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minsimagines · 4 years

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what’s in a name | demon!j.k

next part

A/N: part two coming soon! also, images are not mine, i’ve just put together the collage. credit to owners! and also, can we talk about his hair? specifically in the header under here? help. feel free to talk to me about his hair.

warnings: none, i think??

summary: On the day she’s about to turn 18 years old, Y/N finds out she belongs to a demon.

★ ⋆ ✰ ✦ ☾ ✮ ⁎ ★ ⋆ ✰ ☾ ⁎ ✦ ✮ ⁎ ☾ ★ ⋆ ✰

You stood in the middle of the living room of your parents’ gigantic house, staring at their faces. Their expression held sadness, though your rage didn’t leave room for pity. Your eyes flickered over their bodies, wondering if they really even were your parents. You didn’t want to believe it.

“When did you do it?”

“Sweetheart, we’re sorry,” your mother tried to console you, but you took a furious step back.

“When!?”

You mothers brows pushed together in a sad, despaired frown. “We contacted him on your first birthday.”

“So, you sold me, signed my whole life off before I’d even lived any of it?” You asked, your voice a mere whisper.

“You’ll be safe, that was the deal! He’s not going to hurt you,” your father said urgently.

“The deal,” you scoffed, a humorless smile on your face. “And what happens if it doesn’t get me?”

Your father’s face dropped. “I… I don’t know.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” you muttered, watching their faces twist into expressions of fear.

“Sweetie, running won’t help, he’ll find you!” Your mother yelled, desperately. You slowly shook your head and ran out of the living room, one of many in the huge mansion. You ran past old paintings and staircases, your shoes tapping against ancient floors. You didn’t take anything but yourself and your phone with you, you didn’t stop to find out if they were following. You ran through the huge kitchen, slipping past chefs in the middle of preparing supper. Through the windows you could see the sun was setting.

Throwing the backdoor open, you bolted through the massive garden, and the bushes shaped as bunnies. It had been for you, they’d said. All they did, was for you. What a load of crap. You would never let yourself be sold like some kettle. You were a human being with a mind of your own. You were turning 18 as soon as the clock rang midnight, and your parents would never see you again after this.

Passing through intricate gardenwork, you ran into the dense forest behind your parents’ estate. You’d always played out there when you were young, and you’d always swore you’d had a guardian angel watching over you in those woods. You’d fallen out of tall trees, you’d scraped every inch of your body on branches, stumbled over stones. There had been incidents where you should have died, yet you never came out of the trees with anything more than a pale red patch wherever you’d hurt yourself. Perhaps the guardian angel was still in there.

You didn’t waste a second. You heard your parents and a few servants call after you, but you blocked them out. You ran and ran and ran until you couldn’t breathe.

Falling to your back in the middle of a meadow, you gasped for air. You didn’t care how much sound it made, or how loud you were crying. You had to get it out. Your chest hurt; your soul hurt. Weren’t parents supposed to love their children? Weren’t they supposed to protect their children?

You didn’t know how long you laid in the small, damp meadow. Your jeans were soaked and probably green on the backside. Your body was numb from crying. From realizing your life was a lie. Your life had been a means to and end for them. You couldn’t fathom how anyone could do such a thing, and to their own child!?

As you stared up at the sky, you knew he’d be coming for you. If it was really true, then he would come for you no matter where you were. Unless you were dead. No, didn’t demons rule the dead as well? The air felt thick.

“I take it you’re not happy with your current… predicament.”

You jumped up at the deep voice. A hand flew to your chest, your wide eyes staring at the man leaning against the trunk of a tall tree. He was… well he was breathtaking. Hair, black as night, framed his face. His eyes were dark, intense and amused as he watched you, blinking lazily. His hands were in the pockets of his dress pants. He wore a black suit, which one would usually find weird deep in a forest, yet he seemed to just… fit.

You didn’t say anything. What were you to say? That you didn’t like it? You thought that part was pretty obvious. Your eyes flickered over his appearance. Had you not known his true nature; you might have freely spoken to him, told him you weren’t going with him and how you were going to be free. You might have been interested in what he had to say. But you knew, and you didn’t want to know any more.

“Come here,” he said, his voice didn’t leave room for discussion, but you were frozen. Both in shock and fear. He watched you, seemingly patient, his eyes not leaving yours for even a split second. Did he even blink? You didn’t think he did.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he muttered, his voice turning darker along with the look in his eyes. You felt your vision blur as you shakily took steps towards the man. The edge of his full lips twitched up in a smirk at your compliance.

He stood up straight, towering over you as you stopped in front of him, a hot tear rolling down your cheek. You hated him. Or, maybe you hated your parents. You didn’t know, you just knew you didn’t want to be a slave.

“Please,” you whispered, whishing for nothing else than to be left alone. You wanted to be away from him, from your parents, from their stupid massive estate. You didn’t care about any of it, you wanted to be free.

He decided to take your plea as a wish for him to take you right away.

“As you wish,” he whispered, his eyes turning as dark as night as he reached out for your waist, pulling you against him. You yelped and pushed your hands against a chiseled chest. The world around you turned loopy and dark smoke enveloped you both. You instinctively gripped his jacket, your wide eyes staring around yourself in terror. He watched in amusement, finding himself already loving the look of fear in your eyes. Your big orbs glowed with horror, and he could stare at the wonderful sight for hours.

The world shook and trembled around you as you were both swallowed by the darkness. A grunt left your lips out of fear, your eyes squeezing shut. What was he doing? Was he going to hurt you?

–

You startled upright, your arms grabbing at your body, your lungs gasping for air. You looked around yourself, but it was so dark, you could barely make out anything. You could, however, tell it wasn’t your room. It looked modern, stylish, dark. Black furniture against dark walls. Everything was so dark. The bed sheets, black silk, slick around your bare legs.

You threw the covers off, your jaw dropping. You were wearing a big t-shirt, down to the top of your thighs. Your eyes carefully wandered around the room once more, your mind completely blank. You couldn’t remember how you got to this room, or where your clothes had gone. Or… if it was you who removed them.

Quietly slipping out of bed, you slowly stepped towards the window. The curtains were closed, and you hoped the view could give you a clue to where you were. Gently taking a hold of the fabric, you pulled them apart.

The view… though broad, was unhelpful. You looked down, and your breath caught in your throat at the height. You were so far above ground. You could see so far, yet you had no idea what city it was. The lights from the streets and the buildings were beautiful, but the sinking feeling in your stomach was not.

Hands wrapped around your waist from behind, and you squealed in surprise, your body jerking forwards. The hands held you back from bumping your head into the glass. You spun around and found a pair of dark eyes staring down at you, looking very amused. You, were not. You glared up at him, your cheeks warming. Had he been in there the whole time? How did he sneak up on you like that?

“Are you insane?” You asked, your voice low, feeling agitated. You’d never asked to be put in this situation, and you definitely couldn’t remember asking him to change your clothes for you.

“Whatever do you mean?” He asked sarcastically, his lips curling up in a way too sweet smile, hands pulling you closer. You pulled a face and pushed against his chest, but his grip was locked behind your back. You shot him a look, which he mirrored, mocking you.

“Where are my clothes?”

“Trash.”

“Excuse me!?” You yelled, your brows furring. Who the hell did he think he was?

“You went all crazy and ripped them,” he shrugged, as if that was something that could just happen to anyone. As if it happened to him a lot. You narrowed your eyes, not believing him.

“You think I’m going to believe some story about me just suddenly going ham and tearing off my clothes? I’m no Hulk.”

“I didn’t say I was totally out of blame,” he smirked, taking a step back from you. You frowned.

“What did you do?”

“I just took you here,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “You inhaled something you shouldn’t have, and you went nuts,” he smirked, turning and walking towards the door. You ran after him as he walked down the dark hallways.

“Inhaled what?” You asked, your voice raised with anger. Why couldn’t he just explain it in a proper way? Why be so god damned mysterious?

He abruptly stopped and spun around, giving you no time to slow down. You bumped right into his chest, though his body didn’t move an inch. It was like hitting a brick wall. A… soft, brick wall. He looked down at you and you had no chance of reading his eyes, they were just looking at you.

“This,” he said, his voice deep as he held his hand out. His fingers slowly began turning black, as a soft mist formed in his palm. He held his hand a good distance away from you, yet you could smell it as if it was right in your face. It smelled caramel, and the forest after it rains. And leather. Your eyebrow twitched as you turned you head towards his hand. Your eyes peered into the mist, and the deeper you looked, the more delicious the smell got. The mist flickered like a flame, and you wondered if the mist was a result of his skin burning.

His other hand grabbed a wrist you hadn’t realized you’d stretched out towards the mist, and he pulled you towards the other side of his body as he closed his palm and forced the mist away, his hand turning back to normal.

His eyes shifted as he looked at you, his expression one of confusion. You could only stand there and gape at him. You couldn’t wrap your mind around what had happened. It was as if you had been in a trance, and as he put the mist away, you felt almost sad. Maybe you really had gone crazy, like he said you had.

He turned his body to face you, his hands on your upper arms as he leaned down towards your face. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your heartbeat picking up. Was he going to eat you?

“What did it smell like?” He asked, almost carefully, which didn’t fit his image at all. You frowned at the question. Why did it matter what it smelled like?

“Uhm… like a few things,” you said, uncertain. “A few things that have absolutely nothing to do with each other.”

“What things?” He asked, more urgent.

“Caramel,” you whispered. “And the forest. And leather.”

He leaned back, and you watched as his eyes flickered all over your form. You swallowed, instinctively taking a step away from him. His eyes narrowed, and the intense look in his eyes returned. He was quiet for a while, and you didn’t dare move. You felt like a prey under his dangerous gaze. His dark t-shirt was tight around his firm muscles, and you swallowed, thinking about all the awful things he could do to you.

“Y/N,” he whispers your name carefully, as if it was a prayer, and it knocked the wind out of you. Your mind began spinning, and all you could hear was his deep voice calling your name. You desperately looked up at him through your dazed vision. It felt like you were flying on clouds and being held down to the ground by bolts, bth at the same time.

You tried speaking, but your lips just parted, no sound leaving them.

“I know,” he whispered, as he took a few steps closer to you. You were frozen in your place, your skin tingling. His hands reached out, slowly, as if to not scare you, and rested on your upper arms. Your whole body practically vibrated at his touch, a shudder running down your spine and some of the tingling under your skin disappeared. You frowned, staring up at him, hoping he could give you an explanation. You mind was blank.

He hummed, slowly letting his hands run down your arms. You stood there in wonder, amazed at how his touch seemed to make the heavy feeling lift. Though, if it was him who initially made you feel weird, then maybe it wasn’t so strange.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, pulling you into his chest in an embrace and your hands automatically rested on his waist. You wondered what he was sorry about, but the softness you felt inside was occupying your mind. It was strange – you’d met this man, this demon; he’d spoken a few words to you and taken you to what you presumed was his home. He… he owned you. He looked every bit a demon, all but the sharp teeth and claws. His deep voice, his heavy presence, his intense stare, his magic. Yet you didn’t really mind being in that apartment with him.

–

The next few days were strange, to put it mildly. He would often scare the bejesus out of you by appearing right in front of you or engulfing the whole living room in shadow as he entered, his eyes glowing bright red. The sight scared you so bad you had to run straight to the bathroom to not pee yourself. He used every predatorial bone in his body, sneaking up on your from behind and pinching your waist. You’d scream. Each and every time.

He took you out to fancy restaurants for dinner. You’d wake up and find expensive gift bags waiting for you in the kitchen, though he claimed it was all to make you look the part. He constantly asked what you wanted of certain things, and what you liked, though never straight out. It was always like a guessing game. He was mysterious, and nothing could ever be simple. You felt like he was somewhat doing the most to make you feel like living with him wasn’t a prison sentence. You didn’t feel like that, however, you had quite a lot of questions on your mind. There were quite a few you didn’t dare ask, for example: why did your chest feel so heavy and your skin so cold, until he touched you? What had he done to you? Had he done it on purpose? He had apologized for something; you just didn’t know what.

He’d sneakily began sleeping in your bed, slipping in behind you when you were deeply asleep, draping a heavy arm over your waist. You’d groggily mumble incoherent protests, feeling his presence, but too tired to try to move him away. He was warm, and he fit very nicely against your back. You let him stay.

“Are you going to tell me your name?” You pried, following him around the big apartment as he typed away on his phone. He didn’t answer you, so you asked again. This had become a sort of daily ritual. You’d asked him the first day, but all he’d said was: “Did your parents tell you nothing of my kind?” It had you so curious you could burst.

“Can you tell me something?” You asked, growing bored of not knowing anything about him. He leant against the kitchen counter, his eyes glancing up at you. The stare was a warning to leave it be. You didn’t care, you wanted to know. It wasn’t fair.

You narrowed your eyes and moved to sit on the counter opposite of him, on the other side of the kitchen, as he went back to texting. Maybe you could use something as leverage? He seemed to like sleeping in your bed. A smile crept over your lips, but you tried your best to conceal it.

“If you don’t tell me something, I won’t let you sleep in my bed anymore,” you said, trying to keep your voice even. His eyes locked on yours, his stare was dark. Intense. Had you broken through? In the blink of an eye, he was in front of you, his chest pressed against yours. A surprised yelp left your lips.

His eyes slowly roamed over your face, his lips tipping up in the slightest smirk. You felt your stomach flip at the sight of it. Your breath hitched in your throat as he leaned in even further, his nose nudging against yours. Your mind was going haywire, wondering what his next move was. You waited for him to scare you in some way, fully aware of how much he liked seeing you scared. You thought, though hoped against, that he might use his magic on you.

What you had not expected, was for his lips to brush against yours. The touch sent shivers down your spine, and you had an urge to lean in a press your lips to his, fully. You didn’t.

It seemed like he had trouble restraining himself, but he did. He backed off and disappeared right in front of your eyes. You sighed, your hand reaching up to cover your hard beating heart. You couldn’t deny his beauty, and you couldn’t say you didn’t like his sense of humor, and his way of speaking to you – even if he was mysterious. Did you have feelings for him? You had feelings for his looks, that you could agree with yourself on, but for him? You didn’t know him.

You knew he worked a lot. Exactly what he did, you didn’t know, but he worked a lot. And when he wasn’t working, he was around you, but always had his phone within reach. He’d often be busy working, even when home. He was fancy when it came to, well, everything. He would stare at you until you cleaned up your cereal bowl, even if you weren’t even finished yet. He was very touchy, very ‘hands on’. It was unsettling at first, not being used to it, but when you live with someone, no matter the conditions, you sort of get used to their ways.

When he was annoyed, which was quite often, though rarely towards you, his eyes glowed red and he unbuttoned a few buttons on his shirt. The day prior, he had actually ripped it apart on “accident”, and you had been caught staring at his chest. He teased you the whole day, though you could never be sure if he was really teasing or serious – his eyes were always intense, and his body language didn’t change between the two.

He was ripped. Like, really ripped. You’d seen him shirtless several times over the last few days; you’d even seen him naked. He seemed to prefer walking around naked, and though it made you feel profusely uncomfortable, you couldn’t deny it was a pleasure to look at the muscles in his back move as his arms lifted, and the biceps curled and tightened as he held the phone to his ear. The main question on your mind was: why?

Why had he been interested in ‘buying’ you?

Why was he being so nice and taking care of you?

Why did he not want to reveal who he was to you? Other than his nature.

You weren’t ungrateful for his caregiving, though you had to wonder why he was caring towards you. You had seen how easily irritated he got; how driven he was by his primal instincts. How easy it was to push his buttons, though you tried your hardest to avoid doing that.

A part of you hoped he was interested beyond the deal he had with your parents. That a man like him, a demon; dark and cruel, more beautiful than any angel you could imagine, was interested in you. Plain old Y/N. You didn’t have a low self esteem per say, though you knew you weren’t the best at most things. Looks wise as well, though you didn’t think you were ugly. You just… reality was that compared to a lot of people on this man’s level, you weren’t even considered pretty.

