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verdantcrimson · 3 days

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Heaven and Earth / Creation of Heaven and Earth - 10

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[A few days later. Yet another hard-earned meeting with Nobunaga-sensei, who is roaming overseas, In a street corner of Paris.]

Souma: —And so, that is what happened.

Nobunaga: ……

Souma: Nobunaga-sensei? Were you listening?

Souma: You look to be rather drowsy. Constant foreign travels must have taken their toll on your sleep cycle, for which reason I must deeply apologize for adding to your exhaustion with my requests.

Nobunaga: No, I’m fine. I was just admiring.

Souma: What?

Nobunaga: Fufu. As expected, young men with nice faces are just wonderful.

Souma: Such a thing is probably ‘sekuhara’, Nobunaga-sensei.¹

Nobunaga: Yes, sorry, my bad. I’ve had my fair share of that too. The higher up you go in this world filled with men, the more creeps you encounter.

Nobunaga: Though history tends to repeat itself, I wouldn’t want to do the same thing to you.

Nobunaga: Let me make it clear though, I have no intention of pouncing on you or anything like that. I simply have a genuine appreciation for good-looking men.

Nobunaga: That’s why I like idols too. Actually, I already knew who you guys were.

Nobunaga: I even rooted for you. Trying to break into what is essentially a ‘stiff old person wonderland’ is tough, right?

Nobunaga: So I’d like to help you guys as much as I can.

Nobunaga: If that means, like how you said, presenting my ideal version of ‘Rumbling Heaven and Earth’ as a member of the ‘Three Sages’, then—

Nobunaga: I’ll do it. I’ll win like I’ve always done. I’ll show you how different I am from the old geezer and the playboy.

Souma: Hehe. It is just as the rumors say, Nobunaga-sensei is quite militaris²— has an unyielding spirit indeed.

Souma: Being able to boldly face the competition and not run away is a trait that I find admirable.

Nobunaga: You probably thought academia was filled with a bunch of quiet nerds whose faces are buried in books, right? But that’s totally off, because we’re all just savages trying to tear each other’s egos to shreds.

Nobunaga: So I’m going to fight, win, and prove that my interpretation is the right one.

Nobunaga: Having a concept I thought up in my own head be recognized as the ‘truth’ by the whole world, well, it’s such a terrific rush.

Nobunaga: I have no plans to lose this ‘Rumbling Heaven and Earth’ audition either. I’ll use my own interpretation, and my own ideas, to force the rabble to submit and beg for mercy.

Souma: Those are reassuring words to hear. I shall do my utmost to be of assistance, so if you require my service, do let me know.

Souma: (Hehe. Before I departed, Hasumi-dono had innumerable worries, but they all turned out to be unfounded. Surprisingly, Nobunaga-sensei seems to be rather enthusiastic about this ordeal.)

Souma: (Since we were short on time, and in the interest of fairness, each member of AKATSUKI was assigned a member of the ‘Three Sages’ to take charge of.)

Souma: (After which we would have them consent to take part in the auditions and directly ask what their ideas were.)

Souma: (As these ‘Three Sages’ each have varying schedules and locations, it would be inefficient for all of AKATSUKI to meet with them one by one.)

Souma: (And so, I was put in charge of Nobunaga-sensei. I find her preferable to the obviously suspicious Hideyoshi-sensei.)

Souma: (There was a bit of difficulty when deciding who would be assigned to who, however…)

Souma: (It seemed that Hasumi-dono wished to leave the safest option, Ieyasu-sensei, in my care, but that fellow questioned me exhaustively about my family.)

Souma: (Honestly, I am quite weak when it comes to such things… Or rather, the thought of that old man, who had become fascinated with me, analyzing me in such great detail, and stripping me bare, so to speak— It frightened me quite a bit.)

Souma: (Thus, in the hopes that the two muscle heads would be able to communicate, Kiryu-dono was put in charge of Ieyasu-sensei, and Hasumi-dono took charge of the leftover Hideyoshi-sensei.)

Souma: (Certainly, at this very moment, my seniors are keeping close to their respective senseis and asking for their opinions.)

Souma: (I must also do my best.)

Nobunaga: Are you jet-lagged? You look sleepy.

Souma: …Ah, I’m terribly sorry. I was merely a little lost in thought.

Souma: More pressingly, I regret to spring this on you so suddenly, but I would like to inquire as to what your ideal version of ‘Rumbling Heaven and Earth’ is, Nobunaga-sensei. For it is my duty to ask you so.

Nobunaga: Mmm… I know I said all that, but to be honest, I think it’d be better if we got rid of ‘Rumbling Heaven and Earth’ entirely.

Souma: Why so? I believed it was a long-running and beloved show…?

Nobunaga: That’s exactly why. It’s because of those factors that ‘Rumbling Heaven and Earth’ has acquired an ‘authority’. It’s a huge problem.

Nobunaga: You all belong to an older agency, so I’m sure you understand, right?

Nobunaga: In environments like those, your predecessors and the elderly are considered ‘correct’, and the youth are completely robbed of a chance to make a change.

Nobunaga: Nobody can oppose this ‘authority’.

Nobunaga: After ‘Rumbling Heaven and Earth’, many similar programs were created, but they all dropped like flies because ‘Rumbling Heaven and Earth’ dominated the genre.³

Nobunaga: Many fledgling shows were compared to it, baselessly put down, and then disappeared without ever having been fairly evaluated.

Souma: ……

Nobunaga: That’s why I think it’d be best to get rid of something like that, which obstructs the newer generation’s ability to do what they want to do.

Nobunaga: You guys are being forced to cooperate with whatever is restraining you in place.

Nobunaga: There are many other things you could be doing, but you’re being forced into simply strengthening the ‘authority’ of your predecessors.

Nobunaga: You poor things. You don’t have to be such a goody two-shoes, you know?

Souma: I am—

Nobunaga: Hey, don’t you want to start an insurrection with me⁴?

Nobunaga: You have to wonder what happened to all those warriors who obediently obeyed their superiors.

Nobunaga: Well this is what history has to say— Their topknots were chopped off, their swords were taken, and they were reduced to thieves or impoverished and unskilled businessmen.

Nobunaga: Do you want to walk that same path, Souma-kun of the Kanzaki family?

Souma: ……

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Translation Notes

'Sekuhara', short for 'sexual harassment'.

Souma says 武断派 and then cuts himself off mid-sentence. The Budan-ha were a faction of the Toyotomi government who were extremely militaristic. Colloquially the term for being 'militaristic' in nature evolved from the name of that faction.

Nobunaga-sensei uses the word 鎮座 which can also mean ' to enshrine', something that was commonly done to important historical figures in order to cement their legacy and elevate their status. If you'll recall from the prologue, Tokugawa Ieyasu was enshrined, as was Oda Nobunaga.

Nobunaga-sensei says 下剋上 (Gekokujou) which is a militaristic term that refers to someone in a lower position overthrowing their superior. It was an especially popular in the Sengoku period when Oda Nobunaga was alive, due to general power instability and insurrection.

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cerealmonster15 · 11 months

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omg kiss prompts ... 4 for oakworthy could be so so real i think :D or 1 for some of your twisted wonderland guys. biased because a bunch of fleeting kisses is my ideal of all time (me <- guy who has done it irl and will do it again because its CUTE)

HI since someone already gave me exactly Prompt 1 For My Twst Guys i will give you OAKWORTHY. thank u. i wanted to write them for so long but i got scared and needed the push LOL.

Summary: Hermie and Normal run lines for the school play together. Hermie INSISTS that they are NOT going to practice the kiss part, but…

Prompt 4: An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose.

[SORT OF spoilers if you havent reached roughly ep34. Not really plot spoilers but hermie's attitude might not make sense if you arent that far]

[Link to Ao3] [Prompt List] [EDIT: LINK TO FANART INSPIRED BY THIS FIC!!!]

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Hermie said, arms crossed firmly across his chest after handing Normal his script. “And remember- we’re NOT actually doing the kiss. Just lean in to mime it so we can still get the pacing right. Got it?”

“Uh, r-right,” Normal said as he took the script from Hermie and looked it over. “I, uh, kinda got it the first three times you told me, Hermie.”

Oh. Huh.

“...Well, I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea. This is a strictly professional practice,” Hermie continued as if he wasn’t trying to cover the blunder of overcompensation. “I’m only asking you because I know the others would complain. You’re simply the least difficult option, and I’m not going to let a few inconveniences get in the way of getting my roles.”

“Right, yeah, I understand,” Normal nodded, his head remaining slightly bowed as he looked over the script. “I’ve been keepin’ up with doing my homework and updating my fanfiction the whole time, too, so I get it. And I’m still happy to help! So, uh, let the show begin…?”

Hermie sighed, and the two began the scene.

Really, Normal wasn’t the worst rehearsal partner in the world. He honestly put a lot more passion and enthusiasm into reading for his character than most would if they weren’t trying out for a role themselves, and Hermie couldn't deny potential where he saw it. Sure, Normal wasn’t great either- he leaned a bit TOO far into passion and definitely oversold a few lines, and had a tendency to stumble over his words when he got too excited and started talking too quickly, but it was clear it all came from a place of genuine enthusiasm…

As Hermie put it once before, Normal really was the heart of the group.

He cared. And he cared to a fault, really. Hermie didn’t understand how one person could burn so much energy towards caring about other people - what they said, what they did, what they thought of him, how they were feeling… It was all exhausting to Hermie, but to Normal, it seemed to be second nature.

Hermie leaned in on cue.

Normal mirrored him, leaning in and pausing about halfway as previously discussed.

Hermie, lost in thought and used to committing to his roles 100%, did not pause. In fact, he hadn’t even realized his own blunder until he heard the soft and surprised gasp escape the lips that his own had just bumped into.

Normal was looking at Hermie with wide eyes, and backed up a few inches moments after their lips brushed together. “I-I’m sorry, Hermie!” He said, anxiously fidgeting with the script in his hands. “I thought I stopped far back enough- Did I go too far!?”

Hermie remained frozen in place, his own eyes widening in surprise as he looked up into Normal's flustered face. He said nothing for a moment, watching, processing…

“...Hermie…?” Normal asked quietly after a few beats of silence. “A-are you alright? I swear, I really didn’t mean to-!”

Normal’s anxious prattling was cut off by Hermie’s lips gently, yet intentionally colliding with his again, Hermie’s hands moving to cup the sides of Normal’s face.

Hermie thought Normal’s eyes couldn’t have gone any wider than they already were, but that was apparently a lie, as when he pulled away again, Normal had the most bug-eyed expression on his face that Hermie had ever seen in his life.

“Wh- Buh- Hermie?! Wha?! Hermie!?” Normal sputtered, face flushed as beads of sweat began to form on his brow.

“Yes, that’s my name. Don’t wear it out.” Hermie responded plainly.

“I-I thought… You said you didn’t wanna do the kiss! And that time was DEFINITELY you that leaned forward!”

Hermie huffed a sigh in response. “I’m aware, Normal…” He could feel a grumpy pout forming on his face and his heart hammering in his chest… Yeah, it didn’t make sense, but…

Well, Hermie didn’t want to think about the details. Not now.

Right now, all he wanted to do was… Practice…

“I changed my mind,” Hermie shrugged. “So… Let’s do that again, from the top. All of it.” Hermie eyed Normal as he spoke, gauging to see if perhaps the poor guy would be too overwhelmed to continue.

But, in typical Normal Oak fashion, Hermie was met with a strange mix of bewilderment yet determination.

“...Uh, yeah. Yeah! Let’s keep… Practicing…!” Normal said with what he probably thought was a confident smile.

Hermie elected to ignore the fluttering in his chest at such an awkwardly endearing sight, and started their scene again from the top.

