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hopelesslys-world · 10 months

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50 SHADES OF FUCKED UP | CH. 2

TRIGGER WARNINGS!: TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, reader is kind of a bimbo, heavily detailed smut, basically porn, loss of virginity, harsh language, anger issues, stalking, obsession, jealousy, controlling behaviour, DOM-SUB themes, BDSM Expand considered to be portrayed with incorrect/poor etiquette, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse/assault, statutory rape.

Tell me if I missed anything...( As you can see most of the warnings will appear in future chapters. )

I apologize for any grammar mistakes...

Y/L/N: Your Last Name

Y/M/N: Your Middle Name

Y/N/N: Your Nickname

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*𝘾𝙃𝙍𝙄𝙎𝙏𝙄𝘼𝙉'𝙎 𝙋𝙊𝙑*

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𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋. Was all I could focus on as soon as the elevator doors closed and she disappeared.

“Andrea,” I bark as I return to my office. “Get me Welch on the line, now.”

As I sit at my desk and wait for the call.

I look at the paintings on the wall of my office and Miss Y/L/N’s words drift back to me. “Raising the ordinary to extraordinary.” She could so easily have been describing herself.

My phone buzzes. “I have Mr. Welch on the line for you.”

“Put him through.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Welch, I need a background check.”

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•••

Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N

DOB: ( The Month and day you were born ). 1989, Montesano, WA

Address: 1114 SW Green Street, Apartment 7, Haven Heights, Vancouver, WA 98888

Mobile No: 360-959-4352

Social Security No: 987-65-4320

Bank: Wells Fargo Bank, Vancouver, WA:

Acct. No.: 309361: $683.16 balance

Occupation: Undergraduate Student WSU Vancouver College of Arts and Sciences English Major

GPA: 4.0

Prior Education: Montesano Jr. Sr. High School

SAT Score: 2150

Employment: Clayton’s Hardware Store, NW Vancouver Drive, Portland, OR (part-time)

Father: Franklin A. Lambert, DOB: Sept. 1, 1969, Deceased (The day before your birthday), 1989

Mother: Carla May Wilks Adams,

DOB: July 18, 1970

m. Frank Lambert March 1, 1989,

widowed (The day before your birthday), 1989

m. Raymond Y/L/N June 6, 1990,

divorced July 12, 2006

m. Stephen M. Morton Aug. 16, 2006,

divorced Jan. 31, 2007

Current Marriage Situation: m. Bob Adams April 6, 2009

Political Affiliations: None Found

Religious Affiliations: None Found

Sexual Orientation: Not Known

Relationships: None Indicated at Present

•••

I pore over the executive summary for the hundredth time since I received it two days ago, looking for some insight into the enigmatic Miss Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N. I cannot get the damned woman out of my mind, and it’s seriously beginning to piss me off.

This past week, during particularly dull meetings, I’ve found myself replaying the interview in my head. Her fumbling fingers on the recorder, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the lip biting. Yes. The lip biting gets me every time.

And now here I am, parked outside Clayton’s, a mom-and-pop hardware store on the outskirts of Portland where she works.

You’re a fool, Grey. Why are you here?

I knew it would lead to this. All week…I knew I’d have to see her again. I’d known it since she uttered my name in the elevator. I’d tried to resist. I’d waited five days, five tedious days, to see if I’d forget about her. And I don’t do waiting. I hate waiting…for anything.

I’ve never pursued a woman before. The women I’ve had understood what I expected of them. My fear now is that Miss Y/L/N is just too young and that she won’t be interested in what I have to offer.

Will she? Will she even make a good submissive?

I shake my head. So here I am, an ass, sitting in a suburban parking lot in a dreary part of Portland. Her background check has produced nothing remarkable—except the last fact, which has been atthe forefront of my mind.

It’s the reason I’m here.

Why no boyfriend, Miss Y/L/N? Sexual orientation unknown—perhaps she’s gay. I snort, thinking that unlikely. I recall the question she asked during the interview, her acute embarrassment, the way her skin flushed a pale rose…I’ve been suffering from these lascivious thoughts since I met her.

That’s why you’re here. I’m itching to see her again—those eyes have haunted me, even in my dreams.

I haven’t mentioned her to Flynn, and I’m glad because I’m now behaving like a stalker. Perhaps I should let him know. No. I don’t want him hounding me about his latest solution-based-therapy shit.

I just need a distraction, and right now the only distraction I want is the one working as a salesclerk in a hardware store.

You’ve come all this way.

Let’s see if little Miss Y/L/N is as appealing as I remember.

Showtime, Grey.

A bell chimes a flat electronic note as I walk into the store. It’s much bigger than it looks from the outside, and although it’s almost lunchtime the place is quiet, for a Saturday. There are aisles and aisles of the usual junk you’d expect.

I’d forgotten the possibilities that a hardware store could present to someone like me. I mainly shop online for my needs, but while I’m here, maybe I’ll stock up on a few items: Velcro, split rings—Yeah. I’ll find the delectable Miss Y/L/N and have some fun.

It takes me all of three seconds to spot her. She’s hunched over the counter, staring intently at a computer screen and picking at her lunch—a bagel. Absentmindedly, she wipes a crumb from the corner of her lips and into her mouth and sucks on her finger.

My cock twitches in response.

What am I, fourteen? My body’s reaction is irritating. Maybe this will stop if I fetter, fuck, and flog her…and not necessarily in that order. Yeah. That’s what I need.

She is thoroughly absorbed by her task, and it gives me an opportunity to study her. Salacious thoughts aside, she’s attractive, seriously attractive. I’ve remembered her well.

She looks up and freezes. It’s as unnerving as the first time I met her. She pins me with a discerning stare—shocked, I think—and I don’t know if this is a good response or a bad response.

“Miss Y/L/N. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Mr. Grey,” she says, breathy and flustered. Ah, a good response.

“I was in the area. I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” A real pleasure.

She’s dressed in a tight T-shirt and pants, kind of disappointing, earlier this week all she wore was flattering mini skirts and sweaters.

She’s all long legs, narrow waist, and perfect tits. Her lips are still parted in surprise, and I have to resist the urge to tip her chin up and close her mouth.

I’ve flown from Seattle just to see you, and the way you look right now, it was really worth the journey.

“Y/N. My name’s Y/N. What can I help you with, Mr. Grey?” She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders like she did in the interview, and gives me a fake smile that I’m sure she reserves for customers.

Game on, Miss Y/L/N. “There are a few items I need. To start with, I’d like some cable ties.” My request catches her off guard; she looks stunned.

Oh, this is going to be fun. You’d be amazed what I can do with a few cable ties, baby.

“We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?” she says, finding her voice.

“Please. Lead the way.”

She steps out from behind the counter and gestures toward one of the aisles. She’s wearing Converse shoes.

Idly I wonder what she’d look like in skyscraper heels. Louboutins…nothing but Louboutins.

“They’re with the electrical goods, aisle eight.” Her voice wavers and she blushes…

She is affected by me. Hope blooms in my chest. She’s not gay, then. I smirk.

“After you.” I hold my hand out for her to lead the way. Letting her walk ahead gives me the space and time to admire her fantastic ass. Her long, thick hair keeps time like a metronome to the gentle sway of her hips. She really is the whole package: sweet, polite, and beautiful, with all the physical attributes I value in a submissive.

But the million-dollar question is, could she be a submissive? She probably knows nothing of the lifestyle—my lifestyle—but I very much want to introduce her to it. You are getting way ahead of yourself on this deal, Grey.

“Are you in Portland on business?” she asks, interrupting my thoughts. Her voice is high; she’s feigning disinterest. It makes me want to laugh. Women rarely make me laugh.

“I was visiting the WSU farming division. It’s based in Vancouver,” I lie. Actually, I’m here to see you, Miss Y/L/N.

Her face falls, and I feel like a shit.

“I’m currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science.” That, at least, is true.

“All part of your feed-the-world plan?” She arches a brow, amused.

“Something like that,” I mutter. Is she laughing at me? Oh, I’d love to put a stop to that if she is.

But how to start? Maybe with dinner, rather than the usual interview…now, that would be novel: taking a prospect out to dinner.

We arrive at the cable ties, which are arranged in an assortment of lengths and colors. Absentmindedly, my fingers trace over the packets. I could just ask her out for dinner. Like on a date?

Would she accept? When I glance at her she’s examining her knotted fingers. She can’t look at me… this is promising. I select the longer ties. They are more flexible, after all, as they can accommodate two ankles and two wrists at once.

“These will do.”

“Is there anything else?” she says quickly—either she’s being super-attentive or she wants to get me out of the store, I don’t know which.

“I’d like some masking tape.”

“Are you redecorating?”

“No, not redecorating.” Oh, if you only knew…

“This way,” she says. “Masking tape is in the decorating aisle.”

Come on, Grey. You don’t have much time. Engage her in some conversation. “Have you worked here long?” Of course, I already know the answer. Unlike some people, I do my research. For some reason she’s embarrassed.

Fuck, this girl is shy. I don’t have a hope in hell. She turns quickly andwalks down the aisle toward the section labeled Decorating. I follow her eagerly, like a puppy.

“Four years,” she mumbles as we reach the masking tape. She bends down and grasps two rolls, each a different width.

“I’ll take that one.” The wider tape is much more effective as a gag. As she passes it to me, the tips of our fingers touch, briefly. It resonates in my groin. Damn!

She pales. “Anything else?” Her voice is soft and husky.

I’m having the same effect on her that she has on me. Maybe… “Some rope, I think.”

“This way.” She scoots up the aisle, giving me another chance to appreciate her fine ass.

“What sort were you after? We have synthetic and natural filament rope…twine…cable cord…”

Shit—stop. I groan inwardly, trying to chase away the image of her suspended from the ceiling in my playroom. “I’ll take five yards of the natural filament rope, please.” It’s coarser and chafes more if you struggle against it…my rope of choice.

A tremor runs through her fingers, but she measures out five yards like a pro. Pulling a utility knife from her right pocket, she cuts the rope in one swift gesture, coils it neatly, and ties it off with a slipknot. Impressive.

