi-wan’s hand and helix can only keep the meds at max, repeat the guardians’ mantra to his deaf ears, card a hand through his sweaty, grimy hair, hold his elbow, try so hard to be gentle so obi-wan knows it’s him

+ helix has had a particular intrusive thought since like day three, and he’s been shoving it aside because it’s unthinkable, but y’know, the unthinkable is becoming thinkable the longer he stays on as an accessory to the gruesome torture-murder of his general. helix is a smart guy and figures out how to activate his explosive tracker at the time of his choosing. useful information, under the right circumstances

+ around the time that dooku mentions breaking obi-wan’s spine for lols, helix decides he’s about had enough

+ no idea how he manages to get obi-wan alone in the lab, without dooku or droids or anybody else around, but:

+ the door is locked, the clock is ticking, they don’t have a lot of time before the window of opportunity will be lost. helix undoes obi-wan’s restraints and climbs up on the table with him so he can prop him up in his arms and hold him close. he tucks obi-wan’s nose into his neck and rocks him for a few moments, whispering to him even though his general won’t hear, because he thinks obi-wan knows it’s him and he wants him to feel safe and loved

+ “see you soon, general,” he murmurs through his tears, and fuck, has he stopped crying even once in the past three weeks?

+ he activates the tracker

+ he saves his general

#my writing #shoulder the sky #shootingstarpilot #whump #torture #major character death #suicide #assisted suicide

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superspoonie24 · 1 year

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Anna: *is neglected and abandoned for majority of her life, starting at like age 5*

Anna: *runs into someone who actually sees Her and notices Her and doesn't act like she's invisible or a burden for the first time in over a decade*

Anna: hey sister I desperately want to notice me and will accept even the tiniest bit of attention from, here is a man I just met that is, *checks notes*, actually talking to me. I'm going to marry him.

Elsa: that's ridiculous! You just met him.

Anna: ~~yeah and in the few hours I've been with him he has talked to me more than you (or anyone else really) have in like 13 ish years~~ Oh haha yeah but like... I Know him and he's a prince!

Elsa: No. I don't approve.

Anna: ~~who the hell are you to approve??? You. Don't. Talk. To. Me.~~ Oh. Uh. Well can we talk about it? (Definitely is not desperate and terrified to lose the tiniest shred of a shred of a relationship she has with her sister) *Reaches out for the attention and affection she is so starved of*

Elsa: *freaks out, reveals giant secret, runs away*

Anna: holy *shit*... I gotta go make sure she's okay!! ~~I gotta make sure I don't lose her.~~

Anna: *goes after Elsa and gets shamed by another stranger for A going after her and B 'falling for a man she just met'*

Elsa: *rejects her more and tells Anna she is better off without her*

Anna: *heartbroken cause the last member of her family, the person she idolizes and so desperately wants love from, Keeps Rejecting Her.*

Anna: *leaves heart broken ~~and heart frozen~~ to go back to the only person this whole night who has shown her undivided 'love', attention, care, affection*

Hans: *is an asshole out of no where????*

Anna: *heartbroken AGAIN because she really can't trust anyone and maybe it's her own fault she's so unlovable.*

Elsa: *Is gonna be killed*

Anna: *is on the brink of literal death and when it comes to going after the stranger who is actually pretty nice and kind and likes her for her and treats her with respect vs the person who she has longed for her entire life even though she keeps pushing her away, she goes after her sister because despite it all she still wants Her love, hell just her Attention above anything else.*

The movie: This is true love 🥰

Me, definitely not projecting my own life onto this at twelve: Hold up this hurts a lot and I relate to these characters wait-

My sister: This movie is mine and only I get to sing and only I get to love it cause it's mine. But if you sing it perfectly and never mess up any of the words or notes I guess I'll let you watch with me.

Me: Really???? 😍🥺🥰🥺😍

...

Okay so this was going to be a critique about how Anna is seen as naive and dumb and it is used against her the entire movie without ever acknowledging *why* she's like that. And how a lot of fans don't see it either. But then it really just turned into me trauma dumping lmao.

But seriously. I feel like most of the neglect and abuse talk ends up being towards Elsa cause she visibly struggles more. And Anna hides it because she has to. Her parents were so worried about elsa that they didnt have time for her pain too. So it's hidden. But it is most definitely there. And it deserves to be mentioned and talked about.

Also this is a very common situation for emotionally neglected people to find themselves in. They cling onto someone showing the slightest bit of decency and believe it's good and amazing cause when you're starved, you'll eat poison if it might help for just a moment. Cause something is better than nothing. And when the something is bad and hurting, the pain of going back to nothing is worse. So you're stuck with a Hans believing it's what you deserve because of years of neglect and abuse.

But yeah. Anna is just dumb and naive. Definitely no trauma on her end.

Bottom line:

Anna deserves better. In canon and from fandom. And ESPECIALLY from Disney.

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kenobster · 11 months

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Since writing for the SW fandom, I've been complimented on how I write emotion. As an English major, I am unfortunately compelled to analyze my process, and after many hours of thinking aloud at my poor mother, I think I've finally cracked the code.

My advice is to Lie.

Set your fucking pants on fire.

You see, emotions in storytelling don't spawn from the reality of what is happening. Emotions spawn from the reader's FEELINGS about what is happening. This may seem obvious at a glance, but so many writers fail to aim for the latter. For example, have you ever watched a character die in a movie and felt nothing whatsoever? Contrast that to a movie where a death did make you feel something, where it made you sob buckets, where it had you grieving long after the credits rolled. I guarantee that the difference between those two reactions did not involve the methods of the deaths themselves, but rather something about the latter movie's death feeling Wrong to you in some way — maybe unfair, or unjust, or untimely, or unexpected. Something about that death, you disagreed with. Something about that death made you feel betrayed.

Fiction operates by different rules than the ones in reality. In real life, we're sad when someone dies simply because they died. In fiction, however, someone dying (aka a bad thing happening) isn't actually sad on its own. That's why beginner writing, even when depicting the most brutal whump, can often bore you to tears. Whether or not you care about the character is irrelevant; what matters is how that character interacts (often unexpectedly) with other narrative elements (i.e. other characters, settings, plotlines, etc). For example, you'll grieve more intensely for a dying character if there is another character screaming in anguish. You'll react more viscerally to a tragedy if you can visualize an alternative plotline where it didn't happen. And this goes for any emotion in fiction. It's not the sad thing or the happy thing or the disgusting thing or the smutty thing; it's the way the thing works within the story to challege the reader's expectations.

In other words, if you're telling the reader what they're already thinking, then you're doing it wrong. And if you're telling the reader what YOU (the writer) are already thinking, then you're doing it worse.

To tell compelling stories, you absolutely have to LIE.

I hate using my fic to explain this mechanic, but (1) I don't feel comfortable using other authors' processes when I run the risk of misrepresenting their thoughts; and (2) I would feel comfortable using a movie example, but I really want this post to be about writing fanfiction specifically. Thus, for lack of a better option (and since this is my own writing process), my fic seems like my best bet. So, putting aside my crippling insecurity for the sake of the Advice lol...

In Every Shadow, you wanna know why y'all are so engaged with Obi-Wan's emotions? It's because I'm lying. I (not the characters, not Obi-Wan, but me, the author) am lying to you (the reader). I'm doing it all of the time.

For example, nobody actually blames Obi-Wan for what happened to the Togrutan colonists on Kadavo. Nobody actually thinks it's his fault Governor Roshti was whipped. Or that he's to blame for the slaves that Keeper Arguss killed. Everyone understands that it's the Zygerrians'/Keeper Arguss's/Miraj's fault.

That's what you already know. That's what I already know.

So I lie about it:

What he did was leave her and her kin to the whims of a sadist. What he did was keep his head down while the other slaves were whipped and beaten and murdered. What he did was bide his time, pray for aid, and lose himself in grief while innocents paid the price for his inaction. What he did was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

This paragraph is compelling not because slaves are being whipped/beaten/murdered and not because Obi-Wan can't do anything about it. It's compelling because we both know it's not Obi-Wan's fault... and yet he is saying it is. Your truth is that Obi-Wan shouldn't blame himself. My truth is that Obi-Wan shouldn't blame himself. Thus, when I lie about it (within his POV), you feel betrayed. In that moment, you don't trust me. You start to wonder if I actually know the truth. Your expectation changes into something else — that maybe I do think Obi-Wan should be blamed.

So I betray you again:

"I’m sorry,” he says. "I’m so, so sorry."

Wheezes of breath whistle through her lips. Her eyes close. "D-Don't be. You were—are—a beacon—of light… but e-even you—cannot shine away—every shadow…"

This time (via an outside source instead of the narrator), I am betraying you with kindness — with the truth. You're relieved, perhaps, but it's still a surprise — and a manipulation. Thus, the feeling of betrayal persists.

In other words, I lied to you so that what I was planning on telling you wouldn't be what you were already thinking. I lied to you so that you wouldn't expect the truth.

I lied to you in order to tell you the truth.

When you practice this device, you'll find there are lots of fun and interesting ways to play. For instance, in the above example, you and I had an identical understanding of the Truth... but it can get even more complicated when the author's version of the truth and the reader's version differ (which is often what I'm doing in Five Peggats Each to make Anakin unreliable as a narrator). Alternating between the reader's truth, the author's truth, and total bullshit is what swings the reader's feelings in any particular direction. If you master this ability, then you'll be able to master your reader's perception of everything. They'll empathize with whatever story you present because their thoughts/opinions/takes will be wrapped around your finger until the very last page.

It's hard for authors to do this because... well... it's lying. If we applied everything I'm describing to something other than storytelling, it would be considered emotional abuse lmao, and luckily most of us seem to understand that emotionally abusing people is a pretty lame thing to do... But you're not doing yourself, your story, or your reader any favors by applying real world morality to the morality of storytelling. Fiction is already a lie by its very nature. By writing, it's already assumed that you're going to deceive.

So, you want to make your readers feel strong emotions? You want to make your readers cry? Laugh? Love? Hate?

Gaslight the shit out of them. Lovebomb them. Groom them. Psychologically abuse them until they're so damaged they keep coming back.

I may sound like I'm kidding, but I very much am not — because fiction is is a genre that is uniquely intended to operate by pathos (persuasion via emotion). Your reader wants to be gaslit and lovebombed and groomed by the narrative. By reading, they are consenting to the emotional abuse of a story. Don't shy away from that trust. Don't feel like every word you write needs to perfectly reflect what people expect or what you believe.

Respect your readers by giving them hell. Respect your readers by Lying to them.

#lmfao i forgot tags #writing #writing advice #fanfiction #fanfic #mine #every shadow #five peggats each

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waheelawhisperer · 2 years

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I think V3 & V8 do effectively convey the notion that raw force (be it personal or state level) doesn't solve shit if you're aimlessly saber-rattling, turning on allies & bamboozling (or throttling) the populace to preserve every scrap of power. There's also the ongoing failure of old-guard leaders (Jimmy, Leo, Oz.) to get out of their ruts, though I 'd have tabled the Musical Maiden Chair thing for a volume once Penny got it. *Ruby* has more than enough shit to work out with silver eyes alone.

Yeah, the old guard failing and leaving the new blood to clean up their messes is a pretty common theme in RWBY and we've seen it for several Volumes now, pretty much ever since Weiss started talking about how she wanted to redeem her family name. Between the mistakes of the headmasters, the various failures of Team STRQ, the way Maria talks about herself vs. how she thinks about the protagonists, and even the way Winter and the Ace-Ops struggle to make the right decisions, it's clear that RWBY wants to tell a story about the new generation surpassing their predecessors.

I definitely think Volumes 3 and 8 are really trying to hammer home the "strength is useless without unity" message. All of Atlas's vaunted military power is worse than useless when it's turned against the people of Vale. It fails to defeat Salem in Volume 8 because Ironwood is too rigid to work with others, to contemplate a solution other than brute force and sacrifice. Ozpin can't destroy Salem, no matter how hard he tries, and when we finally see her fight, she shrugs off everything the heroes throw at her. They only escape because of Hazel's sacrifice, because he stalls Salem long enough for Oscar to nuke her and holds her in place for the cane beam to hit.

When I think about my feelings about Volume 3 vs. Volume 8, there's a very similar sense of "what happens now?", but there are some distinct differences as well. It's hard to explain, but Volume 3 made me wonder "where do we go from here?", whereas Volume 8 makes me wonder "what's the point?". Volume 3 was a crushing blow, but it left me deeply invested in what came next. Volume 8 doesn't do that. It carries more of a sense of lethargy, a feeling of pointlessness, an uncertainty about whether it's worth even getting invested anymore, and it's because of the way the Volume handled a number of its plot points.

Basically, the way the Volume ended means a lot of major plot points went nowhere? Oh, Winter is being set up as the Winter Maiden, but that's a red herring and the powers and responsibility go to Penny? Nope, never mind, Winter has the powers now. Penny came back to life? Nope, never mind, she's fucking dead again, killed off in a controversial way by a controversial character in a scene that didn't even effectively establish the necessity of her death. Salem, our Big Bad, has finally taken the field? Surely she'll demonstrate how much of a badass she is now, why everyone should be terrified of the insurmountable evil queen of the Grimm, right? Nope, never mind, she gets sidelined 2/3 of the way through so Cinder and Ironwood can be the major villains. Blake spent her whole life fighting against racism and is now openly displaying her Faunus heritage in the Kingdom that's been most strongly associated with Faunus abuse and anti-Faunus racism? Surely she's going to have a major role to play here, right? Nope, never mind, she's going to do nothing but take Weiss's spot as Remnant's version of Renji Abarai and pine for Yang, all while Weiss and Yang do more to combat racism and Atlas's class divide by throwing a racist in a dumpster and snapping at an old lady and Nora gets the plotline that should've gone to her. Oh, Weiss's goal from the very beginning has been to salvage her company and redeem her family name, and she swears to defend her home in Volume 7? Nope, never mind, her home is now underwater, her company is in ruins, and the final boss of her storyline is apparently her own fucking brother, an abused child who her mother specifically begged her not to leave behind and was never more than a minor annoyance to be counteracted in comedic fashion, with no power or influence of his own beyond the password to his father's laptop. The culmination of Weiss's storyline was waving a sword in the face of her Auraless, untrained sibling and telling him to go to his room, after Willow handed her everything she needed to beat Jacques, and somehow this is supposed to be the big triumph we've waited 8 Volumes, 8 years of real-world time, to witness. Fan-fucking-tastic writing here.