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #oakworthy #hermie the unworthy #normal oak #cereal writes #officialgleamstar #asks #skdlfksjfj awkward teen boys u are just so very silly #i thought for days about what i could do this about #i was gonna put them in a sleepover and have one like #accidentally roll over and brush into the other LOL but then #once i thought of the script rehearsal i went oh thats perfectly cliche for them hell yea jslkjflks #accidental kisses are so hard. but. i could see this happening maybe <- me being delusional again #anyway ty i had fun trying jsklkjsdjkl

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my-head-is-an-animal · 11 months

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Problems With The Heart

Greg House x Dr Anna Harding (OFC)

Story Masterlist

Chapter 14 - Christmas Music

House hated to see Big Love go, but he just didn’t cut it. Thirteen was being unreasonable about not wanting to know whether she had Huntington’s or not and that was very interesting. He needed Anna’s company to figure things out.

‘What’s annoying you?’ She asked, from his office chair.

‘You assume I’m annoyed.’ He said limping towards her, dumping his bag in the chair opposite her.

‘You’ve been especially nice to me recently. I assume I’ve annoyed you and you’re about getting some convoluted revenge on me, but I’m open to other options.’ She shot back.

‘I’m not.’ He said, looking down at her. He smirked, enjoying the angle of sitting in front of him. House ran his fingers up her smooth jaw, watching her eyes darken almost entirely. Anna was beautiful. ‘I’m not.’ He repeated, making sure she understood what he meant. ‘Come over tonight, stay with me.’

Anna’s eyes were even darker, his hand traced up her jaw all the way to her soft hair, she loved it when he massaged her hairline. House very gently pushed his luck and went deeper into her hair, making her eyes flutter shut. He smiled gently at how pretty she looked when she relaxed.

Anna suddenly took a breath and stood up. ‘Greg, I can’t do this.’ He didn’t move, making her stand pressed against him. If she wanted to leave then she could’ve done.

‘You called me Greg.’ He said, lowly.

She half smiled and took a breath, her eyes finding his. He smiled gently, bringing his hand up to her jaw again. He knew she wouldn’t resist if he just kissed her and he couldn’t really remember the reason not to. House slowly lowered his mouth, his lips grazed hers, he felt his hand wrap around her waist of its own accord, she felt thinner than the last time he’d held her.

‘Oh sorry!’ Amber said, entering his office. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Get out.’ House told her, annoyed that a perfect moment was ruined. Amber scuttled away, but by the time she did, Anna was already moving away from him. ‘Anna.’

‘What did you think was going to happen?’ She said, more exhausted than annoyed.

House was quiet for a moment. ‘I don’t know what I thought would happen. I hoped you’d say yes.’

‘Why would I say yes? I ended things with you.’

‘I told you. You called me Greg.’ He said it as gently as he could. ‘You never do it on purpose or consciously, but you always do it when you want to stay.’ He watched her fold her arms and observe him carefully. ‘If I thought you meant it when you said you didn’t want to be with me, I’d back off. But you do want to be with me and I can’t understand why you won’t say yes.’

Anna’s watered ever so slightly. ‘Were you upset when I miscarried?’ She asked.

‘What do you mean?’ He frowned.

‘It’s a simple question.’ She frowned back. ‘Were you upset that I lost the baby that you and I might have had?’ He felt like his brain might have exploded. ‘Or were you relieved?’

House narrowed his eyes. ‘I was upset.’ He conceded, but it wasn’t the answer she expected. ‘I had no idea you were pregnant, you showed no signs and I honestly didn’t think it would happen. I wasn’t upset that we lost a child, I was upset because you were upset, because you were bleeding and…’

‘What?’

‘Because I did that to you. I was upset because it felt like my fault. Vicodin and alcohol don’t mix well together and if you’re at any stage of pregnancy it can cause miscarriages.’ He explained. ‘I wasn’t angry with you because I didn’t know, but I was upset because I should’ve known better. I should have considered the possibility.’

Anna just watched him, looking for any sign of a lie, but there was none. ‘So, what has all this been about? Why do you still want to be with me? Is it some form of apology?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with you.’ He told her firmly. ‘I mean, there’s something wrong with everybody and you should go to a sleep clinic, but you are not a monster and you didn’t kill anyone or anything.’

Anna didn’t know what to say, but she accepted his answer. She nodded and said. ‘Okay. Thank you.’

House watched her leave and leaned on his desk hating the fact that he’d been interrupted before he could actually kiss her.

Cuddy needed him to fire somebody, Amber was his leading choice and so he concocted a plan to keep the other three. He also thought of a plan to make Anna happy, she wasn’t going home for Christmas, she never did, like him, she preferred not to see her parents. He wanted her to feel good though and with Wilson’s help he came up with a plan to get her a present he knew she’d love.

‘A piano?’ Wilson exclaimed as House showed him the one. ‘It’s nearly two thousand dollars! What if she doesn’t like it?’

‘You know, none of this is helpful.’ House shot back. ‘You just need to keep her here for a few more hours, I’ll call you when it’s safe for her to go home.’

‘You’re going to break into her house with a piano?’

‘No!’ House said with as much disapproval. ‘I’ve got keys.’

‘Course you do, did you steal them to make a copy?’

‘She gave them to me.’ House got on with ordering the piano, he knew she’d like it, she liked playing and this way they could play together a little more if she could practice.

‘When?’

‘Few months ago. What does it matter?’

‘And you didn’t think to give them back when she broke up with you?’

‘She didn’t really break up with me, she thought she didn’t want to be with me, I’m proving that she does.’

Wilson wandered towards the door of his office. ‘This is madness, House. Have you told her you love her yet?’ House just gave him a guilt look and it was enough to make Wilson leave.

I took Wilson up on his offer to have lunch, he had a few patients that he needed a consult on anyway and I needed to spend time in the company of someone that could take my mind off House. The lunch was nice, Wilson was nice, he asked me to stay for the Christmas celebration after work, I didn’t see any harm in it and I knew House wouldn’t be there.

‘Anna?’

I turned to see Chase. ‘Chase, how are you?’ I said, we hugged and I spotted Cameron. ‘Cameron.’ I hugged her as well and we caught up for a while. None of them asked me about House, but I could tell they wanted to. Every topic of conversation was about what I was getting up to and what interesting cases I had. It was all a way into finding out my relationship details and I was getting fed up of it.

Eventually I decided it was time for me to go home and get very drunk. Christmas was a difficult time, my parents were still in London and I would need to call them tomorrow when it wasn’t the middle of the night.

‘House?’ I exclaimed seeing him outside my front door. ‘Are you breaking into my flat?’ I wasn’t even that annoyed, but he definitely looked guiltier than usual.

‘I have a key.’ He said, by way of reason.

I rolled my eyes. ‘Well, are you going to let me in or are we going to stand in the hallway all night?’

House opened the door again, but not all the way.

‘What are you doing?’ I frowned.

‘I… I did something…’ he couldn’t look at me. ‘It was stupid.’

I pushed the door open and saw something that wasn’t there before. A black Roland piano. I wandered towards it, not quite believing it was sitting in my living room.

I turned back to see House standing in the doorway. ‘How did you get it up here?’ Why was that the first question?

‘The guys who dropped it off brought it up,’ he said, closing the door finally. ‘I was just making sure it was ready to play.’

I lifted the lid to see the perfectly clean and new white and black keys while House came over to watch. I tapped a few keys and listened to the beautiful sound that came out. I couldn’t believe he’d done this.

‘Merry Christmas.’ He said, quietly, looking down at his shoes.

I took a deep breath. ‘Greg.’ His eyes snapped up to mine. I didn’t bother resisting, I scanned his face, my eyes landing on his lips, leaned up and placed a soft kiss to the side of his mouth. ‘Thank you.’ I whispered.

I liked kissing him and I knew he liked kissing me, his low growl every time told me so. I didn’t want to stop and I hardly needed to convince him to continue. He sat down on my sofa, I followed straddling him and listened to his shallow breathing as we undressed each other. He was good at making me come, but he especially liked it when I made myself come on top of him.

House let his head fall back as I slowly slid down on top of him, his hands held my hips firmly, controlling the descent and I loved every moment of it. It was slow at first and then all he wanted was to make me come for him, over and over again.

He wrapped his arms around my cooling body and kissed my forehead, it was a rare thing for him to do, but it was also one of my favourite things. His fingers traced over my back, delicately and slowly, he caressed the scars and relaxed my whole body.

‘I was going to get drunk tonight.’ I said, still listening to his heart rate slow down.

‘Still can.’ His lips moved against my skin.

‘I was going to get high as well.’ I admitted.

‘On what?’

‘Morphine. You’re not the only one who has access to a stash.’ I tried to joke, but he didn’t laugh.

‘Have you taken a pregnancy test recently?’ I knew he hated asking, I didn’t like it either. I sat up and stared down at him.

‘I had my period last week.’ I told him, somewhat aware that he was still inside me. House nodded and let his eyes scan over my naked body. I liked it when he looked at me, I didn’t feel under the scope, I felt watched, safe.

‘Vicodin is a safer high.’ He said.

‘Morphine is more pleasurable.’ I countered.

‘Vicodin plus sex is a good combo. I could stay in case you need a top up.’

He made me laugh and I decided it was time to get up.

‘You want to take a shower with me?’ I asked, wandering toward my bathroom. House grinned and followed me.

It was the start of a fun night, we drank, we played the piano, not very well in our states, but we played and we joked and we went to bed, still getting each other off. Maybe Christmas wasn’t so bad.

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!

#Greg House #greg house x reader #greg house x original female character #greg house fic #house md

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thekaijudude · 1 year

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Ok, so this isn’t a vs qn, but I’ve been thinking about asking it a lot today.

Now, before I start getting to the actual qn, I have a warning for you about this qn: you may, very well, not be the right person to ask this. I know you do calculations but pseudoscience does not seem to take much part in them. So, given what the premise of this qn is, you might not be the right guy for this qn.

I don’t know if that’s the case, but I’m just letting you know.

Anyways, onto the qn:

In my fanfictions, there’s a habitable, Earth-like planet called Ozarvis 32, which is about 12 times larger than Earth in size and about 8.5 times larger in mass. However, there’s a problem with that: it’s too big for “conventional lifeforms” (which obviously do not include Kaiju). I say that because, apparently, the rough maximum mass a planet can have while being able to support life is about 5 times bigger than Earth’s mass.

So, judging by real world physics, conventional lifeforms should not be able to survive on Ozarvis.

That said, I already have an explanation: Ozarvis has large reserves of Mana, an energy substance which affects the density/mass of the substances around it. In other words, an object composed of Mana has decreased mass, and Ozarvis has a lot more Mana than any other habitable planet in the universe.

Either way, I’m not sure if that explanation makes any sense or if it really sounds that much like an Ultraman explanation for this sort of thing.

So, here’s the question: would my explanation work pseudo-scientifically, and if so, how well would it fit the Ultras series as an explanation?

I mean as said before for all AU-related asks and the reason why its kinda pointless to ask me whether so-and-so plot settings will work is because at the end of the day, its a fanfic AU so one can literally write anything to literally make anything work.

But if your question is whether you can find some form of analogy in the ultra series. I suppose one can kind of say that the amount of light within an Ultra essentially also affects the mass/density and power of said ultra as we've seen with Max with his adjusted size due to the Max Galaxy, Glitter Tiga, Z being powered with the light of STORAGE, Decker with the excess energy from the Eternity Core etc

Except that your idea of mana here is far more prevalent and more accessible as the Ultras would just need to absorb more on the spot to further power themselves up if indeed they can utilize mana?

I guess itll be equivalent to canon Ultras fighting on the surface of the Sun where they can theoretically do the same and never be exhausted and achieve + maintain Glitter state (Since Glitter state is not exclusive to Tiga, but simply a state of excess energy for all Ultras).