“Were you a Girl Scout?”

“Organized group activities aren’t really my thing, Mr. Grey.”

“What is your thing, Y/N?” Her pupils dilate as I stare.

Yes!

“Books,” she answers.

“What kind of books?”

“Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly.”

British literature? The Brontës and Austen, I bet. All those romantic hearts-and-flowers types.

That’s not good.

“Anything else you need?”

“I don’t know. What else would you recommend?” I want to see her reaction.

“For a do-it-yourselfer?” she asks, surprised.

I want to hoot with laughter. Oh, baby, DIY is not my thing. I nod, stifling my mirth. Her eyes flick down my body and I tense. She’s checking me out!

“Coveralls,” she blurts out.

It’s the most unexpected thing I’ve heard her say since the “Are you gay?” question.

“You wouldn’t want to ruin your clothing.” She gestures to my jeans.

I can’t resist. “I could always take them off.”

“Um.” She flushes beet red and stares down.

I put her out of her misery. “I’ll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing.”

Without a word, she turns and walks briskly up the aisle, and I follow in her enticing wake. “Do you need anything else?” she says, sounding breathless as she hands me a pair of blue coveralls. She’s mortified, eyes still cast down. Christ, she does things to me.

“How’s the article coming along?” I ask, in the hope she might relax a little.

She looks up and gives me a brief relieved smile.

Finally.

“I’m not writing it, Bella is. Miss Clark. My roommate, she’s the writer. She’s very happy with it. She’s the editor of the newspaper, and she was devastated that she couldn’t do the interview in person.”

It’s the longest sentence she’s uttered since we first met, and she’s talking about someone else, not herself. Interesting.

Before I can comment, she adds, “Her only concern is that she doesn’t have any original photographs of you.”

The tenacious Miss Clark wants photographs. Publicity stills, eh? I can do that. It will allow me to spend time with the delectable Miss Y/L/N.

“What sort of photographs does she want?”

She gazes at me for a moment, then shakes her head, perplexed, not knowing what to say.

“Well, I’m around. Tomorrow, perhaps…” I can stay in Portland. Work from a hotel. A room at The Heathman, perhaps. I’ll need Taylor to come down, bring my laptop and some clothes. Or Elliot —unless he’s screwing around, which is his usual thing to do over the weekend.

“You’d be willing to do a photo shoot?” She cannot contain her surprise.

I give her a brief nod. Yeah, I want to spend more time with you… Steady, Grey.

“Bella will be delighted—if we can find a photographer.” She smiles and her face lights up like a cloudless dawn. She’s breathtaking.

“Let me know about tomorrow.” I pull my wallet from my jeans. “My card. It has my cell number on it. You’ll need to call before ten in the morning.” And if she doesn’t, I’ll head on back to Seattle and forget about this stupid venture.

The thought depresses me.

“Okay.” She continues to grin.

“Y/N!” We both turn as a young man dressed in casual designer gear appears at the far end of the aisle. His eyes are all over Miss Y/N Y/L/N. Who the hell is this prick?

“Er, excuse me for a moment, Mr. Grey.” She walks toward him, and the asshole engulfs her in a gorilla-like hug. My blood runs cold. It’s a primal response.

Get your fucking paws off her.

I fist my hands when she returns his hug.

They fall into a whispered conversation. Maybe Welch’s facts were wrong. Maybe this guy is her boyfriend. He looks the right age, and he can’t take his greedy little eyes off her. He holds her for a moment at arm’s length, examining her, then stands with his arm resting on her shoulder. It seems like a casual gesture, but I know he’s staking a claim and telling me to back off. She seems embarrassed, shifting from foot to foot.

Shit. I should go. I’ve overplayed my hand. She’s with this guy.

Then she says something else to him and moves out of his reach, touching his arm, not his hand, shrugging him off. It’s clear they aren’t close.

Good.

“Er…Paul, this is Christian Grey. Mr. Grey, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place.”

She gives me an odd look that I don’t understand and continues, “I’ve known Paul ever since I’ve worked here, though we don’t see each other that often. He’s back from Princeton, where he’s studying business administration.” She’s babbling, giving me a long explanation and telling me they’re not together, I think.

The boss’s brother, not a boyfriend. I’m relieved, but the extent of the relief I feel is unexpected, and it makes me frown. This woman has really gotten under my skin.

“Mr. Clayton.” My tone is deliberately clipped.

“Mr. Grey.” His handshake is limp, like his hair. Asshole. “Wait up—not the Christian Grey? Of Grey Enterprises Holdings?”

Yeah, that’s me, you prick.

In a heartbeat I watch him morph from territorial to obsequious.

“Wow—is there anything I can get you?”

“Y/N has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She’s been very attentive.” Now fuck off.

“Cool,” he gushes, all white teeth and deferential. “Catch you later, Y/N/N.”

“Sure, Paul,” she says, and he ambles off to the back of the store. I watch him disappear.

“Anything else, Mr. Grey?”

“Just these items,” I mutter. Shit, I’m out of time, and I still don’t know if I’m going to see her again. I have to know whether there’s a hope in hell she might consider what I have in mind.

How can I ask her? Am I ready to take on a submissive who knows nothing? She’s going to need substantial training. Closing my eyes, I imagine the interesting possibilities this presents…getting there is going to be half the fun. Will she even be up for this? Or do I have it all wrong?

She walks back to the cashier’s counter and rings up my purchases, all the while keeping her eyes on the register.

Look at me, damn it! I want to see her face again and gauge what she’s thinking.

Finally she raises her head. “That will be forty-three dollars, please.”

Is that all?

“Would you like a bag?” she asks, as I pass her my AmEx.

“Please, Y/N.” Her name—a beautiful name for a beautiful girl—flows smoothly over my tongue.

She packs the items briskly. This is it. I have to go.

“You’ll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?”

She nods as she hands back my charge card.

“Good. Until tomorrow, perhaps.” I can’t just leave.

I have to let her know I’m interested.

“Oh— and Y/N I’m glad Miss Clark couldn’t do the interview.” She looks surprised and flattered. This is good. I sling the bag over my shoulder and exit the store.

Yes, against my better judgment, I want her. Now I have to wait…fucking wait…again. Utilizing willpower that would make Elena proud, I keep my eyes ahead as I take my cell out of my pocket and climb into the rental car. I’m deliberately not looking back at her. I’m not. I’m not. My eyes flick to the rearview mirror, where I can see the shop door, but all I see is the quaint storefront. She’s not in the window, staring out at me.

It’s disappointing.

I press 1 on speed dial and Taylor answers before the phone has a chance to ring.

“Mr. Grey,” he says.

“Make reservations at The Heathman; I’m staying in Portland this weekend, and can you bring down the SUV, my computer, and the paperwork beneath it, and a change or two of clothes.”

“Yes, sir. And Charlie Tango?”

“Have Joe move her to PDX.”

“Will do, sir. I’ll be with you in about three and a half hours.”

I hang up and start the car. So I have a few hours in Portland while I wait to see if this girl is interested in me. What to do? Time for a hike, I think. Maybe I can walk this strange hunger out of my system.

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It's been five hours with no phone call from the delectable Miss Y/L/N. What the hell was thinking? I watch the street from the window of my suite at The Heathman. I loathe waiting. I always have.

The weather, now cloudy, held for my hike through Forest Park, but the walk has done nothing to cure my agitation. I’m annoyed at her for not phoning, but mostly I’m angry with myself.

I’m a fool for being here. What a waste of time it’s been chasing this woman. When have I ever chased a woman?

Grey, get a grip.

Sighing, I check my phone once again in the hope that I’ve just missed her call, but there’s nothing. At least Taylor has arrived and I have all my shit. I have Barney’s report on his department’s graphene tests to read and I can work in peace.

Peace? I haven’t known peace since Miss Y/L/N walked into my office.

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When I glance up, dusk has shrouded my suite in gray shadows. The prospect of a night alone again is depressing. While I contemplate what to do my phone vibrates against the polished wood of the desk and an unknown but vaguely familiar number with a Washington area code flashes on the screen.

Suddenly my heart is pumping as if I’ve run ten miles.

Is it her?

I answer.

“Er…Mr. Grey? It’s Y/N Y/L/N.”

My face erupts in a shit-eating grin.

Well, well. A breathy, nervous, soft-spoken Miss Y//L/N. My evening is looking up. “Miss Y/L/N. How nice to hear from you.” I hear her breath hitch and the sound travels directly tomy groin.

Great. I’m affecting her. Like she’s affecting me.

“Um—we’d like to go ahead with the photo shoot for the article. Tomorrow, if that’s okay. Where would be convenient for you, sir?”

In my room. Just you, me, and the cable ties.

“I’m staying at The Heathman in Portland. Shall we say nine thirty tomorrow morning?”

“Okay, we’ll see you there,” she gushes, unable to hide the relief and delight in her voice.

“I look forward to it, Miss Y/L/N” I hang up before she senses my excitement and how pleased I am. Leaning back in my chair, I gaze at the darkening skyline and run both my hands through my hair.

How the hell am I going to close this deal?

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queenofstelena · 6 months

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When Stef met 'Lena

< Previous > | Part Three | < next >

“Now this looks perfect.” Caroline clapped her hands together, she felt proud of what Elena, and she had accomplished.

“Caroline, you do realize that you’re saying this for the fifth time, right?” asked Elena.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. But this time’s for sure. This is exactly what we want. Would you mind going through the checklist for the fourth time?” said Caroline with a pretty please face that she knew Elena couldn’t resist.

Both of the most hard-working and dedicated employees of The Salvatore Industries worked day and night to bring this event into place. They loved the scene in front of them. A big hall specially booked for the ‘Salvatore Industries Annual Corporate Event’.

The hall was decorated with every shade of white flowers, with round tables arranged flawlessly in front of the main stage. It was the first time that Elena had a chance to organize this big of an event and it was crucial for her job. Caroline and she made a good team together, Caroline kept everything in check and Elena helped with new innovative ideas. The event was about to start in a couple of hours, and they were equally nervous as well as excited about it.