It just... makes me wonder what plotlines I'm even supposed to get invested in at this point. RWBY's always had a problem with just never exploring things or dropping them when they become inconvenient, always rushing on to the next Cool Moment, the next thing the writers want to include, but Volume 8 feels particularly bad in this regard. Frankly, I think it's one of the worst Volumes in the show specifically for this reason. As much as I love the show, I just... don't feel the same hype for the approach of Volume 9 that I did with the approach of other Volumes.

#rwby #analysis #weiss schnee #winter schnee #maria calavera #ozpin #salem #james ironwood #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #nora valkyrie #jacques schnee #willow schnee #whitley schnee #penny polendina

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meanbeantoe · 1 year

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the heavens forgave me

Maia grew up with powers she didn't understand, and the only person she can talk to speaks from a conch shell and says he is the ocean.

cross posted from Ao3

warnings: minor character death, canon typical violence, soft angst??

"Mamá is angry with me," Maia whispered into the conch shell clutched in her small fingers, curled up underneath her blankets. It had been a gift from her grandmother, something she said would bring her closer to that side of the family. She didn't know what that meant but she knew that it was important, and that she had no one else to confide in.

"I didn't mean to make a mess, it just happened!" She rubbed the heel of her palm against her cheeks, trying to keep herself from making too much noise. "She says somethings wrong with me."

"What happened?"

For a split second she thought she had imagined the voice whispering back to her. It wasn't someone she knew, but it sounded familiar, like the accented voices of her uncles. Maia was old enough to know that talking to strangers was bad, her dad told her as much, but it was the only voice willing to listen to her side. "I didn't want to take a bath," she started hesitantly, "and mamá said I had to and I got mad... and then all the water was in the air instead of in the tub."

The voice didn't respond right away, and Maia panicked, "I didn't mean to! I didn't even know I was doing it until mamá got mad!"

"Don't be ashamed of your gifts. Be proud of your power."

"Are you the ocean?" She asked. In her mind it seemed like the most logical answer, and the voice from the shell didn't deny it.

"Sí. am the ocean."

"It happened again."

Maia was twelve, old enough now to know voices didn't come from nowhere. Part of her mind yelled at her to be careful, but the majority held hope that she had a friend somewhere out there, someone who understood her. Someone who knew her better than even her own mother.

She was old enough to know there was a person behind the shell, but she felt so alone it didn't seem to matter. "My mom thought moving us farther from the sea would help keep this stuff under wraps but its making things worse. I feel it calling to me."

She didn't have the luxury to hide under her covers anymore, now she had to pull herself outside in the forest near their home. Somewhere her family wouldn't be able to hear her, or the voice she confided in.

"You should be free," he whispered back to her, "With your gifts you should be a God to them."

She laughed, the sound bitter to even her ears. "They think I'm a freak. I feel like a freak. Even when I try to keep it to myself, even if I try to help, they know I'm different."

"Special."

"At least the ocean likes me, I guess." Another laugh, but this one lighter, freer. "Maybe I should move there."

"The ocean would welcome you."

It had been years since she had seen the old conch shell her grandmother had given her. Years, since she allowed herself to think of home and what that meant. It had always seemed so big in her hands, large enough that her fingers could barely grasp the first time she held it.

But she was older now, and now it looked like any normal shell from the beach. She just wondered if it would work like it used to.

"Are you still there hombre del océano?"

Enough time passed that Maia assumed he, too, must have given up on her. Even with that thought, she continued to speak. At that point she had nothing else to lose, and nothing to gain either.

"Madre sent me away, if you wondered where I was. I was getting too strong, too wild she said. I had to get under control and she couldn't do it alone." Her head fell back against the plain white wall behind her, the same as the walls around her. It had been her 'home' longer than she could remember, and she hated every inch of it. "I played nice, I did what they told me. I learned to control it, and you know what they did then?"

"What?"

There was a strange sort of relief that bubbled into her stomach when he responded. At least one person in her life hadn't abandoned her. She brought the shell up to her lips and whispered as quietly as she could,

"They made me into a weapon."

"Their mistake."

"You said the ocean would welcome me, did you mean it?"

The days blurred into one other in the room she was forced into. Days, weeks, months, years since she had seen a real water way and she felt like she was drying out by the second. Every day she trained, and every day she could see the way her 'teachers' looked at her. She had seen that look every day in her youth and she knew what it meant. Time was running out.

"If you welcome the ocean, it will welcome you back."

"Good," she says, staring out the window of her room, "because I am going to kill them all."

"Don't you remember me, Abuela?"

The older woman flinched back from her, her eyes wide with fear. The little girl she had once known was gone, a predator stood in her place.

"Why did you let her do it? You let her send me away without even fighting!" Maia snarled, her teeth bared. "Do you know what they did to me there? What they taught me?"

Her grandmother opened her mouth, but before she could speak Maia threw her hand towards her and she stuttered to a atop. She could feel the trembling, the skipping beats of a heart pausing in anothers chest. The shake of muscles trying to escape the hold, the breath holding in her chest until Maia released her and she crumpled to the floor.

"I-I'm sorry Maia- I should have told you-"

"Should have told me what I am?" Maia laughed, "What does it matter now?"

"You're different than we are," her grandmother said nervously, rubbing her chest like she could still feel the grip holding her, "my mother called us nereid, sea nymphs, but you've always been stronger. It took me until adulthood to move water at will and you did it effortlessly by three."

She struggled to sit up, but looked at her granddaughter with pleading eyes. "We live longer, but its been nearly forty years since I saw you, and you've barely aged. I thought if you could control it, you would be happier, but that isn't what happened, is it?"

"The only reason," Maia's voice trembled, "that I don't kill you, like I did everyone on that compound, is that you gave me this."

She pulled out the shell, holding it delicately in her hands.

"And I want to know where you got it."

"They found me."

Maia was used to running. After her escape, she knew they wouldn't let her go without a fight, and now she had given them a target. Her childhood home stood in tatters, broken windows and splintered wood, and among the wreckage she knew her mothers body lay in the same state of disarray. Vengeance, she found, had only left a bitter taste in her mouth.

And now they would find her and drag her back with triple the security. If there was anything she could say about Hydra, it was that they were persistent.

"Run."

And she did. Into the forest, through the trees. All she needed was a lake, a stream even, and they would be on level playing fields.

"I wont make it," she gasped, panting hard as she ran, "they're going to catch me and take me back-"

"Where are you?" His voice sounded more urgent than she had ever heard him. "Find water, find the ocean."

The stomping footsteps were getting louder and louder, closer and closer. If she could stop for even a moment, she could stop a few of them in their tracks but not for long and not enough of them to make a difference. "I'm trying!"

"You're close, I can feel you-"

And then she could hear it, hear the crashing of waves and the crying of seabirds. He was right, she was so close, she could almost taste the salt on her tongue, feel the sand under her toes-

It hit her in the back, and the electric pain that travelled in through her veins made her hit the ground with a shout. It made her teeth clench and her muscles tense and she could almost hear his voice calling to her before her hands crushed their conch shell in her grip. The pain was blinding for a moment, and when it had passed enough for her to think clearly they already had her hands bound in familiar power dampening cuffs.

It was over, she thought, her mind going back to the blank place she'd carved out years ago. She knew what happened to the weapons who refused to cooperate. She had seen the machine made for people like her. They were taking her back, the hands that held onto her shoulders tight enough to bruise.

Different.

Special.

And then they were gone, and she nearly fell back to the ground until a different pair of hands took hold of her. They pulled her into warm arms and she felt her feet leave the ground, and when she looked up she met him for the first time. He backed them away from the agents, over the edge of a cliffside that she had been so close to making it to. Before she could say anything, they plummeted, her arms instinctively wrapping around him and her eyes squeezing shut.

When they hit the water it felt more like home than anything she had felt in days, weeks, months, years. Her mouth opened and the water flowing into her lungs was better than the freshest air. Maia was strong, she was free.

"You are the ocean," she said in awe.

He smiled, holding her face in his hands.

"The ocean welcomes you."

#namor x reader #namor x oc #namor x original character #this is kind of introductory i guess?#iits kind of stand alone but i also have so many thoughts about them??#so lmk if you enjoy it and maybe i will write more

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fallenangelofsalt · 11 months

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[Inkloop] Oh damn, I'm glad this has a happy ending but everyone is going to need so much therapy. Are those in the RTLC aware of each other or do some of them think they are alone? The loops seem to be affecting even those who don't remember? Kalim being the last makes sense with his childhood but I'm surprised Jamil would ever claim that which def makes me wonder what the heck happened before that. Which OBs are the most dangerous (other than Malleus, which I think is a given XD)?

As a rule, I cannot handle either Major Character Death or sad endings. I want my blorbos to suffer eleven levels of hell but I will cry if it turns out it was all for nothing. It will be rough and very gory, but they'll get through this.

Heavy spoilers and violence under the cut:

At first they think they are alone. There is a pretty obvious tell for when someone is added to the RTLC, and Yuu figured it out after Ruggie's death. But anyone newly added has no reason to suspect they aren't alone until the rest of the RTLC goes up to them and tells them what is going on.

Basically, the blot doesn't fully go away, even if they don't overblot early. It's less of a "Hey, you're about to OB, stop it" and more of a creeping madness that fluctuates between loops, but slowly gets worse. One loop Leona is being his usual pre-OB self, the next he doesn't even bother with his dorm as a whole, the next he actually mauls someone for speaking against him, the next he's just a tad more intense than usual, and on it goes.

This fluctuation is actually the reason why Kalim OB'd. At that point, Kalim had suffered to hell and back, and Jamil's madness was at such a low point that he was actually really really worried about him. Their relationship is Complicated but after Mr. Smiles And Sunshine did a complete 180 in basically everything of course he got worried. The "We're friends" line was supposed to calm him down, and it backfired. Hard.

As for the most dangerous OBs, Kalim, Adeuce, and lastly Ruggie.

Kalim because at this point he's been bottling it for for his whole ass life, got murdered by the person he trusted and loved the most, and overall just gave up on caring until Jamil accidentally stepped on a landmine connected to a nuke and opened up the reinforced iron gates containing all of his years-long repressed rage, unleashing a biblical-tier flood of melt-your-skin boiling rain upon all of Scarabia right in the middle of winter break. Also I gave all the OBs extra powers because why not. So he's also got control over a bunch of very thorny, very poisonous plants growing all over the dorm. And inside people. Also a lot of things are on fire.

Adeuce because their OB gave them Wonderland Powers, more especifically the ability to bend space itself and alter sizes, so everyone in NRC is basically stuck in a ever changing maze and sometimes get less than 7 inches tall, witch is a very bad thing when you are 1. Stuck with a lot of normal-sized, panicking people who are not paying attention where they're stepping and 2. Being actively hunted.

Ruggie has 3 Phantoms. Big ones. He is also going on a canniballistic spree and can now control dead bodies. You can probably see why this is bad.

#twisted wonderland #twst inkloop au #inkloop au #inkloop spoilers

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seldomscilence16 · 2 years

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Whumptober day 28: It's Just the Tip of the Iceberg

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Prompts;

Anger born of worry

Punching the wall

Headache

I cant not Kami angst so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it just fits. This could be a few relationships or friendships, so read it as you like :3

UA's highschool class 1-A became close almost immedietly. Maybe it was the insane entrance exam, maybe the crazy teacher, the life or death situations, or even just that they were those kinds of people. But whatever the reason, they considered their classmates their friends- if not family- and took it very seriously when things like now happened. But after the things they'd been through, it was understandable that theyd be cautious.

Check-ins were a must have, a requirement by the teachers and a sense of comfort for friends. Missing a check-in was a mistake only one student had made, and no one wanted a repeat of that situation. And with the circumstances leading up to this missed check-in, it only had the anxiety growing.

Kaminari had gone home for the weekend on short notice to their sensei. Denki wasnt one to make the trip often, he seemed fine staying in the dorms, and no one really questioned it- the trips were short on weekends and often more hastle than they were worth. He'd even done the first two check-ins, though the one worded messages had been a little out of character. Aizawa and the others had let the first missed check-in go for the fact there had been a major storm that night, figuring he'd send a message once he recovered. The storm lasted until early morning- not that anyone was following it every minute to ensure it didnt get worse, no sir.

But even after the storm ended and the hours following, no word came. No memes, no emojis or emoticons, no one worded text, no paragraph about a book, nothing. Aizawa calls Sunday morning, but it goes straight to voicemail. Not too weird, it was a bad storm, he waits an hour and calls Denki's parents. He hadn't been a fan of them the first time he'd met them, and this phone call didnt improve his view in the slightest.

"Hello, Kaminari-san, this is your sons teacher Aizawa. I wanted to check in, make sure he'd be alright making the trip back to the dorms." Aizawa learned early, to try not to phrase anything in a way that could seem like blame.

"What?" Theres some muffled noises and voices he cant make out, "hes probably fine," he trails off, muttering that Aizawa can barely make out, "...brat…causin trouble…"

He can sense he wont get more from him, though he wants to throw him in an interegation room, or worse.

"Right. Tell him to contact me when hes headed this way. Thank you for your-" the dial tone reaches his ear, and he purses his lips in irritation. He really didnt like them.

"He still hasn't responded to any of memes! Hasnt even looked at them!" Mina cries, staring at her phone like its personally wronged her.