You laid awake in your bed that evening, still thinking about the kiss. It was a kiss; you had decided it was. It was your first kiss with him. After your rapidly beating heart had calmed, your senses were overflowed by that same sensation as whenever he left you alone. The air was so cold on your skin, there was an uneasy feeling in your stomach, and you just didn’t feel right.

The mattress dipped, with no warning, and your body jolted slightly in surprise, though you didn’t move. His hand slid over your waist, and under your hip, taking a hold of you and spinning you around. A gasp left your throat at the sudden movement, and your hands gripped onto his chest for support. You stared up at him in shock.

He was laying on his side, head propped up on his hand, looking at you with those dark eyes and you were about to say something clever when you noticed his eyes weren’t the same. They were telling you something different.

His hand slid across your torso, slowly and gently, easing off the pressure in your chest; the horrible cold feeling. How did he have this sort of effect on you? You couldn’t get a grasp of it.

“What’s happening to me?” You whispered, your voice laced with fear, though your tried to hold it even. He didn’t answer. He leant down and nudged his nose against yours. You felt his breath fan over you face, and you bit your lip. You wanted to be closer. You had such an urge to hold onto him and push your body against his, it almost hurt to hold yourself back. You had to close your eyes, your body tingling with longing.

“Look at me,” he whispered, and you couldn’t even control your own movements as your eyes snapped open, looking up at him as if he might be the answer you were looking for.

“Do you trust me?” he mumbled; his voice low. The question caught you of guard. You hadn’t thought about that. Did you trust him? He had kept you safe, for now, at least. He hadn’t acted like the monster he probably could be around you - or, not that much at least. When you pondered over his question, you came to realize that yes, you did trust him.

“Yes, I think I do,” you whispered, feeling incredibly stupid but also hopeful.

His eyes shimmered red at your words, though not the angry, fearsome red. They held primal instinct, sure, but not for killing. His fingers tightened their hold on your waist.

“My name… is Jungkook.”

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #demon!jungkook #bts imagine #jungkook imagines #bts #bts x reader #demon!au #bts imagines #bts reader insert #jungkook x y/n #wian

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bffsoobin · 4 years

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Windflower

01|02|03|04|05|06

↳ after a heartbreak you find yourself in a small town looking for purpose. you find employment with Choi Soobin and his impressive ancestral home. when you start to fall in love again, there’s no way for you to predict what you find in the depths of the home and Soobin’s mind.

➤ hanahaki au, fluff, angst

Warnings: probably some swearing, lowkey boring plot(still world and character building), awkwardness

Word Count: 1,537

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

Wooden floors groaned underneath your feet as Soobin guided you into his home. A cooling rush of air conditioning almost distracted you from the floor to ceiling windows that occupied a whole wall in the living room. A full view of the beautiful garden stood on display, the flowers merging together as if they were living and breathing as one. Soobin must have noticed your wonder but chose not to comment, simply waiting behind you as you marveled. You could see your own reflection in the glass, and you thought for a moment you could see him watching you with a grin on his face behind you. Admonishing yourself for thinking he was staring at you, you turned away from the impressive garden and smiled politely.

Soobin showed you the kitchen and dining room- a few dishes and open packages of snacks on the counters giving away the relatively young age of your new employer. He toured you through the library where mahogany bookshelves built into the wall were overflowing with books. Even more plants dotted the space, succulents and indoor climbing plants hanging from the ceiling, and sitting on almost every free space. Your wrist began to hurt thinking of all the plant watering you had signed yourself up for. Soobin enthused about every room in the hulking home, running his veined hands on the walls and stopping to point at various photos of his relatives. After your extensive tour of the estate, your head was spinning with all of the information he had just thrown your way.

“So this would be your room,” he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s not really decorated or anything, but there’s a store in town you can go to.” The room before you was bigger than your old kitchen and living room combined, and it included an ensuite bathroom with a beautiful marble bathtub. A thin layer of dust laid on the counter by the sink, but it was nothing a quick clean couldn’t fix. Soobin remained nervously leaning on the doorway as you explored. The bedroom was fairly barren in the way that it only held basic furniture and there were no decorations on the walls- but the sheets on the bed were clean and soft under your fingertips. A bay window with a cushioned seat overlooked the sprawling garden and let in filtered sunlight. When you looked back at Soobin, he was picking at the skin on his fingers and worrying his plump lower lip between his teeth.

“Soobin,” you began, watching the way his eyes widened adorably at the mention of his name; there was no way to fight the fluttering in your chest. “This is great, thank you.” You caught a glimpse of his dimpled grin as he turned around to leave the room. Idly, you remembered all of your belongings packed into your car. “Hey, can you uh...if I park my car inside the gates, would you be able to help me bring my stuff up?” You hated the amount of giddiness that rose in your voice at the thought of him helping you. Soobin nodded enthusiastically, standing aside so that you could lead the way out to your car.

Once you were parked on the property, you opened all of the doors to your car and began to gather up everything you had thrown into your car. Flashes of the pain that possessed you to leave everything behind played in your mind. You faltered as you turned away from the car with an armful of loose belongings. Thankfully, Soobin’s reflexes were fast enough to catch you before your face made contact with the grass below you. A surprised gasp left your mouth as you felt his strong arms wrapped around your waist to hold you steady. Your forehead collided with the firm plane of his chest and your heart swelled at his scent this close. His gaze didn’t leave yours as you made eye contact and you took the seconds to marvel at just how deep and beautiful they looked under his hooded lids.

“You have to be careful, bub,” you flushed at the nickname and pretended he didn’t notice despite the tiny smirk on his lips. His arms remained around your waist as the two of you tried to restart your brains and detach from one another. As soon as he let go, you rushed to pick up the items you had dropped on the ground and scurried back up to your room. Soobin lending a helping hand made short work of unloading your car, and you were able to begin unpacking into your new bedroom. Your new boss and housemate had hung around until you convinced him that you could unpack your things on your own.

In the middle of your unpacking, you realized just how grimy you had become since rolling into town. The grand bathtub called your name and you decided that you could do for a luxurious bath. As the tub filled with water, you made sure to close the door to your room before you stripped out of your clothes. Offhandedly, you recalled the location of the laundry room as you dropped your garments in a pile on the floor. Your favorite playlist rung through the air as water splashed against the marble tub until you deemed it full enough. Without the extra noise, your music dominated the atmosphere as you took to cleaning yourself up. Bubbles floated on the surface of the water as you indulged in using your lavender shampoo and conditioner followed by your favorite vanilla scented body wash. You even used the razor you had perched on the side of the tub while unpacking earlier and shaved your legs for the first time since you uprooted your life. As the water turned cold, you stood up to exit the tub and soon realized your grave mistake. You didn’t have a towel. It’s okay, you thought; you definitely had some packed in your belongings in the bedroom. Carefully, you stepped out of the bathroom and waddled to your bedroom. Goosebumps raised on your skin as you located the pile of folded towels on the ground beside your bed. With the fluffy material wrapped around you, you bent over to rummage through the drawers. Since you couldn’t remember which drawer held which type of clothing, you had to rummage through several spots before you finally located a bra and underwear you could put on. With the garments in hand, you turned around to head back in the bathroom and gasped at what you saw.

The door was wide open and Soobin stood in the space, mouth gaping open at your state. A shriek ripped from your throat before you could contain it, making him jump in his spot as you scrambled to toss your lacy underwear out of your hand. Soobin was sputtering, eyes locked on the offensive garment as it landed messily on the bed.

“Soobin!” you yelled his name, brain trying and failing to think of the right response to his startling presence. His face was beet red and he was fidgety, mouth hanging open; akin to the look of a small child being found out for breaking their mom’s vase. “Close your mouth and get out!” pure adrenaline pumped through your veins as you yelled at the man. He squeaked and jumped to the side, moving out of the doorway and leaving you to bathe in embarrassment alone. “At least close the door, genius!” The heavy wood door shutting rang in your ears as you started to change. Your hands were shaking as you picked up the underwear Soobin had been eyeing so critically. It hung off of your pinkie as you examined it as if you were trying to decipher if putting on the light blue lace was poisonous. The look on his face was etched in your mind as you dressed completely and stalked to the bathroom to brush through your hair. A knock sounded on your door.

“Y/N?” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Are you...can I come in?” A smile crept onto your face at the sheepish tone in his voice. How was he so damn charming?

“Yeah, you can come in.” The doorknob turned and the atmosphere in the room shifted as soon as he spotted your now fully clothed form.

“Look, I’m so sorry. I just came up to ask you about dinner and you were-” the words seemed to get caught in his throat. You contemplated for a minute; as you could play this one of two ways. One, you could yell at him for just busting into your room unannounced and staring like an idiot until you yelled. Two, you could take advantage of his flustered and apologetic form to build your relationship. It only took a few seconds for you to decide on the latter. Soobin stood frozen as you approached him with a smile. You placed a hand on one of his crossed arms and hoped he couldn’t feel that your palms were clammy.

“It’s okay, Soobin. You didn’t know. I forgive and forget, especially since we have to live together. Now what did you say about dinner?”

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daenerys-targaryen-moved · 4 years

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did dany stark liking drogo cause she was like fuck it i dont have a choice? does she talk about it in the books?

I assume you meant “did daenerys start liking drogo because she was like fuck it I don’t have a choice?” Because there is no dany stark in relation to drogo haha.

So, firstly, I want to take a look at Daenerys and her relationship with Viserys.

Viserys fled Dragonstone with his newborn sister after his mother died on the birthing bed. Mother dead, father dead, brother dead, nieces and nephews dead. They were alone in the world. Growing up, Daenerys always and only had her brother. She always expected to marry her brother and continue the Targaryen line through any child they would have.

This is important when dissecting Daenerys and her relationship to Drogo.

Dany’s relationship and her thoughts on Drogo reflect her upbringing and expectations of marriage from Viserys. She believed she would marry her abusive brother, he would be cruel and love wouldn’t factor in it. Drogo’s behavior is what marriage meets her expectations and when it improves, to her it’s love.

This is interesting to me because I can actually relate to this on a personal level. My mother is one of the strongest people I know. Her father, my grandfather, was an abusive alcoholic, but when he was sober he was the only one who took time to care for her and didn’t ignore her. There were times when he would beat her unconscious, but because there were times when he was a kind and loving father when sober, my mother took his as what love means. My mother has her first real romantic relationship, and guess what, he is also very abusive towards her, blamed her for it, but then turned around and told her he loved her. She’s told me that she indeed thought that this was what love was, up until she had her own children and realized that no, that’s not what love is.

Viserys is extremely abusive towards his sister.

Visery’s fingers brushed lightly over her budding breasts and tightened on a nipple. “You will not fail me tonight [referring to bedding Drogo]. If you do, it will go hard for you. You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?” His fingers twisted her, the pinch cruelly hard through the rough fabric of her tunic. “Do you?” he repeated.’

“With Khal Drogo’s army, that is how we go home. And if you must wed him and bed him for that, you will.” [Viserys] smiled at her. “I’d let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all forty thousand men, and their horses too if that was what it took to get my army.”

Dany pulled the lion pelt tighter about her shoulders. “Viserys said once that it was my fault, for being born too late.” She had denied it hotly, she remembered, going so far as to tell Viserys that it was his fault for not being born a girl. He beat her cruelly for that insolence. - Daenerys IV ASOS

Viserys resented Daenerys for the crime of being born because it resulted in the death of his mother even though she had no control over this. He was verbally and physically abusive towards her, warns her not to “wake the dragon” [classic manipulative abuse behavior in which the victim is made to believe it is their fault for inciting the rage of the aggressor and the abuse. “Look what you made me do.” Viserys tries to take Daenerys’ virginity before she’s married off to Drogo, Illyrio has to put guards outside her room to stop her own brother from raping her at the age of 13.

So, by this, we see that Viserys is extremely abusive towards his sister. Daenerys is made to feel like it’s her fault that he’s abusing her, “You’ve done it now! You woke the dragon!” He physically, emotionally and sexually abuses her as well. The reason I’m bringing Viserys up is because by Daenerys having no one else in the world but her abusive brother who she believed herself to eventually marry, she believes this abuse to be a form of love.

Daenerys is nothing but a child when she’s sold to Drogo. He terrifies her. She’s more scared of him than she has ever been of Viserys, a person who abused her and beat her most of her life.

Dany wanted to run and hide, but her brother was looking at her, and if she displeased him she knew she would wake the dragon. Anxiously, she turned and looked at the man Viserys hoped would ask to wed her before the night was done. - Daenerys i, AGoT

Dany looked at Khal Drogo. His face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as onyx. Her brother hurt her sometimes, when she woke the dragon, but he did not frighten her the way this man frightened her. “I don’t want to be his queen,” she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. “Please, please, Viserys, I don’t want to, I want to go home.”

[…]

Dany had only meant their rooms in Illyrio’s estate, no true home surely, though all they had, but her brother did not want to hear that. There was no home there for him. Even the big house with the red door had not been home for him. His fingers dug hard into her arm, demanding an answer. “I don’t know … ” she said at last, her voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes.

“I do,” he said sharply. “We go home with an army, sweet sister. With Khal Drogo’s army, that is how we go home. And if you must wed him and bed him for that, you will.” He smiled at her. “I’d let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all forty thousand men, and their horses too if that was what it took to get my army. Be grateful it is only Drogo. In time you may even learn to like him. Now dry your eyes. Illyrio is bringing him over, and he will not see you crying.”

Dany turned and saw that it was true. Magister Illyrio, all smiles and bows, was escorting Khal Drogo over to where they stood. She brushed away unfallen tears with the back of her hand.

“Smile,” Viserys whispered nervously, his hand failing to the hilt of his sword. “And stand up straight. Let him see that you have breasts. Gods know, you have little enough as is.” Daenerys smiled, and stood up straight. - Daenerys i, AGoT

The entirety of her wedding feast, she’s dreading what’s to come at the ceremony and consummation.

Daenerys Targaryen wed Khal Drogo with fear and barbaric splendor in a field beyond the walls of Pentos, for the Dothraki believed that all things of importance in a man’s life must be done beneath the open sky. - Daenerys ii, AGoT

Viserys was hitting her, hurting her. She was naked, clumsy with fear. She ran from him, but her body seemed thick and ungainly. He struck her again. She stumbled and fell. “You woke the dragon,” he screamed as he kicked her. “You woke the dragon, you woke the dragon.” Her thighs were slick with blood. She closed her eyes and whimpered. As if in answer, there was a hideous ripping sound and the crackling of some great fire. When she looked again, Viserys was gone, great columns of flame rose all around, and in the midst of them was the dragon. It turned its great head slowly. When its molten eyes found hers, she woke, shaking and covered with a fine sheen of sweat. She had never been so afraid … … until the day of her wedding came at last. - Daenerys ii, AGoT

Dany had never felt so alone as she did seated in the midst of that vast horde. Her brother had told her to smile, and so she smiled until her face ached and the tears came unbidden to her eyes. She did her best to hide them, knowing how angry Viserys would be if he saw her crying, terrified of how Khal Drogo might react. Food was brought to her, steaming joints of meat and thick black sausages and Dothraki blood pies, and later fruits and sweetgrass stews and delicate pastries from the kitchens of Pentos, but she waved it all away. Her stomach was a roil, and she knew she could keep none of it down. There was no one to talk to. Khal Drogo shouted commands and jests down to his bloodriders, and laughed at their replies, but he scarcely glanced at Dany beside him. They had no common language. Dothraki was incomprehensible to her, and the khal knew only a few words of the bastard Valyrian of the Free Cities, and none at all of the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms. She would even have welcomed the conversation of Illyrio and her brother, but they were too far below to hear her. So she sat in her wedding silks, nursing a cup of honeyed wine, afraid to eat, talking silently to herself. I am blood of the dragon, she told herself. I am Daenerys Stormborn, Princess of Dragonstone, of the blood and seed of Aegon the Conqueror. - Daenerys ii, AGoT

As the hours passed, the terror grew in Dany, until it was all she could do not to scream. She was afraid of the Dothraki, whose ways seemed alien and monstrous, as if they were beasts in human skins and not true men at all. She was afraid of her brother, of what he might do if she failed him. Most of all, she was afraid of what would happen tonight under the stars, when her brother gave her up to the hulking giant who sat drinking beside her with a face as still and cruel as a bronze mask. I am the blood of the dragon, she told herself again. When at last the sun was low in the sky, Khal Drogo clapped his hands together, and the drums and the shouting and feasting came to a sudden halt. Drogo stood and pulled Dany to her feet beside him. It was time for her bride gifts. And after the gifts, she knew, after the sun had gone down, it would be time for the first ride and the consummation of her marriage. Dany tried to put the thought aside, but it would not leave her. She hugged herself to try to keep from shaking. - Daenerys ii, AGoT

The last sliver of sun vanished behind the high walls of Pentos to the west just then. Dany had lost all track of time. Khal Drogo commanded his bloodriders to bring forth his own horse, a lean red stallion. As the khal was saddling the horse, Viserys slid close to Dany on her silver, dug his fingers into her leg, and said, “Please him, sweet sister, or I swear, you will see the dragon wake as it has never woken before.” The fear came back to her then, with her brother’s words. She felt like a child once more, only thirteen and all alone, not ready for what was about to happen to her. - Daenerys ii, AGoT

As you can clearly read, Daenerys has absolutely no wish to marry this man or be anywhere near him for that matter. He terrifies her more than her brother ever has. She knows she’s being sold, she knows she will be nothing more than a glorified slave. GRRM paints that picture clearly for us and Daenerys as the slaves speak about how Drogo is so rich that even his slaves have golden chains, just as they slip a golden collar around her neck. This makes it crystal clear to the audience that Daenerys is being sold and will be nothing more than a glorified slave to this man.