The moment of truth finally came, their esteemed guests started arriving and the duo greeted them with their sheer hospitality. For the important evening, Elena decided to wear a black dress that stopped right before her knees, it was a lacey bodycon dress, and her hair was tied in a fishtail braid, to compliment her outfit she wore a pair of black heels. Caroline on the other hand wore a golden slit bodycon dress with her hair side parted and a pair of black footwear to complete her outfit.

The nervousness was taken over by the emotion of excitement as they could the event falling into place, they both felt delighted at the sight in front of them. The Salvatore brothers finally made an appearance, both of them were dressed in a tuxedo. Sure, both of them looked equally handsome but Elena couldn’t take her eyes off the green-eyed Salvatore.

Stefan looked classy, elegant, sleek, and attractive in a way. Perhaps it was wrong on Elena’s part to think of her boss in that way, but the man was so fine that it was close to impossible to not have a good stare. While Elena was lost in her thoughts, she forgot that her Boss was approaching her, she abruptly turned her back towards him pretending to be busy, and she heard the man say,

“I am not used to scaring people away.”

Elena let out a sigh realizing that her act had been caught, she closed her eyes for a second and then turned towards Stefan. “People are uncomfortable around Salvatores in tuxes,” she replied with a subtle smile.

“Good evening, Mr. Salvatore,” she greeted her boss.

“Good evening, ‘Lena,” Stefan smiled at her.

All the guests arrived on time and were seated in their allotted seats, Damon and Stefan greeted the crowd which was followed by an award distribution ceremony conducted to appreciate the hard-working employees of The Salvatore Industries. After the award distribution, the stage was taken up by the band specially invited to grace the event.

The energy in the room was aesthetically pleasing. The dim lights with some live music in the background set the mood just right. All the employees and clients interacted with each other while enjoying their drinks and other delicacies served to them.

Elena had to use the restroom, so she proceeded toward the ladies’ room but was stopped by the familiar noises from the alley.

“Why don’t you understand Stefan? This is important for our company. And I don’t care if you are with me on this one or not. With or without you, I’m signing this deal anyway.”

“You know you cannot do that Damon. We equally own the company shares and you can’t do anything without my consent. And we cannot turn our back on one of the oldest and the most important clients just because they are having a hard time. If you take up that deal, it might jeopardize our existing relationship.”

“Well, sometimes Stefan it’s better to let go,” yelled Damon and walked back to the party. Meanwhile, Stefan just stood there in anguish. The relationship between the brothers has never been smooth but Stefan had hoped that one day it would change, but each time he has met nothing but disappointment.

Elena realized that she was eavesdropping, and she had the urge to go and comfort Stefan but then she decided against it and joined back the party.

She saw Caroline wave at her as she waited for her with two glasses of champagne. Elena waved back at her and faked a smile. She took one of the glasses from Caroline and took a sip from it. “Isn’t it a wonderful evening? Cheers to us for making this happen,” grinned Caroline.

“Yes, it sure is Caroline,” Elena smiled subtly.

Elena was still lost in her thoughts; she knew how important that client was to Stefan. They were Stefan’s first-ever clients, and she knew how loyal Stefan was toward each of his clients he couldn’t stand the thought of signing a deal behind their backs. Damon was certainly wrong in this situation, but she knew it wasn’t her place to say anything, after all, she was just a receptionist.

Elena took out her phone to check the time and her phone screen suggested 11:03 pm. Caroline and Elena had wrapped up the event and fortunately, everything went as planned. But Stefan didn’t make an appearance after greeting the crown earlier that evening. Elena wondered where he was and was genuinely worried about him.

“I guess it’s time to go,” said Caroline but didn’t hear a response from Elena, “Elena?” she repeated.

“Yes, Caroline. I’m listening.”

“Well then let’s get going, it’s pretty late.”

“You know what Caroline, I think I should do some last-minute checks, you can go. I’ll take a cab home,” Elena suggested.

“Are you sure?” asked Caroline.

“Yes Caroline, I am sure. Goodnight, and have a good weekend,” reassured Elena.

“Goodnight Elena.”

Elena decided to take a look around the hall hoping to find Stefan somewhere. She looked everywhere but the bar and thought, ' Maybe he left for home’. Her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of glass clanking against the floor. She realized that the noise came from the bar and decided to check it out.

To her surprise she found Stefan sitting on the floor…drunk. The surprise was not to find her boss there but to find him in such a miserable condition. Instinctively she decided to help him.

“Mr. Salvatore? Is everything all right? Let me call a cab for you.”

As Elena stood up to call a cab, she felt her hand being held by Stefan, he grabbed her hand and asked her, “Please sit with me Elena, will you?”

Elena knew that it was not the right thing to do, she could not repeat the same mistake as earlier. She did not want to live with the same regret yet again. But at the same time, she couldn’t deny him, not when he was drunk, miserable, and vulnerable. Elena decided to give her boss some company because it was her job to look after him. She sat beside him resting her back against the wall and placed her hand on Stefan’s shoulder to assure him that he wasn’t alone. Stefan gently held her hand and squeezed it once as a gesture to say, ‘Thank you’.

They both sat in silence, but this silence was not awkward at all. This silence was intimate and understanding. Elena was fighting with her feelings and finding the difference between professional courtesy and genuine care for someone. That someone was Stefan. She sure cared about him, she was Elena, and she cared about everyone, but she knew the way she cared about Stefan was…different.

“Come on Mr. Salvatore, let’s get you home. It’s almost midnight,” demanded Elena. She hated to demand her boss like that, but someone had to take charge as Stefan was acting like a stubborn little boy.

Elena helped Stefan to stand up on his feet, but it was difficult for him to maintain his balance, so Elena wrapped one of his arms around her shoulders and held him by his waist to make sure he didn’t trip. It wasn’t easy for her to carry him to the cab as he was taller and stronger than her, but somehow, she managed.

At first, she thought of leaving Stefan alone in the cab but something inside of her told her that it wasn’t right. She had to make sure that Stefan reached home safely so she accompanied him to his home.

They reached Stefan’s place. Stefan lived in a luxury apartment that gave a perfect view of the serene city lights from the living room. Everything was neat. Elena could see that Stefan was an organized person. But this wasn’t the time to appreciate the interiors of Stefan’s apartment, she had more important things to take care of.

Stefan directed Elena toward his bedroom, and she helped him walk to his bedroom. Gently Elena helped Stefan sit on his bed, “I’ll get some water for you, Mr. Salvatore.” Stefan simply nodded while rubbing his temples firmly.

When Elena came back with a glass of water in her hands, she just stood there at the doorframe to admire the sight in front of her, Stefan lay down on his bed and was almost asleep. He looked so innocent and calm. All Elena wanted to do was admire him with awe. She slowly walked inside the room and placed the glass of water on his nightstand.

“‘Lena?” she heard Stefan call her.

“Yes, Mr. Salvatore.” She leaned in closer to him and sat on the edge of his bed to hear him.

Stefan’s hand searched for Elena’s hand, as he felt her hands in his he held onto them tightly and looked deep into Elena’s eyes, “I wanted to say something to you for a while now ‘Lena, I think I love you.”

Elena’s mind went blank at those words, a part of her wished to disappear but a part of her wanted to cherish the moment. Who would not want to hear these words from such a fine man? So lovable and respectful. But Elena had to make decisions rationally. She had a job, and she could not risk losing it. ‘Maybe it’s just the drunk him speaking’ thought Elena to herself.

“I think you should get some sleep, Mr. Salvatore,” saying that Elena left his apartment and decided to have a talk with Stefan on Monday morning.

Elena reached her office earlier than usual on Monday morning, she was still in fix about last Friday night and hoped that Stefan only said those things because he was drunk. Elena was in a file room arranging some important files, she heard the door open and turned her attention in the direction of the door and found Stefan walking towards her.

“Um…morning Elena.”

“Good morning, Mr. Salvatore.” Elena turned her attention back to her work.

“Can we…talk?” asked Stefan.

“Yes, sure. What is it, Mr. Salvatore?”

“About how I confessed something to you, and you just left without acknowledging my feelings.”

Elena felt a lump forming in her throat. She thought that he wasn’t fully conscious when he said those words to her. But on the contrary, Stefan remembered everything. It scared her a little, she didn’t know how to react to this, she was blank, again.

“Elena? I’m talking to you?”

Elena tried to gather her thoughts and rip off the band-aid all at once.

“Yes, I’m listening, but there’s nothing to talk about Mr. Salvatore. You were drunk and I helped you. That’s it.” she replied.

“And thank you for taking care of me when I was not at my best. I am grateful for that ‘Lena. But I meant what I said and look I don’t expect an answer, but I want you to know that I was completely serious about what I said.”

Elena was at a loss for words, she didn’t know what to say, “I…don’t know how to react to that Mr. Salvatore. Our relationship is professional, and I do not wish to go against professional conduct and be involved with someone from work. I am sorry but I don’t have the same feelings for you as you do Mr. Salvatore.”

Stefan was not convinced by Elena’s words, he asked, “No that’s not it. I know you have felt it too Elena. There is some other reason…”

“I don’t…” Elena cut him off and Stefan raised his eyebrow in question.

“I don’t want people to think that I got this job because the boss fell for me, I know I earned this job, this position I hold right now. And I sure don’t want to lose this job, Mr. Salvatore. I am desperate and I can’t let anything come in the way of that. So, it will be my humble request to keep our relationship professional.”

Stefan’s face had a hint of disappointment and hurt. He expected a lot of different reactions on Elena’s part, but this was beyond expectation. He did not want to believe the words he heard, he still wanted to believe in his feelings, but it was also true that he did not have any option.

“Okay, okay. I can completely understand how you feel and why you feel that way. So, I guess, have a nice day ahead Ms. Gilbert.”

“You too Mr. Salvatore.”

With that, Stefan left the room and Elena just stood there in her spot, she was not the kind of person to hurt someone intentionally, she was compassionate and empathetic. But she knew this was the right thing to do, she knew it was an important decision.