"At least yours went through! Mine wont deliver." Sero mutters, clicking resend for the umpteenth time.

"Not just yours, mine too. Anything past midnights a bust." Kirishima says with a worried pout, eyebrows scruched, "what about yours Bakubro?"

"Morons probably fine. He blows up phone often enough, you guys just fuckin worry to damn much." Bakugos glaring at his own screen, where his first text is unread and second wont send, but he wont let them know that.

"But Hatsume and the support department made that protective thingy for his phone." Mina points out, "and he never misses an opprotune moment to use the 'not dead b*tch' meme."

"This whole trip home was weird if you ask me." Sero mumbles

The others look to him with raised brows and he shrinks into himself,

"I mean really, he never talks about home. Then some random weekend he decides to go? And now hes not answering… it just seems suspicious to me."

"Well if he doesnt respond in the next 5 minutes, I'm hunting him down." Mina threatens, glaring at her phone once more.

"You guys wont be going anywhere. I want all other students accounted for until this situation is resolved." Aizawa interupts, sweeping into the room with Present Mic and Midnight on his heels.

"Wait, is something wrong? Is Kami okay!?" Kiri stands, fully facing the teachers with worry filled eyes.

"We're taking this seriously one way or the other. Until Kaminari is back, no ones leaving." Midnight says firmly, a seriousness about her they rarely see.

"We've got this handled, just keep an eye on your phones." Mic assures, though his mind seems elsewhere.

Their worry has climbed at least three levels now, typing furiously at their phones in the hopes their blond friend will reply.

Monday morning comes.

Nobody had gotten any sleep, and no messages had gone through. The teachers were yet to return, their classes cancelled today, and strict instructions to stay in the dorms.

Denki hadn't been with his parents, though his bag was, the Kaminaris taken into custody for several charges. Including but not limited to Child endangerment. Like kicking their weather quirked child into the night during a storm.

Aizawa was kicking himself, he'd be taking a second look into his students home lives, things like this would not escape his notice again. Yamada is silent beside him, probably thinking simular things.

"We'll find him." Aizawa says firmly.

"I know. Im not stopping until I do."

Mina is staring out the window, school work laid out in front of her but going ignored. Shes hoping to see a head of blond hair, walking up with a cheesy smile and an apology. But each hour passed, just sends her in to another spiral of terrible thoughts. What was the last thing she said to him? What did they last do together?

She startles, turning with wide eyes to see a hole in the wall, plaster dust still falling in a cloud. Kirishima and Bakugo are both standing in front of the wall, and Mina cant tell which one did the punching. From the dusty knuckles, shes surprised to say they both did, which explains the size of the hole. Sero- who sits across from Mina- sighs,

"Anyone have a frame we can put there?"

"How are you so calm?" Kiri whispers, shoulders shaking as his fists clench at his sides.

Seros eyes narrow,

"Dont think for one second Im calm Kirishima. Hes my friend too, but at least I know punching walls wont help him."

"Well at least it looks like I care! He could be dead and we're stuck here!" Kiri yells, flipping around to glare at Sero.

Sero stands, ready to fire back, when Ojiro steps in,

"You should be ashamed of yourselves. What would Denki think of you two going at it like this? Especially about him. We're all worried, we're all mad we're cooped up. And I'm sure we all want to go bust down his parents doors. But fighting and punching things isnt going to help."

"If Kaminari were here, he'd know how to make everyone laugh." Deku comments sadly, notebook abandoned in his lap.

Sero plops back down in his seat, huffing as he rubs at his face.

"I should have asked more questions. He was acting strange, and I knew there was gonna be a storm. Im such an idiot."

"Dont blame yourself Sero, he wouldnt want that, and its not your fault. He had us all fooled…" Mina reaches over to hold his hand across the table, squeezing it in comfort.

"Im sorry… I just feel useless here." Kirishima apologizes, slumping into the spare seat by Sero. Bakugo eventually takes the one by Mina, silent and glaring, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"The teachers will find him… and we'll make sure stuff like this doesnt happen. Ever again." Ojiro glares darkly out the window, as if daring the universe to hurt their Pikachu friend again.

Denki throws an arm over his eyes, to block out the light. He has a heinous headache that hes trying to get over, because he knows its a stupid thing to complain about. His parents had told him as a child that headaches werent a big deal, that he needed to grow up. But gods did storms really make his head ache. Given it could have been the fall too… or the atmospheric pressure… or the lightning… or overcharging… or over discharging… or he was just stupid.

Despite all the rain, Denki was parched, and maybe hungry… and also in a bit pain, but hes mostly numb after a storm and kinda really cold so… He tries to wiggle his toes and winces, tries pushing on the tree again and winces, tries to just lay there and breath and winces, tries to cloud gaze and- you guessed it, winces.

Some hero he was. Couldnt even make it through a couple nights alone. He supposes he should be a little proud of himself for not blowing up a neighborhood or something. But mostly he was angry.

His parents would be in trouble, considering he'd definetly seen the sun rise at least twice. And his friends were probably so mad at him. And his teachers were gonna kill him for missing check in. And for failing at everything. And for generally being a nuisance they had to deal with. Gods knowing his luck, a villian is gonna show up any minute and kill him or something and he'll leave everyone with a whole bunch of guilt… or maybe a good laugh… or a ghost story… whatever, it was probably for the best. Hed never be a hero anyway.

His brain pulsates another wave of agony as he turns his head to get it off a small rock and he groans in response- which in turn has him wincing at the noise. He kind of hated life right now. He wonders how other people deal with headaches, because he'd gotten used to powering through most of his, but that didnt stop him from vomiting at times during the day. Or completely zoning out to ingnore everything.

He squeezes his eyes closed tightly against another wave, feels the prickly sensation of tears without the actual wetness of them. Whatever happens, he just wants it to be done and over with. Hes so tired.

Aizawa might have to hurt someone. And since it wont be his student, he'll settle for his parents, or a thug, or even a damn tree. It should not be this hard to track down a teenager!!

"The storm caused a lot of damage, sorry Eraserhead, but the kids probably-"

"Finish that sentence and I'll-"

"Sorry, thank you. We'll keep looking ourselves." Mic pulls him away, his own eyes flashing, "we cant do anything if we're benched or worse. Lets just find the most burned area and go from there okay?"

"Fine. Call the others."

"Kaminari!!"

"Kiid!! Shout if you can hear us!!"

"KAMINARIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!"

The heroes step carefully over storm debri and burnt forest. Between branches and full on trees, this place is a mess of burn stuff. Its well into the afternoon at this point, they wont have much daylight left, but none of them plan on stopping either. Looking at the damage scares them, but they have hope, their kids were resilient. Though with the wet and cool mornings, and hot and humid days, kid may not be in good shape, especially after a storm, and almost two days of being out here.

"DENKI!"

Aizawa holds up a hand, and everyone stops silent, barely breathing as they strain their ears.

"..elp…m..ere!"

"DENKI!" Mic calls again, taking slow steps forward

"..m..ere!!"

They all take off in the same direction, where the damage is worse and the scorch marks are darker. They see a tree, fallen on its side, roots torn and bark burnt, but what draws their eyes are the shoes poking out from beneath it.

"Kid!?" The adults are around the tree in an instant, finding Kaminari pale and bruised and covered in lichtenburg figures.

Hes peaking out from behind his arm, squinting with pain etched on his features.

"You foun' me… sorry 'bout dis…" his voice is hoarse, and words weak and slurred.

"Its okay kid, we got you now."

"Denki!!!"

"Hey everyone, i'm back!"

#whumptober2022 #no.28 #anger born of worry #punching a wall #headache #my hero academia #fic #angst #implied child abuse #storms #injured #mentions of death #Kaminari angst #kaminari thinks he has a headache #but really he suffers migrains #and probably a concussion #everyone worried about the bean #yes even Bakugo

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mishafletcher · 4 years

Note

Are you a Gold Star lesbian? (Just in case you don't know what it means, a Gold Star lesbian is a lesbian that has never had the sex with a guy and would never have any intentions of ever doing so)

So I got this ask a while ago, and I've been lowkey thinking about it ever since.

First: No. I am a queer, cranky dyke who is too old for this sort of bullshit gatekeeping.

Second: What an unbelievable question to ask someone you don't even know! What an incomprehensibly rude thing to ask, as if you're somehow owed information about my sexual history. You're not! No one—and I can't reiterate this enough, but no one—owes you the details of their sex lives, of their trauma, or of anything about themselves that they don't feel like sharing with you.

The clickbait mills of the internet and the purity police of social media would like nothing more than to convince everyone that you owe these things to everyone. They would like you to believe that you have to prove that you're traumatized enough to identify with this character, that you can't sell this article about campus rape without relating it to your own sexual assault, that you can't talk about queer issues without offering up a comprehensive history of your own experiences, and none of those things are true. You owe people, and especially random strangers on the internet, nothing, least of all citations to somehow prove to them that you have the right to talk about your own life.

This makes some people uncomfortable, and to be clear, I think that that's good: people who feel entitled to demand this information should be uncomfortable. Refusing to justify yourself takes power away from people who would very much like to have it, people who would like to gatekeep and dictate who is permitted to speak about what topics or like what things. You don't have to justify yourself. You don't have to explain that you like this ship because this one character reminds you a bit of yourself because you were traumatized in a vaguely similar way and now— You don't have to justify your queerness by telling people about the best friend you had when you were twelve, and how you kissed, and she laughed and said it was good practice for when she would kiss boys and your stomach twisted and your mouth tasted like bile and she was the first and last girl you kissed, but—

You don't owe anyone these pieces of yourself. They're yours, and you can share them or not, but if someone demands that you share, they're probably not someone you should trust.

Third: The idea of gold star lesbians is a profoundly bi- and trans- phobic idea, often reducing gender to genitals and the long, shared history of queer women of all identities to a stark, artificial divide where some identities are seen as purer or more valuable than others. This is bullshit on all counts.

There's a weird and largely artificial division between bisexuals and lesbians that seems to be intensifying on tumblr, and I have to say: I hate it. Bisexual women aren't failed lesbians. They're not somehow less good or less valid because they're attracted to [checks notes] people. Do you think that having sex with a man somehow changes them? What are you so worried about it for? I've checked, and having sex with a man does not, in fact, make your vagina grow teeth or tentacles. Does that make you feel better? Why is what other people are doing so threatening to you?

Discussions of gold star lesbians are often filled with tittering about hehe penises, which is unfortunate, since I know a fair few lesbians who have penises, and even more lesbians who've had sex with people, men and women alike, who have penises. I'm sorry to report that "I'm disgusted by a standard-issue human body part" is neither a personality nor anything to be proud of. I'm a dyke and I don't especially like men, but dicks are just dicks. You don't have to be interested in them, but a lot of people have them, and it doesn't make you less of a lesbian to have sex with someone who has a dick.

There's so much garbage happening in the world—maybe you haven't noticed, but things are kind of Not Great in a lot of places, and there's a whole pandemic thing that's been sort of a major buzzkill? How is this something that you're worried about? Make a tea, remind yourself that other people's genitalia and sexual history are none of your business, maybe go watch a video about a cute animal or something.

Fourth: The idea of gold star lesbians is a shitty premise that argues that sexuality is better if it's always been clear-cut and straightforward—but it rarely is. We live in a very, very heterosexist culture. I didn’t have a word for lesbian until many years after I knew that I was one. How can you say that you are something when your mouth can’t even make the shape of it? The person you are at 24 is different to the person you are at 14, and 34, and 74. You change. You get braver. The world gets wider. You learn to see possibilities in the shadows you used to overlook. Of course people learn more about themselves as they age.

Also, many of us, especially those of us who grew up in smaller towns, or who are over the age of, say, 25, grew up in times and places where our sexuality was literally criminal.

Shortly after I graduated high school, a gay man in my state was sentenced to six months in jail. Why? Well, he’d hit on someone, and it was a misdemeanor to "solicit homosexual or lesbian activity", which included expressing romantic or sexual interest in someone who didn’t reciprocate. You might think, then, that I am in fact quite old, but you would be mistaken. The conviction was in 1999; it was overturned in 2002.

I grew up knowing this: the wrong thing said to the wrong person would be sufficient reason to charge me with a crime.

In the United States, the Defense of Marriage Act was passed in 1996, clarifying that according to the federal government, marriage could only ever be between one man and one woman. It also promised that even if a state were to legalize same-sex unions, other states wouldn't have to recognize them if they didn't want to. And wow, they super did not want to, because between 1998 and 2012, a whopping thirty states had approved some sort of amendment banning same-sex marriage.

Every queer person who's older than about 25 watched this, knowing that this was aimed at people like them. Knowing that these votes were cast by their friends and their families and their teachers and their employers.

Some states were worse than others. Ohio passed their bill in 2004 with 62% approval. Mississippi passed theirs the same year with 86% approval. Imagine sitting in a classroom, or at work, or in a church, or at a family dinner, and knowing that statistically, at least two out of every three people in that room felt you shouldn't be allowed to marry someone you loved.

Matthew Shepard was tortured to death in October of 1998. For being gay, for (maybe) hitting on one of the men who had planned to merely rob him. Instead, he was tortured and left to die, tied to a barbed wire fence. His murderers were both sentenced to two consecutive life terms in prison. This was controversial, because a nonzero number of people felt that Shepard had brought it upon himself.

Many of us sat at dinner tables and listened to this discussion, one that told us, over and over, that we were fundamentally wrong, fundamentally undeserving of love or sympathy or of life itself.

This is a tiny, tiny sliver of history—a staggeringly incomplete overview of what happened in the US over about ten years. Even if this tiny sliver is all that there were, looking at this, how could you blame someone for wanting to try being not Like This? How can you fault someone who had sex, maybe even had a bunch of sex, hoping desperately that maybe they could be normal enough to be loved if they just tried harder? How can you say that someone who found themself an uninteresting but inoffensive boyfriend and went on dates and had sex and said that it was fine is somehow less valuable or less queer or less of a lesbian for doing so? For many people, even now, passing as straight, as problematic as that term is, is a survival skill. How dare you imply that the things that someone did to protect themself make them worth less? They survived, and that's worth literally everything.