But obviously, it'll be broken unless their opponent has some way to negate this effect.

So this concept sort of already exists in canon, just that we dont see any fights happening on the Sun, closest example would have to be Ultra Flare event that happened in X's Universe where after throwing Greeza into the Sun, this somehow triggered a very weird solar flare that was able to digitize X and caused the awakening of Spark Dolls (This specific Sun, in particular, reacts very suspiciously similar to the Eternity Core and the Plasma Spark but tbh this is very, VERY deep cut bottom-of-the-iceberg lore stuff that I wont go into here)

In fact, the canonically equivalent option would be far more convenient than just having a single random planet that can provide essentially the same effect (but to a far lesser extent) as a Star that could literally do the same and it exists in every solar system (Plus, aint no way a 12x Earth sized planet is gonna have more energy for Ultras to harvest than an entire Star, so this particular planet would at most be a convenient pitstop in the grand scheme of things)

Thanks for the question!

#ultraman #asks

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maximoffwitch · 2 years

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We’ll Be Okay

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

warnings: ANGST, brief mentions of child birth

summary: You welcome a new addition to your family, but something is missing

word count: 1.7k

a/n: this idea just came to me and idk why bc it hurts :’( & italics are flashbacks!

Beads of sweat decorated your skin, causing loose strands of hair to cling to your forehead. Labor had been long and exhausting. Those pregnancy books you’d read weren’t kidding when they said it’d be one of the most painful experiences of your life. You really should’ve listened instead of brushing it off because you were an Avenger.

“Are you ready to meet your little girl?” the nurse sent you a warm smile, as she handed you your swaddled baby.

As you took her from the nurse, you fought back the tears already spilling over.

“Hi, baby girl,” you cooed, already completely smitten with your daughter. Tenderly, you caressed her cheek with your knuckle, causing her eyes to flutter open.

“She looks just like you,” the nurse commented, and you choked back a laugh, shaking your head.

Sure, you could see some of your own features reflected back, but in reality, your daughter was practically your wife’s twin.

It had been months since Ultron and the conversation that you’d had with your wife at the Barton’s wouldn’t leave your mind.

You knew Natasha would make a wonderful mother, having seen her interact with Clint’s kids every time you visited the farm, and your heart broke for her when she told you about the Red Room’s graduation ceremony. Your heart broke even more when Natasha thought that you wouldn’t want to be with her any more, that you would think less of her.

The two of you were peacefully laying in bed, her reading her book and you watching a random nature documentary. Though your eyes were on the screen, your thoughts were elsewhere.

“Do you ever wish for kids?” you murmured quietly.

Natasha’s eyes widened, slowly setting her book down on her lap. Feeling her tense, you lifted your head from her lap to gauge her reaction.

“Nat?” you softly pulled the redhead from her train of thought.

“Why would you even ask me that?” Natasha shook her head, her voice cracking as she looked down to hide the forming tears. “You know I can’t.”

Smiling sadly, you hooked your finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to you. “That doesn’t mean you can’t want it.”

“I don’t know, (Y/N),” she huffed exasperatedly. “I never let myself think about it because it’s never been an option.”

You patiently waited, knowing she wouldn’t leave your question unanswered. Chewing her lip, Natasha sunk back into her pillow.

“I love kids,” she whispered under her breath as if she was finally admitting it to herself, allowing herself to finally indulge in a desire that had always been so forbidden to her. “I wanted kids.”

You gently took Natasha’s hand in yours, intertwining your fingers. “Do you still want kids?”

Nat turned her head towards you, her green eyes swirling with emotion. Unable to use her voice, she simply nodded, before nestling her head into the crook of your neck.

As Natasha’s tears stained your skin, you ran your hand through her short red locks, murmuring sweet nothings.

“I’m sorry,” she said, as she sat up.

“For what, love?” you frowned at the guilt-ridden woman.

“For not being able to give you a family.”

Shaking your head, you cupped Natasha’s cheeks, locking your eyes with hers.

“Natasha,” you swiped your thumb to catch a stray tear, “you have already given me a family. You are my family, okay? You and the team are all the family I need.”

“I love you,” she smiled slightly before kissing you passionately.

“I love you, too,” you mumbled against her lips.

A moment of silence hung over the two of you, before Natasha spoke again.

“Do you want kids?”

“I’ve thought about it,” you hummed, trying to act nonchalant.

Your wife raised her eyebrow with a smirk, as she could read you like a book. “Really?” she decided to appease you. “What have you thought about?”

“I dunno,” you fidgeted with Natasha’s fingers. “It’d be nice to have a mini Natasha running around.”

At that mental image, she let out snort of amusement, causing a small giggle to escape your lips.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Natasha shook her head, her eyes shining, the tears replaced by joy. “Please, continue.”

“Nat,” you whined, pulling a teasing laugh from your wife. “I don’t know. I just imagine our little daughter with her fiery red hair running around, causing havoc, just like her mom.”

“Hey!” Natasha protested.

“What?” you tilted your head, feigning innocence.

She rolled her eyes light-heartedly, and you kissed her shoulder before curling into her side once again.

“Maybe one day,” you sighed hopefully.

“Maybe,” Natasha mumbled into your hair, as she pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

A knock on the hospital door pulled you out of your trance.

“Hey,” Clint poked his head through, Laura not far behind him with the rest of the team following.

You gave your family a tired smile, nodding for them to come in.

Looking back down at your baby girl, you asked rhetorically, “Do you want to meet your godparents?”

“Godparents?” You heard Sam pipe up, earning a chorus of chuckles from the group.

“Sorry, birdbrain,” you winked at him, as he playfully deflated.

“Um,” you cleared you throat, nerves suddenly flooding your mind, “Clint, Wanda.”

The two Avengers sobered, stepping forward to the side of your bed.

“Meet your goddaughter,” you held her out for Clint to take in his arms.

As the archer gently rocked back and forth, Wanda peeped over his shoulder to admire the newborn.

“What’s her name?”

Knowing your wife was watching you, you looked up at her, your eyes watering again.

You were at the beginning of your second trimester and your bump was becoming more and more obvious. Though you and Natasha had discussed having a kid years and years ago, given your avenging lifestyle, the two of you didn’t seriously consider it until after the blip.

It took Natasha much convincing and led to heartbreaking screaming matches between you, seeing as she was dealing with her own survivor’s guilt. But now, nearly two years later, with the help of Tony and Bruce, you were able to conceive a child that was biologically both yours and Natasha’s.

“How are my two girls doing?” Nat plopped down next to you, propping her legs on the coffee table as she reclined into the sofa.

“Good,” you hummed, subconsciously rubbing your stomach.

“She kicking anymore?” she asked, as she moved her hand on top of yours. You swore your daughter would come out of the womb punching and kicking, given how much she was moving last night, keeping you from sleeping.

“Not right now,” you answered. “But she’s definitely gonna be a fighter, I’ll give her that.”

“That’s my girl,” Natasha leaned down to kiss your protruding stomach.

You watched your wife with awe, as she talked nonsense to the baby. These were moments you lived for, ones you cherished. After everything you’d been through, after everything you’d lost, you were grateful Natasha was still with you, still by your side.

“Have you thought of any names?” Natasha pulled you out of your thoughts, pressing one more kiss to your stomach before sitting upright.

“A few,” you nodded.

“Care to share with the class,” she teased with a smirk, causing you to roll your eyes.

“I like Isabella, Sofya, Maria, and,” you paused before revealing your last idea, unsure of how your wife might react.

“And?” Natasha raised her eyebrow expectantly.

“Lena,” you murmured.

Your wife inhaled sharply at the name. Though Natasha and Yelena had reunited and patched up old wounds, the younger widow hadn’t reached out since the blip, leading Nat to believe the worst.

“I like that,” Natasha whispered, giving you a sad smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nodded before adding, “Though, I want her to have your last name.”

Tilting your head, you furrowed your brows. “Why?”

“I dunno,” Natasha shrugged. “I don’t want the name Romanoff to live on, I guess.”

As you observed your wife, you could see there was more to it than that, knowing Natasha still felt as if she had red on her ledger. Not wanting to push her, you nodded.

“Alright, fine,” you conceded before playfully suggesting, “What about a hyphen?”

“(Y/N),” she warned, her tone hinting at no malice.

“Okay, okay,” you held your hands up in defeat.

As you leaned against Natasha’s side, she pressed a kiss to the top of your head, moving her hand over your belly.

“Lena (Y/L/N),” she sighed reverently. “I like the sound of that.”

“Natalia,” you answered, causing the room to hold their breath. Clint’s eyes were shining with tears and Wanda met your eyes with understanding. “Natalia Antonia (Y/L/N).”

Everybody shared a small smile at the name honoring their two fallen comrades, Pepper letting out a small gasp.

“That’s a beautiful name, (Y/N/N),” Wanda was the first to speak and you nodded in appreciation.

Clint looked at you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. Though you were initially angry with the archer, you knew he was hurting just as much as you were.

He looked down at baby Natalia, tears falling freely down his cheeks.

“Hi, Natalia,” Clint croaked quietly. “I’m your Uncle Clint.”

Unlike the nurse, he saw what you had seen: Natasha’s face, her green-blue orbs, staring back at you.

Sobs began to overtake Clint’s body, so Wanda took Natalia from his arms into hers. Laura moved to comfort her husband, escorting out him of the room, not before squeezing your hand and giving you a comforting smile.

As your daughter was passed around the room, meeting her family, Yelena came to sit on next to you on the bed, wrapping her arms around her shoulder.

The two of you watched the scene before you, both your hearts yearning for the same thing, the same person.

“This is what she sacrificed herself for,” you said to Yelena, trying to convince her and yourself. “For me, for you, for Natalia, for this family.”

“I know,” Yelena nodded, looking down at you with a pained smile.

“Now go meet your niece,” you nudged her off the bed, nearly causing her to fall on the floor.

“Suka,” she cursed after regaining her balance, earning a laugh from you.

You watched as Yelena took your daughter into her arms, your heart swelling and aching at the same time. Feeling the joy radiating from everyone at the sight of their new family member, you smiled contently.

“It’s okay, Nat,” you murmured under your breath. As your eyes began to droop, you dropped your head onto the pillow and looked up at the ceiling. “We’re gonna be okay.”

taglist: @when-wolves-howl @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel #my writing

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extasiswings · 3 years

Note

“I felt it shelter to speak to you.” for Buddie

This was...not supposed to be this long but all the recent promo content has been...inspiring. Anyway...on ao3 here.

The first attack happens on a Saturday afternoon.

There’s nothing special about the day, nothing strange. Christopher is at a friend’s birthday party, Buck is off somewhere with Taylor, and Eddie is grocery shopping before he’s meant to meet Ana for an early dinner.

His shoulder aches a little—that’s what he notices first—but that’s not too unusual. It happens sometimes. Even as physical therapy has helped him regain strength and mobility in his arm and shoulder, a high caliber sniper round ripping through his upper chest is no minor injury. Plus, while he’s hardly ancient, he’s not even as young as he was when he was shot the first time, and those bullets left behind their own patches of scar tissue and occasional twinges.

So. His shoulder aches. It’s fine. He ignores it and moves on. Goes through the store, checks out, put his bags in the backseat—

There’s a glare off a window in the apartment building across the street.

Eddie reaches for the handle of his door.

Suddenly, his fingers start tingling, uncomfortable pricks of icy numbness traveling up his hands like they’ve fallen asleep, but shaking them out doesn’t help. And then, without warning, pain lances through his chest, sharp and acute, and he can’t breathe properly, as if his torso has been trapped in a vise that’s slowly tightening more and more.

His vision swims. He sways on his feet, grasping at the door handle with clumsy, numb fingers to keep himself upright.