Tagging: @misschanadlerbong

#the vampire diaries #tvd #elena gilbert #stefan salvatore #stelena #nina dobrev #paul wesley #stefan x elena #team stelena #stelena shippers club #tvd fanfic #tvd fanfiction #tvd fandom #the vampire diaries fanfic #the vampire diaries fanfiction #vampire diaries fanfic #vampire diaries fanfiction #caroline forbes #damon salvatore

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misschanadlerbong · 6 months

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When Stef Met 'Lena

“Now this looks perfect.” Caroline clapped her hands together, she felt proud of what Elena, and she had accomplished.

“Caroline, you do realize that you’re saying this for the fifth time, right?” asked Elena.

“I am not used to scaring people away.”

“Good evening, Mr. Salvatore,” she greeted her boss.

“Good evening, ‘Lena,” Stefan smiled at her.

Elena had to use the restroom, so she proceeded toward the ladies’ room but was stopped by the familiar noises from the alley.

“Why don’t you understand Stefan? This is important for our company. And I don’t care if you are with me on this one or not. With or without you, I’m signing this deal anyway.”

Elena realized that she was eavesdropping, and she had the urge to go and comfort Stefan but then she decided against it and joined back the party.

“Yes, it sure is Caroline,” Elena smiled subtly.

“I guess it’s time to go,” said Caroline but didn’t hear a response from Elena, “Elena?” she repeated.

“Yes, Caroline. I’m listening.”

“Well then let’s get going, it’s pretty late.”

“You know what Caroline, I think I should do some last-minute checks, you can go. I’ll take a cab home,” Elena suggested.

“Are you sure?” asked Caroline.

“Yes Caroline, I am sure. Goodnight, and have a good weekend,” reassured Elena.

“Goodnight Elena.”

To her surprise she found Stefan sitting on the floor…drunk. The surprise was not to find her boss there but to find him in such a miserable condition. Instinctively she decided to help him.

“Mr. Salvatore? Is everything all right? Let me call a cab for you.”

As Elena stood up to call a cab, she felt her hand being held by Stefan, he grabbed her hand and asked her, “Please sit with me Elena, will you?”

“‘Lena?” she heard Stefan call her.

“Yes, Mr. Salvatore.” She leaned in closer to him and sat on the edge of his bed to hear him.

“I think you should get some sleep, Mr. Salvatore,” saying that Elena left his apartment and decided to have a talk with Stefan on Monday morning.

“Um…morning Elena.”

“Good morning, Mr. Salvatore.” Elena turned her attention back to her work.

“Can we…talk?” asked Stefan.

“Yes, sure. What is it, Mr. Salvatore?”

“About how I confessed something to you, and you just left without acknowledging my feelings.”

“Elena? I’m talking to you?”

Elena tried to gather her thoughts and rip off the band-aid all at once.

“Yes, I’m listening, but there’s nothing to talk about Mr. Salvatore. You were drunk and I helped you. That’s it.” she replied.

Stefan was not convinced by Elena’s words, he asked, “No that’s not it. I know you have felt it too Elena. There is some other reason…”

“I don’t…” Elena cut him off and Stefan raised his eyebrow in question.

“Okay, okay. I can completely understand how you feel and why you feel that way. So, I guess, have a nice day ahead Ms. Gilbert.”

“You too Mr. Salvatore.”

@wiidestdrearms / @queenofstelena

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adelaidedrubman · 1 year

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INTERVIEW WITH THE DEPUTY

i was tagged by my beloveds @socially-awkward-skeleton and @direwombat to do this oc interview, also following their brilliant format of styling it as an interview with wheaty!! sending tags out to @florbelles @henbased @unholymilf @belorage @noetikat @heroofpenamstan @marivenah @ishwaris @derelictheretic @strangefable @roofgeese @confidentandgood @echo3-1 @jackiesarch @purplehairsecretlair @strafethesesinners and anyone else can @ me!

wrote this as taking place vaguely in the time frame of wildfire chapter 16, and since it’s jestiny answering obviously it cannot be considered an accurate source of lore.

“Alright, we’ll be live and on the air in ten,” Wheaty said with a wide smile, nodding towards the microphone in front of Jestiny. “Nine… eight…”

“Wait,” Jessie hissed under her breath, throwing a hand over the mic to produce a screech of feedback harsh enough to cause Wheaty to throw his headphones off. “Before we get started, just, uh — Just curious, what’s the broadcast range on this?” She motioned a thumb towards the audio equipment. “Like, is this a Whitetails exclusive, or are folks outside the uh, general area gonna get to hear it?”

“It only reaches the Whitetails,” Wheaty answered, pulling the microphone away from her.

“Any way we could change that? Like, is there a jammer I can blow up real quick?”

“What?” He questioned, replacing his headphones. “No, I — why?”

“I mean, if this is supposed to boost morale for the resistance, shouldn’t we be trying to boost it for the entire resistance?” she asked, ignoring the long beep and flashing light to her side. “Like, we should also be talking to folks, in say, the Henbane? ...The Val —”

“Dep, we’re live now.”

“Right! It’s showtime, folks!”

“Well all you Whitetails, in case you haven’t figured it out by now, here’s your cue to get excited — because today I have the chance to sit down with the infamous Deputy Rook. Thanks for chatting with us, Rook.”

“My pleasure. Good practice for when all those cult bastards are rotting in jail, and I’m doing press as America’s sweetheart.”

“That’s — the spirit, I guess. So surely everyone with a working radio has heard about your exploits, but let’s learn more about the woman behind the badge…”

Name?

JESTINY: Deputy Rook.

WHEATY: [Laughs.] Good one, Dep. Full name?

JESTINY: I just go by Rook.

WHEATY: You… don’t have a first name?

JESTINY: People ’round here just call me Rook.

WHEATY: …C’mon, there’s no one around you’re on a first name basis with?

JESTINY: Jesus fucking Christ, Wheaty, this is not good radio. Next question.

WHEATY: Alright. Deputy Rook. Woman of mystery.

Are you single?

JESTINY: Extremely single. Extremely available.

WHEATY: That’s loud and clear! And what’s your type, so the listeners know if that’s a sign to shoot their shot?

JESTINY: Nice, normal folks.

WHEATY: …Okay, word out to anyone, uh — nice and normal!

JESTINY: Yes.

Are you happy?

JESTINY: [Laughs.] I won’t lie to you, Wheaty. Shit’s been better. But I try to keep a positive attitude.

WHEATY: Seems like it.

Are you angry?

JESTINY: [Long pause. Throat clearing.] I have lost my temper a bit on occasion before.

WHEATY: Over what?

JESTINY: For fuck’s sake Wheaty, is this supposed to be a fluff piece or an interrogation? The fuck are you grilling me for? I feel like I might as well be in — [Short pause. Cough.] Can we move on?

WHEATY: Yeah. I think you answered the question.

Are your parents still married?

JESTINY: ’Til death do they part, I guess.

WHEATY: That’s sweet!

JESTINY: It really fuckin’ isn’t.

WHEATY: Okay, then.

Birth place?

JESTINY: Kentucky.

Hair color?

JESTINY: Ha, I think everyone knows that one already.

WHEATY: For anyone who might have missed it.

JESTINY: [Scoffs.] Sure, fine. Flaming locks of auburn hair. [Vague rustling in background.] Say, do you have any Dolly in here?

WHEATY: Please don’t touch my vinyls.

Eye color?

JESTINY: And eyes of emerald green... Okay, fine, light brown. But I do have ivory —

Birthday?

JESTINY: April 13, 1990. Born on a Friday the thirteenth.

WHEATY: Huh.

Mood?

JESTINY: Fine.

WHEATY: …Anything more to that?

JESTINY: I’m fine.

WHEATY: Okay. Fine.

Gender?

JESTINY: Gal.

Summer or winter?

JESTINY: Around here, summer. Snow’s pretty and all, but too fucking cold to camp out in it.

WHEATY: [Tone lightening.] So you like camping?

JESTINY: I said cool it with the fuckin’ third degree, Wheaty.

WHEATY: [Tone falling.] Right.

Morning or afternoon?

JESTINY: Afternoon.

=EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE=

Are you in love?

JESTINY: God fucking no, I — [Pause. Cough. Short laugh.] Only with my job, and the joy of helpin’ people.

Who ended your last relationship?

JESTINY: I, uh — I don’t know if I’ve had many of what could be considered ‘relationships’ in the traditional sense, so… I’ve made a few big moves in my time, that’s… broken some things off.

Have you ever broken someone’s heart?

JESTINY: Aw, c’mon. Do I look like someone who could do that?

WHEATY: The listeners can’t see you, Dep.

JESTINY: Well, then, next question.

Are you afraid of commitments?

JESTINY: Afraid isn’t the right word, ’course I’m not fucking scared. But I like to not be tied down.

Have you hugged someone within the last week?

JESTINY: Huh. I’ve been hugged by lots of people, lately. It’s — [Pause.] So nice. You know me. Woman of the people.

WHEATY: Self-described.

Have you ever had a secret admirer?

JESTINY: I don’t fuckin’ know. Frankly, that’s none of my business. Or your —

WHEATY: I’m guessing ‘next question?’

JESTINY: You’ve got a real fucking future in journalism, kid. Good instincts.

Have you ever broken your own heart?

JESTINY: What the fuck does that mean?

WHEATY: You know, Rook. Like have you ever caused yourself heartbreak? Hurt your own feelings, or —

JESTINY: I’m fine.

=SIX CHOICES=

Love or lust?

JESTINY: C’mon, Wheaty — you’re gonna make me sound not very ‘America’s sweetheart’ with this one. [Particularly forced-sounding laughter.] [Long pause.] [Flatter tone.] But, lust. Definitely just lust.

Lemonade or iced tea?

JESTINY: Finally, some real fucking questions around here! Iced tea, but only the sweet kind.

Cats or dogs?

JESTINY: Cats, I guess. I like both, but the following you around shit can be… Cats are independent. It’s nice.

A few best friends or many regular friends?

JESTINY: Hey, they’re called best friends for a reason. But love ’em all, of course.

Wild night out or romantic night in?

JESTINY: Hm, definitely wild night out — but usually ‘wild’ in the ‘wilderness’ sense.

Day or night?

JESTINY: Night.