Fifth, finally: What is a gold star, anyhow? You've capitalized it, like it's Weighty and Important, but it's not. Gold stars were what your most generous grade school teacher put on spelling tests that you did really well on. But ultimately, gold stars are just shiny scraps of paper. They don't have any inherent value: I can buy a thousand of them for five bucks and have them at my door tomorrow. They have only the meaning that we give them, only the importance that we give them. We’re not children desperately scrabbling for a teacher’s approval anymore, though. We understand that good and bad are more of a spectrum than a binary, and that a gold star is a simplification. We understand that no number of gold stars will make us feel like we’re special enough or good enough or important enough, or fix the broken places we can still feel inside ourselves. Only we can do that.

The stars are only shiny scraps of paper. They offer us nothing; we don’t need them. I hope that someday, you see that, too.

#queer stuff #lgbtq #gold star lesbians #long post #sorry #Anonymous

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eulchu · 2 years

Text

LET'S TALK: DREAM AND THE DREAM STANS

PART 1: DREAM STANS

i'm going to start this off by sharing a very cherished memory.

mcc day, september 2021. my roommates and i tune in to watch dream's live stream. it's the first time watching for my best friend who, although clinically online and very well versed in twitch etiquette, had always stuck to hispanic streamers. dream loses after a very close competition. still, my friend turns to me and says: "i'm a little emotional right now. i've never seen a chat so kind and encouraging in my life. usually i have to close it because they're, well, horrible, but this was one of the most heart-warming things i've seen on twitch chat. it's like you guys are his little cheerleaders."

i've heard bad things about the dream stans. i've DEFINITELY seen some of them. i'm no stranger to fandom culture. i hate making 'not every...' posts because that defies the point of holding accountable those who are toxic. i'm not above being critical of my own 'fave'.

however, i'm sick of seeing the demonized version that the internet has deemed reflective of reality in regards of dream 'stans'. because it's not true! i've seen the worst of the worst. i've been involved in pretty shitty fandoms. you know how dream keeps standing up for his 'stans'? he's not enabling the 'stan' community that many people think it is.

not to be cheesy, but dream fans are like nothing i've ever come across. maybe because we've had too much shit spewed at us. because we've had to endure death threats that, upon reacting, would not only make things worse for us, but for dream too. we've learnt to keep quiet in our little bubble to avoid conflict. we've been driven to the point of exhaustion. now, i'm not claiming this has been the case since the very begining. i'm sure early 2020/2021 had many dream stans who were a pain in the ass.

it is, however, quite revolting to realize dream's community's growth keeps getting looked past. by anon users. by ccs. by whole ass men older and more mature than many of us, with far more power and not one ounce of regret when their comments send a hurricane of harassment dream's (and by default, our) way. if any of them took a second of their day, they would find out all most of these 'dream stans' nowadays do is respectfully denfend themselves and their cc.

i'm tired of the whole 'dream enables hate in his community' narrative. we're human too. i could've snapped so many times at threats being sent MY way - not even dream's - and i never do, because god, i could fight fire with fire. but we've learnt the hard way that it doesn't benefit anyone. doesn't help the situation. certainty doesn't help dream. so we keep quiet. we turn into the bigger person per request for dream. i'm a mindless dream stan for being decent because dream asked me to? sure, say that to my face when you're not telling me to die. you're LUCKY dream is the last line in defense that's still standing in my moral compass.

dream has managed to create such a community that reflects who he is as a person. which isn't the cold, manipulative bigot that people think he is. dream's community is nothing but a reflection of his infinite kindness, compassion, acceptance and eagerness to learn and grow. thinking dream enables his fans' behavior as marketing strategy is a major downplay of who he is as a character.

i remember one quote from him, a long time ago, "don't let anyone tell you you're weird for liking something because they're the weird ones". i can imagine dream, who latches to games for days straight, and forgets to sleep sometimes, was just another kid who was shamed for liking things 'a little too much'. if anything, all dream's ever wanted to do is create a safe community where people aren't shamed for their 'weird ticks' or 'fixations'. when he's defensive of his community, he's not defensive of the people who send death threats and harass and doxx. he's defensive of a community that he built with care, in hopes to shelter all the 'freaky' kids that don't have something to go back to.

fuck anyone who tries to paint dream's community as something toxic. it's the furthest thing from it.

#im parasocial about all of you none of you have done anything wrong in your entire life #dreamwastaken #dwt #long post

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alwaysmarveling · 3 years

Text

Socks

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Warnings: toxic relationships, small mentions of death, gaslighting, fighting, and miscarriage

Word Count: 4k (literally exactly 4k, I’m kinda proud)

A/N: Based on the song “1 Step Forward, 3 Steps Back” by Olivia Rodrigo as suggested by @vancityfire13, I hope this meets all your hopes and expectations <3 also technically this is my first prompt from someone who’s not me??!

You met Wanda at the library. Your legs crossed, eyebrows scrunched, and bottom lip caught between your teeth, you’d settled in the familiar corner of the library's world languages section. That area was always quiet, which you’d found out after many trips to the library as a kid. When the occasional patron did wander through, perusing the shelves, sometimes they brought family or friends, weaving together sounds and syllables that had to be from another language. It was the only sound you’d tolerate while you were immersed in your reading. Well, to be fully honest, you loved it, wondering what the hushed voices were saying, what stories they were telling. So Wanda’s English was a jarring wake-up call.

“I like your socks.” Her eyes flashed to your ankles, leaving you wondering if she was more drawn to the sky blue color or the characters covering it.

You’d noticed the brunette walking the aisles about ten minutes ago. Unlike most, she ran her fingers along the worn spines, seeming only half-interested in what the titles read.

“Thanks.” Your voice was cold, unwelcoming. She gave you a terse nod before heading off, her footsteps silent against the worn carpet. You thought she was gone.

A week later, you were back at your spot. You’d finally finished the work you’d been putting off for weeks, just about to reward yourself with a reread of Little Women, a book you’d read an uncountable number of times since you were a child. She was an unwelcome interruption.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but-”

“I was looking for a book for my brother. His name is Pietro. Was Pietro. There was a Sokovian fairytale he always loved. Begged my mother to read it to us every night. He could recite it by memory by the time he was five, knew every word. I thought I did too.” Your eyes traced down the curve of her spine. Your mother would have scolded you for standing so poorly.

“I’m sorry for your loss” was all you said, your lips forming a tight line when you finished.

“I couldn’t- I can’t remember the title.”

“I can try to help you find it?” You weren’t sure why you offered, maybe the lost look in her eyes, the growing strength of her accent as she talked, or the way her fingers traced her empty palms. No one should leave a library empty-handed.

“Do you speak Sokovian?” The corners of her eyes creased as you shook your head.

“I suppose you won’t be much help then, will you?” Her words held no bite, only the sadness of a stranger who was trying to hold herself together, her emotions threatening to unravel her at the weakened seams. You matched her facial expression out of sympathy, but she was gone before you had a chance to apologize.

“Do you like Disney?” she had asked you. Her eyes were back on your ankles. You were wearing the same socks as when the two of you first met. You were milliseconds away from answering, your tongue already against the roof of your mouth, ready to shut down the conversation immediately afterward. But then you noticed the way her hands fidgeted in her lap, her fingers always moving, almost like they were dancing. You sighed. You should be nicer; she’d really done nothing wrong.

“It’s alright.” Your shoulders raised and dropped, your answer purposefully vague. “Did you manage to find the book?” The darkening of her eyes was enough to tell you that, no, she hadn’t found it. “What’s the main character’s name?” Her gaze followed you as you pulled out your laptop.

“Boleslav,” she answered finally. Her gaze was timid, unsure. Why were you helping her? You’d been so closed off before.

“Do you know any major points of the story? The names of the other characters?” Before she could answer, you eyed the pillow that sat next to you. She took a seat.

The two of you poured over Google, eventually finding the story and its location in the library. But by that point, you were too wrapped up in your findings on the Internet to get up. Too wrapped up in each other.

---

Wanda insisted she make it up to you, for finding the book for her.

“For helping me find my brother,” she insisted, pulling you out of the library. If she was anyone else, you would have responded by saying that she could make it up to you by leaving you alone with your books, but she wasn’t anyone else. So you let her tug you out of the building, Mirabelle, the librarian, giving you a wink upon seeing you leaving the building with someone else, soft smiles gracing your faces.

You thought she would’ve brought you to coffee, but it seemed you hadn’t yet developed the ability to understand her. She brought you to the city, a small store on the corner. Socks lined the walls, the different colors and patterns flooding your vision.

“Your Disney ones looked old.” You half-nodded as you scanned the store, your hand going limp in hers. You remembered learning about rods and cones in class ages ago, not quite remembering what each one did but remembering that one of them was involved in seeing colors. Those—whatever they were called—must’ve been on overdrive.

You picked one pair for her, and she, one for you. You wore those socks constantly, slipping them over your feet the second they were out of the wash. You never told Wanda about it, but you didn’t have to; her eyes fell to your ankles every time she saw you, a small smile on her face. You didn’t know if you did it for her reaction or simply because you loved them. Maybe it was both.

---

Wanda drew you into her world. Some might have used the word “yanked” given how quickly your relationship moved. But that made it sound involuntary, as if she’d forced you to move in with her when she’d asked you exactly eight months after your first date. And if you’d known she had powers when you first met her, you might’ve agreed. Maybe she’d entranced you and now you were stuck with her, even if you didn’t really want to be.

But the truth was that you did, you wanted to be with her every second you could. And though magic never left her hands when she was with you, even her name was magic, the way those two syllables rang beautifully in the air as she formally introduced herself for the first time. She spoke English when she talked to you, but you swore that whatever left her mouth was a language of her own, so elegant, sweet, and charming in a way that no English speaker could replicate.

But, one night, her words twisted into daggers, punctuated syllables sharpening into dangerous ends, the beginning of each sentence like a handle she grabbed and used to hurt you further, twist until it was lodged as deeply into your chest as it could go.

You weren’t sure what you did to make it happen. Maybe it was just a bad night. She was drunk, after all, home from some party with the Avengers that you hadn’t gone to. The two of you had talked it over before, though, both agreeing that it was too soon in your relationship to attend anything where it’d be publicly released, which was why you were confused about why she was cursing you out for abandoning her, not being there when you needed her.

You promised that you’d be sure to go next time. Wanda just turned around, dismissing you without another word. You weren’t sure what was worse, the silence or her words. She somehow missed the tears that streamed down your face.

The next day, she knocked on your door. This time, she was the one in tears, the rate at which they fell only increasing when she saw how puffy your eyes were.

“I- I’m sorry,” she bumbled, the sounds tumbling out of her mouth like a barrel coming down the Niagara Falls. She couldn’t have stopped them if she tried. You watched her struggle through an apology, something about her insecurities being magnified as she saw all the other couples around her seemingly happy. She just wanted that. And even though her speech was much more clumsy than the usual effortless diction you were used to hearing from her, you allowed her words to draw you in, provide you shelter from the horrors you’d experienced yesterday, when your heart raced and blood rushed your ears and your palms were so sweaty you couldn’t get a grip on anything. You allowed her arms to draw you in, make you feel safe. You allowed her to bring you home.

---

Wanda saw a side of you that no one had ever seen before. Scratch that, Wanda saw all of you. Where others would’ve looked away or missed the true meaning of your words, she dug deeper. You lived your whole life with a mask on, swapping one out for another to appease those around you. Wanda took them all off.

But she didn’t force them off; she made you want to take them off. You were the one who peeled them off one by one, the experience being extremely unnerving every time you revealed that much more of yourself to her, but you always found yourself relieved at the end. Because she accepted you, she loved you.

Right?

---

You called her once, during a mission. It was something the two of you had been doing ever since you started dating. You would ask how she was doing, make sure she was okay, and she’d do the same for you. Of course, when her missions were off-the-grid you didn’t call, but if the two of you were allowed to stay in contact, she insisted that you guys do so.

“I have to make sure my love is okay,” she’d murmured, just before she left for her first mission since the two of you started your relationship. She was holding you in her arms as the two of you swayed back and forth. Your feet were bare for once, the cold kitchen tile underfoot grounding the both of you. Neither of you had wanted to let go; your hands were clasped firmly together around her waist, and hers rested on top of yours. But eventually, the incessant honking from Tony became too much, and the two of you reluctantly moved apart.

“I’ll call you the second I can, yeah? And make sure you call me in the morning when you wake up.”

“I will,” you nodded as Wanda’s hand came up to brush against your cheek.

But somehow she’d forgotten about your agreement, and nothing but annoyance filled your ear, the phone pressed up against it.

“Y/N, I really don’t have time for this right now.” You sucked in a breath, her tone an instant reminder of that night she’d yelled at you. But that was so long ago. And you hadn’t done anything; there wasn’t a party you’d missed since then, not a moment since then that you’d let her feel alone. Or was there?

“I- I’m sorry,” you stuttered. “Should I call you back later?” All you got was a sigh, doubt and panic filling your chest in the momentary silence.

“We’ll see. Goodbye, milaya.” There was barely a pause in between her voice and the disconnect tone. You weren’t sure if the pet name was sincere or a habit leftover from the good times.

Were you still in the good times?

What went wrong?

Where did you go wrong?

She came back from the mission, and all was well again. She spun you around and around, her melodious giggles filling your ears and causing the corners of your mouth to lift. But you couldn’t help your brows from cinching inwards, wondering where this Wanda had been when you’d called. Was it just another fluke, or maybe something you’d imagined?