Women have very complicated and complex relationships with anyone who’s abused them, but especially with husbands or brothers who’ve abused them as well. Being an abuse or domestic violence abuser is really, really, really confusing and terrifying and traumatizing because we feel the need to feel sorry for our abusers or stay with them out of fear or a feeling of obligation.

For Dany, she clearly recognizes that Viserys was cruel, weak, and mad in the end, yet she continues to feel guilt and remorse for him after his death. She often thinks back to her childhood with him when he wasn’t abusive, when he was all she had in the world, and feels deep remorse for his death. She names her dragon after him, believing that Viserion will be what her brother was not. She sees him in visions and in dreams. She recognizes that he abused and hurt her, but he was still her brother, and she still loved him and often thinks back to the times they had when he wasn’t abusive, when he was all she had.

Dany develops Stockholm Syndrome with Drogo in order to survive being a child bride sold to a man twice her age who violently sexually abusive towards her. She was extremely miserable early on in their marriage, was very lonely as she could only communicate with her brother, Jorah and the other bed slaves.

She cried herself to sleep each night and even considered killing herself to end the abuse she dealt with at the hands of her husband.

Even the nights brought no relief. Khal Drogo ignored her when they rode, even as he had ignored her during their wedding, and spent his evenings drinking with his warriors and bloodriders, racing his prize horses, watching women dance and men die. Dany had no place in these parts of his life. She was left to sup alone, or with Ser Jorah and her brother, and afterward to cry herself to sleep. Yet every night, some time before the dawn, Drogo would come to her tent and wake her in the dark, to ride her as relentlessly as he rode his stallion. He always took her from behind, Dothraki fashion, for which Dany was grateful; that way her lord husband could not see the tears that wet her face, and she could use her pillow to muffle her cries of pain. When he was done, he would close his eyes and begin to snore softly and Dany would lie beside him, her body bruised and sore, hurting too much for sleep. Day followed day, and night followed night, until Dany knew she could not endure a moment longer. She would kill herself rather than go on, she decided one night … - Daenerys ii, AGoT

She slowly adapted to Dothraki culture, began to learn their language and customs and traditions began to love her Khalasar and in turn they began to love and respect her. Because she became Khaleesi and adapted to the Dothraki so, she was no longer isolated with just Viserys as company, so she began to feel more empowered in her role and as a person with authority outside her brothers thumb. In reality, she was just transferred from one abuser to another, and her “love” for Drogo is the “love” a child bride who has no power, no agency, and no autonomy grows to feel something for her abuser and her captive. It does not minimize or justify what Drogo did to her, and it does not mean that her “love” for him is healthy. Doreah, a bed slave hired to show Daenerys the art of ‘love making’, has to convince Daenerys into taking this itiative in the bed and Daenerys then trains her husband not to rape her so that she’s not abused. It’s a coerced form of “love” in order to survive an awful situation, hence the Stockholm Syndrome. I also believe that Daenerys began to feel something for him once she carried his son, while a product of abuse, Daenerys loves her unborn child and loves that Drogo begins to treat her better because she’s carrying his son. While she did gain respect and earn power herself as his Khaleesi, she did had less power and authority than him even as he took his last breaths. A relationship like that is not and cannot truly be loving or healthy because it is built upon sexual abuse and an extremely toxic power imbalance.

At the end of the day, women, but especially teenage girls who have no power or choice in the world because of their circumstances, have very complex feelings about their abusers or assaulters. A lot of people don’t understand this because they believe that surviving abuse or rape follows a straight, direct path of recovery, but that’s not really how it works. It takes years, possibly a lifetime for an abuse victim to really accept that what they went through was in fact abuse. It takes years of therapy for abuse survivors to come through that fog. It takes years for abuse survivors to cope with that kind of trauma. The brain is an incredible, wonderful, magical machine, and will do just about anything to survive. That’s what stockholm syndrome is, it’s a protection the mind builds as a form of survival to keep the person alive. For some abused women, developing a feeling of quote on quote “love” is a way to cope with the misery of their situation, in other words a mean to survive. These are all manifestations of trauma, and for Daenerys, her manifestation of trauma was developing a twisted form of “love” in order to survive. To me, her mantra of “If I look back, I’m lost” as a way to keep going forward, because what’s behind her is nothing but abuse and suffering. At that point it was literally the only way she was staying alive because, as I said earlier, she really did want to kill herself early on. That’s how much she was truly suffering.

This is a mess and it’s all over the place and I’m not even sure if it’s coherent, but to answer your first question, Daenerys idea of what love is was already twisted before she was sold to Drogo. His abuse towards her is not something she’s unused to as she’s been abused by her brother her entire life. Once Drogo then starts treating her better, (which is problematic in itself because it was only after she took control in the bedroom to stop him from abusing her, and because she’s carrying his son), this only amplifies this morbid idea she has of what love is. Yes, her mind did say, I’m used to this, this is normal, and that’s where the stockholm syndrome takes place. She has no other choice but to “love” him, because she had no other choice but to love him to survive.

To answer your second question, Daenerys recognizes that she was sold, and she remembers what it feels like to be that scared little girl who had no power or choice over her life, abused by her brother and husband.

“Do you know what it is like to be sold, squire? I do. My brother sold me to khal drogo for the promise of a golden crown. well, drogo crowned him in gold, though not as he had wished, and I…my sun-and-stars made a queen of me, but if he had been a different man, it might have been much otherwise. Do you think I have forgotten how it felt to be afraid?”

But as you can read unfortunately, she still refers to him as her sun and stars. Daenerys speech in season seven was very very important to me, and many abuse victims all across the world. “I have been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing all those years in exile? Faith. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen.” That is Daenerys admitting that she was raped and abused by Drogo, only TWOW and ADOS will tell us if GRRM has Daenerys recognize that she was in the books as well.

#Anonymous #daenerys targaryen #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #abuse tw #rape tw #:((#this took me like 3 days to answer because i hate talking about it #she's so incredibly strong #:(#long post #my thots

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delicatekidathletefan · 4 years

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Geoffrey Bawa's work was mainly in Sri Lanka, but included several other countries as well: in India, Indonesia, Mauritius, Japan, Fiji, and Singapore. His works include houses, hotels, schools, clubs, offices and government buildings, most notably the Sri Lankan Parliament Building. It is no exaggeration to say that Geoffrey Bawa transformed the look of South and South-East Asia.

Strathspey Estate Bungalow, Upcott, 1959

Bishop’s College Classrooms, Colombo, 1959

Bawa’s early work included office buildings, factories and schools and was influenced by the ‘Tropical Modernism’ of Fry and Drew and ultimately by the work of le Corbusier. Typical of projects from this period are the remote Strathspey Tea Estate Bungalow at the foot of Adam’s Peak, and the classroom extension for Bishop’s College in Colombo.

Carmen Gunesekera House, Colombo, 1958Upali Wijewardene House, Colombo, 1959For more than a century Sri Lankan domestic architecture had been heavily influence by British taste.The typical British ‘bungalow’ was a pavilion on one or two floors, cellular in plan, extrovert in concept and located at the centre of a large garden plot. However the population of Sri Lanka was exploding and Colombo was rapidly evolving from leafy Garden City into modern Asian metropolis. As land prices rose so plot sizes shrank and the British bungalow could no longer guarantee privacy or provide adequate ventilation.The A.S.H de Silva House, 1959

Tropical Modernism favoured white abstract forms and horizontal rooflines, though Bawa was soon forced to admit that overhanging pitched roofs offered the best protection against tropical sun and rain. His first es

say in ‘roof architecture’ was a house for a doctor called A.S.H. de Silva which was commissioned for a steeply sloping site in Galle. Here the deconstructed elements were reassembled on an exploding pinwheel plan and held together by a single raking roof plane.

ENA DE SILVA HOUSE, 1960

Bawa was invited by Mrs.Ena de Silva to build a

house on a fairly small plot in the Colombo suburb of Cinnamon Gardens. She demanded a house which would be modern and open, but which would embody features of the traditional manor houses in which she had lived as a child. Bawa’s solution employed the same elements as the Galle house, but he now carved them out of a solid form. The result is a totally introspective house which emphasises the voids as much as the solids and which allows a free flow of space from inside to outside

THE POLONTALAWA ESTATE BUNGALOW, NIKARAWETIYA, 1963

In 1963 the director of a Swiss plantation company approached Bawa to design a new manager’s bungalow for a remote coconut estate at Polontalawa on the banks of the DeduruOya. Bawa and Plesner invited the client to accompany them on a site visit and persuaded him that the house should be inserted into an area of huge boulders and be developed as a cluster of pavilions with roofs spanning from rock to rock.

BUILDINGS FOR THE CATHOLIC CHURCH

Convent Chapel, Bandarawela, 1961

St. Bridget’s Montessori School, Colombo, 1963

Although not himself a Catholic, Bawa built a remarkable series of low-cost projects for the Catholic Church. The first of these, a Chapel for the Nuns of the Good Shepherd Convent in Bandarawela (1961), was the result of collaboration with Ulrik Plesner. The chapel sits on a ridge above the town and consists of a solid hulk of rubble masonry terminating in a square tower which acts as the skylight for the altar. The north side of the nave is fully glazed, its window frames forming the three crucifixes of the Calvary. The altar crucifix was designed by Laki Senanayake and the terra cotta Stations of the Cross by Barbara Sansoni.

THE YAHAPATH ENDERA FARM SCHOOL, HANWELLA, 1965

The Yahapath Endera Farm School was built for orphan girls on a rubber and coconut estate about 30 kilometers to the east of Colombo. Bawa placed the various buildings on a formal orthogonal grid but they were allowed to ‘run with the contours’ in section. Individual buildings were positioned carefully to define open spaces and axes and to regulate the vistas between them.

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scifi4wifi · 5 years

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Stan and Joan

Joan Clayton with husband Stan Lee

{Photo by Rich Polk/Getty Images}

Stan Lee receives honors in Los Angeles on Stan Lee Day, September 28, 2016.

Stan Lee, the iconic creator and publisher of much of the Marvel Comics universe, has died. He was 95. He passed away while at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles early this morning.

Lee’s final few years were tumultuous. His wife Joan of 69 years died in July 2017. He sued executives at POW! Entertainment — a company he founded in 2001 to develop film, TV and video game properties — for $1 billion alleging fraud, then abruptly dropped the suit weeks later. He also sued his ex-business manager Keya Morgan and filed for a restraining order against him. (Lee’s estate is estimated to be worth as much as $70 million.) And in June 2018, it was revealed that the Los Angeles Police Department had been investigating reports of elder abuse against him.

On his own and through his work with frequent artist-writer collaborators Jack Kirby, Steve Ditko (who died in July) and others, Lee catapulted Marvel from a tiny venture into the world’s No. 1 publisher of comic books and, later, a multimedia giant.

In 2009, The Walt Disney Co. bought Marvel Entertainment for $4 billion, and most of the top-grossing superhero films of all time — led by Avengers: Infinity War’s $2.05 billion worldwide take earlier this year — have featured Marvel characters.

Lee’s fame and influence as the face and figurehead of Marvel, even in his nonagenarian years, remained considerable.

Born Stanley Martin Leiber, the boy was raised in New York City by his parents Celia and Jack in 1922. As a child, Lee discovered his love of stories and movies. When Lee was a teenager, he would spend his free-time writing and doing part-time work creating press releases or obituaries.

After Lee graduated, the budding writer began working as an assistant at Timely Comics, a pulp magazine and comic book division of the Martin Goodman’s company. At first, Lee’s job consisted of standard office work, but he slowly began to take on more work. The creator went from writing filler content to actual comics. Barring Lee’s time in the military, the writer spent his time creating at Timely Comics before a new era was ushered in during the 1960s.

With artist Jack Kirby, Lee launched the superhero team the Fantastic Four in 1961, and went on to create dozens of the most iconic heroes in comics, including Spider-Man, the X-Men, The Hulk, and Thor.

He rose to being Marvel Comics’ editor-in-chief in 1972, and used that position to put together some of the finest creative teams the world of comics has ever seen. His biggest talent seems to be putting people together who go on to create the amazing, the astounding, and the enthralling – and he’s still doing it.

Lee was Chairman Emeritus of Marvel, as well as a member of the Editorial Board of Marvel Comics.

“I used to think what I did was not very important,” he told the Chicago Tribune in April 2014. “People are building bridges and engaging in medical research, and here I was doing stories about fictional people who do extraordinary, crazy things and wear costumes. But I suppose I have come to realize that entertainment is not easily dismissed.”

It’s hard to overstate the importance of this man to comic books and the entertainment industry as a whole. He has created hundreds of our favorite characters, and written the archetypal stories that define the art of comics as it stands today.

And we will miss him. He was an inventor of superheroes, and in the end, in all the ways that count, became one himself. Well done, Stan. And thank you, from all of us.

-30-

Stan Lee Passes Away at Age 95 Stan Lee, the iconic creator and publisher of much of the Marvel Comics universe, has died. He was 95.