=FOUR HAVE YOU EVERS=

Been caught sneaking out?

JESTINY: Did you miss when I said my birth year? I’m a grown ass woman. [Mocking falsetto.] Sneaking out.

WHEATY: When you were a kid, then. What kind of childhood did the great Deputy Rook have?

JESTINY: Fine.

WHEATY: [Perking up.] Fine? You’ll talk about it?

JESTINY: I’m saying my childhood was fine. Normal childhood.

WHEATY: Of course…

Fallen down/up the stairs?

JESTINY: Uh, would it really boost morale for everyone to hear about their hero falling down the stairs? I’m very coordinated. Don’t fall on my ass that often.

Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt?

JESTINY: No.

Wanted to disappear?

JESTINY: Yeah, the uh — bright red hair and general notoriety makes that difficult.

=FOUR PREFERENCES=

Smile or eyes?

JESTINY: Let’s say smile.

Shorter or taller?

JESTINY: Definitely prefer shorter, but taller isn’t a dealbreaker. As long as I can still lift them.

Intelligence or attraction?

JESTINY: Depends on what we’re talkin’. Short term or long term? I mean I — [Short laugh.] I certainly don’t wanna fuckin’ accuse anyone I’ve been with in some sense of the word of necessarily being fucking intelligent.

WHEATY: [Laugh. Rustling noise.] Are you afraid you’ll hurt a listener’s feelings?

JESTINY: Of course fucking not, I — Next fucking question.

Hook-up or relationship?

JESTINY: Hook-up, at my current stage in life.

=FAMILY=

Do you and your family get along?

JESTINY: I don’t get to see any of them, that often.

WHEATY: Well, let’s say when did. How was your relationship with your family?

[Pause.]

WHEATY: [Sighs.] Let me guess, it was f —

JESTINY: Fine.

Would you say you have a “messed up life”?

JESTINY: Whole fuckin’ county has a messed up life right now.

WHEATY: I want to talk about you, though.

JESTINY: A perfectly average level of messed up. Can’t complain.

Have you ever run away from home?

JESTINY: Not seriously.

Have you ever gotten kicked out?

JESTINY: Nope.

=FRIENDS=

Do you secretly hate one of your friends?

JESTINY: Yes, but I won’t say who. Keep people on their toes.

Do you consider all of your friends good friends?

JESTINY: Yeah, sure.

Who is your best friend?

JESTINY: Oh, that’s hard to pick, uh — Adelaide and I have fun together, and I’d say Mary May and I got pretty close there. Back when — back when I was spending a lot of time in Holland Valley. But, y’know — I’m not, anymore. [Pause.] But Mary May, if you’re listening, I — still consider us good friends.

WHEATY: [Whispering.] I told you, this is only broadcasting in the Whitetails.

JESTINY: [Whispering loudly.] Well people still might pass the fucking message along, right?

Who knows everything about you?

JESTINY: Ha. Nobody but me and god, and I don’t believe in god.

WHEATY: Then who knows the most about you?

JESTINY: [Short pause.] Around here?

WHEATY: Sure.

JESTINY: [Extremely long pause.] Mary May.

#i thought about setting it in actual america’s sweetheart universe but she would have been far less honest yet #it was not informative it was illuminating

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rockislandadultreads · 10 months

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LGBTQIA+ Pride Month: Sci-Fi & Fantasy Recommendations

When Women Were Dragons by Kelly Barnhill

Alex Green is a young girl in a world much like ours, except for its most seminal event: the Mass Dragoning of 1955, when hundreds of thousands of ordinary wives and mothers sprouted wings, scales, and talons; left a trail of fiery destruction in their path; and took to the skies. Was it their choice? What will become of those left behind? Why did Alex’s beloved aunt Marla transform but her mother did not? Alex doesn’t know. It’s taboo to speak of.

Forced into silence, Alex nevertheless must face the consequences of this astonishing event: a mother more protective than ever; an absentee father; the upsetting insistence that her aunt never even existed; and watching her beloved cousin Bea become dangerously obsessed with the forbidden.

In this timely and timeless speculative novel, award-winning author Kelly Barnhill boldly explores rage, memory, and the tyranny of forced limitations. When Women Were Dragons exposes a world that wants to keep women small—their lives and their prospects—and examines what happens when they rise en masse and take up the space they deserve.

Her Majesty’s Royal Coven by Juno Dawson

If you look hard enough at old photographs, we're there in the background: healers in the trenches; Suffragettes; Bletchley Park oracles; land girls and resistance fighters. Why is it we help in times of crisis? We have a gift. We are stronger than Mundanes, plain and simple.

At the dawn of their adolescence, on the eve of the summer solstice, four young girls--Helena, Leonie, Niamh and Elle--took the oath to join Her Majesty's Royal Coven, established by Queen Elizabeth I as a covert government department. Now, decades later, the witch community is still reeling from a civil war and Helena is now the reigning High Priestess of the organization. Yet Helena is the only one of her friend group still enmeshed in the stale bureaucracy of HMRC. Elle is trying to pretend she's a normal housewife, and Niamh has become a country vet, using her powers to heal sick animals. In what Helena perceives as the deepest betrayal, Leonie has defected to start her own more inclusive and intersectional coven, Diaspora. And now Helena has a bigger problem. A young warlock of extraordinary capabilities has been captured by authorities and seems to threaten the very existence of HMRC. With conflicting beliefs over the best course of action, the four friends must decide where their loyalties lie: with preserving tradition, or doing what is right.

This is the first volume in the “Her Majesty’s Royal Coven” series.

The Thousand Eyes by A.K. Larkwood

Two years ago, Csorwe and Shuthmili defied the wizard Belthandros Sethennai and stole his gauntlets. The gauntlets have made Shuthmili extraordinarily powerful, but they're beginning to take a sinister toll on her. She and Csorwe travel to a distant world to discover how to use the gauntlets safely, but when an old enemy arrives on the scene, Shuthmili finds herself torn between clinging to her humanity and embracing eldritch power.

Meanwhile, Tal Charossa returns to Tlaanthothe to find that Sethennai has gone missing. As well as being a wizard of unimaginable power, Sethennai is Tal's old boss and former lover, and Tal wants nothing to do with him. When a magical catastrophe befalls the city, Tal tries to run rather than face his past, but soon learns that something even worse may lurk in the future. Throughout the worlds of the Echo Maze, fragments of an undead goddess begin to awaken, and not all confrontations can be put off forever...

This is the second volume in “The Serpent Gates” series.

Màgòdiz by Gabe Calderón

Everything that was green and good is gone, scorched away by a war that no one living remembers. The small surviving human population scavenges to get by; they cannot read or write and lack the tools or knowledge to rebuild. The only ones with any power are the mindless Enforcers, controlled by the Madjideye, a faceless, formless spiritual entity that has infiltrated the world to subjugate the human population.

A’tugwewinu is the last survivor of the Andwànikàdjigan. On the run from the Madjideye with her lover, Bèl, a descendant of the Warrior Nation, they seek to share what the world has forgotten: stories. In Pasakamate, both Shkitagen, the firekeeper of his generation, and his life’s heart, Nitàwesì, whose hands mend bones and cure sickness, attempt to find a home where they can raise children in peace, without fear of slavers or rising waters. In Zhōng yang, Riordan wheels around just fine, leading xir gang of misfits in hopes of surviving until the next meal. However, Elite Enforcer H-09761 (Yun Seo, who was abducted as a child, then tortured and brainwashed into servitude) is determined to arrest Riordan for theft of resources and will stop at nothing to bring xir to the Madjideye. In a ruined world, six people collide, discovering family and foe, navigating friendship and love, and reclaiming the sacredness of the gifts they carry.

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inscrutable-shadow · 1 year

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Febuwhump Day 19 - "You Deserve This"

or, hollow me out (and fill me with rage)

5.1k. The Doctor's captivity continues, this time, with a punishment of a particular karmic parallel.

(too long? read on ao3!) bit of background here, this is meant as a continuation of a storyline in which the Doctor has been kidnapped by one of their colleagues and a former subject and experiences various punishments and humiliations, supposedly with the goal of making them feel bad for being awful all of the time (which we all know is impossible). the "previous day" that keeps being referred to the Doc was forced to "reveal" their assigned gender under duress (they lied, they don't remember). it stands pretty well on its own if you just ignore all of the little details that don't make sense, haha Content Warnings: gore/vivisection, nausea (no vomiting), misgendering (the Doctor is not a woman and this is not lady whump, that’s the more wrong of the two options), drug mentions (medical setting and use).

I am awoken by the sharp bite of a needle going into my neck, and dread pools in my stomach as I realise what is happening. I have ten seconds to fight before the paralytic goes to work on my muscles, but it is too late. Harper is on top of me, and even I, with my enhanced strength, cannot fight both him and the drug.

“Really, Rowan, your drugs are incredible,” Rosen taunts me. He knows how much I despise being called that name. “You haven’t patented this? What a waste.”

“You know why I have not,” I grind out. Insufferable prick.

He grins. “Ah, yes. Can’t publish your research because of your methods. What a shame.” Wrong. I can easily have procedural records forged that would obfuscate the less-than-savoury origins of my results. I do not do so because I have integrity, unlike some other doctors I could mention.

My muscles have gone slack by now, and I hang limply from the cot, still pale and thin from my previous ordeals. “What do you want?” I interject, annoyed. I wish he would just get the seven-devilled procedure over with instead of wasting time needling me as if it would make me feel some sort of remorse.

“Harper tells me that today’s procedure is one of your favourites,” Rosen explains. Surely he doesn’t mean…

I won’t deny my nature. I do not even have the decency to be afraid in the face of what is most likely torture. Instead, giddy anticipation wells in my stomach, and requires concentration to keep out of my voice. “I guarantee you, hallucinogens will not produce as satisfying a result in me as you anticipate.” I can never resist the urge to wilfully misunderstand, one of my many small vices.

“Idiot, not that,” Harper spits as he hoists me up out of the cot. I feel sick hanging upside down over his shoulder with no feeling below the neck, but voicing my discomfort will get me nowhere. He continues, “You’d always get this light in your eyes when talking about it, like you were… hunting. You called it… uh… gross something… vivisystem?” Typical. I did not study him for his intelligence, after all. He wasn’t even really a pleasant diversion.