“I love you, printsessa, so, so much,” Wanda whispered. You loved the way her smooth voice filled your ears, made you feel whole again. Maybe it was the kitchen? Was that the place she felt safe, the place where she felt like she could love you fully? Maybe that’s why she seemed so closed off during the mission. When you didn’t respond, too lost in thought, she spoke up again.

“Detka, d’you know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me? I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Her eyes sparkled. No red mist emerged from her fingertips, but you swore Wanda’s essence was magic in and of itself. How could you ever deny her?

You surrendered.

“I love you too. More than anything in the world.”

---

The next day, Wanda woke you up with excitement filling her voice, insisting that you come with her to the compound to pick up some of the things she’d left behind.

“I want to show you off,” she’d laughed as she rolled you over.

“We’ve already met, babe. They love me, you’ve said so yourself,” you groaned. She shook her head as she corralled you into the bathroom.

“You haven’t met all of them! Now c’mon, let’s go!” You agreed, and she was right, there were lots of new people there.

“You must be Y/N, right?” You nodded as you shook the man’s hand.

“I’m Clint. I’ve heard, um, lots about you. And your socks.” The two of you laughed at his joke, but something about his chuckle was off. His smile never quite reached his eyes. Wanda whisked you off too soon for you to figure out why though, bringing you over to a rather large man. No, god, he’s a god. Thor, he said. His name is Thor.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you’d responded.

“The love of my life,” Wanda sighed, her voice wispy and dreamy. The god’s eyebrows had raised at that.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you then, Y/N. I didn’t know Wanda was so fortunate as to have a love so strong.” Sometimes you had to remind yourself of that too. “You are very lucky, my friend.” Am I?

You exchanged jokes with Natasha, learned of some of Bruce and Tony’s new projects, listened to stories of Thor’s childhood adventures on Asgard; the night went well. Until it didn’t.

You were yanked into a mostly empty room, the door quickly shut behind you. Was that a flash of red you’d seen in the corner of your eye?

“What did you do?” someone hissed. The voice was familiar, but by this point, you weren’t sure if it filled you with dread or joy when you heard it. Was that part of the excitement of your relationship, trying to figure out the complexities of it all, trying to predict which version of your lover you’d get this time?

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I didn’t do anything, Wanda, I swear!”

“Then why is Clint telling me to break up with you? What did you say to him?” Your head shook, your whole body shook. This was news to you.

“I didn’t say anything. Please, Wan-”

“How am I supposed to believe that, Y/N? Do you really think he’d just make that up out of nowhere?” You tried to find the words, the ones you should say, the ones she’d want you to say. You had nothing. The witch’s anger grew, her hands slamming down on her sides. “God, Y/N! It’s like sometimes I don’t even know who you are!”

But wait, that was how you felt. Wasn’t it? Or had you dreamed that up too? What had you done?

“Wanda, I promise I didn’t do anything. I’ve been friendly to him all night.”

“So you expect me to believe he’s lying, then.” Your eyes fell to her chest, its rise and fall rapid but deep, going up and down several times before she spoke again. “Y/N, he named his child after my brother. Why would he lie to me?” You could do nothing, say nothing to fix this. You weren’t sure exactly what you did, but you’d messed up. Again.

“Maybe he’s right, then.” Her hand ran through her hair, the brown locks that you loved to twist around your own fingers, play with as she laid in your lap, a show playing in the background. You missed those times.

But weren’t you just doing that last night?

You weren’t sure. It seemed like so long ago.

---

Weeks, months, even a year passed. Wanda had apologized for that night at the compound. She’d also apologized for the countless number of other times the two of you had fought since then. But it was okay, you’d thought, because for all those arguments was an equal number of moments where the two of you laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe, slow-danced at 3 AM, used your hairbrushes as microphones to sing concerts for your millions of fans. At least, you thought it was an equal number. Did number matter anyway?

Wanda went from being your girlfriend, to being your fiancé, to being your wife. Like Thor had said, you were “very lucky.” You are very lucky. Because right now, you’re looking down at the stick in your hand, and there are two lines, not one. The two of you had done something so many couldn’t; that was a huge blessing. And now you had to tell Wanda.

Finding the box was harder than you thought, but the other part was much easier. All you had to do was go to the store Wanda had taken you to all that time ago, the small store on the corner. And when the brunette lifted open the lid to find a pair of socks so tiny they could only be for one thing, one person, one baby, she knew. She was ecstatic. You were relieved.

Four weeks. Four weeks later from that day was the worst day of your life. Just as quickly as the baby had come, it had gone. He or she was gone. Was it your fault? The doctor had been quick to shut those thoughts down, insisting that there were many factors that could’ve caused the miscarriage, but you certainly weren’t one of them.

But Wanda didn’t talk to you for a whole week, spending the nights in the guest bedroom to avoid you. It was the longest the two of you had gone without speaking. That had to mean something, right?

It did. It meant that it shouldn’t have been a surprise when you came home from work the following Monday to find half of the things missing. All of her things.

The box was still there, though; you saw it out of the corner of your eye. It sat on top of a cabinet, the two socks poking out of the top.

The two of you had fallen in love with those tiny socks faster than you’d fallen in love with each other. They held so much love, so much promise. But now they were empty, devoid of anything they might’ve held just hours before. They were nothing more than a painful reminder of what could have been, what should have been. Meanwhile, your own socks were still on, the same ones Wanda had given to you on your first date. You weren’t sure you could take them off if you tried. Was that a reminder too? Did it have significance?

The ticking of the clock suddenly caught your attention. You had been standing at the doorway for thirty minutes, but what were you supposed to do? Were you supposed to go somewhere? Where would you go? Wanda was gone, not leaving any clue as to where she could’ve run off to, and you were alone.

When was the last time you’d been truly alone?

Didn’t you use to like being alone?

You grabbed your keys. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, but whatever it was, you wouldn’t find it here.

You push open the door, always the one on the right. Walk twenty or so steps through the entrance, turn left. Take another left, then walk-

It was different. Completely different. The shelves weren’t the same color, metal had been swapped for wood, the carpet was new; what had happened?

“Y/N, sweetie, is that you?” Mirabelle’s voice. At least she was still here. You turned to face her, taking in her wrinkled face, the tortoiseshell glasses that had been perched on her nose since you met her as a child. “Oh my goodness, it is! We haven’t seen you in ages. We were all so worried.”

“Wha- what happened to the library?” Her kind smile flipped, her lips separated with their corners turning downwards.

“We got a renovation at the end of last year, honey. Didn’t you see it on the news?”

“Right,” you nodded, swallowing again, trying to push down the lump that had been growing in your throat for over an hour. “Um, where’s the world languages section?”

“Upstairs, love. Take two rights and you’ll see it. Enjoy your visit, okay?” You nodded again, pressing your lips into a wavering smile that Mirabelle accepted.

You found the section easily enough, pushing yourself into one of the beanbags that crowded the floor. It was quiet—you supposed not many people came to the library on a late Tuesday afternoon—but something was missing.

No, that wasn’t it. Nothing was missing. Everything had changed, and you couldn’t settle yourself no matter how hard you tried. You couldn’t recognize the white walls or the large windows that surrounded you. You couldn’t recognize the book in your shaking hands; the title read “Little Women,” but it lacked the comfort and familiarity it once brought you. You couldn’t recognize the artwork that hung on the walls, the large signs suspended from the ceiling.

You caught a reflection in the shiny metal of a book cart that lay several feet away from you.

You couldn’t recognize yourself.

When you finally left the library, Mirabelle frowned as she watched you exit the doors, not stopping to check out a book like you always did. No one should ever leave a library empty-handed. You’d forgotten that too.

---

She came back less than a week later, her cheeks tear-stained and her eyes rimmed with red as she stumbled her way through an apology.

“It was a mistake, detka, I promise. I made such an awful mistake, and I’ll never forgive myself. I won’t blame you if you don’t forgive me either.” You stared at her, neither your eyes nor your mouth moving as you tried to take in what she was saying, tried to come up with an adequate response.

Which had changed more, the library or you?

“Please, you’re the only thing that matters in my life. I can’t lose you.” The melody of her once-full voice was broken, the chords fragmented and notes falling out of tune. It was as broken as you’d felt for the past few days. Maybe she understood. But you couldn’t think anymore because you were suddenly in her arms again, her tears soaking your shirt as she sobbed.

The library had been renovated, its modernity and welcoming environment being a major improvement to the once somewhat dilapidated building. You had slipped, your feet wrapped in the socks Wanda had given you as you stumbled down the dark, crooked hallway of your life, trying desperately to get a hand on the wall, grab a solid footing.

You had two options: save yourself or fall.

“Please, Y/N, please. Promise you’ll stay.”

You fell backwards, your head being the first to slam into the floor.

“Of course I’ll stay, Wan. I’d never leave you.”

You weren’t sure if you’d ever get up. After all, changed or not, what’s a library without its books? Who are you without her?

-----

🏷 : @007giu

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff #avengers x reader #marvel #mcu #I wrote something #alwaysmarveling

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xoxoavenger · 3 years

Text

I Promise

pairing: Jack Thompson x Reader

summary: When Y/N gets shot instead of Ana, Jack is the one to make the promises.

word count: 2105

warnings: major character injury, cannon typical violence

masterlist

Jack Thompson didn't cry.

Not when he found out that he had killed people for no reason, not when Chief Dooley died, and not when he lost his war buddy. Life happens. Death hurts. It sucks. But it was a part of war and life.

That was before Y/N was hurt.

Daniel and Peggy had never seen anyone in the state that he was in, much less Jack the way he was. They hadn't even known Jack could have a soft spot for Y/N. They thought she was just a girl that Jack was sweet with. They wouldn't have kept her alone with Jason if they knew how important she was to him.

Y/N could see Jason getting taken by Whitney. She couldn't let this happen. So, she ran outside.

"Hey!" A gun was pointed at her before she could even finish talking, and she held her hands up and stumbled back.

"No! We can't shoot her!" Y/N could barley heard anything they were saying as she stared at the gun. It wasn't pointed at her anymore, but it was still in their possession.

"He will die if you take him. He needs-" She said, even though she was scared out of her life. She didn't want to die, to leave Jack behind.

"He needs answers. And I'm gonna help him get those." Whitney cut her off, and she became brave.

"You won't get away with this. She won't stop coming for you." Y/N said, getting closer. She could hear the car. She just had to wait.

"I don't doubt that. I can, however, slow her down." Y/N didn't have time to think before Whitney raised the gun and shot. Y/N heard the loud noise as she screamed, reflexively wrapping her arms around her abdomen. Pain erupted. She unwrapped her arms and looked at it, blood covering the pale tan dress she was wearing. Jack's favorite dress on her. She could only hear echoes of sounds as she fell to the ground. The car pulling up, the sound of tires screeching as a car made it's escape. Y/N moaned as she grabbed her stomach once more, wishing the pain would just stop. She could hear the footsteps of people, their voices clashing together. She heard them calling her name, but all she could do was moan in agony. Nothing had ever hurt this bad. She wished Jack were here; he would know what to do. He would take the pain away. She just wanted to see him.

Peggy and Jarvis were screaming. Peggy was pressing her hands into Y/N's side, and her vision was fading in and out. The pain was becoming numb, and Y/N didn't think that was a good thing.

She just wanted to hear Jack's voice one last time.

Daniel had been the one to call Jack, after he had been called to the hospital. He was unaware just how close Jack and the girl were, but he thought Jack should know what had happened.

"Jack,"

"Sousa? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Jack, this is serious. It's Y/N."

"What happened?" Jack's tone was suddenly deadly; he wasn't asking a question, he was commanding something. It was a tone Daniel only heard in grave situations, and he supposed this fit.

"Daniel," Jack was running out of patience as the other chief stayed silent.

"She was shot." Daniel choked out, and the receiver was so silent, he wondered if the call had been disconnected.

"Where?"

"Excuse me?"

"Where is she?" The tone hadn't dropped.

"We're at the Hospital on Twenty-second." As soon as Daniel had told Jack, he heard the phone slam onto the hook.

"How'd he take it?" Jarvis asked, and Daniel looked up to him, away from the phone.

"A lot worse than I expected."

When Jack arrived, he was already so torn apart. His eyes were red and swollen, his hair array, in his pajamas.

"Christ, Thompson, you couldn't put on some actual clothes?"

"Where is she?" Jack ignored Daniel, instead asking Peggy, who looked a little worse for wear herself.

"She's in surgery. What's going on with you?" Peggy looked Jack over, and he sat down, rubbing his face.

"What happened?"

"Jack, seriously, what,"

"What the hell happened?" Jack asked more forcefully, looking over to her. Peggy's eyes widened as she stared at Jack.

"Dr. Wilkes was taken by Whitney. When we arrived, we watched her get shot on the front lawn. We drove her here as quickly as we could." Peggy retold the events in a manner that gave away no emotions. She studied Jack, watched as a tear slipped out of his eye before he put his head in his hands.

"Have they said anything yet?" Jack asked through his hands, and Peggy put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm beginning to think that Agent L/N is more than just an Agent, Thompson."

"Margret, I don't have time for this. Have the doctors said anything or not?" Jack looked up at her, face wet, and Peggy felt her heart sink.

"They took her into surgery. They still don't know if she's going to make it out." Peggy said quietly. Jack stood up and walked away. Peggy, Daniel and Jarvis all shared a look before Daniel went after him.

"Jack, look,"

"What if she's already gone?" Jack's back was to Daniel, but it was obvious how much he was hurting. He looked like he was staring at something in his hands.

"No, you can't think like that." Daniel didn't know what else to say.

Silence. He could only see Jack swaying, which was weird, because he was always so uptight and put together.

"Jack. Jack? Are you o," Daniel couldn't even get the words out before Jack was on the floor. "Jack!" Daniel crunched his way to Jack's body. He shook Jack, who blinked up at Daniel after a few seconds. Daniel sat back and looked around, not knowing what to say. His eyes caught a white box, which had been partially opened. Daniel didn't need to see the contents to know what was in the box.