He feels like—he feels—

He feels like he’s dying. It strikes him with sudden clarity. He’s dying. Dying in a random parking lot—he always assumed he was too young to have a heart attack but the symptoms fit and he’s just—

He can’t. He can’t die. Not when he’s survived everything else. This can’t be—

“Sir?” There’s a woman with a station wagon parked in the space next to his truck and she’s looking at him with no small amount of concern. “Are you okay?”

Eddie’s mouth is so dry and his breathing so irregular that it takes him a moment to respond.

“I—I think I need to go to the hospital,” he grits out as another wave of dizziness threatens to send him to his knees.

She calls 911. Eddie spares a moment to be grateful that the paramedics who show up a few minutes later aren’t from the 118.

As it turns out, he’s not dying. And he didn’t have a heart attack.

“A panic attack?” Eddie’s voice is distant to his own ears as he stares at the ER doctor in disbelief, his stomach flipping with a new kind of dread. “Are you sure?”

“Your symptoms resolved on their own and your EKG is normal, Mr. Diaz,” she replies as she flicks through the screens of his chart on her tablet. “And nothing in your prior history or other recent tests indicates that there’s anything physically wrong with you—you were healthy before you were shot and your recovery has progressed smoothly up to this point.”

She pauses and looks back at him. “Have you...spoken to a therapist? I noticed that your treating physician made a referral for counseling when you were originally discharged, but…”

Eddie clears his throat roughly. “Yeah, no, I, uh...with the PT schedule and everything else going on, I never followed up with that. But I’ve been fine. It never seemed necessary.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Diaz,” the doctor says, “you’re in the emergency room because of an acute stress response in which your brain tricked your body into believing you were in danger to such an extent that you thought you were dying. I’m not sure you’re as fine as you think.”

There’s probably some truth to that. Eddie can admit that much. But that doesn’t mean he needs—he’s been shot before. He’s been in a warzone. He didn’t need therapy to move forward from it then and he shouldn’t now. He can—he can handle this. He can make himself get over it.

He’s already spent months leaning heavily on everyone around him. The thought of not being okay, of asking for more help when he’s finally easing back into working, when things are finally getting back to normal, when they all have their own issues to focus on—

God, it makes him want to throw up.

So...no. He’s okay. Because not being okay isn’t an option.

He’s fine. The panic attack was...a fluke.

“I appreciate the advice,” Eddie says finally. “I’ll think about it.”

He can tell the doctor doesn’t believe him when her lips thin.

“You know, more likely than not, the panic attacks will keep happening if you do nothing,” she points out. “Ignoring this won’t make it go away.”

“I understand,” Eddie replies. “If that’s all, does that mean I can get out of here?”

The doctor sighs. “Sure.”

Eddie’s phone rings while he’s in an Uber on the way back to his truck. It’s Ana.

He swears under his breath as he sees the time—he hadn’t called anyone, hadn’t wanted the hospital to call anyone either, but that means he’s now late for a date that he doesn’t really want to keep after everything and further doesn’t leave him with any good excuses for his absence except the truth which...he doesn’t really want to admit.

Before the shooting, Carla told him to make sure he was following his heart. And he’s been too exhausted and focused on his recovery to really think too hard about that. But now—

For a moment, Eddie considers it. Telling Ana the truth. Showing her some of the dark, messy, ugly pieces of himself. Being vulnerable.

The very idea makes him recoil. Not because he thinks she would run away necessarily, but because he just...can’t.

He can’t. Not with her.

And if he’s that uncomfortable with the idea of letting in someone he’s been dating for over half a year, if he can’t imagine himself ever actually being comfortable with that...then what the hell is he doing?

He calls her back when he gets to his truck.

“Hey—I’m so sorry, I had a little emergency—yeah, everything’s fine now, but I’m not sure I’m up for going out. Can I meet you at your place? ...okay, great. See you soon.”

He may know even less about ending a relationship than he does about dating in general, but he figures he at least owes it to her to end things in person.

Eddie goes to work on Monday feeling fine. Great, even. He sleeps well the night before, he gets Christopher off to school on time, traffic is light enough that he gets to the station early—

Everything is fine. By all accounts it should be a good day.

At least, that’s what he thinks right up until all of them get different emergency alerts sent to their phones and they find out the city’s systems have been hacked. From that point forward, everything is chaos. Damage control. Twenty-car pile-ups because stoplights are being messed with, an outbreak of animals from the zoo when the electric locks on their enclosures released—

Eddie’s fine though. He’s fine. It’s nothing he can’t handle—in fact, he’s usually great with chaos. He’s focused and sure and capable. Nothing else matters but the work, certainly not himself. When he’s busy, he has no time to think about anything else.

The gradually worsening tension in his shoulders can be ignored. The way he has to clench his hands into fists to keep them from shaking in a way he hasn’t had to do since his earliest days in Afghanistan can be brushed off. He doesn’t have time to think about anything but the jobs in front of him, which means he doesn’t have time to think about his own state.

Brush it off, pick yourself up, keep moving forward. That’s what he knows, that’s what he can do.

Except, then they end up at the hospital and—

A medevac helicopter falls off the roof. Bobby nearly joins it. Buck and Eddie barely manage to get him back.

A cold sweat breaks out on Eddie’s brow as Bobby leans heavily against the wall next to the roof access door to catch his breath. His stomach roils. He doesn’t feel fully connected to his own body, caught somehow between present and past, a rooftop in Los Angeles and a desert in Afghanistan.

He breathes in. He tamps down on the rising panic.

Bobby is fine. The helicopter pilots and their patient are fine.

He’s fine. He’s fine.

“Are you okay?”

Eddie jumps at the question, his head whipping around to find the source. Buck’s brow furrows as he holds up his hands.

“Sorry,” Buck says quietly. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head. “You’re fine, don’t worry about it.”

He glances toward the door. “You know, I think I’m going to head back down,” he says, hoping Buck won’t notice the fact that he hasn’t answered the original question. “I want to make sure the pilots are holding up alright.”

“I can come—” Buck starts to offer, only for Eddie to cut him off.

“Someone should stay with Bobby,” he replies. He forces a smile as Buck’s eyes search his face. “I’ll be fine.”

Buck glances at Bobby, then back to Eddie before he finally nods.

“Okay,” he says. “But here, take the radio. If anything happens—”

“I’ll let you know.”

Eddie makes it down one flight of stairs before he decides to take the elevator the rest of the way down. The numbers on the top of the doors tick down, down, down—

And then, abruptly, the elevator lurches to a halt, throwing Eddie off balance and into the wall as the lights go out, plunging him into total darkness.

His ears ring from the impact.

He’s trapped. Trapped in a metal box in the dark. A box that could easily become a coffin if the emergency stop failed and sent it careening down to crash at the bottom of the elevator shaft.

Eddie’s breathing speeds up against his will. His chest starts to hurt.

Not again, he thinks vaguely. Not here, not now, not again.

But. He can’t move. He can’t breathe. Some distant part of his mind recognizes that what he’s feeling isn’t real, that he just needs to calm down, but he can’t—

He’s going to die. He’s going to—

The radio crackles in his belt.

“Eddie? Eddie! Can you hear me?”

Eddie’s mind latches onto the sound of Buck’s voice like a lifeline in an ocean of distress. It takes him a moment to make his trembling hands work through their numbness, to remind his fingers how to work the buttons, but eventually, he lifts the radio to his mouth.

“I’m here,” he says. His voice shakes. “I’m in the elevator. It’s—I don’t know which floor. Or if I’m between floors. I don’t—”

He shudders. His eyes close, not that it really matters given how dark the space is already.

“It’s okay,” Buck replies. “It’s okay, Eddie, we’ll find you. We’ll get you out, don’t worry.”

“I don’t want to die here.” It slips out of him before he can pull it back. Buck takes a sharp breath on the other end of the line.

“That’s not going to happen,” Buck says firmly, although his own voice seems less steady than usual. “I would never let that happen. I’ve got your back, remember? Always.”

A shudder rips down Eddie’s spine and he slides against the wall to sit on the floor. The walls still feel too restricting, like they’re closing in on him more each moment that he looks away.

The radio crackles again.

“Eddie. What can I do? What do you need?” Buck asks.

I don’t know. I don’t—I can’t—

“Eddie.” The fear and desperation in Buck’s voice cuts through the fog in Eddie’s mind.

He never wants Buck to sound like that.

“Keep talking?” Eddie replies. “I—just keep talking to me. Please?”

Don’t go, is what he really means. Stay with me.

He’s never allowed himself to say those things though. Not during the early days of the pandemic when they were sharing a bed in Buck’s loft. Not after he moved back home with Christopher and the other side of his bed felt too empty for sleep to come easily. And certainly not after he started dating Ana.

During his recovery, he never had to ask Buck for anything really. Buck was always just...there. Even though he was with Taylor, he was still there with Eddie and with Christopher whenever Eddie needed him. Like he knew somehow. Or maybe as if he needed to be there as much as Eddie needed him there.

Eddie hasn’t looked too closely at any of that. He’s not ready to. It’s too much, too complicated, too—too—

Dangerous.

“What do you want to talk about?”

Eddie swallows hard as his head rests against the wall. As he allows the sound of Buck’s voice to wrap around him like armor. Like home. Insulating him against the panic and isolation.

“Anything,” he says quietly. “Just keep talking.”

And Buck does. He talks about everything and nothing, random facts and stories from his past that Eddie hasn’t heard before, he talks and talks and talks until his voice grows hoarse in Eddie’s ear and the pressure on Eddie’s lungs eases.

Eddie exhales shakily and takes a few deep breaths as he continues to listen, as his body shifts from hyper-awareness and panic to wrung out exhaustion. When Buck finally cuts off, it’s because there’s an ugly screech of metal as the elevator doors are pried open, as light filters back in.

Eddie’s legs are unsteady as he gets to his feet. He trips on the edge of the elevator door when he exits—

Buck catches him before he can fall. Because of course he does.

“Thank you,” Eddie breathes into Buck’s shoulder as he finds his balance.

Buck shakes his head. “I promised we’d get you out, didn’t I? Besides, I—I shouldn’t have let you go alone.”

“I decided—”

“I shouldn’t have let you,” Buck repeats, low but insistent. His eyes meet Eddie’s and Eddie swallows hard.

“You weren’t okay. Were you?” Buck asks. And Eddie—

He wants to lie. Part of him does at least.

But he can’t lie to Buck.

Not to Buck.

“No,” he confesses. It’s half a whisper. “No, I wasn’t.”

Buck bites his lip and nods once.

“Okay,” he says. “We’ll figure it out.”

And somehow, Eddie believes him.

#chapel writes #prompt fill #letmetellyouaboutmyfeels #buddie #eddie diaz #buddie fic #buddie ff

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 1

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for blood, language, brief nudity. Later chapters will be M Warnings: Nah fam Summary: Local vampire finds out she can't kill soft human (because they're soulmates, baby), human becomes insufferable bastard, oops they fuck later. Soulmate AU where if one person gets injured, their soulmate feels the same amount of pain and receives a scar in the relevant area.

1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring

It’s not that you had expected to survive this- being locked in the dungeon of Castle Dimitrescu, waiting for the day you’re picked to be someone’s meal. Oh no, you had given up on surviving long ago, it was just that… well, you had hoped that someone with a softer touch would do you in. But here you were, too exhausted to cry, hanging naked in front of none other than Cassandra Dimitrescu. Her eyes were trailing you up and down, examining every inch of your skin, every flaw, every unique trait. It was like she was making a mental map of which parts of you would taste best. Goddamn, you wanted to spit in her face, or scream, or say something, anything that might make her feel even an ounce of what you had felt for weeks.