Rosen rolls his eyes, walking behind us on the way to the operating theatre. “Gross multi-system vivisection, Harper, we went over this. At least pretend to pay attention, won’t you? And don’t tilt them so much, they’re starting to look a little green around the gills.” It’s true, I am quite nauseous at this point, but that is least among the concerns of my mind when faced with the prospect of my wildest dreams being realised.

“She’s fine,” Harper says, dumping me unceremoniously onto the gurney, where I will be prepared for surgery before being transferred to the operating table. “Probably can’t even puke with that shit you put into her.”

“Could. Shall not,” I respond, tersely. I fear that if I open my mouth too far, I will vomit. It’s a mostly involuntary process that will only be slightly impeded by the impairment of my abdominal muscles.

Harper moves to undress me, but Rosen shoulders him off. “No way. Not after that stunt you pulled yesterday. I don’t care what they did to you, you don’t violate them like that. What is the point of this if you are more cruel even than they were to you?”

I am grateful. Harper’s insistence on “she” since the debacle yesterday doesn’t bother me any. I am used to that. It’s the way he says it, as if I am a cut of meat he plans to devour. I have not missed that feeling at all in the last several decades of being assumed to be some flavour of male. Rosen, at least, still respects me as a human being and as a fellow researcher, though I find it hard to believe that his only goal in this is to somehow rehabilitate me.

“The point,” Harper hisses, “is to make this bitch pay for what she did to me!” He pulls up his shirt to reveal a nasty-looking Y-shaped scar. My sutures usually heal much better than that…

“Sorry,” Rosen whispers as he pulls down my trousers. He continues, louder, “What did you even study him for, anyway? It’s not like he’s special.”

“No, certainly not. An ordinary human subject was what I was looking for. I was attempting to induce accelerated healing in a subject without mutated biology, though I was only marginally successful. Should have pushed harder on that last drug trial; I pulled the plug because of the risk factor, but I suppose I would not be here if I had killed him.” The healing factor drugs are mostly complete now, though I must still tailor the formulation to the recipient’s unique biology, preferably with the assistance of genetic sequencing.

Rosen shrugs as he pulls the paper gown over me. “Well, he lived, so you must have done something right.”

I snort. “I am a doctor, Rosen. I do not lose patients on my operating table.” On the rare occasion a subject expires while in my care, it is due to complications and not the procedures themselves. Though I am usually able to mitigate these, occasionally there is nothing even I can do.

Outraged at being talked about like he is not present, Harper shoulders his way back into the conversation. “The hell you don’t! You murdered that woman right in front of me!”

“Oh, Adelaide? She still lives. She was an immortal. Were you not aware? I suppose not. I had given up on explaining things to you at that point. But no, she did not die, at least not permanently. That was the purpose of the experiment, to transfer at least a subset of her abilities to you. You did not acquire that one, obviously.”

He has no response other than indignant noises and gaping like a fish, which, I must admit, is quite satisfying. Rosen goes to scrub in, leaving Harper to transfer me to the operating table. He is not gentle, as expected, and I let out a soft grunt as my back impacts the hard surface. I honestly do not understand why he is so bitter. Most released subjects of mine would much rather never see me again than seek me out for some sort of revenge. He is hale and healthy, even with a bit of accelerated healing, and without lasting disability. If he gained some amount of post-traumatic stress after his experience, well, we’ve all done that. If anything, I did him several favours.

Rosen returns quickly. He is nothing if not a professional. Unfortunately, he is also a completely insufferable, eel-headed buffoon. “Scrub in, Harper,” he commands, and Harper scuttles off to obey. I do very much prefer non-sterile individuals not to be present while my chest cavity is open. “I’ve never done this before, should be a learning experience for me. How long did it take you to master?”

He is trying to frighten me. It will not work; I am far too excited to be frightened. “Mastery required several years and tens of repetitions. I performed the procedure passably on the first attempt, however.”

If one were to question my colleagues, one would come away with the impression that I am something of a surgical prodigy, a notion which I quite dispute. The fact remains that I find surgery to be relaxing, and it comes to me rather easily. My perfectionism regarding working with living subjects rather than cadavers knows no bounds, and I am versatile in an operating theatre, able to do whatever is necessary to ensure a procedure is a success. I would not call myself a doctor if I could do anything less, though others are much freer with the title. Regardless, I am likely to enjoy the procedure even more if Rosen errs catastrophically, though losing my life in the process may not be worth the trouble.

Rosen is unimpressed. “I’m sure. Doctor Pryor’s wunderkind would never need more than one try to learn anything. What would she say if she knew what you’d done?”

“I am sure I have not the slightest idea. I care little for her approval. I am perfectly content to do my work in peace.” I would rather work the clinic than attend these ridiculous symposiums. My feelings on clinic hours are neutral, bordering on dislike, but still.

“Ah, of course. Soulless vessel of science and all that.” Ridiculous. I have never claimed to be such. “Let’s see if you’re still so cold when it’s your guts on the table.” Cold is unlikely to be the correct word to describe it…

Harper is back now, hovering awkwardly on the opposite side of the table from Rosen. “Come on, just cut her open already…” Eager to see me bleed. I share the sentiment.

“Right. Would you even use pain relief for a procedure like this, Rowan? Or do you prefer to watch your victims squirm?”

Victims? Please. “Of course I do, Rosen; I am not cruel for its own sake. However-” I shouldn’t. Would he even listen? He would surely think me mad. Though, he already thinks I am insane… which is not entirely inaccurate. “Would you… refrain from using it this time? The paralytic will dull much of it, regardless.”

Rosen is dumbstruck. “Y-you… want to feel it? You really are a freak, aren’t you…”

After all of these years, I am still somehow hurt by the name ‘freak’. “You are under no obligation to acquiesce, of course. You will want to use two hundred and fifty micrograms of fentanyl, and double the dose of the paralytic formulation. I should not have this much control over my diaphragm.” If he will not cede to my requests, the least he can do is not have me die from shock.

“And you want us to skip the fentanyl?” Harper asks warily, wondering, most likely, if it will give me some advantage.

“Naturally. I have no way of gathering data on the actual experience: not only is it more difficult to operate on a conscious and feeling subject, very few will talk to me afterward other than to heap curses upon my head. This is an excellent opportunity to collect the data myself. My tolerance is much higher than the average subject. You will not have to worry about my making the procedure more difficult by breathing erratically or going into shock from pain alone.”

“You’ve thought about this. You’ve planned this.” Rosen’s tone is accusatory. I am sure that his surgical mask hides an expression just as horrified.

I roll my eyes. “I perform vivisections on myself regularly, yes. A multi-system would be both awkward and incredibly dangerous to perform on oneself, though I will not deny having thought about it in detail.” Fantasised, really. I could learn so much.

Harper pulls Rosen aside and they whisper among themselves, attempting to determine if fulfilling my request will defeat their purpose. I suppose I should not inform them that I can still hear them. I don’t understand what they think I will do, enjoy it too much, I imagine. It is not as if I seek pain for its own sake.

Eventually, they return, having decided that pain would surely drown out any enjoyment I may receive before I could savour it. At this point, I would rather like to get the whole thing over with. I am quite cold lying here in paper clothes while they deliberate. “Quite finished?”

“Shut it. You’re getting what’s coming to you.” Harper hovers a short distance away, likely having been told by Rosen to keep his distance if he wanted to be allowed to watch the show.

“Ah. Yes. Restitution for my many sins. May God have mercy on my soul.”

“Watch it, Rowan,” Rosen warns, pushing more paralytic as I had directed. “Save your strength. You’ll need it.”

I miss the opportunity for another eye roll when the first incision bites into my skin, sending ripples of euphoria through my entire body. My first instinct is to bite down on my knuckle to suppress the urge to laugh out loud, but, of course, I am immobile, and must settle for a gasp instead. The pain is there, of course: I can feel every millimetre of the scalpel sliding through my skin on its Y-shaped path, but the calydinol is doing its job, and the sensation is not nearly as acute as it could be. I have experience with this. It isn’t usually until about half an hour into a vivisection that the pain begins interfering with my ability to work.

Speaking of which, I must catalogue this. It would be too much to ask for my tape recorder. I shall have to rely on memory. They’ve skipped the external inventory, though, I suppose, they have no interest in the actual data, and I believe Rosen would like to avoid drawing Harper’s attention to my body (and particularly, my lack of genitalia) after yesterday’s disaster. I have sufficient data on my own particulars, regardless. The Y-incision is neat and performed with care. Rosen is actually a capable surgeon, after all, and as much as I dislike him, I cannot deny we possess a similar degree of professional dedication.

The sensation of having my skin pulled back is not exactly new, but this is my first time having it done on an area so large and one that I cannot see. With minor vivisections, I tend not to use any sort of anaesthetic at all on myself, so the humming numbness of the paralytic is an odd addition to the familiar feeling, but it’s the fingers on my internal organs that are most distressing. I remain silent, though I, at last, understand why subjects usually cry out: it is incredibly odd, though not painful, per se.

“Where’re the… you know, ova… girl parts?” Harper seems intent on being as incredibly rude as possible.

“Absent.” I glare at him, or as much as I can without being able to pick my head up.

“Hush, Rowan.” It’s not as if I can really speak while my intestines are being pulled on, regardless. “And do you really think they wouldn’t have had a hysterectomy by now, Harper? I don’t think I’ve ever known a doctor to be so eager to modify their own body.” I choose to take that as a compliment. It is one of the few redeeming qualities about being biological that my knowledge of pharmaceuticals allows me to have my body running quite the way I want it.

Harper shrugs. “I dunno. Seems to me like she’d never let someone else take a knife to her. Wouldn’t trust anyone. She thinks she’s the only good doctor on the planet.” Half true. I do, in general, provide my own medical care, and I think I bring a higher quality than most, but I would not prevent someone else from assisting me if I were incapacitated. Some things I cannot do myself, there is no shame in that.