"Jack, were you going to propose to Y/N?" Daniel didn't know Jack and Y/N's relationship was that serious and intimate. Jack didn't say anything, but sat up and grabbed the box. That must've been what he was looking at in his hands. "Woah, pal. Be careful there." Daniel said, putting a hand on Jack's should to steady him.

"Jack! Jack! She's out." Peggy yelled as she ran down the hallway to Jack.

"Jack, wait! You shouldn't be getting up yet!" Daniel said, but Jack was already standing up on shaking legs, making his way to Peggy.

"Y/N," Jack whispered when he approached her room. The binds were open, meaning he could see her laying lifeless on the bed. She looked so peaceful. So beautiful. Jack immediately went for the door, but a doctor stopped him. "Let me see her."

"I will. But first, I need to inform you of a few things."

"Do it in there."

"Jack, let him finish." Peggy said, and Jack stood still, a hand still on the doorknob.

"We don't know the effectiveness of the surgery. It was successful, but she hasn't woken up yet. There is a chance she,"

"Let me see my wife!"

No one knew what to respond with. Y/N and Jack weren't married, but no one wanted to correct him.

"Chief Thompson." Jarvis said from behind them. Peggy turned, but Jack just opened the door.

"Sir,"

"Oh, Y/N. Baby." Jack fell to his knees as he reached the bed, grabbing her hand. Her head was rolled toward him, and he just wished she would open her eyes then and there.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." He cried, putting his head down against the bed.

"My only job was to protect you, and I failed. This is my fault." Jack had his head in his arms, still holding onto her hand and the ring.

"Fibber McGee and Molly. Fibber McGee and Molly." Jack whispered over and over and over. Peggy came into the room with two coffees, but Jack didn't notice.

"I beg your pardon?"

"This damn radio won't tune into anything." Jack said, but it sounded as if he were talking to the radio. Peggy put the drinks down, but Jack didn't notice. He was stiff on his knees, not even blinking. Just as Peggy was about to interject, Jack raised a fist and punched the radio, the static cutting out.

"Jack, I think you should sit." Peggy grabbed his shoulders to help him to his feet, but Jack turned in her grasp.

"How can I sit, Marge? How can I sit when I don't even know," Jack trailed off, but they both knew what he was going to say.

Jack had looked bad last night, but he looked even worse today. His shirt was wrinkled from running his hand across it, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Look. She's out of surgery. She has color in her cheeks." Peggy said in a soft, uplifting voice. Jack stared at Y/N, face neutral.

"They can't even estimate when she'll wake up. If she wakes up." Jack said, his voice quiet.

"She wants to hear your voice. She doesn't care about anyone else's." Peggy stood closer to him, but Jack still didn't look at her.

"I just want to hear her's." Tears began to flow out of Jack's eyes as he scrunched up his face. Peggy felt her heart shatter.

"I'm going to go to your hotel room and pick up your clothes, tooth brush, razor," Peggy gently lead Jack to the chair, talking in her quiet, calming voice. "So that when she does wake up, you will look like Chief Thompson." Peggy smiled down at him, but he continued to stare at Y/N. Peggy left the room, but Jack didn't look at her.

He just kept staring at Y/N.

"I promise I'll wear that green suit you like to all of our dates, even though I hate it." Jack had his hands wrapped around hers, back on his knees next to her bed. "I promise I'll cook more when I stay at your house." He watched the rise and fall of her chest.

"I promise not to leave my dirty clothes on your floor." Jack pulled out the ring, still holding onto her with the other hand. "I promise we can get those sheets you like when we move in together." He flipped open the box, revealing the ring inside. "I promise to like your purple dress." He looked up at her face. She hadn't moved.

"I promise we can try that restaurant you wanted to go to since we got here." He looked back at their hands, the ring. He grabbed her left hand, looking at it for a moment. "I promise I will be the best husband." His voice started to crack as tears made their way down his face once more.

"I promise," He paused to let out a sob before looking to her. "I promise I will protect you until I die, that nothing like this will ever happen to you," Another sob. "Just please, Y/N," He put his head down. "I'll never let this happen again." He cried, his voice raising.

"Please, wake up!" He practically screamed, throwing his head back. He sunk back down, crying into his arms.

"I don't know how I could be asleep after that." Jack's head snapped up, looking at Y/N's face. Her eyes were barely open, but Jack could tell she was awake. She had a small smile on her face.

"You're awake." Jack whispered, letting go of her hand and the ring. He moved closer to her face, putting a hand on her cheek and brushing her hair away.

"I woke up at the sheets," Y/N said, and Jack smiled. "But I wanted to see what else I could get." Her eyes closed again, but Jack could tell she was awake.

"I'll go get the doctor." Jack could barley speak, he was so happy she was awake.

"Jack, wait." She said quietly as he stood. He turned to look at her and immediately knew what she wanted. He smiled before grabbing her face, bringing his lips to hers.

"I love you."

"I love you too." Jack smiled at her, and she weakly smiled back. He turned to walk out and get the doctor.

"Jack," He turned and looked at her with a big smile.

"Don't forget the ring." His face dropped and she still had the weak smile on her face. "You gotta keep your promises."

#jack thompson #jack thompson x reader #agent carter

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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 3 years

Note

After reading your opinion on Molly Weasley, i want to know: What are you're opinions on the Weasley family? Besides Ron & Molly that is.

Five characters? In one post? Well, alright, here we go.

The Weasleys as a Whole

I’ve mentioned this before but JKR writes the Weasleys to clearly be a believable but ideal family. They’re all fiercely loyal, progressive per wizarding world standards, love each other and Harry deeply, and have this wonderful off-kilter joyous house where there’s always some rambunctious thing going on.

Harry comes to associate the Weasleys with family and, personally, I believe a large part of him marrying Ginny boils down to it will make him a Weasley for real.

That said, they’ve got some major issues. They’re very righteous people who, as a whole, will ice you out the moment they even suspect you do something that disagrees with them. You don’t even have to do it, what you did or didn’t do doesn’t even have to be something terrible or something bad, but god help you if the family decides they’re done with you.

They’re very resentful of people like the Malfoys. This isn’t just because Lucius is a smarmy, pompous, ass (he is) or that he indirectly almost murdered Ginny but seems to mostly be because Lucius has so much money. All of their interactions seem to boil down to the money. More than this though, the Weasleys seem fully supportive of laws that... well, used against themselves would be a travesty but used against the likes of the Malfoys it’s about damn time.

They’re unquestioningly loyal to Dumbledore. Granted, most people we see in canon are, Dumbledore’s very very very good at convincing people he’s a saint. However, these guys are practically his cult member to the point where they do things like refuse to have Harry over the summer, even before Voldemort returned, because Dumbledore told them not to.

They also never really adopt Harry into the family. Oh they give him a nice sweater, he comes over every once in a while to the house, he’s very good friends with Ron but he’s mostly treated just like that, a good friend. Now, there’s nothing wrong with this, except the way JKR sets it up we’re supposed to believe this is the family Harry found. It’s just that the family Harry’s found let’s him stay in a house with bars on his window where twelve-year-old Ron tells them, “Harry’s muggle family is really really awful” in a way that should have been raising red flags. Hermione practically lives at the Weasleys, Harry never does.

Now, are the Weasleys evil? No, far from it, they’re ordinary people who act in ways I’d expect ordinary people too. Technically they didn’t have to do anything more for Harry than they did, they didn’t have to hate Lucius Malfoy for better reasons, and they don’t have to be even slightly less worshipful of Dumbledore. They’re people, and they’re fine characters, but the overwhelming worship and love of the Weasleys we see across fandom does get on my nerves.

But you asked for individuals, so here we go.

Arthur Weasley

Arthur is the epitome of “Pretty Fly for a White Guy” in the worst of ways and is, frankly, a giant awful joke to me. He’s the white kid you see going around with dread locks, a beanie the color of the Jamaican flag, smoking weed, and attempting to speak like Bob Marley

Only, because he does it with muggle things, we’re supposed to find him funny and progressive.

Arthur is absolutely, albeit unwittingly, condescending in his love of muggle knickknacks. He has no idea how any of it actually works, not limited to how muggles could possible survive without the gold standard, but ardently believes he does because he can enchant the car to fly. Seriously, that he believes he’s an expert on muggle culture, as a pureblood wizard who heads an office in the ministry on it, is the worst part. His love of toasters comes across as, “Wow, look how cool it is that these poor little muggles made all this neat stuff. We should absolutely love the muggles because of it!” And that he heads an office in the ministry called “The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts” which is all about catching down Jackass style pranksters who think it would be hilarious of they enchanted toasters to bludgeon muggles to death...

Goddammit Arthur, why do you exist?

Right, otherwise, he’s got some pride issues going on. Part of the reason Percy is excommunicated is not so much that Percy doesn’t believe Harry, but because Percy dared to do better than Arthur in his own career. Arthur is stuck in his position as head of a joke of a department, he is an underling at its finest, and frankly likely only has that position because he’s a pureblood and the idea of putting a halfblood or even muggleborn at the head of a department dealing with muggles just made the higher ups shudder. (Don’t tell Arthur that though, he likes to think he’s not benefitting from nepotism).

Arthur goes so far to accuse Percy as Fudge’s secretary as spying on him. Arthur, the guy who heads “Misuse of Muggle Artifacts”. Yeah, Arthur, I’m sure Fudge is really wasting his time using his straight laced secretary to find out all your dirty secrets.

He also tends to see the world as very black and white. When Skeeter in book 4 writes an article after the Quidditch World Cup disaster complaining about the ministry’s lax security in enabling domestic terrorists to enter (something completely valid and true by the way) Arthur is so personally offended that both he and Percy go straight to the ministry to complain about Rita Skeeter and her daring to assume freedom of speech! HOW DARE SHE CALL THE MINISTRY’S NON-EXISTENT SECURITY AT THE WORLD CUP LAX! (To be fair, she also cited Arthur as having been in attendance at the event, a ministry employee, and having done nothing but, well, this is also true Arthur. You’re in a guerilla, underground, resistance movement. If I didn’t already think the Order was a joke this would kind of highlight it for me).

He’s also very resentful of Lucius Malfoy, and it seems to mostly be about the money. Arthur and Molly have a severe spending problem and actively resent that Lucius is swimming in money. That Arthur is ardently pleased about a law being passed in which the ministry without warrant can ransack Lucius Malfoy’s home...

Well, Arthur, imagine the slippery slope if the government decides that it would like to search the Weasley home without warrant? In fact, he doesn’t even have to imagine it, as the beloved government in a few short years turns against him and then it’s all about how corrupt the ministry is.

Arthur’s delightfully narrowminded, basically, and reminds us at nearly every opportunity.

Percy Weasley

Mostly, I just feel bad for Percy. Percy’s the son/brother that nobody likes and he’s painfully aware of that fact. He doesn’t fit in with the others, he has far too much ambition for the Gryffindor family and they resent him for it, and then he dares to say things like “I don’t know guys, Voldemort resurrecting from the dead after decades doesn’t sound plausible, we know Harry’s a little off kilter, and Dumbledore’s one shady dude”. Percy happens to be wrong about Voldemort resurrecting (and admits as much when the evidence is plainly visible), but he’s pretty on the money with the rest of it.

Regardless, growing up we see Ron constantly hating on Percy along with the rest of the siblings. I’m sure Percy is obnoxious, and certainly full of himself after making prefect and head boy, but he’s very clearly even before Order of the Phoenix the Least Favorite Brother (TM).

Then the Weasley family completely ices him out for a) getting a very high ranking position very quickly as Fudge’s secretary and b) not being gung ho about Dumbledore saying crazy things in the paper. Remember that to Percy Harry is Ron’s weird friend who seems to get into highly illegal activities every other week. From Percy’s point of view, it’s probably a matter of time before Harry becomes a crack head in Knockturn Alley (or given how behind the times wizards tend to be, an opium den).

He’s constantly getting Ron into not only trouble but life threatening situations, is erratic and apparently a parseltongue of all things, and now Harry’s flipped his lid and saying that Voldemort has been resurrected after having gone through a very traumatic experience of watching a classmate somehow die.

While we see Percy kind of (sort of) make up with the family it’s clear that for Percy to have any relation with these people he’s the one who will always, ALWAYS, have to come crawling back on his knees and begging for forgiveness. It’s the Weasley way or the highway and I imagine, at some point probably a little after/during that epilogue, Percy will just slowly drift away because it’s just not worth it anymore.

Percy’s very much the black sheep of the family.

Fred and George Weasley

You all are going to kill me, but I actually don’t care in the slightest about Fred and George Weasley. This is because they basically have no personality aside from “funny”.

They just have their weird, tandem, twin act and are either playing jokes on the school or else serving as Deus ex Machina in giving Harry magical items such as the Marauder’s Map for no apparent reason. The plot told them it was time, I guess.

Their jokes, while not as bad as Sirius and James’ “Let’s sexually harrass Severus Snape by pantsing and beating him at the edge of Hogwarts lake” or Sirius’ “Let’s get Snape eaten by a werewolf!” are still often needlessly cruel and... kind of pointless. They harass Slytherin house constantly just because they happen to be Slytherins, they’re acceptable victims (which of course makes house tension that much worse). Harry gets sent a toilet seat in the hospital because... that’s funny? Har de har?

They’re so indistinguishable from one another I routinely see people mistake which one got his ear chopped off and which one died. Because the point is, that we can’t tell the difference! It doesn’t matter who lived and who died because all we know is that Freorge is dead!

Similarly, you see tons of fics around where character of the day ends up in this weird twincestuous relationship with Fred and George and it’s not only for a) that delightful twincest but b) because they’re such a singular unit that any attempt to pair one with somebody else feels weird. So you just get these porn fics about Fred and George being weird rapey teenagers who seem like they’d be more interested dating each other.