#comics #Marvel Comics #Marvel Studios #MCU #Stan Lee

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thotvengers · 6 years

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<p>Bruce walks into the the living room. It is 2012. Nat keeps looking at him as if he had 5 corndogs taped onto him. Thor eat poptart. "HOUSA GOIN GUYS" Thor stands, poptart crumbs fall from his beard. "hello friend I am doing well" Bruce stares at Thors poptart crumbs and spit all over his beard. Its fucking hot. "Well thats good" Banner looked very nice today thought Thor. "Come join us banner" "Whet" "Join us for breakfast" Thor bends over the table as he says it "What" "Food" says Thor. He’s getting worried "Why is tony trying to cut open clints stomach with a butter knife" "And why is steve shirtless" loki appears out of nowhere "whats up asshats i live in the avengers tower now also nobody move because of the election coming up please i don't want you to go" "He’s what" Thor turns around and kills tony "What the fuck is going on here on this day" loki eats popcorn from the sidelines tony dies. " straight rights ! " Bruce freezes. He said a bad word. Bruce is having a breakdown. He is crying. loki legally has to kill bruce now Thor makes out with banner And protects him lokis takes out a knife Thor takes it loki takes out popcorn "What the heck is going on" attempts to kill bruce with popcorn "Wh" "AAAAAAAA" "Loki stop I know it’s a knife" "you know exactly what's going on. you said a bad word and now your time of judgement has come." "What the fuck Loki" "oh, you know," "Please take me now." steve perked up. " no swearing on my christian minecraft server " Tony is revived. "Hey anyone else think loki is.... kinda hot" "No" says Thor Clint turns off his hearing aid. loki bends over seductively "like what u see" steve sweats " i'm catholic sir " "yeah? and i'm a god" "I thought u were going to kill banner and I" Tony licks him lips hungrily. "zoo wee mama" Nat is doing her morning yoga routine dont mind her. loki sighs and turns to thor "look i had a change of plans i'm on a tight-" he winks at tony "schedule" Nick Fury from the back "im tired of these motherfuckin avengers in this motherfuckin tower" steve suplexes nick. :) clint barton is making out with phil coulson for whatever reason Bruce is still crying. steve jealously suplexes clint too Thor laughs loki is breakdancing in the middle of the tower, very aggressively Loki took Bruces shirt to bully him. Bruce is shirtless. His tiddies are out. Tony is revived once again to argue with Steve then they make out Bruce is crying. steve is crying he suplexes tony loki laughs at everyone who is crying Clint is crying out of confusion steve tries to suplex loki while he cries harder "im a virgin" steve says running out steve fails steve dies loki laughs rip captain America, steve had mehtalosmaisniadjhjsa loki films it and puts it on youtube and he is entitled to compensation he didnt even get to apply for aarp :( bruce says " anyone want to suck my tiddies " Bruce hanging from the edge of the tower. Bitch gonna fall. loki raises his hand Thor and Clint say yes "Help me" "Ok" Says Thor "do u want me to suck ur tiddies while ur dangling or nah" "No dont suck my tiddies" Thor helps him up "Thank you hero" bruce dabs "bitch u just asked if i wanted to do so" "You want a sex (:" natasha offers to suck his tiddies "No" natasha is :/ loki physically puts more grease in his hair From where from his ass his ass Steves dick is out. Schlap loki hears a car pull up outside. "whos that" tony says. "our new " loki replies. i walk up the stairs confusedly. this is the story of how i was sold to loki only on wattpad loki is eyeballing that dick DKCNDKNCKDNVB Schlap Schlap y/n shivered. where was i ? whow ere the avengers ? why were their dicks out loki laughs and brings y/n inside the tower Loki cast a spell and made everyone in the tower naked. no its valid No y/n cries " who are you, ugly bitch " loki slaps y/n on the ass "how dare u speak to ur daddy like that" loki looks down at your big ol' bobbies and licks his lips "they didnt tell me you'd be so attractive, quim". y/n blushes angrily "Why are we all naked" Thor covers his ears while Clint covers his eyes cus he cant cover his ears cus he cant hear y/n tries to run but bumps into tony " please help me i don't want to fuck loki " There is several schlaps of dicks in the room and the several flops from nats tits. loki chases y/n with a rubber dildo while laughing loki makes y/n scrub his balls y/n cries " rubber gives me hives " Clint shoots Loki again y/n is sobbing more loki makes u listen to ball scrubbing asmr before u go to sleep suddenly ant man busts in even tho he wasnt an addition to the mcu yet: "1-800-ARE-YOU-SCHLAPPIN?" y/n pretends to sleep so loki will leave Thor kills Loki "Somebody fuck me Im ready to not be a virgin anymore" ant man gets tiny and climbs in steves ass loki like the dramatic gay bitch he is fakes his own death y/n is feeling so much pain because ............................................................................... she was actually in love with loki " i will miss u, ugly bitch " thanos bursts thru the tower doors "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHERFUCKERS" y/n smiles " please fuck me " Thor tosses lokis body out avengers tower loki comes back to life only to have his ribcage shattered by thanos instantly t hanos sees a very cute girl and gets shy and trys to hide his erection when he sees y/n bobbies Bruce already naked turns into hulk. "HULK WILL FUCK THANOS" y/n is bright red because she knows that prple daddy is staring at her b - b - b - boob Thor likes what He sees loki comes back once again from the dead to witness this t hanos has never bottomed before.... bottom for who Jesus No KXNCKDMFKV Wait Hulk takes Thanos and tries to fuck him. It doesnt work. dick too big loki makes thanos' asshole bigger so it can fit hulks dick Thanos punches Hulk and he turned back to Bruce. Thanos throws Bruce out the window. He is falling. "i guess that cute girl will just have to peg me now ;)" t hanos says Thor catches him y /n blushu blushued t hanos approaches y/n with his dick out " i - i've never done this before .................................................................... " y / n stuttered Steve gets in the way. "i'll be gentle" t hanos says "Y/n dont do this. Its a trap." t hanos shatters steves ribcage " why would you sya that !!! t hanos loves me !!! " Steve takes the risk and sacrifices himself for everyone. "Not In my Christian household" says Steve y / n cries and punches steve "don't listen to him he's lying" says t hanos He starts to suck Thanos Slurp Slrurrp Slrurirlrl0 Slruerlrle0 Sluuuuurp Shcluerp Shcjeleeu Shcleuepe t hanos blushes and moans y / n blushed again " i don't mind a threesome " Shxlueuuueerps Shxleueep Slurrrp Slcheullrlrulp Schlururup Shxlrurrrrruuup Shcluruueuuuuuurp Slurp Lick lick slruuuururp Slururjrrlrlr "jesus calm down i already blew my load 38 times now" I’m dying Blows rasberry Sluuurrp Sluuururirurp steve a thirsty bitch "hehe that tickles" "no" says t hanos as he rp fucks Steve blows into thanos'dick hole like a kazoo. Thanos dies. steve will make sure everyone in this house dies a virgin but him " NO !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Y/N SCREAMED t hanos dies Yeet " U DIDN'R EVEN GET TO PEG ME " Bruce is naked. this is how avengers 2 will go loki revives t hanos avengers 4... oop "Hey you guys want to all gang bang me" Thor fucks bruce " yes " "yes" says t hanos the avengers have an orgy except nat bc shes a lesbian" i've never eaten ass b4 " says y/n Nat is doing her yoga routine "its fun. let me show u" t hanos says to y/n "Im open for alliances" y / n blushes and touiches t hano's ass Clints Backup finally arrives t hanos spreads his cheeks hanos's bootyhole quivers Somebody is calling on the avengers phone. y / n extends the wet pink muscle in her mouth nervously Riiiiiing Rinnnnnng t hanos is already milking his own tiddies Clint leaves with Natasha with rats bites t Riiiiiiiiiiiing t hano's in the ass Natasha bangs darcy Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing "someone get the fucking phone i'm in the middle of something here" Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing " ah not there " Clint gets it "Hi! Its peter, is mr stark there?" Oh no whispers Clint "thats a child. i HATE children!" t hanos gets up and goes to kill peter Clint turns off his hearing aid again " i ate his ass dead " y / n "Im at the phone mr thanos sir" "hello child. i hate u." peter says "mr. thanos i don't feel too good" and evaporates "good." too late hes in the shadow realm " bye lol " AM He rescues peter and leaves Thor arrive. Naked. Hes very sexah. "now where were we" t hanos says and spread his cheeks again, open for business AM MEANWHILE IN THE SHADOW REALM everyone is dicks out Sam and bucky fucking the the dust realm. Ant man is dancing with his dick out. Drax and star lord are experimenting. with their assholes Lokis in bondage lowoki camera zooms in on bucky's face "at first i thought the dust world was hell but i love it here. thanks t hanos!" "it's free real estate" t hanos says bucky sighs " i love ur bald ass head sammy " "Then suck it fuckass" says sam "Suck my head hoe" Thanos arrives to the realm. "If you guys want to live then suck my toes" They all scatter like rats to his toes. Theyre all sucking them like cow utters PRESENT</p>

the end

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win-ter-wri-ter · 7 years

Text

1 - Regular Stuff [Pietro Maximoff]

Prologue | Next Part (TBP)

I was alone at the party. Yes, yuju, great.

That’s what happens when you always follow Natasha Romanoff closely. You know, because she's the only woman on the team, and because honestly, I loved spending time with the redhead.

I had noticed the look she had thrown at me just as Bruce approached our bar, and had fled as gracefully as I could. I only stumbled once with my own heels, and almost dropped the wineglass on top of my dress, but I was okay.

My white dress remained impeccable, and my pink shoes did not seem very dirty. Victory situation here.

At that time, I was being the asocial at the top of the loft, where Tony had put the second alcohol bar, and was enjoying the jazz music that sounded all over the place. Well, seen from my point of view, even being alone at that party, I was not having a bad time.

"Who do we have here?" I turned in alarm and jumped, the wine almost falling to the floor (or over my dress). I had not expected anyone to talk to me, but when I turned around, I was surprised to see Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers standing there. '' I thought you'd already cured yourself of the jumpscares, shouldn’t you be braver? '' Sam messed with me, and I did not judge him, apparently I was the laughing stock of many of the internal jokes on the team.

'' I thought you'd healed that ugly face you have. '' I defended myself with the little sass I had. Even if he was wittier than me (not difficult). Sam simply blinked a few seconds and pointed, laughing at me. '' How are you? Long time we don’t talk. ‘’

Sam came over and hugged me, and I, meanwhile, smiled at Steve, who shook his head, trying not to laugh at my previous comment. Sometimes I was funny and everything.

'' Well, I've been better, you know, I love to keep track of missing people. "

I nodded, eyes wide as I looked down the loft, looking at my other friends. Thor was talking to several veterans that Steve had brought, Tony and Rhodey talking animatedly beside the pool table. Dr. Cho had a champagne-occupied hand while Clint was talking to her with a grin on her side.

'' Romanoff and Banner? I've seen stranger things. ''

'' I know, right? They look so cute to me. '' The idiotic voice that came out made Sam look funny to me, and that Steve was standing on my other side, looking at the bar with a smile on his side. '' You're going to break the mission plans, you know, now Natasha will prefer to go with Hulk, not Barton. "

I laughed at myself.

"Or you can make them a weird trio. ''

"Or you could join too, and keep Clint company. '' I rolled my eyes and hit him on the muscled arm, laughing to myself again. Yep, funniest person ever right here.

'' No, Steve, she only joins in critical moments. " Sam explained in an idiot's voice, as if talking to a small child, and Steve looked at him, trying to look serious. And failing terribly.

'' Like, for example, looking for a decent place to live in Brooklyn. " I commented, gesturing to Steve with my thumb as I put on my glasses with my other hand. I had forgotten my new contact lenses on my car.

'' Oh, right, was there any luck? '' Sam asked Steve and me, and I simply shrugged my shoulders. With the amount of free time I had in my hands after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D, I had nothing better to do than actually go to class in college and try to graduate in two months.

"I do not think I can afford anything that Liberty shows me. '' Steve put his hand on my shoulder and I chuckled.

'' Nor can you afford my services as a real estate agent, so ... we are at peace. " And with that, I put my hand on both soldiers and started marching toward the bottom of the loft, trying to do a confident walk.

Well, fake confidence, because I doubted that the heels I wore were going to hold me for a long time.

So, I decided to sit and watch life go by, in one of the armchairs in the central area, with my wine glass almost untouched and my face uncomfortable.

Oh, I was living the moment. In fact, the people who were looking at me received a small gesture with the glass of wine and pursed lips, trying to be as social as I could.

Obviously, when that happened, everyone looked away quickly. Yes, I loved making people uncomfortable with my awkwardness.

I watched Natasha walk elegantly into my position, watching as Steve tackled Banner at Tony's main bar. The beloved bar full of alcohol that was always full. In fact, I had often marveled at the speed at which it filled up again after a public party.

Or privately.

Nat and I had already done a lot of slumber parties in the room Tony had given me, watching cheesy movies that I had not been able to enjoy throughout my teenage years. Neither did she.

"I love Steve, he's great when he wants to. '' Natasha dropped to my side and I turned to her with a smile on her side. '' But I swear to you, if he tries to be my wingman again, I will beat him. ''

"Do not take it into account, Steve just wants you to love each other, and get married and all that normative love, you know?" I paused as I raised an eyebrow and took a sip of the red wine I had on hand. "Because he was born at the beginning of the century and such. ''

'' Uh, you know how I handle the family issues. " She paused before finishing the drink she was carrying, then looked at me. '' Do you know what he said to Stark? Language! " I smiled as I put my hand to my mouth to keep from laughing.

'' We will torture him to the end of his days. " We both clashed hands and looked at the bar again. '' Look at him, he's cute. " But he was almost three times my age, and hanging out with someone who could be my grandfather was not my business. '' Although it's about a hundred years old, I do not think we would work, I'm too modern. ''

'' Touché. ‘’ Nat stood back and picked up one of the full glasses behind her, smelling it and carrying it to his mouth, sipping champagne.

"Oh, Nat, you do not know who drank from that glass. " I tried to remove it with a quick, futile hand movement, for she was too quick for me. Natasha just smiled, and I narrowed my eyes, closing my hand and taking it off with the use of ... "my situation."

"Did not you say you did not use your powers for anything that was not urgent?" Nat looked at my hand with the champagne, and I left it on the table in front of me.

'' Natasha, hygiene is an urgent issue. ''

#pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff imagine #pietro maximoff headcanons #pietro maximoff fanfiction

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cathcacen · 7 years

Text

This is like, supposed to be a drabble, but turned into a behemoth of a ficlet. Oops.

Lars is on a journey to find her brother, but gets sidetracked by a side quest.

What have I done? She’s seeing red, but self preservation takes hold, and they keep coming, one after the other, screaming for blood and murder. She breaks into a frenzy, not knowing, not caring, and eventually, they’re all laying on the floor around her. She lets out a sob and shuts her eyes, feeling the cold earth against the skin of her cheek where she’s collapsed. I should’ve said goodbye properly.

It’s been weeks since Skartara, and she’s been travelling from city to city, town to town in Khanduras, chasing rumours and news of a nomadic apothecary. She’s running low on funds by the time she gets to Duncraig, so when she’s offered a commission to retrieve the town lord’s daughter, she decides to take it up. She doesn’t know how she got caught up with the team of bounty hunters, opportunists, and so-called-heroes in the process, but she already wants out.

They’re somewhere on the road to Duncraig, and she’s since lost count of the smaller villages and holds they’ve passed since leaving Kingsport behind. She’d made it a point to stop at each, but none of the villagers have good news for her.

Eventually, the others raise the issue of her wasting time, and she snipes back that it had been part of the agreement, raised to, and sanctioned by their current benefactor lord, even. Personally, she’s not sure she knows why it’s necessary to send a band of eight to fetch a feisty sixteen-year-old, but then she remembers; a father’s over protectiveness rarely has boundaries.

Still, her constant stops put her and most of the others at odds, and they ride ahead in search of better towns and watering holes for ale and wine. Occasionally, she finds Naix, a bowman from Scosglen waiting for her to catch up, and they ride together for a distance before he heads off to scout the road ahead again. She doesn’t mind in the least.

The girl, Cecilie, is well-mannered enough, short for her age, but in possession of a flattering figure and a charming smile. She almost reminds her of Theone, with her self-assuredness and commanding tone of voice. Already, the young girl’s settled a dispute between two of her current company, a lesser noble from Kurast and one of the two hulking, muscle-bound mercenaries from Lut Gholein.

Lars has to admit it – she kind of likes the little lady.

“Okay, tell me about these people. How did you get caught up with them?”

She glances back at the young lady from the driver’s seat of the carriage. The others’ mounts were too small, too angry, or too unpredictable, so the task of drawing the carriage came to her sweet-tempered mare. Siggy whinnies softly, and she makes a soft, hushing sound, wishing she could pet the mare’s soft forehead. “Just a little bit more, girl. I know you’re not used to this.”

“Well?” Evidently impatient, Cecilie climbs over the front of her carriage, and settles with a loud thump on the seat beside her. “Come on, I know you hate them. You can barely look at them; hells, we’re so far away from them right now we might as well be travelling separately.”

“I don’t hate them,” Lars insists, but Cecilie is grinning knowingly at her. “You’re sharp for your age, aren’t you?”

“I have to take over my father’s estates someday, so I’ve a feeling I’m going to need my wits about me.” Cecilie leans back, folding her arms over her chest. “That’s if he doesn’t marry me off to some oaf wanting to take over my inheritance, anyway.”

“I’m sure he’ll have trouble trying.”

Cecilie laughs aloud at that, and Lars manages a wry smile. “You’re... Laori, right?”

“Mmhmm,” She jerks her head towards the path before them. “You remember any of the others?”