But you know that she’s already planning to kill you, and to make it painful. Why give her any more reason? Why dare her to find a worse way to end your life? There was no good answer, so you stayed still, just watched her move. Maybe if you looked bored enough she’d make it quick, just stab a knife in you and drink you up like a capri sun. Or, maybe, if you kept a straight face, she would admire your courage. Oh, how you longed for people to think of you kindly now, in your last moments, when dying clean and pretty was no longer an option.

Pulling a blade from some hidden sheathe, Cassandra approaches you with a wicked grin. There’s still blood on her lips from her last victim. Had they not sated her? Or had she been like this for some time? When she inevitably drank from you, how long would your blood remain on her lips? You weren’t sure that you wanted to know. In your mind, you picture her cleaning up as soon as she was done with you. It does not make you feel any better. Neither does the way she traces a finger across your chest, left to right, practicing for the incision to follow. She pauses to lick her lips, making direct eye contact as she does.

What happens next passes by so quickly that you don’t process any of it until the whole ordeal is over. The blade’s tip digs into your chest, just below your collarbone, before dragging along half the width of your torso. It hurts like hell, but you manage to keep your misery to yourself. But your pain is soon replaced with confusion; Cassandra screams, loud enough to echo throughout the basement, doubling over herself. In an instant her knife has clattered to the floor, forgotten. Instinct takes over your brain, the default programing kicking in, and you say something that fills you with instant regret.

“Are you okay?” Your voice is a bit quiet, and raw, worn out from lack of hydration. But it is enough, evidently, for Cassandra to hear. She’s rising back up and glaring at you, one hand clutching her chest. Something in her expression tells you that she thinks you’re mocking her. While that wasn’t technically the case, there was a part of you that found joy in this, watching your captor get a taste of their own medicine. The question left in your mind was why she was in pain. “I’ll take that as a no,” you said, again left with regret at your choices.

Now her hand is swiping at your face, nails cutting you open. Once more she hisses in pain, now clutching her head, shaking a little as she does. When she meets your gaze, you see that she’s more confused than anything. More than that, you see the marks on her face, knowing instantly that they match your own. Oh hell no, you thought, grimacing.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Cassandra growled through clenched teeth. Bouncing back and forth on her heels, she seems tense, unsure of how to process what’s happening. You feel the same way, desperately wanting to pretend that this doesn’t mean you’re her soulmate. Maybe the universe had just messed up, crossing some wires, or decided to pull a prank on the two of you. Either way it was better than the alternative. Eager to think about something else, you start considering your options. The first that comes to mind is ridiculous. Stupid, really. But would it amuse you? Absolutely.

“Not gonna lie, I feel better about the idea of you killing me now. Feel free to make it painful, darlin’, I won’t mind,” you snarked, lips curling up into a smirk. Oh boy was it satisfying to watch Cassandra’s response. One of her hands raises to smack you, only for her to freeze before releasing a torrent of swears. Hurting you meant hurting herself. “What’s the matter? Can’t handle a little aching? Haven’t you ever imagined what it’s like to be on the other side of things? Under the blade yourself, blood soaking your skin, eyes too dry for even a single tear? Poor thing,” you purred, tone as teasing as it could get. Apparently it’s aggravating enough for Cassandra to fight through the pain, as she slams her fist into your stomach, leaving both of you gasping for breath. “This is fun-” you pause to cough out a few drops of blood- “really, really fun. Hey, if you kill me, how bad do you think you’ll feel?”

Before Cassandra can react, either to speak or hurt you worse, the sound of approaching footsteps draws her attention. From where you hang you can’t see much, too many cells and hanging bodies blocking your vision. But your “soulmate” seemed to know who was coming. Her face scrunches up a little, and she adjusts her robes, trying to cover the mark on her chest. Had you not still been coughing, you would have sarcastically asked her how she intended to hide her face.

“What the hell is going on, Cassandra?” An unfamiliar voice asked. The footsteps grew louder, and faster, until the new figure stood in the same cell as you. Not even bothering to spare you a glance, she approaches Cassandra, reaching to examine her face. “Did a prisoner manage to get you? I’ve told you a thousand times-”

“Don’t fucking touch me, sis,” Cassandra snapped, pushing away her sister’s hand. Both of them are visibly tense, and for a moment they stand still, staring each other down. Then the sister (who you assume to be Bela, from things you’ve overheard recently) shifts her focus to you. Something tells you that she has no intentions of being gentle.

“Did you do this, you rotten little thing?” Bela questioned, glaring at you hard enough to send a shiver down your spine. But that doesn’t stop you from trying to have some more fun.

“Oh, of course I did! I rattled my chains real good, scared the shit out of her, made her fall on her own knife a few times. You know, like that one musical?” You must look insane as you speak, grin wide but face dripping with blood. If it unnerves Bela, she hides it well, though you doubt it does. As soon as you’re done poking fun she’s pulling out her sickle. Still grinning, you make eye contact with Cassandra, who realizes what’s happening a second too late. Then the two of you cry out in unison, as the blade carves into your shoulder. Instantly Bela pulls back, stunned, turning to her sister with genuine concern. “I might have lied. Rest assured though, it was for comedic purposes.”

The next thing you know the two sisters are shuffling away from you, Cassandra begrudgingly being dragged along by Bela. Though the younger of the two had been adamant about not receiving help, she now had little choice in the matter, skin searing from your blood bond. Even you are starting to breathe harder than you’d like.

“Was it something I said?” You barked, barely able to manage a fit of giggles between your coughing. Bela shoots you a glare over her shoulder, but quickly returns her attention to her sister. They talk, quickly, soft enough that you can only make out a few words here and there. It’s hard to make meaning from it, especially considering their vastly different tones. Cassandra is pure anger, gestures fast and wide, while Bela is oddly solemn, even regretful. When you finally catch a couple full sentences, things start to make a little more sense, though you wish they didn’t.

“We can kill them painlessly, in their sleep. That way you won’t have to suffer,” Bela whispered. She’s doing her best to comfort her sister, despite the tension in the room, gently patting her on the back. Briefly, you make eye contact with her. In that moment she looks equal parts executor and unwilling jury. But she looks away quickly, even shifting her angle to prevent it from happening again.

“No, fuck that, fuck this, I’m… I’m not killing them. Nobody is,” Cassandra growled, daring to emphasize her point by pushing Bela away. Now it’s her turn to look at you, brows furrowed, eyes betraying something more than just anger. Somehow it’s a million times worse than when she first came in. You strain yourself trying to look away, cursing the chains keeping you in place, resorting to closing your eyes and pretending none of this was real. “I don’t care what you think, Bela. They’re already my ‘meal’, might as well get what enjoyment out of this that I can.”

Again, footsteps echo through the basement. Tension locks your muscles in place, and your eyes are still clamped shut, to the point that you don’t realize your chains are being undone until you’ve hit the ground. Cursing under your breath, you finally open your eyes again. There’s blood on the floor, only some of it yours, and you’re suddenly aching for a bath. More than that, though, you’re praying for something to cover yourself with. Certainly Cassandra didn’t need to see everything, now that you weren’t a piece of meat for her to enjoy? As if reading your mind, the middle Dimitrescu daughter flings open a nearby cabinet, messily searching for something. Eventually she gives a hum of approval, then tosses a blanket in your direction.

“Put it on, dipshit, then follow me,” she snapped, already walking away. For a moment you’re tempted to stay there, sitting still, waiting to see how long it would take for her to notice. But one look from Bela sends the thought back to whatever crevice of your mind it crawled out of. So you’re moving, hastily, awkwardly wrapped in a somewhat itchy blanket. Other prisoners eye you as you pass, some shouting curses or even spitting at you. At first Cassandra takes no notice, or simply doesn’t care, but eventually the noise seems to irritate her. Turning back, she takes her sickle in hand and slams the handle into the bars of a cell. It’s loud, making you flinch, but gets everyone’s attention. “Next one to make a peep gets the blood eagle!”

“Is that, like, a sex thing?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop yourself. Laughter rings out around you from the few prisoners capable of it. Cassandra is seething again, looking about ready to kill you. Then she’s shifting into swarm mode, spreading out wide, insects barreling through half the occupied cells. A few cries escape the prisoners, as the flies take bites out of them, cutting a perfect balance between pain and (a lack of) lethality. They’d be suffering for days to come, every movement making their wounds ache. “Not a sex thing, got it,” you muttered to yourself, just as Cassandra reforms in front of you. This time she grabs the blanket you’re wrapped in, using it to tug you forward, sending you towards the exit.

“Shut up for five minutes and I might let you put on actual clothes,” she growled, keeping one hand on your back to guide you. The offer is the closest thing to kindness you’ve seen from her, and you have half a mind to do what she says. Would you actually manage to keep quiet for that long? Well, you were certainly looking forward to finding out...

#cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #*evil laughter*#i know I said this would have fluff #but it turned into humor oops #yes this will be the best trope #enemies to friends to lovers

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shreddedparchment · 3 years

Text

A Wife for Thor Pt.18

Annulment

03/06/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 6,291

Warnings: angst, pregnancy, broken marriages, depression, abandonment, little bits of fluff, supportive Loki

A/N: After I finished the last chapter, I went right to work on this one because the mood was good and I’ve been wanting to get these chapters out since the very beginning. These are the moments that drive me to write fics. The point of contention when everything gets messy. I hope you enjoy it, thank you so much for your comments and reblogs. Since I posted this one so quickly after the one before I will be replying to the comments on this one instead of the one before. I hope you can forgive me! <3 Thanks for reblogging if you do, it seriously helps SO much. xoxo

If you were ever in question as to whether you had a fight or flight instinct when faced with stressful situations, you now know that your instinct is to freeze.

You’re immobilized by the terror that’s tearing through you. Nothing feels real at this moment when your whole world has suddenly come crashing down.

Only seconds have passed but you quickly push your meltdown as deep within you as you can.

One hand placed on your belly in an absentminded caress of the baby growing inside, you reach for the door to go in and tell Thor you’re pregnant. It doesn’t matter that Jane is pregnant too.

You’re his wife. This little one inside you is the heir to the New Asgardian throne. And yet, your mind starts to add up the time that Jane might have become pregnant and her baby would come first.

Her child would be heir, not yours. Legitimate or not. These days, that stands for nothing.

So, despite knowing that you’ll have to deal with Jane for the rest of your life as she is the mother of your husband’s first child, it’s really not all that bad.

He loves you.

Thor loves you.

While you process this sudden revelation, the conversation on the other side of the door continues not waiting for you to come to get a grip.

“Are you certain?”

“Do you doubt her?” Thor demands, sounding frustrated and stressed.

“Yes,” Loki says passionately, “I would doubt anyone that I have not seen in several months.

“What reason would she have to lie?” Thor begs, genuinely looking for an excuse that will make this untrue. “She has never wanted the responsibility of the throne. She has always spoken of having children as a distant possibility. Not an assurance. The last thing Jane would want is a baby.”

“When did you even have the opportunity to bed her? Did you secretly make her your mistress?”

“No!” Thor gasps, as if the idea of cheating on you is ridiculous. “No, I-it was the day I went to end things with her when Y/N accepted my proposal.”

“So, you slept with Jane and then came back home and bedded your new fiance on the same day?”

“I’m not proud of that fact,” Thor admits.

“Regardless, even if you did sleep with her, you need to have her examined, Thor. You cannot take her on her word, not with so much on the line.”

“Fine,” Thor agrees, “But I’m certain that she isn’t lying. She’s been tired and sluggish since she arrived, her appetite strange, and this past week she’s been sick at every meeting, unable to hold down any of her lunch.”

A deep sigh from Loki tells you he’s resigned to Thor’s judgement. Jane is pregnant.

“What will you do?” Loki asks.

The quiet tone of their voices more dire than the passionate denial Thor’s voice had been just a moment ago.