Charlie Weasley

I really have no thoughts on Charlie. He raises dragons in Romania, the family loves him. Now, dragon raising feels like one of the most dangerous jobs in the Harry Potter universe, like Charlie had just gone and signed up to be a lumberjack but he seems to like it?

We really don’t see much of Charlie, he’s just the obligatory older Weasley son so that the Weasleys can be this ridiculously large family.

Bill Weasley

We see slightly more of Bill, but again, not enough to really leave an impression. We know that his marrying Fleur sent Molly into a complete state, and that they’re going to have awkward Christmas dinners forever because of it where Fleur just sits there and pretends not to loathe every second of Molly’s presence while Molly notes how bad it is that Victoire got stuck with that ugly pink hair instead of the Weasley red.

Bill doesn’t seem to really do anything about this. He still marries Fleur, but we don’t really see a major confrontation where he tells the family “Look, I’m marrying her, so grow up.” So, I imagine he just tries to smile pleasantly and tells Fleur to just endure it for another few hours. He loves his family, his family’s great, but they only have to see Fleur once a year at Christmas.

Ginny Weasley

Ginny is weird. She’s this weird, frankly, almost personality-less void whose sole obsession in life seems to be marrying Harry. She and Harry end up in the world’s weirdest relationship and I honestly have no idea how people ship it other than canon told them to.

Ginny’s... well, first off, she’s very much in love with an idea. She had always worshipped Harry Potter but then he personally saves her life in what was a horrifically traumatic year and so that feeling just grows even more. Despite being Ron’s sister, she barely seems to know Harry, and everything she seems to like about it are just things she made up.

I imagine her and Harry’s marriage will be littered with affairs on her end. Not divorce though, because Harry would never admit his wife is having affairs on him all the time even if someone directly confronted him. Harry also won’t admit he’s gay.

More than though we get hints of a personality. Ginny’s a fiery red-head tomboy with a temper. But... Well, it’s only ever hints. She never felt like a real person to me. She has I think one throwaway line about the Chamber of Secrets incident and how it personally affected her. We’re told she’s great at the bat boogey hex so we know she’s a fiery independent woman.

She feels more like a character sheet than an actual person.

Whenever she’s around I always had this nagging question in my head where I ask why Ginny’s here. She has a lot of potential but nothing’s ever done with her. And when something is, it’s to get her into this bizarre relationship with Harry where he imagines there’s a green rage monster in his chest that loves her skin.

Okay Harry, if you say so.

TL;DR: The Weasleys aren’t evil or anything, I’m not on Team Bash Them All, but they are shortsighted, ordinary, people who don’t deserve to be worshipped as all that is good in this world.

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thesunshinebunny · 3 years

Text

When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part IV)

Series Master list

pairing: canon Eren Jaeger x reader

content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter Summary: Talk doesn´t seem to be like a good attack plan and now reader has to run for their life and avoid being caught by the Jaegerists.

Words Count: 6.1k

Silence reigned in the room. Only our breaths could be heard, some agitated, others calm, as well as footsteps fading at the end of the corridor. I could feel my heart pounding hard on my chest, inwardly wishing that no one could hear it. From the distance that each one was, I doubted it was physically possible; But let's face it, in a world full of humans turned into Titans, whose possessors can regenerate their body parts, listening to the beat of a heart shouldn’t be a difficult task.

"I wanted to speak with you"

Eren's lifeless eyes weren't focused on anyone in particular, I could notice his face even darker than it had been in recent days and a look much duller. My hand on the table was very close to his, threatened with blood staining from the crimson pool that was forming on the beautiful white tablecloth.

On my left side, the little girl was shaking up and down, not looking at anyone or anything at all. She also had her hands on the table, as did everyone. I directed my gaze towards the other companions at the table, the three were reversed in a conversation that I had no intention of being part of. The only thing that interested me was to give a little security to this poor girl.

I made a little movement with my elbow and shoulder toward her, trying to get her attention, but it didn't make her turn around. I tried again, this time launching a breathless and very low 'hey', taking advantage of the voices at medium volume to lighten mine. That did work. The girl had turned her eyes to me, she was still extremely scared and it showed in her eyes and all over her face. I was very sorry to see her like this.

I gave her a slight smile, curling the tip of my lip upward, and nodded. Her gaze locked with mine for a few seconds and I could see how she was calming down, even a little, but it was there. It was a stressful situation for everyone, I didn't even want to imagine what she must feel, and if my possibilities were within bringing her some calm, I would. I made a little "s'ok" with my lips without speaking, not even whispering.

"Are you paying attention?" My gaze turned to the source of the problem again. Eren had his eyes fixed hard on my face. I thought I might have gone unnoticed, but I was wrong.

I adjusted my posture on the chair, now staring forward, but with my eyes fixed on those intense but haggard gray-green eyes. I took my gaze away from his for a second to see the girl next to me, who was again trembling with fear, and I reached my hand towards hers, returning my gaze to it’s previous position. Eren clenched his fist at this movement and furrowed his brow even more, sending me a silent and mental warning. I ignored his threat and grabbed the girl's hand, at no point taking my eyes off his and accentuating my head up high.

"Keep your hands on the table Mikasa"

His gaze now turned to his childhood friends, standing myself alone at the side of the table, failing incredibly to calm a twelve-year-old girl. And as if there was nothing that could make the situation worse and make the moment much more stressful, they had to touch on sensitive issues, issues that were like putting a finger on the sore.

"Armin, you keep going to see Annie, do you really do it of your own free will?" Was it really necessary? There was nothing, or so it seemed, that could give any indication that Annie was about to wake up, and the fact that Armin wanted to go see her didn’t seem bad at all, or at least that’s what I thought; Indeed, it clearly showed Armin's sentimental attraction to her.

Yes, Annie was an important key to the investigation of the titans, but that was four years ago, now we were just sitting back in the chair and hoping that, by some miracle, the glass that surrounded Annie and left her in a reverie state will unfreeze. That Armin came to see her didn’t change anything in the plans of the militancy, much less the legion.

"Since you inherited the memories, a part of you is now Berthold"

Ah, that’s where the shots came from. It was difficult to understand the powers and responsibilities that came with being a titan shifter. We weren’t only talking about the short life that the owners unfortunately had to endure, but also the memories of their predecessors, memories that could haunt their current owner.

Likewise, blaming Armin for Berthold's memories wasn't going to fix things. Armin was still Armin, the sweet and calm boy, willing to fight if necessary, but always opting for the least violent solution, the most civilized one. He tried it on Annie and he tried it on Berthold, failing both times.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to blame Armin for having the memories of one of our enemies in his mind, memories that I never wish to obtain or see. As far as I knew, Grisha's memories, while they had been an impact towards the general knowledge of the world, hadn’t shaped Eren ... had they?

Nor was it fair to see how the same boy who had so supported his childhood friend in the years as a recruit, was internally unbalanced by the stubbornness of that friend. See how fear invaded his gaze and he was petrified to such putrid revelations.

"Eren ..." I tried to stop him, God, I swear I tried to stop him.

I tried to use the word my comrades wanted to use so badly, the words Armin wanted to use, but they weren't enough. In a thousandth of seconds, horrific ideas flashed through my mind, wishing none of them would come true. If the conversation went this way, it could end not just a friendship of years, but the sanity of all of us. I wasn't important in this trio, I was an add-on, and I couldn't allow Eren to continue destroying relationships and people wherever he stepped.

But I wasn't quick enough to stop him with words. When he finished defenestrating Armin, he turned his attention to Mikasa. Of all the people, the one who I was most afraid was her, the person who would collapse the most if he detached himself from her half-brother.

"You too Mikasa"

My eyes went wide as I heard the truths of the Ackerman clan. Created and genetically engineered to protect and follow orders, without conscience, without free will. Mikasa was devastated and I could see in her eyes how images of her childhood passed through her mind, images and memories that now seemed like a lie, a sham.

"In short ... a clan created to protect others who have no conscience of their own"

"Eren, stop" Armin was just as scared as I was, praying to any God who had been watching us that so much evil stop at once, that those words would stop coming out of that damn viperine tongue. Eren was vomiting word after word, without measuring the consequences, without measuring the damage it could cause to Mikasa's mind.

"In other words, slaves"

The situation was getting out of hand. Nothing we could say or do right now was going to help. The conversation that Armin wanted with all his might to take place was going overboard. If the others could be present with us, they would see clearly like me how the faith in his friend was dissipating with the seconds in the blond's gaze.

"At last I understand why I hated to see a slave who carried out all orders without question"

His eyes were filled with hatred, resentment, anger, contempt, and a thousand other degenerative feelings. His intention was very clear the moment he entered the room: to hurt; and he was succeeding.

He’d done me a lot of damage in the last year, such damage that it reached the darkest and inner corridors of my mind and it was impossible for me to move forward on a gray and dubious course, and now he was willing to continue doing more damage, this time to his closest friends, those people that I never thought, that never crossed my mind, he could destroy internally. He was annihilating their willpower and their desire to fight, and he’s doing so by colossal steps.

"Eren that's enough!" Armin and I shouted in unison. We didn’t necessary have to say a word or look at each other to know that the next words were going to be disastrous.

"Mikasa, I have always hated you"

That was the breaking point. Mikasa's eyes filled with tears and they didn't last for a second on her lids, they were already being spilled onto her cheeks. She was completely devastated and I couldn't blame her. The person who had given her a home after the brutal murder of her parents, the person to whom she was so devoted and would give her life, was turning his back on her, as well as killing sentimentally.

"You damn bastard!"

Armin jumped on the table with the intention of reaching the dark-haired man, but he didn’t get very far, being pulled from the chest to the hard wood of the furniture by Mikasa herself. And that only made the situation worse and agreed with Eren. It was as if fate was laughing at us for trying to pull the strings of our paths, strings that handled us like puppets and over which we had no control.

Mikasa let go of Armin's hand when she realized the act she just did, horrified with herself, and he now had the opportunity to pounce on Eren, throwing a punch in the middle of his face and throwing him to the floor. With that, the table flew backwards and in a reflex action, I also threw myself back, letting the chair fall to one side and avoiding any blow that the table could give me.

Unconsciously I lunged towards the girl next to me, preventing at all times that the table hit her or that some of the two men who were fighting each other to ended up bumping into her. I pushed her away from any crossing point and hid her behind my back, using my body as a shield against any impact that could shoot towards our position. Mikasa had also run to the left side of the wine cabinet, contemplating the scene before hers with complete sadness.

Eren's fist slammed into Armin's face, throwing him straight into the cabinet, knocking a few wines against his back and knocking a couple of ceramic plates to the floor. My instincts screamed I needed to help Armin, even knowing that he could regenerate in a matter of seconds, that the cuts and bruises weren't going to last long, but that wasn't why I wanted to help him.

It wasn’t the pain and physical blows that worried me, but the psychological anger and damage that this was entailing.

"Jaeger-san!"

Two followers slammed into the room, pointing their rifles directly at Armin and Mikasa's heads. They were unaware of my presence, paying more attention to the boy beaten from head to toe and the girl crying like a river.

I took a step forward and reaffirmed my theory, my presence wasn’t being recognized. I took another step, and another, and another, until I was right next to the fallen table and turned around, making sure the girl was still where I left her, that she was safe and sound. I gestured with my finger to my lips for her to be quiet and to stay still and turned to the scene in front of me. Eren kept beating poor Armin, who was unable to defend himself properly. He was right, in a hand-to-hand fight, Armin would be the worst off, even myself, but that didn't mean I couldn't manage to come out victorious.

Next to me, the chair Eren was sitting at a few seconds ago was still in the same place where he felt. With great care and tranquility, I bent down to grasp the back legs of it, without taking my eyes off Eren or the pseudo-guards who still had with their rifles at a shooting position, raised it to the height of my head and then smashed it against the two armed men in the stomach area. I hurriedly kicked each of them to the face, preventing them from having a chance to get up quickly, just as I slung the rifles from their shoulders with the same leg and pushed them away under a window. Without wasting time, I turned around to find Eren realizing the events that were happening next to him, and I wedged a blow in the middle of his face, in the same way Armin had done.

The blow hadn't been quite strong since he didn't fall to the ground, but it was enough to throw him off balance and make him leave Armin alone. The blonde fell to the floor, exhausted and sore from the multiple punchs to the face he had suffered, and I continued to give a new blow to the stomach height to the brunette in front of me. One of his knees fell to the ground, giving me the opportunity to grab his arm and twist him from behind, immobilizing him. I put my other arm over his armpit, preventing him from moving his arms and his upper body.

“That’s enought you fucking bastard. Mikasa..."

My face was on the crook of Eren's neck, preventing me from seeing clearly ahead, but my partial gaze sought out those tear-filled gray eyes to signal her to help me. My voice was already a signal for help even if I wasn't yelling. I could see how those eyes were full of conflicts, a battle was being fought inside her mind and she seemed to not be able to reason what she saw.

"MIKASA!"

This time I did yell, asking with all my will Mikasa could come to her senses, that she could help me with the lost cause Eren was now. I wasn’t going to be able to control him for much longer, I didn’t have the necessary strength and that was why I was trying to reach her. But the fear in my eyes was reflected when I saw that she wasn’t moving, that she was simply watching with tears in her eyes, eyes that would surely be cloudy and couldn’t see clearly. My fear was reflected when I saw that no one was going to be able to help me.

Eren hit his head against mine, right on the septum of my nose. My head jerked back involuntarily and my arms lost support on his. He grabbed my left hand, holding it high, much higher than my head, uncovering my stomach and his knee hitting it’s pit, not just once, but twice. His leg hit my knee, yanking it back and knocking me off what little balance I had left.

His grip on my hand released and I fell hard on my knees and hands onto the wooden floor. My stomach was spasming and I regurgitated bile, struggling to take in some air that I was deprived of in a matter of milliseconds. I coughed all I could until my stomach settled back, but I was unable to get back to my feet. I felt two pairs of hands grab my arms and I stood up abruptly, grabbing my hair even and looking up as the turquoise eyes set at my point of view.