“For all we know, they did it themselves,” Rosen mutters, watching my face suspiciously. I smile in return until he looks away. “You won’t be smiling once I bring out the bone saw.”

He is correct, and that is one element that distresses me. It appears to be the most painful part of the entire process if subject reactions are anything to go on, and though I can withstand quite a bit of pain, I am not confident that my veneer of calm will survive the ordeal. It has been a very long while since I have experienced any sort of sensation that would bring me distress, and longer still since anything I would consider unbearable. I do not wish to cry in front of Harper again, but if it is unavoidable, I suppose I shall deal with it as it comes.

Rosen is squeezing a section of my small intestine between his thumb and forefinger. I grunt softly; it is painful, but I am more bothered by the memory of what pain in that location usually means for me. “Does this feel inflamed to you? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had celiac.”

“I do. Be delicate with that, will you? It is already sufficiently damaged and I would prefer not to have to remove it. Now you know why I would only eat the rice.” The cross-contamination still caught me, hence the inflammation when I have been rigorous with my diet for decades, but I make do.

Harper laughs. “That’s the no-gluten thing, right? Should we feed her bread and see what happens?” I sigh, but say nothing.

Rosen doesn’t respond for a moment, mind occupied with measuring my intestines. “Seven hundred and sixty-eight centimetres, in case you wanted the information. Might do an endoscopy tomorrow to check on it. And don’t be ridiculous, Harper, I’m not trying to send them home minus intestine.”

“Regardless, I am sure watching me lie on a cot staring into space will not be as amusing as you anticipate. I have lived with the condition since childhood. Do you truly think a person who would ask you to perform surgery without pain relief is not aware of how much pain they can tolerate?”

“Rosen told you to shut up.” Harper is tired of being mocked, clearly.

“Rosen can- unh!” My words are arrested by the bite of the bone saw in my ribs.

I find describing the sensation quite difficult. Pain, certainly. White-hot agony erupting from the site, the vibrations resonating through my entire skeletal structure and producing a terrible sound in my ears. I didn’t expect to feel every millimetre of my bones being ground away; I am grateful that Rosen is a cardiac surgeon and that I do not have to fear for his procedural awareness or I think I would be beside myself with anxiety. As it is, the terror still shakes me to my core, and I catch myself wondering for a fleeting instant if I am going to die, here and now, on this table. Certainly not, though the fear is understandable. There is an inherent sense of wrongness to having your internals altered while you are conscious.

Harper has found the strangled sounds I have been making quite amusing. “Ready for the painkillers yet, Doc? You’re not getting any…” I have a long list of scathing retorts I would like to make, but cannot get any of them out through the choking sobs my throat constricts into on every involuntary exhale. The breathing regulation is working, at least. I had been worried based on how easy I’d found talking to be, but I needn’t have been concerned. The tears slipping down the sides of my face and pooling in my ears are embarrassing, but there is nothing I can do about that now.

As Rosen spreads my ribs, I stop breathing entirely. My throat tightens to the point of complete obstruction, and I can hear the monitor beeping indignantly as my oxygen saturation dips. “Breathe, Rowan. How are we doing?” This is his way of offering me fentanyl. He can shove the syringe up his arse for all I care.

“F-fine… no… drugs…” My voice sounds strange, thin and faltering, but I will not give up now. My blood is still singing with the thrill of discovery even as railroad spikes of concentrated pain hammer into my spine with every movement Rosen makes. “The pain is… subsiding… I can push through.”

“You really are something else… I’ll keep the records for you, at least. Assuming you stop performing these procedures. I bet that’s a better carrot for you than any threat I could make. I’ll give you the data if you give up your practice, eh?”

I feel the urge to laugh building in my chest again, the crackling energy of mania pulsing just beneath the surface now unsuppressed by my altered mental state. Surrender my licence? I cannot even imagine it. What would I do, who would I be if not the Doctor? Just an elderly fool whose eccentricities everyone tolerates while they wait to die, nameless and purposeless. To while away my eternity carving dollhouses instead of corpses, sewing miniature outfits instead of skin? I may as well die right here on the table.

My expression most likely betrays some of this internal reflection (though I can no more laugh than I can get up and walk about) because Rosen shakes his head, clicking his tongue scoldingly. “Didn’t think so, but a man can hope. What do you even get out of this, Rowan? Surely there are easier ways to get the data you’re after.”

The data I want? No, there is no quicker, easier, or cleaner method, but I know that is not the question he truly wishes answered. “When you hold my heart in your hands, you tell me.” If he cannot understand then how I feel when I perform a procedure like this, he never will.

Rosen is discomfited by the cryptic statement, though he does not yet understand. Harper, though, in an uncharacteristic display of insight, appears to have worked it out. “You can’t beat the crazy out of her, Rosen. I told you that. She’s dangerous, and this rehabilitation bullshit is only gonna end with some other guy like me caught in her clutches somewhere else. She needs to be put down.” He is not the first to suggest it, though obviously, I still draw breath. Everyone who tries hesitates, stalled by greed or something like it, and Rosen is no different.

“I didn’t bring them here to kill them in cold blood, and with a mind like theirs, I won’t let you do it either. It would be a crime to destroy something like this.” There it is. I am just as useful to Rosen as I am to anyone else, not least because he cannot do the things I can with pharmaceutical synthesis. They all believe that if they can control me, they can use me, and that destroying me would be a waste. I quite agree on that last point, though the others are ridiculous. I give Harper a “good try” smile and try to focus on retaining consciousness. The pain is rather more intense than I had anticipated.

“You’re just like her,” Harper shoots back. “You’ll do anything for your results. Every crime, every person she kills, that shit’s on your head, too. All you doctors are the same. I dunno why I thought you’d-” He’s cut off by the strangled cry I make as Rosen pulls out my liver and places it on the scale.

“Easy does it. You want the biopsies done too, right?” I nod feebly, awash in misery. This is usually where I would seek to bring a self-surgical procedure to a close. My hands will begin to shake and I will require long pauses between incisions to regulate my breathing. No reprieve will be granted to me here, though. I regret that I am too proud to ask for pain relief, though it is unlikely that any would be given. This is a punishment, after all. “I’m going to switch to cardiopulmonary bypass. Help me, won’t you, Harper? You’re not here just to gawk.” Harper does as he’s told, much to my relief.

Once on bypass, I am unable to speak, and therefore have plenty of time for introspection. Harper and Rosen are also silent, save for the exchange of instructions and clarifications. It is rather eerie. I am used to the sound of my own voice in the operating theatre, narrating my notes to the tape recorder, talking to the subject whether or not they are capable of response, and singing quietly to myself when things are going well. It is quite rare for me to remain in silence. I am forced to reckon with the reality of my situation.

I am forced to admit that I was previously rather… overconfident… regarding my pain tolerance. It has been many years, I would have to say at least fifty, since I have experienced concentrated suffering on this scale. I have had my share of mishaps despite the off-field nature of my position: bullet wounds, stab wounds, various broken bones, overexertion, and the ever-present caffeine withdrawal, but I am usually able to triage, treat, and reduce my discomfort to manageable levels. Levels that are still quite intolerable for others, I am told, and it’s true, I would consider it malpractice to prescribe only a standard dose of paracetamol to any other patient for post-surgical care. I manage, by and large, and I do not complain often.

This experience, however, is fit to recalibrate my prior standards. The constant pulse of agony, flaring with every heartbeat (though, less now, with the bypass machine) is enough to bring tears to my eyes, and it’s been decades since I did that last. I can feel the beginnings of an anxiety attack tightening my lungs and- Oh. Nevermind. I no longer have lungs. Regardless, my mind seems to want to flash back to some long-buried unpleasant experience. My amnesia is an issue I prefer to address as little as possible, it is rarely relevant in my day-to-day life, but I find myself wishing I at least knew what sort of thing to expect to be immersed in if that barrier were to violently shatter.

I… I want Luca…

At this point, my abdominal cavity is mostly empty. I feel hollow emotionally as well, silent tears slipping into my ears and soaking into my hair. All of the thrill of a novel experience is gone, and the whole of my sensation is now consumed by pain. Rosen mistakenly believes that I am myopic rather than hyperopic, and therefore, when he cradles my heart in his hands and brings it to what he assumes is my visual range, it is still rather blurry. An interesting emotion grips me, looking at my own heart, unbeating, pink and red, smaller, somehow, than I had expected. I would say my heart twists, but that is clearly impossible, and the dissonance causes a wave of nausea to wash over me, and I think I would shudder if I could move. The nausea, at least, is still possible: my digestive tract is intact, to my relief. I do not trust Rosen to put it back together properly. Frankly, I do not trust him to put any of me back together as well as I would like, but it is rather late for that now.

“Well, here it is. Still with us, Rowan?” I can only blink heavily at him, attempting to indicate that my stillness is not due to catatonia. I am rather close to dissociation, though each new incision forcibly grounds me in the moment. “I have to admit, I think I understand what you meant earlier. Holding this in my hands, it’s... incredible.” Jävlar. He is completely insufferable.

Harper seems almost as affected by the experience as I am. Our eyes meet as he watches me silently weeping, the look of wonder on Rosen’s face reflecting into horror on his own, and I think I detect an ember of… pity?... in his eyes. Rage surges inside of me. I will not be pitied. All of my sins are my own, committed wilfully, often gleefully, and I will apologise for none of them, nor do I regret a single action I have taken. I fix my gaze on the ceiling. They have not broken me yet.

Defiant fury keeps me going through the reconstruction. Can I feel it blazing in my chest, or is that just the incisions burning? It matters little. Rosen’s stitchwork is as sloppy as I had expected, though it is clear that he has at least read my treatise on methodologies and procedures and he is using my dissolving surgical thread. I should still heal well.

When my heart and lungs are started again, the pain of each hacking cough deals a shuddering blow to my resolve, and yet, I hold fast, refusing to let more tears fall. I don’t answer when Rosen again asks how I’m feeling. I do not wish to engage with him on the matter. My ribs, likewise, do not seem to want to re-engage with each other, and Rosen spends much longer than I usually would have wiring my sternum shut again. I do not cry during this either, though I do make a good deal of undignified sounds an untrained ear may have construed as sobs.