You should go in now. You’ll tell him that you don’t care that Jane is pregnant. You’ll support him and assure him that if he wants them to move into the palace or maybe one of the houses on the palace grounds, you won’t mind! In fact, it will be better so that your babies can grow together as true siblings.

“Y/N is not pregnant yet,” Thor says slowly, his voice calculating.

He’s thinking hard.

“What is your point, brother?” Loki demands, sounding defensive.

“If-” Thor breathes in deep, but when he speaks, the words tumble out sure and decided. “If I am to do right by Jane’s and my child, if I am to legitimize my heir, I’ll-”

He hesitates, your heart thrumming so fast and hard that you can hear it’s beat in your ears as your brain throbs.

“I’ll get an annulment. The basis of which will be that Y/N has been unable to provide me with an heir. I’ll get sworn statements from her doctors that our-our bodies are not compatible and since Jane is already pregnant-”

You take a step as if to run but freeze because you know you can’t do this. No. You can’t face this. Not here. Not this close to him and her and all of this stupid royal bullshit that you never asked for but got anyway.

As you fracture from the inside, you paint a calm smile on your face and while you pull it off, you can’t disguise the exhaustion that pokes through. You take several feet back from the door, giving yourself a good length of hallway to walk.

You straighten up, stand as tall as you can, and move towards the parted door, “Thor?”

There’s a rush of movement from inside as you reach the war room and you try to keep your hand from trembling as you reach down and pull the door open.

Inside, Loki stands ramrod straight, hands behind his back and his face carefully devoid of any kind of expression other than his normal neutral.

Thor turns away from his desk, forcing a smile for you until he sees your face and his own falls quickly.

You know he doesn’t think you overheard him because you’d given yourself plenty of distance so that he and Loki could stop talking before you were close enough to hear anything.

But he knows something is wrong and he moves towards you, right hand extended to take hold of your arm.

Trying not to make it obvious, you meander towards one of the tall wooden chairs by the war table and sit down before Thor can touch you.

“What is it, cherub? Are you ill?” Thor wonders, moving towards you.

Feigning interest in the small models of the outposts that the Warriors Three occupy across the planet, you get up and move away from him again as you lean down to look at the one in the United States.

“I’m-to be honest, I am feeling a little under the weather,” you nod, sighing as you give him a quick pained smile.

You clear your throat, hoping that it sounds like you’ve got a tickle.

“I’ll send for the doctor,” Thor moves towards the cord by the door but you stand up straight quickly and shake your head.

“No, Thor, don’t. I think maybe I just need some rest?” you nod, smiling at him again but it still just looks painful. “I came to ask you if it would be okay for me to go stay at my house for a little while? Maybe a week or so? Just so that I can get some proper sleep and-and maybe find out if it’s really me getting sick or I’m just stressed out about this park project?”

“I thought the park was almost done?” Loki checks.

“And it is,” you nod at him. “But we’ve had so much trouble with the import of several of the plants that I’d wanted to have in the wildflower corner of the park and the fountains are still giving us trouble so, I-I just need a few days to get away from it.”

You turn back to Thor who isn’t looking at you anymore but has his hand pressed to his mouth as he loses himself in thought.

As you watch him contemplate and weigh his options, wondering if he should seize this very convenient opportunity you’ve intentionally given him to make up his mind on what to do about Jane and her baby, you very nearly break.

Your lip quivers and in your desire to hide it, you move back towards the door and feign a quick peek out as if looking for someone.

“Thor?” you prod, getting a hold of yourself and turn to fix him with your expectant gaze. “Is that okay? Can I take a few days to just rest up?”

He snaps out of his thoughts and his face softens. You see the Thor who’d just had you perched on his lap, arm around your waist.

“Of course, cherub, if you need some time then you should take it.”

The sadness that fills you is urged on by the knowledge that before Jane’s pregnancy was revealed, Thor would have insisted he come with you.

There is no way that he would have let you go off on your own.

As he moves towards you, this time you make sure not to budge as he places his hands gently on your arms.

He cups the left side of your face, stroking your cheek with his large thumb before he makes to lean in towards you.

Instead of pulling away or making it look too obvious, you press your face in against his chest and he strokes your back as you successfully juke his kiss.

“No, don’t kiss me. I-I threw up and I haven’t brushed my teeth,” you pretend to fuss.

“You know I don’t care, cherub,” Thor nudges you back a little.

“Well, I do.”

You shake your head at him, delving deep into your soul to scrounge up whatever pieces of it you can find and give him a small pout instead.

“Alright,” Thor gives in, but he still leans down and presses his lips to your cheek and then your forehead before you’re pulling away from him to edge towards the door.

“I should go if I want to catch the next flight out,” you tell him.

“Y/N,” he calls and you stop by the door to look back at him, wishing he’d just let you go so that you can fall apart alone and away from all the eyes of the palace.

Thor clenches his hand into a tight fist, gently tapping it against the war table as you wait.

“I love you.”

You blink, give him a quick forced smile, and sigh because despite the heartache you’re drowning in, “I love you too, Thor. So much.”

As you walk away, you know that nothing will ever be the same. In a week’s time, you might not even be Queen anymore. Wouldn’t that be something?

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re given a bodyguard. Well, more like a friend who can kick serious ass. Hilde was happy to volunteer.

“Something’s up,” she observes as she escorts you into the airport gate.

Normally you’d have set up for a private plane, or Thor would have.

But he has other things on his mind.

“What do you mean?” you ask her, clearing your throat again for the fifth time since you left the palace in order to uphold the pretense of feeling sick.

“Your face is all wrong, you’re not saying something.”

“I have nothing to hide, Hilde. I’m just tired. I feel weak and beaten. I feel like I can’t catch my breath. Like I’ll crack if I’m not careful enough to hold myself together.”

All of this is true. You do feel like you’re about to crumble to pieces. Nothing you just said is a lie. You’re not hiding anything, just waiting. In a week’s time, you’ll know where you stand. And then you can tell Hilde everything.

“How long have you felt this way?” Hilde wonders, real concern painting her tone.

“Not long,” you tell her. “It just started today, actually. About two hours ago?”

“There’s something more,” she refuses to believe that you’re only sick. “It’s like you’re running from something.”

“What would I be running from, Hilde? My luxurious and comfortable life? My loving husband? My sweet and loyal people? My life is perfect. I don’t feel like I’m missing anything.

“I have a family. The only thing I’ve ever wanted. Why would I run from that? Unless of course, I’m being kicked out?”

Hilde fixes you with a look of complete confusion.

As you hand over your ticket to the man at the gate, you force a smile on your friend.

“If I were being kicked out, I’d run before they could get the chance to give me the boot. Then at least it was my choice and not someone forcing me to go away.”

“Why would anyone kick you out? It’s not possible, Your Majesty. You are Queen of New Asgard. Or did you forget?”

“I don’t think it’s possible for me to ever forget my time as Queen. I think I’ll remember it until the day I die.”

Hilde takes your arm, turning you to face her with subtle force, “Oi, what aren’t you telling me?”

You swallow hard, pushing your sorrow down until you can ignore it a little better.

“I’m-I’m not hiding anything, seriously. I’m just tired, Hilde. Being Queen is harder than I ever thought it could be and even though I love being married to Thor, the stresses of doing my job as Queen have reached a point where it’s boiling over.

“I just need a break...from everyone, Hilde. Even you.”

“What did I do?!” she demands, offended.

“Nothing. You’ve been one of the good parts of being Queen, but I just need a little break from Asgard as a whole. I spent my entire childhood and teenage years alone with no one to rely on me but me.

“I just need to be alone for a bit. One week. That’s all I want. So...I know that Thor won’t be happy about it but now that you’ve seen me onto the plane-”

“I am not leaving you alone,” Hilde frowns, almost angry at you for even asking.

“David is meeting me when the plane lands and then driving me home himself. I’ll be fine being alone for just the flight,” it’s a plea as much as it is a reassurance. “Please, Hilde. Please? Please?”

The higher your pitch gets, the more she breaks, turning sympathetic.

“Please, Hilde? Please?”

She growls and rolls her eyes, holding out your carryon bag--a large brown duffel bag stuffed with clothes--so that you can take it.

“Thor is going to be pissed at me,” she grumbles. “And it’s all your fault.”

You take your bag, hang it on your shoulder, and quickly pull her in to kiss her cheek.

“Thank you, Hilde. I’ll text you as soon as I land. I promise.”

“You’d better, or I’ll come find you and stick at your side like paste.”

A stewardess comes out to peek down at you and you hurry off before Hilde can change her mind.

In no time at all, you’re in your seat, the plane up and the air, and New Asgard--Thor and his annulment of your marriage--is fading fast behind you.

When you land, no one is there to meet you.

A necessary lie. You'll have to call David in the morning and let him know what's happening. He's your lawyer and if Thor goes through with his plan, you'll need to be legally ready.

You're hit with a stab of hurt that your previously loving marriage has taken such a shift.

Still, you feel bad for lying to Hilde, but when you’d said you needed your alone time, you’d meant it.

You rent a car with your own money, ignoring the shiny black credit card that Thor had given you during your honeymoon shopping trip. The last thing you need is them tracing your movements when you just want to be left alone.

The drive home is lengthy but the peace it brings you is welcome.

Four hours of no one but yourself, the music on your radio, and endless grassy hills and small town charms streaking past your windows like long lost friends.

After an hour of driving you stop at a roadside diner. You buy a bag full of fries, smear them in lines of ketchup, grab a lemonade to go, and text Hilde that you’re with David and on your way home.

After another hour, you stop again. This time at a decently sized convenience store, newly built. It's a truck stop really and you take the chance to use the bathroom then loiter by your car as you tap the screen of your phone with your thumb, waking it up over and over again. Unable to make up your mind.

Your wallpaper taunts you. A picture of you sitting between Thor’s legs on your massive bed, his arms wrapped around you as your left hand is placed to his cheek as he kisses yours, your other arm extended as you take the picture.

It’s difficult to find the courage to unlock your phone, scroll through your contacts, and press the little phone to dial Thor.

He doesn’t pick up right away.

Sadly your marriage already feels like a past life. It feels dead. Like a good dream you’ve woken up from and you just know if you try and go back to sleep to keep it going, it’ll only turn into a nightmare.

The phone rings and rings. It goes to voicemail.

It hurts. So much more than you expected it to hurt and your tears overflow leaving salty trails along your cheeks as you hiccup and try not to sob out loud.

You lean and cry against your car for the longest two minutes of your life before your phone is ringing and vibrating in your hand.

It’s Thor, and for a second, you consider not answering. You consider disappearing. Just fading into the wilderness. Abandoning your car right here. Never making it to your little house. It's so tempting in the moment to give up your throne, which will soon be taken away from you, and start your life again.

How long would they look for you? Would they eventually assume you're dead?

Still, you know that Dr. Wilson and Dr. Alric would spill the beans and if Thor knew...

You press your free hand to your stomach and know that you can’t just vanish. This life will follow you wherever you go and as painful as it is, you’re not sorry for the baby you’ve made.

You swallow your sobbing and with all of the other things you’re not allowed to feel right now or you’ll give yourself away, bury it deep down inside.

Gliding your finger across the screen, you answer the phone and press it to your ear.

“My love,” Thor gasps, sounding stressed or tired? Labored breathing.

Your mind goes to dark places and you chase away the nasty images your mind thinks up before you can let them hurt you more.

How can he still call me that?!

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer. Forgive me. I'd left my phone on my desk and I had my hands full of books.”

Your mouth won’t open. It won’t speak.

You realize all of a sudden that you don’t want to talk to Thor. You’re so angry at him. You’re hurt and betrayed and everything he’s ever told you is a lie.

“Y/N?” he sounds so confused.

“I’m here,” you manage.

“How are you feeling, cherub?”

Stop calling me that!