"Why do you always have to be in the middle? Why can you never stay quiet in a corner without sticking your nose in someone else's butt? " Without my noticing, his fist slammed into my nose, hitting the septum back and most likely breaking it. My head cocked to the side and I could see drops of blood falling to the ground and a stream spreading from under my nostrils to my chin. "It was frustrating to see how in all the missions you were there, being a useless without importance"

Useless? I was the one who treated his wounds in training, tying his head when he hit the stone floor in his practice with the movement equipment. I was the one who put cold water on his ankle when he bent it while running through the lush forest on a rainy day. I was the one who pushed him to the side when he was going to hit a stone face down for not looking where he was going. I was one of those who saved him when he was captured by Reiner and Berthold. I was the one who pulled him out of the middle of an onslaught of titans when he first activated the coordinate, even with a wounded and bleeding shoulder.

I was the one who slapped him to make him stop crying inside the cave when Rod Reiss was transforming, claiming this wasn’t the time for his tantrums and that if he wanted to make a change in this whole twisted story, he better put down the crocodile tears for when he was in the quiet of his bed.

It was me who warned him of dozens of Marleyan soldiers when he shed from his titan back at Libero.

“And yet you continued to stick to me like a lap dog to the leg of it’s owner. Yet another slave. Makes me gag just looking at your face"

I turned my face to him, fixing my eyes on his, conveying all the hatred and contempt he was making me feel. I felt my heart shrink at such crude words, but my duel had started several weeks ago and they didn’t achieve the same effect as with Mikasa. What he did was get me to give him a contemptuous half smile and laugh in his face. His eyes darkened when he saw my reaction. Whether he expected it or not was no longer important to me. He gave a slight nod to the men behind me and I noticed how my arms were gathered around my back and tightened so that I couldn't move. One of them walked away from me and went straight towards Mikasa and Armin, pointing his rifle at their heads.

"Take them, the brat who killed Sasha too"

I wasn’t going to allow it.

My two comrades were pushed into the corridor outside while I glared at them waiting for my turn to go out with the man behind me. The girl was completely scared and she had walked to the door of her own will, perhaps avoiding being further hurt. The moment Eren was about to leave, I slapped my head against the man's face repeatedly until his grip weakened and I was able to move freely again. I turned to him, kneeing him in the face and stomach. When I managed to reduce him to the ground, making him roll into a ball and couldn't move without causing him pain when he breathed, I wanted to turn towards the door with the sole intention of getting the poor girl out of the conflict. My hand was halfway searching for her when Eren grabbed it and yanked me back violently, slamming me against the table.

I lost my balance for a second and as an involuntary act I grabbed the tablecloth, but that didn’t do much, making me fall to the floor in the same way. Eren lunged at me, his body falling completely on top of mine and pinning me to the ground. His legs were positioned at each place of my torso and his fist hit my face not once, not twice, but three times, noticing how the cheek bone began to burn. I lifted my knee to the side of his ribs, my nails finding the skin of his face, and pushed him toward the table, hitting his back against the hard wood and tangling with the tablecloth.

I got up to run, but his leg hit my ankle causing me to fall on my face and hands. When I wanted to turn around again I felt his weight against mine, his legs now better placed on my knees and both hands holding my neck. He squeezed, I felt like the air was beginning to thin, my vision was turning white and I could feel my face redden. I tried to hit him in the face, but I wasn't strong enough to make him stop. I reached the same hand towards my side visualizing one of the chairs thrown by the fight with Armin but Eren was faster and his knee was now pressing against my inner arm.

I was running out of air and at any moment I was going to lose consciousness. In a desperate attempt I turned my eyes around me as best I could and found a bottle of wine broken in half lying a few inches from us, though too far away for me to just reach out. My fingers couldn't even touch the surface of the glass and on my last attempt before I fainted, I pushed myself towards the bottle, grabbed it by the spout, and pulled it towards Eren's face, driving the broken surface onto his cheek and eye.

Eren grunted in pain and released his hands from my neck, giving me a chance to push him back with both legs and barely get up to run. With cloudy vision and an incredible urge to cough thanks to the pressure on my cervicals and thyroids, I could not make out the whereabouts of the Marleyan girl and ran out the door to the corridor. As I passed the threshold slamming the door wide, rifle bullets were aimed at me, miraculously failing to hit my body. I shrunk my body as much as I could without stopping my feet and looked towards the end of the corridor, finding the second man who was with Armin and Mikasa shooting at me from behind them.

I was about to fall to the ground when Mikasa slammed her shoulder against his, causing him to stagger backward and she struggled to get the rifle out of his hands. In those few seconds of advantage, Armin stepped between the line of fire and me in case any bullets were fired and yelled from his position.

"Go!" I don’t know if it was due to lack of air that I couldn’t react at all quickly and when seeing my indecision to run to where the two of them were or go through the back window, Armin again shouted angrier and more determined "Just go!"

Behind me was a window with broken glass, I assumed due to the bullet holes of the rifle, with a simple blow with my elbow I could break a large part of the glass and jump to the side of the street, but not before giving one last look at Armin and Mikasa, who were still battling the man and Eren coming out of the room half healed and with smoke coming from his wounds.

I fell onto the cobbled street and started running towards the main avenue. My legs were on fire and my lungs were about to collapse, every step I took was a stronger pain in my throat. I wanted to stop and cough to regain normality in my breathing, but I heard behind me the footsteps of people running and yelling to stop me. They were chasing me and if I kept on foot I wasn't going to get very far. I put my fingers to my mouth and whistled as best I could, calling out to Phillip from afar. I had left my horse right at the front door of the restaurant, on the other side of the avenue, so I ran in that direction in order to find him early.

The so-called Jaegerists kept firing behind me, a bullet struck my leg and hit the stone on the ground and ricocheted to the left side against a house. Multiple bullets continued to brush my body, some passing very close to my face and others aimed directly at my legs. In the distance I could see Phillip riding towards me, getting closer and closer. When he came to my side, without stopping, I grabbed his leash and jumped on his back, leaving half my body hanging from lack of strength. I grabbed his neck and motioned for him to turn around and head straight for the avenue.

Phillip was always a fast horse, I thanked the universe for entrusting me to this horse from the first recon mission. He was always there for me, a loyal, strong and very audacious horse, banking me on every expedition and whatever madness crossed my mind to save my companions or myself. I always thanked him for his swiftness and now more than ever I was thanking him in a shaking voice as he continued galloping through the crowd, heading toward the wall’s gate.

Having left the Jaegerists at a considerable distance, I positioned myself correctly on his back, grabbing onto the leash and leaning forward to stroke his head for his great work. I gave myself the freedom to cough and clear my throat of any discomfort, but multiple blows and a firm rumbling behind us made me realize that nothing was over yet, as they were still chasing me, now with their own horses. There weren't many, maybe five or six people and a coach from what I could make out from the hollow of my shoulder, but they were armed and that was what made them dangerous.

I told Phillip to keep riding, to go even faster, to get to the gate as soon as possible. With the riding, the saddle hit my legs and crotch, annoying and hurting me at the same time, but I had to hold it and keep going; we had to get to the gate and fast, very fast. We were a few blocks away when I saw the gate in the distance, wide open and with their respective guards on either side of the threshold.

"Close the door!" I screamed as loudly as I could, feeling my vocal cords tear in the attempt and made my throat hurt even more. The guards turned their heads towards my figure, but none deigned to do what I asked them, they just stared at me stupidly.

"CLOSE THE FUCKING DOOR!" I coughed as I let out such a scream hoping it was clear enough in the message. Seeing me continue to gallop towards the gate and now hearing the bullets being fired, the guards ran towards the internal mechanism and began to close it, giving me enough time to pass through it without being crushed.

The gate ended up closing when Phillip had already traveled about ten meters outside the wall, leaving the Jaegerists on the other side.

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I dipped my head into the clear water of the river. The cold of the current massaged my battered muscles and cleaned the still bleeding wounds. It was already the third time that I’d put my head in the water and I could notice how little by little the pain was dissipating, but knew that the next day I would have a remotely swollen face and a septum to treat.

We had gotten quite far from the wall, maybe forty minutes or an hour galloping, and we had stayed by the river so as not to get lost. Phillip took the time to drink plenty of water and eat some of the dry grass that surrounded the river; I owed my partner a big one and if it was necessary to spend the little savings I had on a better chair and care for him, I would give it all… but when things were calmer and we could go home.

I lay on my back on the grass into a star-shaped possition and gazed up at the clear sky except for a few fluffy clouds. If it din’t for the recurring events in the last month, I would have taken the liberty of enjoying this beautiful day and the days before that surely there were, but I was too blind and busy to notice them.

The grass felt soft except for a few small stones scattered unevenly and the small field insects that landed on my arms and face and then flew off. It was relaxing, too relaxing. The heat of the sun's rays hit my skin and gave me a comforting sensation that soaked down to my bones, generating a pleasant interior warmth and tingling; I wanted to sleep, I wanted to rest, my body was forcing me to take a break, and this place, this moment, seemed like the perfect one. I closed my eyes, wishing sleep and tranquility would come as quickly as possible, but a vibration in the floor and Phillip's screaming snapped me out of my trance.

I raised my head, surveying my surroundings, the vibrations getting stronger as if they were getting closer. I looked at Phillip and followed his line of sight, far over the horizon, there was a litter of horses galloping over the stone paths that had been built a couple of years ago between each wall. Green overcoats could be distinguished over the horizon of the clear blue sky.

"Fuck, I was hoping to be calm for a couple more hours, come on Phillip"

I got on the back of my horse for the third time that day and directed it to the opposite side of where the other horses were riding. Being in the middle of an open field, there weren’t many houses where to take refuge, even though they had built a lot of houses between both walls. A little in the distance was a lush forest of tall trees, but not as tall as those of the Forest of Giant Trees, that enormous nature of fifty and eighty meters.

We stopped right at the entrance, hoping we had distanced ourselves from the litter of horses, but when I got off Phillip to rest my legs, I saw the path we had come from, and in the distance the same horses that he had seen on the stone path were approaching. There was no longer any doubt that they were the Jaegerists.

I turned my head towards the forest, from what I could see from the entrance the trees weren’t at a considerable distance from each other and the small dirt roads were too narrow. I didn’t know this forest at all and the mere fact of entering without knowing the terrain through the narrow corridors didn’t give me much confidence. But going around it wasn’t a good option either and I would end up being visualized in a matter of seconds. We were in a dead end, in a maze, and I had to play the few cards I had cleverly. I unbuttoned the coat which was already very badly placed on my shoulders and tied it on the strap.

"Phillip I need you to keep running, go as fast as you can and as far as your legs can reach" I pulled the saddle off his back, dropping it to the ground and tried to hide it inside a nearby bush with my foot. I brought his head closer to mine, resting my forehead on his muzzle and stroking his side one last time before saying goodbye.

"Go!" I smacked him on the back and Phillip ran down the narrow forest paths. As for me, I tried to dispel the footprints the horse had left behind before sending me to run down another path and go as far as I could into the heart of the forest.

I ran, ran and ran, my legs were on the edge, branches and thorns were digging into my skin making it burn every time other scratches were created in the same place. At this fact, I was resigned to the fact my clothes were bleeding and torn, as well as the matted hair and bruises on my body. My foot made contact with a tree root and I fell between the others, right in a hole, hitting my head and shoulder in the fall. I scraped my arm too, and my shirt was now full of dirt and dry leaves; surely my hair was the same. I heard heavy footsteps near me and I rolled into a ball in the hole, hiding behind the tree and seeking its protection.

"Find them, we can't let them escape"

Six people broke up and each one ran in a different direction in search of me. For an instant, my heart skipped a beat and my breath hitched when I saw one of them pass by the side of the tree where I was. At no point did he turn towards my location so I was able to breathe again. Minutes passed until I stopped hearing nearby footsteps, I got up leaning against the bark and kept walking inward, finding myself up a steep hill down.

I let gravity guide me and my feet unconsciously ran downward, avoiding rocks and bushes along the way. As I reached the low surface of the hill I tripped over my feet, losing my balance and colliding with a small tree that was right in the middle of where I was walking. As I stood up and turned it around, I came face to face with a Jaegerist, hooded, rifle in hand.

"Hey! You- "

My reflexes acted on instinct, my leg went straight to his ribs, hitting him squarely in the side of his stomach. I grabbed the rifle with both hands and hit it with the butt on both sides of the face and discarded it to the side when blood began to come out of his mouth. My hand went straight to his head, slamming it against the tree over and over again without stopping until his body fell unconscious on the grass. The interaction lasted no more than fifteen seconds, but it felt like I was about to explode. So many blows received and produced were leaving collateral effects on my body; at any moment I would pass out.

During the three years of training I have gotten used to physical confrontation and body training that lasted more than five hours, not to mention the months we spent annihilating each Titan within the walls. Those missions that lasted all day, if not more, were nothing compared to what my body was going through right now.

I sat next to the body, trying to catch my breath and rest my eyes. I rested my head on the tree and when I opened my eyes I saw a black figure in the middle of a grove a few meters away. He didn’t carry a rifle and seemed to have no intention of running to any specific place, he simply deigned to look around him, at the ground and towards the treetops. I froze to see Eren staring down at the body.

I shrank as much as I could to the left, hiding in the middle of the bushes, body to the ground, without taking my eyes off that figure that was now heading towards the unconscious body of one of his followers. I crawled back until I found a tree wide enough to hide.

"I know you are here"

It was the only thing I heard him say. My blood ran cold and a cold sweat began to form on my forehead. I was scared, very scared, I wasn’t going to deny it, but this wasn’t the time to sit and watch how they corner me little by little until they capture me. If this was the moment, I was going to give everything to get out of here. I stood up resolutely, taking a deep breath, and showed my face to my perpetrator.

"Do you want to pick up where we left off?"

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