“Naix strikes me as the only other sane person in the group. The others seem like a bubbling pot of insanity, self-serving greed, and violence. Honestly, you’d think my father would’ve sent actual soldiers.” Cecilie glances aside at her. “No disrespect meant to you, I’m certain you’re a fair combatant.”

“What gave it away?” Lars arches a brow.

“You’re from Virkove, and you’re a Cethlion. There’s no way the famed General Cethlion would’ve let his daughter out in the world alone without making sure she could keep herself safe.” Cecilie pauses, then turns fully to look her straight in the eyes. “I’m sorry, by the by. We heard about his passing.”

She stares at the young girl. It hadn’t occurred to her that her father’s name would be commonplace so far from home. Then again, this girl had proven to be well-learnt. She made a mental note to use her mother’s name from now on – for an easier time in anonymity, she thinks. “Don’t worry about it,” She says. She doesn’t want to think about her father’s bones and ashes in the ground, so she opts to backtrack. “Your father couldn’t spare the men. Things are a little strange in the world right now, and we’re hearing rumours of demonic activity spurring a little. Your king recalled most of your father’s men to Westmarch, and the rest are needed to guard the city, in case anything happens.”

“Yes, I know.” Cecilie says. “You can’t favour your family’s needs above the needs of your people.”

She lets out a tired chuckle. “That sounds like something dad would’ve said.”

“Yours, and mine both.”

They continue northwards for a short while, content to maintain the comfortable silence. She can see Naix’s silhouette up ahead, and before him, she’s certain, is the mage from Ureh. So many names, and so many people I’ll be glad to never see again once this is over and done with.

“You didn’t answer my question, though. How did you get caught up with these people?” Cecilie’s voice pulls her from her reverie. “Does it have anything to do with this person you’re looking for?”

“My idiot brother, you mean?” She glances aside at the girl. “Yeah, I’m trying to find him. He’s not making it easy.”

“Where’ve you looked so far?”

“I started with Skartara,” She bites her lip. It wasn’t exactly fair – Skartara had been more of a holiday, and by the looks of it, Cecilie is well aware of that too. “Okay, I started by visiting Skartara to clear my mind.”

“I want to go to Skartara one day,” Cecilie sighs. “Where else?”

“Kingsport, Tristram, Bramwell... not in that order, of course.” She wonders how far she’s going to have to look, and makes a mental note to give Iliev a good shaking for her troubles. “I’ve established some connections in each town I visit, of course, so they’ll send ravens to my best friend’s home in Sharval if they have news. And if it comes to that, I’ll head east.”

Cecilie is quiet for a long moment, but her voice is thoughtful when she speaks. “You must really love your brother.”

She quirks a smile. That, and I really needed some time to myself.

The next few days pass in a similar fashion. She learns about Cecilie and her father, and hears the story of how her mother had died of infection some years ago. She’s told that Cecilie is an only child, and that she’s spent most of her childhood learning the politics of Khanduras, despite her father’s iron-clad rule that she never visit Westmarch as a courtier. She learns that the girl likes to sew, and that she has a soft spot for foxes and the little old woman who sells sweet buns in the market at Duncraig.

Lars tells her about the time her father had found two of Virkove’s most competent combatants arguing over Captain Haile’s purple pants, and they’re laughing about it when the first flare of gold and red brightens the twilight sky. It’s one of the mage’s, a sign they’d agreed upon for emergencies, so Lars knows something is wrong.

Her suspicions are immediately confirmed as Naix rides back towards them, dagger in hand and eyes widened in panic. “We’ve got company,” He says quickly as he cuts Siggy free of the carriage. “You two get on and ride; I’ll cover you.”

Cecilie climbs calmly onto Siggy, and she hops on behind the girl, gripping the mare’s reins. “The others?” She glances towards Naix.

“Holding them off. Go.”

She nudges Siggy, and the mare takes off through the brambles and bushes. Cecilie lets out a soft, panicked cry. “If they’re smart, they’ll have organised a blockade on the road,” She explains, as calmly as she can over the stomping of hooves. Thank you for everything you’ve taught me, Uncle Lear.

They’re tearing through a narrow hidden path when the first of Naix’s arrows whizz past them, and she lets out a faint yelp as the corpse crashes from the trees, causing Siggy to rear onto her hind legs. “Whoa, girl!” She glances up as the second arrow finds its target, and another drops. “Come on, go!”

More arrows are raining around them now, and she realises, horrified, that they’re aimed at her. She jams the reins into Cecilie’s hands and focuses her mental energies on the projectiles, but there are so many, and she has trouble slowing them all. She’s only just reaching out to divert an arrow from Siggy’s side when one pierces her own thigh. She doesn’t know how it happens, but by the time her mind stops reeling from the pain, she’s on the ground, and both horse and girl are gone.

There are figures all around her, and she’s struggling to find her bearings when the crude wood axe comes for her. In her state of panic, she dodges inelegantly, and the blade catches her on the shoulder, slicing through her cloak and shirt to draw blood. Her assailant lets out a triumphant cry, and that short opening allows her to barrel forward, knocking him to the ground. Before he has a chance to react, she’s wrested the axe from his hands and sliced through his throat.

Then her vision clears, and she realises he’s human.

The last thing she remembers is Naix’s boots in her line of vision, and the feel of warm hands lifting her up onto a horse.

It’s sunny when she wakes, and her entire body aches. Cecilie is seated beside her bed, and quickly assures her that they’re safe, and that Siggy is happy in the stables with good feed and equally good equine company.

“The others?”

Cecilie smiles wryly. “All safe. As it turns out, they’re quite reliable in battle.”

She’s fighting back a wave of nausea, but she has to know. “How many?”

Cecilie tenses a little, and her eyes take on a pitying cast. “Just the one. Turns out you knew enough even in the heat of it to, y’know... aim well. They’re going to be spending the rest of their lives in prison.”

The surge of vomit wins. She spends the next ten minutes heaving into a wooden bucket, Cecilie patting her back lightly.

“What happens to me?” She asks, the bile burning her throat.

Cecilie eyes her oddly. “Nothing. We don’t jail people for self preservation, and you’ve got a fairly good witness as proof of your innocence.” She puffs her chest out with pride. “My father’s grateful for your help in bringing his daughter home safely.”

She doesn’t want to talk about the guilt that eats at her, so she simply nods. I have blood on my hands. Gods, what have I done?

“One more thing,” Cecilie’s voice softens as she stands, evidently understanding her silent plea to be left alone.

She lifts her head a little, blinking back tears. “What is it?” Her voice comes out in an odd, strained croak. She hardly recognises it.

“You’ve got a visitor.”

She finally breaks down into a sob when she sees her visitor.

It’s Iliev.

#emmbot writes #laori cethlion #rp #raindrop pendants

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lysithealit-blog · 7 years

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My Father Was a Carpenter

by: LysitheaLit

My father died of a sudden heart attack early last year, and as his only living relative, I was left with the responsibility of settling the estate. This was not a responsibility I particularly wanted to absorb. My father and I hadn’t spoken in years and the last time we had, we weren’t on the best of terms. Even though he had raised me near-singlehandedly and I was obligated to love him, I didn’t.

My parents hadn’t an intention of a second child when I was born. I was eleven years younger than my brother, Jamieson, which caused not only a separation between he and I, but also between my parents and myself. They had already raised one child and hadn’t been interested in being bothered by another. Nevertheless, my mother tried to dote on me, to love me as she loved my brother. My father had not. While he often showed a genuine fondness for my brother, the only real shred of affection my father ever gave me was a pinch on the cheek and his signature phrase: ‘so pretty I could just eat you up.’ Other than that, he was always otherwise occupied.

My father was a carpenter by trade, and shortly before I was born he had taken to the basement workspace, often spending full days slaving away beneath our feet. None of us gave the noise much thought as it was constant, but it was heard all through the house; of course such an old place had impressive acoustics. It gave the house the sort of life it needed, the kind that us living inside it could never provide.

After my mother and Jamieson had left, the house had lost the last shred of vitality which it had once held within it. Any semblance we had had to a stable family prior to their fleeing was stripped from the home, and yet, the house was still full of noise. My father had still worked day in and day out, drowning his loneliness in coffee tables and bar stools in the basement, leaving me essentially forgotten upstairs.

I hadn’t set foot in that house since my eighteenth birthday when I had moved in with my boyfriend, now husband. He had offered the escape that I needed from my father, my house, and the ghosts of my past. Now, twelve years later, I had to face everything I had chosen to escape.

The house was the same as when I’d grown up in it: massive yet nearly empty, in the middle of town yet somehow secluded. That had always bothered me. Even when the house was inhabited it felt like a front for something else. The isolation was both real and metaphorical and this made the emotion building inside me difficult to pinpoint.

It was as if someone had encased the whole house in a snow globe. Every detail from the day I'd left remained unchanged, as if my father hadn’t ventured into the kitchen in the last twelve years. The reminders that I had written myself remained stuck to the fridge, and the dishes I had left behind still sat in the sink, now cased in a thick layer of blackened grime. The only other sign that any time had elapsed was the thick layer of dust covering every possible surface in sight, including the floor. The footprints I left in the dust were the only footprints the wood had seen in years. No one had been upstairs – at all – for as long, I realized. My father was a strange man, and while he would often both eat and sleep downstairs, even when our family had been whole, moving his entire life into the basement alcove struck me as extreme.

The only pieces of furniture that we ever had in the great room upstairs were the hulking box-spring couch, the glass-top dining table and chairs which stood in the centre of the room, and a stately grandfather clock that was poised as if to watch the sofa at all times. It had been passed down through the generations of my mother’s family and often supervised us when she wasn’t able. As I made my way through the vast expanse of nothingness in the house, I found myself studying each of these items and growing more cautious with each one. Growing up, I had never found it strange that my family possessed very little in the way of furniture. After all, a shoemaker’s son often goes without shoes, just to keep afloat. But now, stranding face to face with the barrenness in front of me, I felt uneasy. My father had made good money, so how was it possible that his house was so lacking in furniture?

I drew my name in the dust on the hall built-ins as I made my way towards the basement stairs. It was comforting to show some presence in the place. Without my father’s incessant banging from below, the house seemed dead inside. That was the only warmth given by my father other than his sporadic cheek pinching: the constant noise emitted from his work. Suddenly I found myself questioning the need to go down into the basement. Perhaps I should leave that part of my father’s life, his entire life, a secret. Privacy is necessary, even in death.

I had always seen the basement as my father’s locked office. Instead of expanses of bookshelves, expensive cigars, and secret phone numbers, though, he had had his own personal cavern at the bottom of the stairs. While he had never said it, it seemed as if he wished us away while he was working in solitude. Even my mother, his partner, was never seen making the trek downstairs. I had often wondered why, but as a child it seemed obvious, he was happier down there.

The thought left as quickly as it came. My father’s career was in that basement, manifested into cabinets, armoires, and bedframes. If nothing else, I could at least sell his remaining works. Whether out of sympathy for the outlandish old man, my own greed, or simply for the money to settle the estate, I do not know.

The staircase descending into the basement was also covered in an impressive layer of dust. Had my father really lived down here since I left? How could someone live underground for twelve years without any contact with other humans, any contact with natural light? How could someone be so engulfed in their career as to survive in only the sub terrain? As I descended, I remembered how my father had grieved for the loss of my mother and brother far greater than I’ve seen anyone grieve since. He loved them far more than he loved me, and so he threw himself into his work rather than into raising me, further initiating the process of estrangement. His production of wooden goods increased tenfold after my family was torn apart, and with me finally gone, he was free to dedicate his life to the basement.

Even in the June sunlight the workshop was dark. There no longer appeared to be a source of light in the main workshop, and because I had never been down there, I struggled to find the switch. While I walked through the dust and wood shavings I could make out various projects strewn about, all seemingly in various stages of completion. My father had been a hard-working man, and his space reflected this fact. There were easily fifty pieces filling the vast basement before me, though as I made my way through the maze, I found myself growing confused about the apparent lack of precision in my father’s organization. It felt as if the room bore a sense of disregard, rather than pride, much as I had when I was left neglected for the majority of my adolescence. There didn’t even seem to be any tools in sight.

As I shuffled through the remaining furniture I came across another room, or rather, a very large archway leading to another room. Pinned to the archway was my mother’s favourite sundress cut in such a way as to resemble a curtain. My father really had loved her, despite his lack of attention. He was the one that had watched her go – my brother too. She had packed up and left only two months after my brother had run away. It was difficult for him to lose his son – though clearly more devastating for my mother, as Jamieson’s departure was the catalyst for her own – but losing his wife was exponentially harder for him. Keeping her sundress around was a way to keep her around.

I entered the room slowly, curiously at first, but as I waded through continuous mountains of furniture, I felt my stomach drop as I came upon my father’s tools. There was no reason for this, but it was the same sinking feeling I had felt when I found out I’d have to come back to the house. I sat down on the concrete and attempted to clear my mind. There was no reason to feel agitated, I reasoned. It was only some chisels, a few hammers, and a saw, and yet, I couldn’t help but feel like I was intruding. This basement was my father’s entire life, especially after losing the two people who mattered to him, and here I was, pushing my way through like I owned the place. When this thought hit, some of the tension released from within me. I giggled audibly as I realized that I did, technically, own the place.

Despite my continued hesitation, I compelled myself to keep going, and found myself even scoffing at being unnerved in the first place. It was just an office, like anyone else’s father would have. Near the back, I came across another makeshift curtain – my brother’s bedsheet – this time concealing part of the same room. As I neared the fabric, I found myself growing angry. My father, the robot of a man that he was, had allowed mementos of his beloved wife and son into his sanctuary, but I was left to fend for myself above ground. I was the one that stuck around, the only person who hadn’t abandoned him. Instead, he had abandoned me. We had been strangers sharing a house, but within his own cave, he was surrounded by memories of closeness. As my anger built, I found myself fighting the urge to run back upstairs, back into the snow globe. At least I knew the snow globe; this was foreign. This was my father.

Against my better judgment, I pulled the sheet back. In front of me sat two lone items: a small coffee table and an even smaller stool. Unlike the other items in the basement, they sat perfectly upright, one next to the other. It was if they were daring me to come closer, but I questioned this. These were private items, in a private area of an already hostile workspace. Maybe I should just let them be, I reasoned, and leave the house to the lawyers. I knew we could salvage some of the works in the main room, and I could send someone else in to pick them out. I had fulfilled my duty.

Ultimately, however, I hadn’t fulfilled my duty. I was here to do my best to sell the house. The fact that this place – and my father – would soon be out of my life forever was only a perk. If these pieces were worth something, it would make my job a hell of a lot easier. Besides, I continued to reason as I approached the set, the longer I was here, the easier it would be to let go of my latent resentment of my father.

Not surprisingly, the furniture in front of me was stunning. Despite his character flaws, my father was an excellent carpenter. He had to be, what with all of his waking hours spent perfecting his technique. I danced my fingers along the edges of the table, momentarily forgetting my displeasure to admire the craftsmanship. The wood was pale and marbled, and any knots invisible, making it perfectly smooth to the touch.

That was, until, I felt a porous edge catch my fingernail on the back lip of the table. Wonderful, I thought, there goes the price tag. Dropping to my knees, I pushed my head forward to examine the imperfection. Initially, confusion floated across my mind when I came face to face with an epiphysis. That seemed like a strange artistic touch, even for my father. How would he have even achieved such an authentic texture?

I examined the rest of the table, intrigued by the unique design, until I came across another epiphysis, when my confusion quickly turned into a sobering understanding. Pushing myself to my feet, I scanned the stool to my right, this time hands off. Both the coffee table and stool were made fully of bone. All kinds of bones, everything except the skulls.

“Good God, dad,” I whispered, my stomach contents rapidly approaching my back teeth. I pressed my hand to my mouth before pushing myself to inspect further. I couldn’t leave now, not before I knew what had been going on beneath my feet while I was exiled upstairs.

I swallowed my lunch and took a few deep breaths. I owed this to myself. Slowly, I made my way back onto my knees. On the coffee table there was a minute inscription; my father always inscribed his work. Authenticity made it easier to sell.