“I’m not great,” you sigh, sagging against the car. “I just wanted to call you to tell you that I’m with David and we’re on our way to my house. We stopped at the store to go to the bathroom, so I thought I’d call you.”

“Wait, David? Why is David with you? Where is Brunnhilde?” Thor asks, his heavy breathing still loud.

“I asked her to stay behind,” you explain. “Look, Thor I don’t really feel well enough for talking. I just didn’t want you to worry. I promised I’d call.”

“Why would she let you go alone?” Thor demands, shouting into whatever room he’s in. “Loki! Where is Brunnhilde? Get her up here!”

“I have to go, Thor. David’s waiting. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Wait. Don’t hang up yet, cherub. Do you have a doctor to see you close to home?” Thor frets, and you can’t stand it.

“I’m coming, David!” you pretend to call, the convenience store clerk currently throwing the trash looks at you then turns his head back and forth as if searching for who you might be talking to. “Bye, Thor.”

“No, wait, love. Don’t hang-”

His voice is cut off and yet his deep tone still rings in your ears as if he were standing right beside you.

Your heart cries out for him. You wish he was there with you but then your brain reminds you that your time with Thor is already over.

The clerk is still looking at you and you give him a quick shake of your head.

“Sorry,” you start. “Bad breakup.”

He nods sympathetically as you get back in your care then gives you a wave as you drive off, setting back off into the night.

You’re not driving twenty minutes before your phone dings. A text.

Then again. And again. And again. Too many texts come through and you can’t stand it.

You reach over and completely shut it off.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s midnight when you finally get up from bed.

There’s no escaping Thor even here in your own home. Your honeymoon memories are everywhere here.

The bed. The shower. The closet--Thor was eager one morning. The kitchen. The backyard. Every room has a memory. Not all of them sex, but all of them just as poignant and meaningful.

Or so you’d thought.

You wander down the hall to your kitchen, flipping the switch as you enter and make a beeline for the vintage fridge.

“Shit-” you sigh, not even opening it as you remember that there will be no food until you go shopping for some.

You take a peek, just to confirm, and all that's inside is a half empty jar of pickles on the door.

Irritated, you move towards the pantry and grab the first box of cereal you see, pop it open and plunge your hand inside.

You scoop a bit into your mouth but just as you begin to crunch, your mouth falters at the sight of Loki sitting on one of your island stools where he clearly wasn't before, a gentle smile to compliment the knowing sharpness in his eyes.

“You heard us, didn’t you?”

You try not to react to his question, because it’s not a question. Just confirmation of what he clearly already guessed.

“You’re not really here, are you?” You finish chewing, taking more cereal into your mouth after you swallow.

You’re starving. You should have bought some burgers at that diner to reheat and eat tonight and tomorrow.

“No,” Loki confirms. “I'm...checking in. Thor doesn’t know. He’s pretty oblivious, actually. Other things on his mind.”

“Like pregnant ex-girlfriends whose baby will have a stronger claim over the Asgardian throne than mine?”

There’s a bitterness in your voice but you don’t feel sorry for it. You’re not going to hide how hurt you are.

Loki’s face finally breaks as he realizes what you mean. He gives you a small startled blink before he’s got control of his expression again.

“Don’t tell him, Loki.”

“He deserves to know.”

“Does he?” you demand, voice rising in your anger. “And I don’t deserve to know about Jane being pregnant?”

“He would have told you,” Loki assures you.

“When?” You demand, eyes stinging. “When he needed my signature on the annulment papers?”

“He’s not decided on anything yet.”

“Oh, my god! As if that even fucking matters!” you get up, throwing the box of cereal into the garbage.

They’re stale.

“The point is he thinks it’s a good idea. I married him. I thought he welcomed me into his family. I thought I belonged with him, and you and Hilde and Heimdall, but I’m just some fucking guest after all, aren’t I?”

“You’re overreacting,” Loki chastises you.

You pick up a nearby mug and chuck it at him. It goes through him and breaks against the wall behind him.

“Don’t tell me that I’m overreacting when my husband is thinking about legally erasing all traces of our marriage!

"I trusted him," you reach up and jab at your own chest somewhat painfully.

"I thought what we had was worth keeping and protecting. I was already making plans to move Jane and her baby into the palace so that our kids could grow up together, as a family but he doesn’t want that.

“He doesn’t want me in his life if he’s already got another heir lined up so why should I tell him? If he doesn’t want me without this baby then he has no right wanting me with it!”

Loki lets you shout, he lets you break down. He doesn’t judge you for it either, but he reads into it. Too much, and you hate him for it.

You don't want to be reasonable. This doesn't feel like the time for reason. You're shattered.

“He loves you, Y/N. His choice is made-”

“For the child, yes. I get that. That doesn’t make it hurt any less. And maybe I shouldn’t be angry for him doing right by his baby when I’m carrying one of my own, but I am angry. It hurts to know that in moments he was able to make the choice to end our marriage.

“He’s my husband and I am his wife. Does that seriously mean nothing?”

Loki shakes his head, “I’ve already told you that he hasn’t decided anything, yet.”

“You don’t get it, and I don’t know that you can understand what even considering the option of annulment means for us as a couple.”

Loki sighs, “I want you to listen to me very clearly, Y/N. I say this with as much love as a brother can feel for his sister. You need to understand and you need to accept that you and Thor are not a normal couple. Thor is, first and foremost, a king.

“He is beholden to his people and he needs to ensure our position on this planet because we don’t have a home anymore. We are refugees and this is our home now. It is Thor’s job to protect that on behalf of all of us by any means necessary. Choices like these are the reason that my brother resisted the throne for so long.

“As a King, all of the love in the world cannot keep him from making the choices that will benefit our people, even if the choice should hurt him in the process.”

You’re shaking with tears as Loki speaks, shaking your head as you press your hand against your tummy. Your thoughts are full of the baby growing within you and the helpless feeling that presses down on you.

“That’s why this baby changes things, Y/N. You must tell him that you’re pregnant if you are going to keep him for yourself. If you want your marriage to survive this, you can’t keep this from him.”

Shaking your head, you turn away from him to fill a small glass with water and take a small drink.

Yes, you need to tell Thor that you’re pregnant. As wounded as your pride is, you can’t keep him in the dark forever.

“My Queen?” Loki urges you, calling you by your title probably to remind you that like Thor, you have obligations even if you don’t like or want them.

“Fine,” you sigh. “I’ll tell him, but not yet. Just give me this week, Loki. Please.”

When you turn to look at him again, he’s softer with his gaze.

“You’re going to let him suffer for his idea of the annulment,” he guesses.

“No,” you shake your head. “This isn’t for Thor. This is for me. Just because I understand the reason he thought of an annulment doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt anymore.

“If I saw him right now, I couldn’t even talk to him, Loki. He might have betrayed me for good reasons, but he’s still betrayed me. He still accepted, even for a few moments, that giving me up was the best thing he could do.

“And maybe it’s because he’s the-the first person that I’ve ever loved, and maybe I’m still looking at our very arranged marriage with some girl’s view of romance but I can’t separate his duty from my hurt and I-I don’t know that I can ever forgive him.”

"I suppose that's fair," Loki sighs. “I won’t say anything, I promise. But I’m going to make sure that he’s here on Friday. From there, it’s your duty as mother to a future prince or princess of Asgard to tell Thor about your pregnancy.”

You move to sit next to him, giving the bits and pieces of the mug you’d thrown at him a look as you settle.

“I’m sorry I threw a cup at your head.".

Loki smirks, “Would you believe me when I tell you that it’s happened before?”

You almost smile, “Yes. I believe it.”

Loki chuckles but you can't return the sentiment. For you, the world is still ending.

“Can you do me a favor, sister?” Loki asks, his term of endearment warms you a little.

Even if Thor found it easily to cast you off, you’re happy that Loki sees you so permanently a part of his family.

“Something tells me I’m not going to be happy about it, but sure.”

“Turn on your phone,” he glances at the phone sitting at the center of the island only inches away from you where you’d left it to avoid temptation. “Thor won’t shut up about how you’re not replying. If you really want to cherish some time alone, it would be better if you answered him. If he’s worried, he can get here within the hour. I don't suppose you want that."

"No," you shudder..

"Oh, and make sure you use your black card. He’ll be checking to make sure that you’re taking care of yourself.”

You roll your eyes, the rift between you and Thor already so big you can’t see a way to fix it.

“This contradiction of Thor loving me so much he’s worried to death and his ability to decide on annulling our marriage is hard to swallow. What’s he going to do when we’re not married anymore and I’m living here and he’s married to Jane?”

“That will never happen, Y/N seeing as you’re going to tell him that you’re pregnant and he won’t go through with an annulment.” Loki insists.

“What if he does?” you wonder. “Jane’s baby was conceived first. They’ll be heir to the throne. Not mine. What if Thor decides that an annulment is still the best course of action?”

“Then I think I’ll have to reconsider my pledge to serve him as my King. But he won’t go through with it, I promise you. Trust me. I know him. Thor is too soft hearted to hurt you like that.”

“He already hurt me, Loki. It’s just the finality of a follow through that I’m waiting for.”

“You’re so eager to be abandoned,” Loki observes, frustrated with you.

“It just feels like I already have been. I’m sorry if that bothers you, but I can’t help how I feel. Haven’t you ever thought you belonged somewhere only to find out that you’re not as accepted as you thought?”

Loki thinks for a moment, his silence heavy with memory, “I have.”

“And how long did it take you to get over it?”

Loki grins, meeting your eyes with a bit of resignation.

“A long time,” he admits.

“And mine just happened today. You expect me to be over it already? Get bent, Loki.”

Loki chuckles.

“You have a point. I’m sorry, I’ve been looking at this through the lens of being my brother’s advisor. I’ll try and do better.”

His promise is genuine and it makes you feel better that you have at least one person on your side.

“Thank you, Loki,” you sigh. “I know this isn’t an easy spot for you to be in, between me and Thor. I appreciate you coming to check on me.”

“It’s my pleasure. Thor might not have noticed the way you refused to touch him when you left today but I was instantly sure that you’d heard everything. Does it bother you that he slept with her and you on the same day?”

“Not as much as I thought it would,” you admit. “Even without him explicitly saying it, I knew that he’d been with her. I knew that it was likely that he’d slept with her. They were in love. Maybe him more than her, but they didn’t break up because they wanted to. They broke up because he needed to get married and Jane wasn’t ready to do that.

“If Thor had made more of an attempt to delay our wedding, maybe Jane would have come to him sooner with her news and Thor and I would never have gotten married. I wouldn’t be pregnant, and this would all be much less messy.”

“I’m glad he didn’t wait. I’d rather have you as a sister than Jane. She’s nice but you’re much better suited to be Queen.”

“Until my King pisses me off and I run off for a week,” you tease.

“This is an exceptional situation,” Loki nods. “I don’t think if anyone else were in your shoes, they would be any less hurt than you by the news of Jane’s baby. If she is pregnant.”

You look at him, interest piqued.

“You said something like that before, that Jane should get tested to make sure she’s pregnant. What makes you think she might not be?”

“Nothing in particular. She might be. I just really don’t want her to be. I like you for Thor, Y/N. As far as I’m concerned, you’re Asgardian now.”

“I wish Thor thought like you do.”

“He does think it, Y/N. He’s just thrown off balance right now. Give him a little time and tell him about your child. His child, and it will clear up his mind. His judgement is compromised by the fact that he has an heir from the woman he once loved and the woman he now loves has had no luck in conceiving one. Or so he thinks.”

“I already told you that I’ll tell him, Loki. I just want some time.” you sigh.

“I know. We’re talking in circles. I’ll go, let you get some rest.”

You turn to watch him, slowly he begins to dissolve into slow moving golden swirls mixed with a tinge of green.

“Oh, and check your fridge again. I’ve left you a present.”