Donna 29/11/94.

On the stool there was also an inscription.

Jamieson 16/09/94.

My skin began to blaze with anger, there was no holding it back this time. Wetness greeted my eyes and my heartbeat pounded in my ears. I had come back here to settle things, and now I was trapped in a web of nightmarishness uncertainty. My mother and brother sat before me, doctored into household items at the hands of my estranged caregiver. The only people connecting me to a potentially normal life had been posthumously violated by someone I had shared a roof with. A scream erupted from my throat like I had never heard before, guttural and drawn out, exhausting any of the rage flowing through my body. I wept there, on the floor, until my head ached with pressure and I had nothing left in me to release. It felt like days. Scattered memories of my mother and brother rushed through my mind, now tainted by the black tendrils of my father.

I laid on the floor, turning my back to the “furniture” and began to still my breathing. I should have known something was wrong. I was an intelligent young woman, even then. I should have treated the change in my father’s behaviour as a significant, rather than ignoring his oddities. But, I supposed, it’s difficult to call a difference in a subject when you don’t know their habits anyway. I closed my eyes and stewed in the guilt, settling into the silence.

And then, somehow, sympathy began to leak through the cracks of my pain. My father had lost everything he had held dear. He had felt betrayed. He had expected to be with them forever, to be loved by the one woman he could love. To be loved by the one child he wanted. I knew lost love all to well. It was perhaps the only thing which I could share with my father.

I rolled over and crawled towards the remains of my mother and brother. He had needed them there with him, missed them so much –

There were teeth marks on the bones. Once again, the contents of my stomach came bubbling up, but this time I couldn’t stop the flow. I vomited onto the floor in front of the bones twice before my vision cleared. He had needed them with him, forever, whatever the cost. I reached out and gingerly touched my mother, my brother.

My father was a carpenter by trade, and they were so pretty he could just eat them up.

#scary story #creepy story #unsettling #story #writers on tumblr #sixpenceee

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lavellansthree · 7 years

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Looking Back

((First things first, there are Trespasser spoilers in this, so if you haven’t played through the Trespasser dlc yet, don’t read it. This means you @rayrayinspace

Also, I’m really nervous about sharing this with you guys. I tried out a different writing style for reminiscing than I would normally do and I didn’t have anyone to proof it for me. So yeah…)) ___________________________________________________

Cole Lavellan looks back on everything that’s changed since the conclusion of the Exalted Council.

___________________________________________________

Kirkwall had, oddly enough, become Lavellan’s new home thanks to Varric. So much had changed after the Exalted Council, it almost made his head spin. Lavellan sighed heavily as he moved quietly through his estate in Kirkwall, a gift from Varric, his mind racing and body aching from the events of the passed six or so months. The sun had only just begun to rise when the red headed elf awoke to birdsong and soft sniffles.

With the decision to keep the Inquisition active as a peacekeeping force for Divine Victoria, things were set into motion. Leliana, while seated on her Sunburst throne, had worked in secret to have every last member and agent of the Inquisition investigated. Most that had come from Kirkwall or Orlais, had some tie to the Qun, which the elf had expected. They were quickly dismissed. All of the Elven servants and a majority of the Elven scouts had disappeared with Solas, so there was that.

After the thorough investigations, it was decided that Skyhold would be left to Cullen and his soldiers. The new Templar Order had a station there as well, thanks to the previous renovations. Cullen could act out orders from Lavellan and the Divine and set troop movements easily. He could also keep an eye out for any issues that could emerge from either Ferelden or Orlais. Of course, Kala had decided to stay with the commander as well. What better place than a fortress for a new family?

Lavellan smiled as he remembered giving his blessings to his sister and Cullen at their private and very impromptu wedding. He was elated that they had found peace and happiness with each other. He also couldn’t wait for his future niece or nephew to be born. That child would be spoiled and well loved, no doubt about that.

He ventured out of his room and down the low lit hallway, pulling a thin blanket over his shoulders. Things became a little difficult after he lost his arm. He never realized how many simple, everyday tasks required two hands. He shook his head as he continued down the hall, thinking of Kida now.

Before they had left Halamshiral, Lavellan had convinced Kida to go to Tevinter with Dorian. He could see the pain they felt at the idea of being separated and Lavellan couldn’t allow that. Kida had wanted to stay with his brother, help him adjust to his new found disability and Dorian couldn’t bring himself to ask otherwise. It took some time but Lavellan managed to convince his younger sibling that he would have all the support he’d need, that there was no reason for Kida to make himself unhappy. Besides, they were able to talk regularly thanks to the communication crystals Dorian requisitioned and Dorian would need his support in the immediate future.

He could feel the weight of the communication crystal around his neck, resting peacefully beside his half of the dragon’s tooth. He was amazed, after everything he had seen and done and even collected, that these two trinkets meant the world to him. Even brought him comfort when his spirits were low. Thinking of spirits made him look back at all the mercenaries he had worked with. Strong spirits.

The mercenary groups had been the last to be dealt with. The Inquisition had hired so many over the years and Lavellan couldn’t bring himself to just send them off. They had been the most loyal. A few had joined the Inquisition’s armies, forming shock troops and undercover groups. Something Cullen was thankful for. Others had simply taken the severance offered by the Elf and went on their ways.

The Valo-kas, on the other hand, had been taken in by the Bull’s Chargers. The Iron Bull had become rather attached to the Vashoth leader of the group, Hissera Adaar, and didn’t want to see them scattered to the wind. Lavellan smiled, remembering how excited the Valo-kas were about the arrangement. Especially Hissera, but that was probably because he would continue to work with Cassandra.

Hissera Adaar had also become Lavellan’s personal bodyguard when the Iron Bull could not be near him. It spoke volumes of Adaar’s character if Bull trusted him with his Kadan and Bull hadn’t been wrong.

While Bull and the Chargers were away taking care of a Vinatori group in the Hinterlands, Lavellan and the Valo-kas were leaving for the Free Marches. Bull had promised to meet them there in no time, though the elf knew it would be some time before he saw his big brute again. That journey was when the biggest change to Lavellan’s life occurred. He thought back on that trip as he paused to look out the window. The sun’s slow rise painted the sky with pinks and oranges.

On the way to Kirkwall, Levallan’s small party had met with many bandits, highwaymen and even a few Crow Assassins. Even with the weapon prosthetics Dagna had made him, the elf would have been a goner without the hulking Vashoth and his companions watching out for him. He was in no shape to fight at the moment, still too new to his limitations, but Hissera was determined to keep his promise to Bull to keep Lavellan safe.

The most shocking thing they had come across as they journeyed from Skyhold to the Free Marches, was the small Qunari caravan that had been attacked and slaughtered. While Levallan had an extreme dislike of the Qun for the events that transpired at the Winter Palace, no one deserved what they had seen.

Katoh, a true Tal-Vashoth, had immediately identified the caravan when she caught sight of a few butchered bodies of Qunari women. They had been Tamassarans transporting their charges. The elf felt his stomach drop when she told him, watching her scratch at the base of her broken horn. Before he could ask about the charges, she simply nodded her head in the direction of a burned carriage. Lavellan remembered how he felt at that moment. Whoever attacked the caravan did so with no regard for the young lives they took.

As the Valo-kas began to drag the horrid sight off the main road, Levallan had moved through the rubble, looking for anything and everything. That’s when he noticed movement and heard tiny noises. The elf couldn’t remember the last time he moved that quickly. Nor would he forget the feel of the world shifting in that moment.

Lavellan smiled softly as he pushed open the door at the end of the hall and quietly entered the room. A lot of things changed when they reached Kirkwall. He had a new home. He was able to meet Tobias Hawke again and had the pleasure of being introduced to Fenris and Knight-Captain Aveline. He was gifted a mabari pup, which made him grin. Most importantly, he also received a son.

When he saw the movement and heard the tiny noises, Lavellan was quick to dig through rubble and pull away scorched cloth. His eyes widened when he saw the small Qunari toddler squirming and whining softly. So much happened after he saw the toddler, it was a blur. He remembered calling out to Hissera and scooping the child up and hugging him to his chest, checking him for injuries. He remembered Katoh cursing in Qunlat and being lifted by the shoulders to his feet. The next thing he remembered was sitting inside his carriage, cradling the child.

The elf moved quietly through the room, careful of discarded toys and the sleeping pup. His smile grew as he drew near to the the cradle in the center. Lavellan peered into the cradle that housed the sleeping Qunari child and sighed happily. He wondered how he was going to tell Bull about this when he and the Chargers joined him in Kirkwall. He wondered how the big oaf would react.

The toddler sniffed softly, stretching his little limbs. The elf gently brushed his fingers over the child’s cheek as he began to whine. Lavellan carefully scooped the child up and cradled him to his chest. The elf had become quite proficient at picking up delicate bundles with one arm.

“It’s okay, Taashath,” he shushed the child, slowly walking out the room, “I’ve got you.” ___________________________________________________

((I hope you guys liked this. I wanted to share what happened with the siblings post-Trespasser. I also got permission to use my friend’s Qunari Inquisitor in my DA-verse so you’ll see a picture or two of him soon.

Also, if anyone is interested in anything particular about the Lavellans’ lives from this point, just let me know and I’ll either write something about it or answer whatever questions.))

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elrondsscribe · 7 years

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The Seventh Avenger: Chapter 7

All rights belong to the Tolkien Estate and to Marvel Studios.

The timing of the events at about this point in the movie is slightly sketchy, so I may be playing rather loosely with it. Also, weird ideas about Elf telepathy on display.

By the time Glorfindel got to his locker, his temper had cooled down a bit and he was beginning to be rather alarmed about the whole business. It was all very well for Tony Stark to hack censored information on leaked photos during an internationally broadcasted Senate hearing, but to hack a counter-intelligence agency with their own equipment on their own airship? And what about poking poor Bruce with a stick, for no reason other than to see if he could provoke the Hulk? Had the man no restraint, not to mention common sense?

As for Bruce himself, he had obviously been on edge since his arrival, which did not bode well for the continued absence of his larger, greener alter ego. Glorfindel had meant what he said about Harlem, and refused to refer to the mild-mannered scientist as a monster, but he had no desire to become personally acquainted with the Hulk just yet. Not with Loki still on board.

And Steve? Glorfindel winced. What was wrong with himself and the Captain? Tony was possibly more tactless and superficially arrogant than Steve; and yet Steve's meddlesome, almost bullying manner was nothing short of infuriating (Like Erestor when you first met him, whispered an annoying memory in his ear. And look how you and he get on now.). And yet the man had been relatively easygoing before Loki had come aboard.

As for whatever Fury was withholding . . . Glorfindel had been in both the Avengers' position and Fury's. He knew perfectly well that Fury could be masking some really repulsive mission of his own for which he wanted the Tesseract; he also knew that Fury, as the head of something like an intelligence organization, probably had a hundred (possibly quite legitimate) reasons for revealing only what he deemed necessary; not to mention having superiors of his own to placate and orders of his own to follow.

But the mention of Gondolin troubled him because, loath as he was to admit it, Steve was right. Treachery had brought Morgoth to Turgon's hidden gates, and fire and death to the Gondolindrim.

But what could he do?

Well, for starters, he could get some answers from the one person who was undoubtedly up to something.

Glorfindel turned and marched down to the detention level. It took him some time to find it, for the Helicarrier seemed to be designed so that the detention level was not easy to get to. But at length he reached the room with the great glass-walled cell, and Loki looked around when he entered. He smiled. "Well, if it isn't the yellow sprite," he said. "What may I do for you?"

Well, two can play this game. Glorfindel flashed his own most radiant smile. "You could abort your evil plan to take over the earth with your Chitauri army, to begin with," he said.

"Oh, I'm afraid that's not possible," said Loki, still smiling. "You see, I have a score to settle."

"So I hear," returned Glorfindel pleasantly. He began feeling out, cautiously, for the Asgardian's mind.

Loki's smile twisted into a sneer. "Did you hear it from Thor?" he mocked. "Was he sad and mournful?"

"Very," returned Glorfindel, who had just found what seemed to be Loki's mind, a vast and twisted maze full of traps, entire chambers held hostage by some unknown force of great power. "Anybody'd think his adopted brother had destroyed part of another planet, and then come back to destroy all of it."

"And that, my shining golden friend, is where you are mistaken," Loki's face assumed a noble expression. "I'm not here to destroy anything, merely to rule and instruct."

"Really?" said Glorfindel. "I thought you had a score to settle." He was tiptoeing around the edges of Loki's mind, peering in where he could, trying to see the Asgardian's (Jotun's?) more immediate plans without being detected.

Loki tilted his head. "You don't agree that the mortals of this planet want for a ruler? Why should I not be the one to make them free from freedom?"

"Do you think I'm going to let you do that?"

"I don't see that the matter rests with you," returned Loki.

"And that's where you are wrong," Glorfindel stopped smiling, folded his arms, and narrowed his eyes. "I and my people, the Eldar, have walked this earth for thousands upon thousands of years, and we have both suffered and conquered evils the like of which you have never known. Do you think we will suffer your foolishness? Do you think we would let a mere child of some thousand years old to reign over us, because he decides he wants to?"

Loki blinked, and for once seemed to be at a loss for words.

It was at this moment that Glorfindel began to sense that Loki's mind was far too dangerous a place to wander at will. There was strange, perilous magic about him that Glorfindel had not felt from Thor, and not a little insanity. So he withdrew as delicately as he could; but Loki's eyes suddenly narrowed with suspicion.

"What are you?" he hissed, striding forward toward the Elf (though he never touched the glass).

"Oh," said Glorfindel with an air of blinking innocence. "Just a yellow sprite, I guess."

Loki's eyes flashed, and the sudden assault on Glorfindel's mind made him start back. Hastily he went on the defense, barring every door and window into his consciousness and flinging Loki back with all his force. Loki reeled, and Glorfindel pressed his advantage with a strike that tore through Loki's barriers in a moment.

A glowing blue orb in the midst of the golden scepter thrummed with power, and from it curling tendrils of blue magic reached outward as if to draw Glorfindel toward the orb. He drew back from the power of the scepter in suspicion and alarm, only to fall straight into the octopus-like tentacles of Loki's will. Glorfindel struggled to break free, but Loki held him fast, twisting his way into Glorfindel's memory.

He seemed to falter then, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of days that were the Elf's long life, and Glorfindel took the chance to slip unnoticed into Loki's designs.

He seemed to step straight into the ruins of the Helicarrier's half-destroyed command room. The enraged Hulk whirled on Glorfindel and gave a roar of rage, SHIELD scattering before him like ants, and the Avengers swarming all over him in vain like so many gnats.

And then, with a resounding GET OUT! Loki had hurled him from his mind, and Glorfindel returned to his body to find himself lying on the floor with an aching head and back, as if he had fallen over backward, which he apparently had. He turned his head with some difficulty and saw that Loki was on his knees in the middle of the cell, panting and and in disarray.

For a moment both were too dazed to move; and then Glorfindel remembered what he had seen of Loki's plot. The Hulk! He scrambled to his feet and went racing up to find the command room. By the time he burst into it, he was so out of breath that he could only gasp out "Director - urgent -"

Both Fury and Hill were standing over an agent's screen, though they (and many others) looked up almost involuntarily at Glorfindel's rather violent entrance. Hill then looked up at Fury, who gave her a nod and then turned to Glorfindel. "What is it?" he asked as he crossed the room.

"In private," panted Glorfindel, turning to go out into the hall which would eventually bring him to the flight of steps that led to the lab. Fury followed him, and as soon as they were out of the room Glorfindel hissed, "Loki means to unleash the Hulk."

Fury's face, which had already looked fairly grim, became even grimmer. He touched his ear. "Romanoff, you copy?" he barked. "Find Thor and get both your asses up to the lab. Loki wants to unleash the Hulk." He touched his ear again. "Shoulda known he was here for Banner," he growled. "Like we didn't already have enough to worry about."

Glorfindel knew better than to ask what he meant. He just followed the Director anxiously until they reached the lab. Both Bruce and Tony were quietly leaning against one of the work stations in front of a screen.

But Fury's first words were addressed, not to Bruce, but to Tony. "What are you doing, Mr. Stark?" he asked in frosty tones.

Glorfindel suddenly remembered what exactly Tony Stark had been doing for the past hour or so, and remembered also that Fury had been standing in front of a screen in the command room. He knows he's being hacked. Should I have told him? Naw.

"Uh, kinda been wondering the same thing about you, actually," said Tony breezily. "Not you, Goldilocks," he added to Glorfindel. "Just Mad-Eye Moody here."

"Goldilocks?" scoffed Glorfindel. "That's the best you can come up with?"

"Shut up," said Fury to Glorfindel, and then to Tony, "You're supposed to be locating the Tesseract."

"We are," said Bruce, who looked just as smug as did Tony. "The model's locked and we're sweeping for a signature now." He pointed over Fury's shoulder at a distant screen. "When we get a hit, we'll have the location within half a mile."

"And you'll get your Cube back," added Tony. "No muss, no fuss - what is Phase 2?" He had at that moment just glanced over one of his screens.

And then something large and heavy landed on one of the countertops with a clack, and the voice of an angry Steve Rogers said, "Phase 2 is SHIELD using the Cube to build weapons. Sorry, the computer was moving a little slow for me." The last words were addressed to Bruce and Tony.

"Ooh, not following orders now, are we, Captain?" mocked Glorfindel, ignoring for the moment the large, rather nasty-looking weapon Steve had just laid on the table.

"Oh, you think this has nothing to do with you," Steve shot back. "You think you didn't get ripped off too?"

Fury moved to dispel the implied accusation. "Rogers," he said, laying a hand on the thing that had so angered Steve. "We gathered everything related to the Tesseract, this does not mean that we're -"

"I'm sorry, Nick," Tony swung round the screen he and Bruce had been reading so that it now faced Fury, Steve, and Glorfindel. "What were you lying?"

There on the screen, clear as daylight, were unmistakable schematics for large, powerful-looking, possibly nuclear weapons. More damningly, Glorfindel had seen them before, during his years as an English spy during the Second World War. In HYDRA hands.

"How did I let myself get into this again?!" he groaned under his breath.

Steve was glaring at Fury. "Looks like I was wrong, Director," he growled. "The world hasn't changed a bit."

And then the armored Thor strode into the room, and behind him Agent Romanoff. Her green eyes were fixed on Bruce Banner, and the moment Bruce looked back at her Glorfindel could almost feel the tension.

"Did you know about this?" he asked her, pointing with his glasses at the weapons schematics.

"Of course she bloody knew about it!" Glorfindel threw up his hands. "Everybody on this ship probably knew, except for us." I wonder if that was what Hill was so twitchy about earlier.

Romanoff did not spare the Elf so much as a glance. "You want to think about removing yourself from this environment, Doctor?" she asked warily.

Bruce gave a bark of mirthless laughter. "I was in Calcutta, I was pretty well removed," he said. Glorfindel suddenly noticed the gleam in the man's eyes with some alarm.

"Dr. Banner, Loki is manipulating you," he said. With success, apparently.

Bruce indicated Natasha and Fury with the glasses. "And they've been doing what exactly?" he demanded.

Romanoff took a step toward him. "You didn't come here because I batted my eyelashes."

"Yes, and I'm not leaving because suddenly you get a little twitchy," snapped Bruce, and he indicated the screen again. "I'd like to know why SHIELD is using the Tesseract to build weapons of mass destruction."

And Fury said, "Because of him," and pointed at Thor of all people, surprising Glorfindel very much. He wasn't the only one, for Thor arched his eyebrows and asked, "Me?"

"Last year," said Fury. "Earth had a visitor from another planet who had a grudge match that leveled a small town. We learned that, not only are we not alone, but we are hopelessly, hilariously outgunned."

And then it struck Glorfindel like a bolt of lightning - this was the purpose of the Avengers Initiative! He peered closely at the Director. Unless he was mistaken, "Phase 2" had not been Nick Fury's idea. Did he even support it? If not, why was he defending it?

"My people want nothing but peace with your planet," Thor was protesting.

"I suppose your precious brother isn't one of 'your people,' then, nor this army of Chitauri he intends to lead," snapped Glorfindel. "To say nothing of your 'Dark-Elves' or whatever you call them. Why on earth would we think other planets want nothing but peace with us?"

Thor faltered, and Fury folded his arms. "Even our own planet is filling up with people that can't be matched, that can't be controlled."

"What, like you controlled the Cube?" demanded Steve, and Thor interjected, "Your work with the Tesseract is what drew Loki to it, and his allies. It is a signal to all the realms that Earth is ready for a higher form of war."

"Higher form?" demanded Steve, eyes darting to Thor.

"You forced our hand," said Fury. "We had to come up with something."

"Nuclear deterrent," Tony chimed in, "'cause that always calms everything right down."

Glorfindel stared at the man in disbelief. "Oh, that's a good one, Merchant of Death, by all means call the kettle black!"

And Steve said, "I'm sure if he still made weapons, he'd be in this neck deep!"

Tony bristled. "Wait, wait, wait," he said, taking a step toward the Elf. "How is this now about me?"

"Isn't everything?" snarked Steve.

"I thought humans were more evolved than this," scoffed Thor.

"Ex-cuse me," said Fury irritably to Thor. "Did we come to your planet and blow stuff up?"

"Do you always give your champions such mistrust?" asked Thor.

"Yes, actually, and the more you've sacrificed, the less they trust you," snapped Glorfindel.

Natasha Romanoff stared from Elf to Asgardian. "Are you boys really that naive?" she said in exasperation. "SHIELD monitors potential threats!"

Bruce's arms were folded. "Captain America is on SHIELD's watch list?"

"You're on that list?" asked Tony of Steve. "Above or below angry bees?"

"I swear to God, Stark, one more crack -"

But Glorfindel was suddenly distracted by the sight of something just behind Bruce. The golden scepter sat on a white tabletop, and the large blue gem set in it gleamed like a blue star. The high, musical thrumming that came from it grew steadily louder until Glorfindel could hardly believe that he was the only one hearing it; now that he was looking, he saw that, the longer they argued, the brighter it glowed and the more it thrummed.

And then suddenly, he remembered just what he'd just been saying. Damn you to the pits of Udun, you will not have me too!

He was distracted when somewhere beside him Bruce spoke: ". . . what are we, a team? No, no, no - we're a chemical mixture that creates chaos. We're - we're a time bomb."

Fury took a step toward the physicist. "You need to step away," he warned.

Tony flung out an arm. "Why shouldn't the guy let off a little steam?" he asked with a bravado that only a man who had never been near the real Hulk could muster, and he laid a hand on Steve's shoulder.

"You know damn well why!" cried Steve, flinging off Tony's hand. "Back off!"

There's going to be a civil war in here!

"Stop!" cried Glorfindel. "Stop!"

Nobody seemed to be listening to him. Tony had actually just swung round so that he was directly facing the Captain. "Oh, I'm starting to want you to make me."

"Big man in a suit of armor," Steve scoffed. "Take that off, and what are you?"

"Ah, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist," Tony rattled off, but his face held no humor at all.

Glorfindel gathered all his breath. "DARO!" he thundered, and everyone around him started and stared at him, their quarrels dying on their lips.

"You fools!" cried Glorfindel furiously. "Do none of you understand? This is why Loki wanted to come aboard! I'm sorry, Captain," to that individual. "You were right. Loki does mean to start a war here. And look at us now! Do you think he hasn't done it?"

The look Bruce turned on him could have blistered concrete. "And just where are you in all this anyway?" he demanded. "Sounds like you've been pretty comfortable sitting on the sidelines for the last seventy years - what made you decide to get involved now?"

Glorfindel was thrown by the question. "I - SHIELD knows about Elves," he said. "Generally the fewer who know of our existence, the better."

"Really?" asked Tony. "What are you trying to hide?"

Glorfindel clenched his jaw. "Maybe we don't like being hunted like Dr. Banner," he said. "People do that, you know."

And then, shockingly, mercifully, the machine in the corner beeped.

"Got it," said Tony into the sudden silence.

Banner headed toward the monitor, saying, "Sorry kids, I guess you don't get to see my little party trick after all."

"You've located the Tesseract?" asked Thor.

"I can get there faster," Tony volunteered

"Get where faster?" asked Glorfindel sharply. He'd just been looking at the screen over Bruce's shoulder.

"Uh, the Cube?" suggested Tony.

But Bruce's eyes widened. "Oh, my God!" he said.

"What?" asked Thor.

"It's here!" cried Bruce.

And at that moment, the explosion came.

#the seventh avenger #elrondsscribe #fanfiction #fanfic #tumblr fanfic #fanfiction on tumblr #lotr #lord of the rings #avengers #crossover #crossover fanfiction

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thegreatmeddler · 6 years

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Infinity War Comments

-Lol I’m watching Infinity War and it’s the greatest Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover and Heavy Angst movie ever.

-Hulk has forsaken Bruce :’)

-Cloak Transportation has sneaked away from weird alien telekinetic

-This weird alien fucker looks like Lucius Malfoy and Voldemort’s love child

-Lmao new car smell, Spidey is awesome

-Tony has attempted to save the world again, Pepper is mad >:)

-Spidey has Regrets (tm)

-GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY ARE INTRODUCED

-“Why are we doing this”

“Because we are GOOD”

-I love Rocket and Groot

-Groot has become a teenager hallelujah

-Starlord is fat

-I love this scene oh my god. This whole scene

-Family Issues (tm)

-Am I aCtUaLlY wAtChInG cRaCk

-Rocket likes weapons

-rocket likes weapons A LOT

-Two ships and many morons

-Vision..???

-Oh no they saw the footage

-Aliens are like, “It’s free real estate”

-S T A B

-Oh no knife

-Eye Beam Error 404

-HAS BEEN REFLECTED OH MY GOD INGENIOUS

-Lmao it’s as if a guy with a frisbee is stronger than a robot and girl with Supernatural powers

-Wow I like this white haired Black Widow

-It’s like Draenor is being invaded and the orcs are massacred

-Is Garona from this planet

-Is Garona an orc

-OH MY GOD GAMORA IS THIS LITTLE GIRL

-Wow that’s a nice knife

-Quill is so confused

-Does Gamora know his weakness or something

-That guy is so hilarious oh my god

-S o s l o w....

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rayalez · 7 years

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Rainbow’s Beginning

https://www.pinterest.com/source/68.media.tumblr.com

All that remained was a scrap of lace and a single book from the library.

Jennet looked at the two items in her hands. Perhaps she undervalued them with her words. After all, that “scrap” was a piece of precious Dutch lace created by her mother when she was a young girl in Bruges; after marrying the Englishman Tobias Mulley, despite her family’s disapproval, and coming to live in London, it was the same lace she tied around the doorknob of the house on Aldersgate Street to announce Jennet’s birth.

And that book Jennet scrambled to save before the ceiling beams of the library collapsed to crush her in their flaming embrace was the family Bible, containing the births, marriages, and deaths of the entire Mulley family — the Reede family, as was, before a royal decree granted the Mulley lands fifty years back, along with a higher status, a larger income, and the new name. No parish record could ever duplicate the valuable information contained within the Bible’s yellowed vellum pages, let alone the memories attached to the buttery-soft leather binding or worn gilt lettering.

Jennet hugged the massive book to her chest as she eyed the burnt-out hulk before her, the charred timbers and soot-stained bricks all that remained of her childhood home. So much had been lost, and not just those physical items she’d been unable to rescue: the family silverware with its well-worn horn handles, including a prized set of forks; the missal, said to have been given to a Reede ancestress by Blanche of Navarre personally, with its carved and gilded wooded cover, saved from the Catholic purge of the previous century and the fires of zealotry, only to be destroyed by a fire of secularity; the tapestry in the long gallery that once graced the reception room of a bishop’s palace before it was “liberated” during the Civil War, woven of fine, brightly-colored wool nearly three hundred years ago in Arras, France. But it was the loss of the most recent family heirloom, a family portrait painted by the Flemish painter Jan Cossiers ten years back, which pained Jennet most fiercely. A student of Cornelis de Vos and a master in his own right, Cossiers was also a family friend of Jennet’s mother. So when Cossiers was briefly in London, he remembered his old neighbor Josyna Houfnaghele and graciously consented to paint a portrait of her with her husband and eight-year-old daughter. That portrait had been the only visual reminder of her parents . . . gone now, gone up in smoke and flames, soot and ashes.

Jennet edged closer to the crumbling brick wall, sidling around the clumps of men and women standing in the street. I wonder if we all wear the same expressions of shock and uncertainty, Jennet asked herself. For her part, it was all she could do to keep herself from crying. With the loss of the house, Jennet had truly lost everything. She had nowhere to live and nowhere to go. Josyna’s death shortly after the creation of that family portrait had fractured Tobias’s mind, and as he withdrew into himself, he turned over the care of his vast mercantile business interests to a board of trustees. As well as the care of his only surviving child, Jennet discovered six months later when the three doctors sent by those trustees took her father away to Bedlam and installed a sour-faced governess in his place, over Jennet’s ineffective protests, who most likely reported to the trustees on the girl’s every move.

Her stomach soured with nausea and she stumbled slightly as the blood drained from her head. It was the smell, she decided, the acrid, smoky, muddy smell which clogged the nostrils and stuck to the roof of the mouth making the situation even worse. Thanks to the inefficiency of the firefighters, more water had been tossed onto the ground than onto the buildings; Jennet’s skirt was thick with at least four inches of mud, the same filth that squelched between her toes as it oozed in between the seams of her leather shoes and crawled up her woolen stockings. Feet of clay never felt so real or so heavy. Both body and spirit of Jennet’s felt heavily weighed down at that moment.

Startled out of her daze, she felt a body shove her violently to the side just as part of the front wall from her former home gave way, tumbling to the sodden ground with a cracking groan. She was saved from following the weakened bricks by a strong hand grasping her upper arm.

“You ought not to be here,” the arm’s owner said in a stern voice.

“This is my home,” Jennet said tartly, turning to glare at her ostensible rescuer.

The man glanced at the disintegrated pile of bricks and wood. “Your home no longer, I think.”

His tone of casual disdain caused Jennet’s blood to boil, but before she could form a cutting reply, the well-dressed man continued: “Do I have the pleasure of addressing mistress Jennet Mulley, daughter of Tobias Mulley, formerly of Aldersgate Street?”

Jennet’s brow creased. There was something in his phrasing that sat uneasily with her. Tugging her arm from the man’s grasp, a position she’d been struggling to escape since the moment his hand first made contact, she stepped back slightly. “I am that Jennet Mulley. And you are, sir?”

Doffing his feathered wide-brimmed hat, he made a leg, causing her to bounce a small curtsy in automatic response. “My name is Sir Godfrey Keayne. I fear I have more bad news to deliver, and my apologies for the timing, but there was no helping it: your father has died in Bedlam this day a week ago. As a member of your father’s board of trustees and his head legal counsel, I have spent this time putting the Mulley estate in order and settling the contents of his will. Do not fear, his burial has been taken care of with all due respect. One of his bequests was for you and I to marry since there is no other immediate family to whom you can turn for assistance. Since you are of age, there is no impediment preventing us from marrying as soon as your period of mourning has ended.”

Jennet’s head swam as a surge of bile crept up her throat. None of what this terrible man had just told her made any sense. Her father, dead? And him buried, hurried into the ground before she’d had time to mourn? God’s teeth! before she’d even been told! And to hear that her father had sold her off to be married to a total stranger against her will, even against her knowledge?

She panted, panic and rage warring within her. She wanted to beat his velvet-clad form, to tear that smug smirk from his face. “This is- What you say is impossible! My father would never consent to these actions!”

“Your father would do what is in your best interests. You have been given too much free rein, to the detriment of your character. Mrs. Coxery was correct in her judgment, referring to you as a ‘hoyden’. These are faults I will remedy once we are married.”

Mrs. Coxery. That ill-natured creature had been a spy. She shook her head and seemed unable to stop. Those words — “once we are married” — echoed in Jennet’s ears until she wondered if she might run mad. Perhaps she, too, would end up in Bedlam. She watched as if from a great distance as Godfrey reached out to grab her again. NO!