Just as quickly as he’d shown up, he’s gone.

With a heavy heart you remember the favor he asked of you and turn on your phone.

Twenty texts chime in and you quickly scroll through them.

They’re all from Thor, save for two from Hilde.

Hilde: Thanks. Be careful.

Hilde: Snitch!

All of Thor’s are variations of the same message.

Thor: Please reply, cherub.

Thor: Are you asleep?

Thor: I’m sorry if I’m waking you up.

Thor: Are you home yet?

Thor: Are you safe?

It isn’t until the last few messages that his frenzy of worry seems to change. More resigned to your lack of response. Probably believing that you are actually asleep.

Thor: I miss you already, cherub. I can’t tell you how strange it is to lay in our bed without you.

Thor: I don’t think there’s been a night since we married aside from my visit to the outposts that I have not had your perfect body pressed to mine.

Thor: My heart aches without you.

Thor: My body craves in your absence.

Thor: My soul is empty. You are my very essence now, my sweet cherub.

Thor: I hope you’re not very ill. I could not stand to lose you.

You sob, reading his texts through paints a drastic contrast between his deep voice crying for annulment and the loving, doting, sweet husband who sent you these messages.

His text voice is also so different from the way he talks. You can hear the way he might have talked to you if he hadn’t spent so much time with the Avengers and other humans here on Earth. Jane probably heard him speak like this out loud when they first met.

She’d been his first contact with this planet.

Wiping at your tears, you clutch the phone to your chest for a moment before focusing your blurry eyes on the screen again to keep reading.

Thor: I’ve never known how essential you are to my life until this moment. I need you at my side. I am most certain of it now.

Thor: I would give my life for you. I will keep you close from now on. I don’t know if I can last a week without you, my love. Don’t hate me if I come to you tomorrow.

Thor: Loki has just told me that he’s come to see that you’ve settled into your home safely. I really need him to teach me that trick. He says you need rest and that you already have a doctor coming by in the morning.

Thor: Please tell me what they say once they’ve seen you.

Thor: Loki keeps yelling at me to let you sleep.

Thor: Goodnight, cherub. I love you. More than my life.

Thor: Please text me in the morning.

Thor: It’s Loki. I’ve taken his phone. I’ll make sure he leaves you alone for the full week. Thank you for turning your phone on.

Y/N: I’m fine, Thor. Just very tired.

And because it’s true and if you don’t say it, he’ll get suspicious:

Y/N: I love you, too.

You sniffle and lock your phone.

“Jerk,” you grieve, and move to the fridge.

Opening it again, you’re surprised to find it fully stocked this time with all of your favorite foods and treats.

Loki is seriously the best brother-in-law in the universe.

#king!thor x reader #thor x reader #royal au #arranged marriage au #a wife for thor #king!thor x reader fic #king!thor x reader fanfic #king!thor x reader fanfiction #king!thor x you #thor x reader fanfiction #thor x reader fanfic #thor x reader fic #thor x you #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #a wife for thor pt18 #loki #loki laufeyson

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scrawnytreedemon · 3 years

Text

Victor Frankenstein and Frustration: a Not-Essay, because I can’t structure for shit.

Alright, I’ll try to keep it as clean and concise as I can, but at the end of the day this is a sorta-heat-in-the-moment thing I’m writing while all the ideas and motivation are in me yet. I will be jumping around alot of topics, as this covers alot of ground, but I can’t say I’ll do it with grace: for this, I apologise.

I’ve noticed a trend in online lit fandom, not just on Tumblr, to condense Victor’s character to something roughly following “arrogant, ineffectual and selfish weenie who failed horribly at parenting, who ought not to be taken seriously in any significant way, largely in-due to his constant whining“ --In other words, a right twat.

And here’s the thing: largely, I agree.

However, what I take issue with, I suppose, is largely how this is all framed.

See, fandom has a tendency to sort characters into boxes, and then pick favourites or bête noires from that selection; this is helpful for the largely memetic(as in, shareable,) nature of online spaces; but where I think this thinking falls short is that it tends to divide casts into More Good or More Evil, with little room for nuance.

I think you can see where I’m going with this.

Victor Frankenstein, by all accounts, is an incredibly frustrating character to witness; he gets way in over his head, isolates himself from his loved ones, leaving them worried, deems those ambitions failed, hides from them, then when shit starts hitting the fan, he takes initial actions to try and mitigate the consequence, hits a roadblock, either stops their or chooses an even worse option, someone else gets hurt, he whines, rinse and repeat until the final act of the book, as the stakes get higher and higher and his mental state deteriorates more, and more, and more. If you look at this entirely from an outsiders’ perspective, as you, the audience, being subjected to his moaning time and time again, it can wear on you and your sympathies-- Needless to say, I Get It™.

I think, however, it needs be remarked that Victor is also just some guy.

What I feel is often missed, is that even before Victor goes to university, he has just suffered the loss of his mother, with little time to recover, and that all of this is being told in hindsight, on his deathbed.

When Victor took on, all by himself, at twenty-two years old, not even letting anyone else know what he was up to, the monumental task of creating life, and then finding that life horribly botched, he did not have the perspective that what he created was equivalent to a newborn child-- For all he knew, he might have animated an actual demon. It isn’t until two years later, after the death of his little brother at the hands of said demon, the he’s even remotely made aware of this.

Victor had worn himself out over the course of several months, physically and mentally, to this one task. He was not equipped to deal witht he consequences. I do not say this to downplay the weight of his actions, or the horrible mess of events that come afterwards, but to state perspective. Victor does not have the hindsight we have at the time of this act. I cannot stress this enough. As much as I enjoy Deadbeat Dad Vick jokes, I get the feeling many people actually view the story from this lens, and hold Victor up to that standard.

Then there’s the trial of Justine: a horrible, useless, unneeded and avoidable affair that ends in even more senseless death. This is where alot of people’s sympathy for Victor runs out-- For more than understandable reasons. He failed to act accordingly, to share the information he had, deeming it to be either dismissed instantly or for himself to be put under scrutiny; it’s clear he’s passionate about Justine’s innocence, but he cannot push himself past his fear and doubt, and ultimately, it ends in her death.

It is a horrible, horrible moment, and one that cements the tone of the story from there on out.

These are two key events that largely colour this image of Victor so prevelant online; and it certainly doesn’t help, what with fandom being almost aggressively left-leaning at times, that Victor comes from a place of privilege; he is almost tailor-made to push all the buttons of fandom sensitivities.

Let me elaborate.

A key feature of Victor’s character is his complete and utter inability to ask for help; no matter how dire the situation. Victor feels, that, despite and even because of his incompetence, that it is his cross and his cross alone to bear. Any inolvement from others, such as Clerval when he heads to England, is hesitant and highly discouraged, even when he wants nothing more than to partake in the company of his loved ones, after all he’s been through. While it is also heavily coloured by the anguished sentiment that borders on self-absorption so much of the time, I think it is also worthy to examine this too.

Victor’s tendency to indulge in self-pity and self-loathing is nigh, if not entirely, all-consuming; it pervades the narrative to a painful degree, particularly as it comes from his recollections; it is often exhausting to read through, and nigh unbearable if you already hold a disdane from his previous actions; but here’s the thing I think most people miss,

Victor is depressed.

I don’t mean “ooh, he’s so sad, leave him alone 🥺,“ I mean the guy is fucking depressed, stuck in a constant cycle of attempting to make do but failing, hating himself even more, letting it consume him because he at once feels like he deserves to be consumed and it’s the only thing he can do then and there to soothe to pain as shit gets worse and worse.

Victor Frankenstein’s internal monolgue is a prime example of deep-seated, far-gone depression, and I say this because I myself have experienced and do experience this. Depression is fucking soul-sucking, man; it turns you in on yourself, makes you feel entirely undeserving of love and compassion, leaves you feeling like you must, have to, deal with this entirely by yourself because it is your cross to bear.

Depression is so often self-flagellating and pointless, leaving the subject drained and often largely unable to experience the world outside their own miserable little bubble.

Victor is so wrapped up in this soul-sucking guilt, attempting to fight his own ineffectuality and in doing so only furthering his own ineffectuality, refusing to ask for help, that he ends up putting the ones he’s trying to protect in further danger as he tries to scramble a hodge-podge solution to the problem he created and couldn’t have even begun to forsee its consequences at twenty-two years old. It is a painful, painful example of how if only he reached out, if only he told someone, was honest, all of this could have been avoided, or at least mitigated.

And I think that’s the thing with Victor.

He’s a kind of banal evil-- If such continuous stumbling can even be considered so --He is an example of every day self-isolation and refusal to let anyone else in ballooning to such a degree it ends in distaster.

People are far, far more willing to forgive Adam for his transgressions-- And I say this as someone far more sympathetic to his plight, what with the absolute abandonment he faced at the hands of humanity --Despite their far more horrific consequences; in many ways, they’re attributed to Victor’s failing; which isn’t entirely untrue,

But I have to wonder, if alot of this also comes down to the fact that Victor’s wrongdoings are so human; leaving someone in your care behind; not speaking up in cases of injustice; being self-involved; again, the constant whining. In a way, it’s the sentiment that in stories a horrible person is often far more bearable than an annoying one.

That doesn’t even begin to touch on how much of the bemoaning might largely be and often is directly post-hoc regret colouring all his previous actions. This, above all else, is a cautionary tale to a fellow idealist in the hopes that Robert Walton doesn’t Fuck Up the way he did. Victor stresses his regret and his failings and his misery time and time again because he wants to protect Robert from a similar fate; a fate that ultimately ends in his death.

Victor Frankenstein is a study in frustration; in audience frustration, self-frustration, narrative frustration; it seeps into every corner of the story.

I am not trying to defend Victor Frankenstein as a person; he is flawed; and he’s meant to be flawed. Victor, at the end of the day, is a deconstruction of the Byronic hero-- Of Great and Powerful Men on the Fronteers of History™-- And most importantly, I think, a deconstruction he himself undergoes. Victor eventually alerts someone, a Genevan magistrate, is doubted just as he feared, and then runs off to take revenge into his own hands.

It takes the death of Elizabeth Lavenza to do so.

Victor is a flawed, miserable man, but not an evil one. That doesn’t mean he deserved to have his life crumble around him.

He could have done better. Should have done better.

And he knows this.

His entire arc is about how he knows this.

Victor dies knowing this.

Him being unlikable doesn’t make him a bad character. Him being unlikable is part of the character; and in a meaningful way.

God, I don’t know how to end this. I’ll probably come back and edit this many, many times.

I guess I’m just tired of people flattening characters just because they’re not particularly endearing.

#frankenstein #scrawny speaks #scrawny rambles #analysis #victor frankenstein #there's probably even more i want to say and will regret failing to touch on #and believe me i do see the irony in a thinkpiece about victor frankenstein so laser-focusing on him #i really do #but it's kinda all the energy i have for #point is i don't think victor is a particularly good person #or admirable in any way shape or form #but that doesn't mean his character doesn't have worth #and i guess i'm tired about all of this just getting... tossed out the window #fandom is fun but also exhausting #he's a weenie yes but he isn't j us t a weenie can we please acknowledge that?#he's a guy. some fucking guy who fucked up. like alot of fucking guys who fucked up.#i wonder how much of this is also The Protagonist Complex #wherein we insert ourselves and go 'i would have done this better!'#because BELIEVE ME i hope i'd be far more empathetic and far more... Less That #but i don't know and i won't pretend to know #and i do wonder if some of this comes down to people not wanting to sympathise with a Bad Person because then it means they could be Bad #spoiler alert: yes. all of us have the potential to be miserable weenies.#none of us are safe.#i want to stress *potential*#please don't leap down my throat #ughghjg i'll stop. hopefully this was... Okay. i guess.#long post

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