“No!” With a squelching thump, Jennet brought her foot down with all her strength onto Godfrey’s shiny, buckled boot. As he howled in pain, she turned and ran, hoping Godfrey was as unfamiliar with these streets as she was as intimate.

Dodging stricken homeowners come back to inspect their losses, the blatantly curious who roamed the streets as though the fire-gutted city was a giant amusement park, and those enterprising businessmen and women who had set up stalls selling food and goods, at outrageously inflated prices, to the masses, Jennet wove through the streets, her memories coming up against the horrific fire damage. Entire neighborhoods were gone, gutted, left smoking wrecks. Streets that were once flowing thoroughfares were no more, blocked in their entirety by the buildings that had been pulled down in order to “save” them.

Yet even as she ran, Jennet asked herself, where could she go? She had nowhere to go. There was a house somewhere to the west, attached to the Mulley lands on the Welsh border, Shropshire, she thought. But Jennet had never been there and would have no idea where to begin to look for it. Besides, undoubtedly Sir Godfrey Keayne would track her down and reclaim her; he had the appearance of a man who did not give up once presented with such an easily-won prize.

Gasping and mud-spattered, the weighty Bible nearly tearing her arms from their sockets, Jennet was quickly reaching the limits of her endurance as well as her knowledge of street patterns. Resting her back against the wall of an intact alley, she swore she could feel Sir Godfrey breathing down her neck, hear the hooves of his horse — a man like that always had a horse — galloping up to where she stood to pull her bodily into the saddle. Perhaps it was the terror, perhaps it was the last gift from her departed father, but an epiphany struck: She knew how to escape. Tamping down the gleeful laugh threatening to erupt, she glanced around to make sure her surroundings were clear. Once more, she took off running, this time a clear destination in sight.

Through a great deal of silvery-tongued convincing on her part, as well as the passing of a few precious coins from a hidden pocket — monies she’d kept secret from the insidious Mrs. Coxery — Jennet was granted the use of a clerk’s desk at her father’s bank. Briefly, she scrawled a note, gifting the Bible to the next Mulley who made petition for it and could prove lineage, but until that day, that it be held by the bank in trust. Jennet then opened the book and flipped through the Bible’s crackling pages until she came to the family tree. Picking up the quill, to her father’s name she added ‘Died this day, 30 October, 1666’, turning quickly before the tear trembling at her lashes could fall and smudge the ink. But she was not finished. Muttering a whispered prayer at the blasphemy she was about to undertake, she took up more ink and wrote underneath her name, ‘Died this day, 5 September, 1666, in the Fire’. So what if Sir Godfrey had seen her and spoken to her? Let him contest that fact after what she planned to do next. Perhaps he would be the one to next see the interiors of Bedlam.

Presenting the Bible and note to the clerk with a plea that they both reach their destination, one John Dobeson, Esq., Jennet fled before her sobs created more questions and led Sir Godfrey straight to her. In Peticote Lane, her bargaining skills once again brought her success. Jennet was able to barter her corset and petticoat, the heavy, silver- and gold-braid embroidery saved from the mud by the front edges of her skirt which had stayed loose and unpinned during the excitement of the morning, for a pair of boy’s breeches and doublet, cap, and a new, sturdier, pair of shoes. Jennet thanked God she’d worn a pair of bodies this morning: retying the short jacket allowed it to pass for a waistcoat underneath the loose doublet and the full skirt she simply wrapped around her thighs before easing into the unfamiliar breeches. The sensation of unskirted legs made her feel naked and uncomfortable, but she pressed on, determined to follow her new destiny. Borrowing the shocked shopwoman’s scissors, Jennet moved to one of the windows and, with a deep breath, made three decisive snips. At her feet lay eighteen inches of brunette locks and staring back from the glass was a person Jennet didn’t recognize. Exactly what she desired. She smiled at the woman, who backed away as though Jennet were dangerous. Which perhaps she was.

Two days later, at the Portsmouth dockyard, a bedraggled youth named John Reed signed on as ship’s boy on a vessel from the East India Company. As the ship pulled away from England’s shores, the last remnant of Jennet Mulley was also left behind when one of the crew discovered the strange sight of a voluminous white skirt floating atop the water’s surface. Believing it to be an hallucination, he declined to point out the apparition to his fellow mates. Instead, he rid himself of his nervousness by bellowing at the skinny ship’s boy standing by the railing with a faint smile on his face.

Right now, this Medium account is all I have as a hoping-to-one-day-be-published author, other than my Twitter account @ https://twitter.com/DragonWench1 (which isn’t much in regards to promoting my writing; my views… yeah). So if you like this story, click on the little heart to recommend it and share it with your friends. And if there’s anything you’d like to say about my writing, a question, a criticism, a diatribe, whatever, feel free to leave it in the comment section below. Thanks for stopping by!

Rainbow’s Beginning was originally published in Fiction Hub on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Discover more awesome fiction at https://medium.com/fictionhub

#writing #fiction #fanfiction #short story #scifi #science fiction #fantasy #story #comedy #storytell

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axiom-of-man-blog · 7 years

Text

Chapter 3 Year 44 DE June 2nd (Dawn of Eminence)

My mother has returned to her normal self, puttering around the house like a cracked out humming bird from one chore to another; never quite finishing any. She works tirelessly till she succumbs to exhaustion, although she cannot fall asleep without the guiding hand of Temazepam. It messes with her sleep schedule where she will be up 30 hours at a time before she sleeps hard for a good 12 hours. Despite her presence it still feels empty here; my father’s stays are too fleeting for his absence to feel anything but typical. The absence that has affected me recently is that of my uncle Henry. He hasn’t been home since I last bested him in archery, two weeks ago or so now. The days blend since I graduated from school. This small town hardly offers any opportunities to stimulate me. I find myself just wandering around this sad excuse for a town called Perdition That I have the pleasure of living just outside of. A whopping population of 400, Most everyone kept to themselves: it Is a town of recluses trying to escape something. It’s not uncommon to walk into a store and see the same person behind the register you have for years, and not know their name. Small talk was not something people practiced here: A populated ghost town. I started walking in the woods; there was more noise and presence here. It was a cacophony of sounds of every animal around me pushed by their primal urges to pass on their genetic line. I am surrounded by birds, bugs, loons and even the occasional wolf howling at night. The receding wilderness contains more life than any city, where most people are barely even human, just walking machines. A city filled mechanical ghost, possessing the bodies of the unfortunate. I keep walking, the sounds of the woods taste like a mouthful of grass and wet dirt, while not unpleasant I still place a piece of strong mint gum in my mouth. As I meander through the woods on no set path or given direction my stomach starts to grumble. Weighing the options of either a burger in town or searching for something at home only looking at the ground in front of me I step into something slick and sticky. I stop and I come out of my preoccupation to notice that its blood The smell of a corpse overwhelms the gum in my mouth and fills it with the taste of copper and rot. At first it was hard to tell what it was, there wasn’t much left other than a large rib cage and carnage. The head, tossed aside was a large buck’s, the cheeks were chewed away and there is blood on its antler that isn’t broken off. Whatever did this, the deer tried to fight back, and judging by the size this was a 300 pound buck. I grab the broken off antler its heavy and cool in my hands, but the blood on it is still warm. I walk away from the mess looking for any clues of what did this. A bear? Mountain lion? Both are rare in these parts anymore. Even what few wolves are around wouldn’t be able to manage this with their small packs. A twig snaps behind me. I scan the woods while mostly open from the old growth trees there are a few large boulders scattered in these woods where ancient glaciers melted and dropped their loads from the mountains haphazardly all over the valley. My blood runs cold as the woods become silent. Nothing moved the wind didn’t even dare stir. The taste of copper went to stone. I stood there froze holding the antler like a weapon in anticipation. I almost jumped when the breeze started to blow again and the despotic silence lifted. The woods exhaled its held breath. What the hell was that I think to myself as I start to walk away still holding the antler. I start following the stream, it eventually leads towards town. I can’t shake the feeling of being watched despite being hyper aware of my surroundings. I still would hear some movement here and there a ways back, sometimes in the trees sometimes a rustling of leaves. I came to clearing next to a road the stream continued under the road, I jumped the ditch and started walking the shoulder. My eyes on the woods, I see a large figuring standing 30 feet in the woods only for a moment and like a flash it was gone, as if it was never there. I half wonder if I imagined the whole thing. As I walk I realize I am still clutching the antler in a white knuckle grip. I drop it and it rattles on the pavement and my hand is stiff from the strain. An ancient pickup truck rattles by, a rare site if even so far away from the cities. Electric, hydrogen or even ethanol cars are the standard anymore with the oil business going under after the coast cities started losing their beaches and real-estate. The obdurate rural bumpkins like their fuel though. The emissions fill my nose, and my mouth with a sweet chemical taste.

The morning coolness was burning off by the time I wandered into town, I go from walking on the road to enjoying the shaded sidewalks. The towns quiet was refreshing after straining every sliver of perception in the woods for so long, only having to make sure not to trip over the cracks where tree roots have raised parts of the sidewalk. The town has a sort of hush over it more than usual. I approach my usual pick for food, Garlands a Deli Dinner and local hangout spot, the usual empty space is filled and everyone crowds the couple of TVS suspending from the ceiling. Rose, the smiley but quiet waitress stairs at the TV with a look of dread on her face. The news is blaring as I open the door, no one notices as I slide in next to them on one of the only available bar stools. “.. so far we have reports of 40 people dead and the number is rising every as we speak” The News man with perfect hair and teeth whiter than paper reports. He doesn’t smile as he talks. “The rally in Austin that started yesterday brought in a crowd of an estimated 700 thousand and close to a 2 million people have entered Texas hoping to be a part of this historic event.” “The governor gave his speech, to the whole city it was on every TV and his voice was broadcasted over the streets.” “Every man woman and child heard his call to action to take up arms against the quote… “Tyrannical government who is trying to make humanity obsolete”… Millions of people moved by this message chose to join him lets go to our lady on the scene, Rebecca” The clips goes to a young pretty woman with brown hair and highlights, her eyes a green glow but still filled with fear as she stands in the street with visible fires in the back ground. “Hi Tom, the riots here have turned extremely violent in the wake of the speech, people are hunting down and killing anyone with implants-“ She turns as a man is running towards her with a large crowbar in his hand She screams as he raises the weapon, the camera man backs away holding up his hands and screaming for him to stop, his Omni-vision contacts still recording and capturing it all. As the man gets close, his chest is pierced and he falls backwards, the camera man turns to see a half dozen hulking military exo-skeletons, fully equipped and armored. Standing seven feet tall the Solider looked at the camera man its helmet giving no sympathy or compassion. Over the dark grey metal you could see the splashes of blood and the marks where bullets had only scuffed the outer finish. The TV turns back to Tom as the on scene reporter is cut off halfway through his “Holy shit”. As a molotov explodes on the side of the armor engulfing it in flames and it turns inhumanly quick and starts firing off screen unaffected. Tom with his perfect teeth stairs wide eyed for a moment before he shakes the shock off his face. “It would appear the military is on the scene. What we just saw was one of the militaries new state of the art battle field exo-skeletons.” “The Ancile and Even more advanced Aegis armor is a product of Prometheus systems who want to ensure our soldiers safety-“ “Holy shit” says a man rubbing the side of his face. “Those god damn luddites are trying to fight walking tanks, this won’t last long.” “I use one of those at the factory but it’s a Wayland Suit, could still punch my way through a brick wall and lift a car… those bastards don’t stand a chance.” says another man. A woman sighs “what is this coming to”

In the shock of seeing the start of what seems to be a civil war unfolding I ran out of the place and towards my home. I didn’t stop, my legs pumped till they were numb, my heart pumped acid. In a daze, the four miles passed in a daze. I slammed on my uncles door, knowing that he wouldn’t answer, now or ever.

I felt under the porch for the key dangling from a pin. I grabbed it and pressed it into the door swinging it open, searching for anything indicating where he went. The house was humble, old furniture, electronics from sixty years ago at least. I hear his computer chime from somewhere in the living room. The whole place feels like something different now, no longer a refuge but a place of secrets. I open his laptop, to the desktop of a picture of my uncle and I my father took of us drawing back our bows at a target. I stopped for a moment staring at the picture. I was younger, It was shortly after the accident and my father tried to absorb as much time with me as he could. It was short lived but it was great while it lasted. He soon drifted as my mother’s disconnect got worse. We saw him less and less, and I saw my uncle more and more. I noticed the note on his desk with an old flint arrow head holding it down. I held the note in my now shaking hands.

Dear Icky, I am leaving this note because I know you would convince me to stay. I know you wouldn’t agree with me, but I had to go join this gathering the Free thought Movement is forming. I know you will come looking for me and find this note, this is what I believe. Maybe I can meet my man Percy himself.

I am not leaving you. I will be back. Take care of your mother till I get back, take care of yourself and stay safe. Hard times are ahead of us.

-Henry

P.s Hold onto this arrow head, they are rare these days just happened to find it digging a compost pit, neat huh?

My uncle is in a war zone. My heart is in my throat. That asshole, running off to be in some movement and probably getting himself killed. I noticed my hand bleeding from clutching the arrow head in my fist. The flint shard: still sharp after hundreds of years of being in the soil. Still clenched in my fist I walk across the lawn that conjoins my uncles with my own place. I walk in the back door and up the stairs into my room. I collapse on my bed and lay there in the silence when its interrupted by a chirp from my laptop laying on the floor next to by bed. I reach down and grab it. The whole device is a screen and functions closed or open. It has no physical keyboard, and is slightly transparent. The chirp was a mandatory announcement. This meant every screen, radio, omni-vision contact, and other device was showing the same message. I touched the screen and watched as a large burly man with a red face, whicker hat, pounding fist and large grey mustache. This was Governor Percy, and his message was clear despite his heavy drawl. “This was not an attack; this was a declaration of war!” he slams his fist on his podium. “Too long we have had these devices pushed on us, trying to make us all machines trying to take away our souls.” “We were not meant to live forever as artificial people.” “When did we lose our humanity?” When did we stray from our natural paths? Forty four years ago. When this great possession started, the mechanical devil seeped into the fabric of our very being.” “Texas is leaving the states, and we will fight anyone who tries to stop us.” “Texans, take up your arms against these mechanical invaders.” A fit of static and the live broadcast switches off. “Holy shit” I say to myself. The whole speech left a sour taste in my mouth. I never thought it would come to war, Texas is huge, and with as many people who have travelled there to join the movement… this could be a huge issue. Where is my uncle in all of this? He wouldn’t have joined the fight would he? It looks like a massacre there is he even alive. What the hell do I do? The thoughts plague me as I slowly drift off to sleep to the sound of peepers and my mother scurrying about the house dusting, cleaning and rearranging the furniture.

I woke to her standing over me, although this time she didn’t appear as an apparition, her face was flushed, pink and full of life. Her eyes filled with tears. “Icarus… The Texans… Those stupid people…” her eyes started to well up with tears. “They dropped a bomb on on on… They dropped a nuke on New York City.” “Your father… I don’t think he ever left I think he probably died oh god Icarus.” She curled over and collapsed to her knees sobbing. “Mom… He is backed up, more so than anyone else he is still-” “No you don’t understand… The servers where they back up everyone is there. They targeted the memory farms. Everyone in the city is gone for good.” She explained through her tears I hadn’t thought of this. In the cities there were skyscrapers that no one lived that were large storage facilities for everyone’s memory. New York had a huge concentration of them, but every major city does. This just means everyone in New York is staying dead. My laptop starts chirping again. It won’t stop till I look and when I open it for another mandatory message I see him, my father Jason Carway Standing along with other government leaders as the President addressed the war. They were already halfway through their speech when I opened it up.

“We will deal a quick and blow and end this war, we have the owner of Prometheus systems who has been building for the military and with his advances we should put a swift end to this rebellion. And-” My mother cut off the President’s speech in my ear

“He’s alive!”

Yes but for how long, this war is more against him than it even against our government. The strangest part of seeing him during such a fearful time is he looked as if he was smiling. f��9��

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