The final stitches that close off my abdominal cavity are a mild tickling in comparison to the deep ache that has set into my entire body along with a fatigue that settles into my bones. I am disassociated from events now; I can barely hear Rosen giving Harper the order to transfer me back from the operating table to the slightly softer gurney to recover, and can barely feel my clothes being changed again. The post-surgical vest feels good, actually. The compression dulls some of the pain, though there is still plenty more of that.

“I’m going to push some pain relief now, if that’s all right. I’d like to reduce the stress on your heart.” It is not really a question, but I nod assent. I am so tired. Without the pain, I will be able to rest. I groan audibly as the drugs fill my system. “Try to rest up, yeah, Rowan? I’ll want to talk when you’ve recovered, but I think you’ve had enough punishment for one day.” My eyes are closed and I refuse to acknowledge him.

The next time he speaks, it is from much further away, closer to the door. “Come, Harper! Leave them alone!” I sense Harper’s presence leave my side, and soon the both of them leave me alone in the room, with only the quiet beeping of the monitors and hiss of my nasal cannula. I can almost imagine that I am simply taking a brief nap in my laboratory during an extended experiment and that soon I shall get up to go for more coffee. It will be a long time before I am allowed coffee, I think.

This is the first time in quite a while I will be glad to go to sleep.

#whump #my writing #febuwhump #original content #gore #vivisection #surgical whump #lab whump #medical whump #defiant whumpee #tw misgendering #tw nausea #febuwhump day 19 #you deserve this #coy writes #the doctor five card draw #coy whumps

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kiiriminna · 1 year

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Siblins: Korinna, Juniper and Eldos (plus very confused Uno).

Little background: this is based on PKNE #6: The Event Horizon, and on my own (unfinished) AU where Eldos Eidolon (Odin's future version) came to help Korinna so that she wasn't pulled into another dimension, and then they all just... bonded.

Here they are saying goodbyes, and Korinna, in a very "big-sistery" way, cannot resist to roughhouse him just a little bit before letting him go - all in good nature, of course. Juniper is holding Uno, since he's now considered as their baby-brother and the sisters have decided that he clearly needs some help to realize that Everett really isn't all that great in this parenting-thing as he still seems to think...

About my version of Eldos... He's much, much younger that Odin, about the same age as Korinna & Juniper (maybe little yonger?), and is officially known as his grand-nephew.

I was told by lilium2034 about his headcanon where Odin has one green and one red eye, due to his dualistic kind. I thought that was neat, but didn't really fit to my Odin. But when it comes to Eldos... Well, he's young and has a strong rebellious streak, especially in everything what comes to Everett (which is why he and Korinna get along so well from the very start!), so it would be just his style to add this little feature, just to remind their creator that "you really scewed up back then, didn't you?"

I took some inspiration into his clother from the armor Odin was wearing in PKNE #1: Might and Power.

#pkna #pkne #disney ducks #uno #juniper #korinna #eldos eidolon #my art

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manufacturedrainbows · 9 months

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I wanted to hold onto this drawing longer since I'm gonna post another drawing tomorrow but I physically could not resist posting Dallas ✨️

He's simply my babygirl okay?? My babygirl who's a 24 year old cis man 😤👌

I tried out a darker background with this one but the second version has my usual minty green because I cannot stop myself from using pastels 🤡

#my art #artists on tumblr #oc #original character #digital art #illustration #anime #manga #disabled artist #queer artist #punk #hes so bbg #portrait

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starkettes · 1 year

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you have inspired me . and i am indeed a child with figurines that i will absolutely show off to you even if you just nod and give a thumbs up at the end <33 my love language is pulling up a blackboard and sitting whoever im talking to down for The Talk and this will happen. you cannot refuse it <33333

(for real tho it took me months to also learn how to discern the links from each other AJSJSJAJ so yes to make it as simple as i can i will only deal with the canon 3D games . im listing them by order of their game release, but definitely not in the correct order of their place in the timeline(s). ily so so so much and im sorry in advance for the long infodump of an ask)

Ocarina of Time + Majora's Mask

the original 3d little man <33 hes like . the only 3d (adult) without chainmail bc he lived in a forest full of immortal children for his entire childhood (we dont talk about his age in majoras mask bc its complicated but just trust me hes a literal manchild) so AJSJAJAJ i differentiate him by that and his pants being distinctly white. the entire franchise and lore did him SO dirty but thats not the point of this (frothing at the mouth to rant about it but at another time)

Wind Waker

littlest of little men <33 hes the easiest link to distinguish from the others mainly bc of the art style, to the point that the fandom also calls him toon link. you can also tell ww link by the little swirly belt buckle thingy he has. also ALSO his tunic having a combo of dark + light green. literally forced the gods to choose him as his era's hero (he never held the hero's spirit in the first place) all bc his sister got kidnapped. absolute force to be reckoned with but still has voice cracks and Will Not Swear in front of his grandma in my hcs. all links are gremlins but this one literally sails with pirates so he has the background AHSHSHAHH

Twilight Princess

I WANNA BE A COWBOY BABY

fr tho hes so <333 AUGH. can literally turn into the goodest of good boys (wolf link). hes the disney princess of links bc animals Cannot And Will Not Hate Him. differentiated by the chainmail and his pinchable cheeks in game <333333 (also one of the only links imo that is absolutely not compatible with their zelda bc midna is rIGHT THERE. once again not the ask for this but i have. thoughts and things about tp zelink and tp link in general)

Skyward Sword

HES SO SOFT AUGH IM CRYING I WANT A PLUSHIE FRFR AJSJSJAJA but fr . absolute himbo and dumbass but vv much in love with his zelda <33 he has such a similar design with tp and its hard to be sure its him bc both tp and sksw link wear chainmail, but the art style of the game makes it so that the one who has the brighter and more pastel green is sksw link. his hair is also kinda diff and more soft looking, and hes also right handed <33

Breath of the Wild

do i need to explain. im so sos sos ssoss s9 r9rbf mentally ill over this reincarnation specifically <33 i really hope that i ruined this character for you now with my ability to not shut up about him for more than one (1) week. distinguished by blue and gender and hair and literally just everything bc im crying nintendo really hit peak character design with him and if somebody were to ask me to give a ted talk on him i wouldnt even know where to start bc hes just so PERFECT and augh look ok his character is so complicated starting wi-

okay it’s currently 3:30 am i will read this when i wake up

okay good morning im putting on my glasses cracking my knuckles and reading this like a grandma reading the news

the first two and twilight princess is crazy who the hell needs a hat that long i wouldnt be able to resist i would yank that thing off his head and run away jack sparrow style

wind waker link is so damn small he using a needle or something for a sword like he's desperaux 😭 😭 also didnt know he had a sister always assumed he was only child bc..well idk he just seemed like it to me

i was aware of wolf link (bc of how much u like him :3) but i didnt actually know anything so again i went to the fandom wiki and read it he's so cute (and midna rides on his back they look so cute 😭 <33) i am putting him in a puppy carrier and taking him with me

yeah breath of the wild is the main link i know of like that is the representative of the links to me thats the guy i know ALSO HE'S 4'11 I AM JUST BARELY TALLER THAN THIS GUY well a win is a win when ur short

this was great to learn actually and just know that if i ever get around to writing my head (1968) essay i’m gonna do this to you too <3

#thx u for this rei <33 #u are always more than welcome to dump about the blorbos around here #loz #soul-of-rei #mailbox

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tellerofuntruths · 1 year

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when you make such good characters for a tabletop you have brainrot about it.

Jazz Cross (she/he) and Morel Carter (it/they/he and she but only to be your girlfriend) are awful detectives in a city called Metro City. The city is fake, and being televised. The experiment is like the truman show on a much larger scale. Everyone inside went in to 1. pay off debt 2. serve a prison sentence 3. operate the test. Carter and Cross are a part of the “pilot” program. They’re the first of the people inside to have their memories altered so that this information is hidden from them. The technology is new and has some issues. Oh, also Carter was a serial killer and Cross was an arsonist for hire. @keyboardbaby designed the setting and i love it so much holy shit. Cross is @spherekuriboh‘s character!

img id: a single image with 3 colored sketches on a gray background. The images depict two people. One is a white person with medium length brown hair half tied up, named Carter. The other is a person with lightly curly blonde hair that ends around the jaw, named Cross Cross is wearing a lavender shirt and black pants in all sketches. The first sketch depicts Carter in a brown trenchcoat pinning down and strangling Cross. Cross is resisting, with a hand on Carter’s wrist. You cannot see Carter’s face. Red light reflects strongly on the two especially accenting Carter’s shoulder and Cross’ hair and hand. The second sketch, Cross is laying across Carter’s lap. One of Carter’s legs is pulled up to support her. She’s blowing smoke up to his face. it’s staring at her fondly, it’s fingers brushing her lips. They’re dressed for some kind of formal event: Carter has a black shirt and pants, blue suspender and bowtie. They mach the blue vest Cross is wearing.The sketch implies they are on a bed, and have gotten comfortable.The scene is lit with green light and warm purple shadows. The third sketch is a portrait of Cross. He’s sitting in a folding chair with a table and mug in front of him. He has glasses hanging from the second to top button on his lavender buttondown. An old cell phone with a mushroom charm hanging from it is in his shirt pocket. his legs are crossed with is hands resting on his thighs. His nails are painted black. The lighting of the sketch features strong green highlights and cool purple shadows. the shadows are blocked out and hatched with wide lines. end description.

#tabletop games #monster of the week #pilot #i love quincy so much this setting is so cool #how much do you love these guys enough to blaze this post if I wasn't begging for money on the internet

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lifeafterthelayoff · 19 days

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Part II, Day 69.

Ordinary events of a job seeker on an extraordinary day. (The solar eclipse being the extraordinary part, of course.)

No interviews, coffee chats, or interviews scheduled today. That leaves the whole day up to me, mostly. What does that look like, even? LIKE THIS:

🌅 Rise at 5:55am to make my daughter breakfast and lunch.

📖 Eat breakfast, read an issue of National Geographic magazine. An actual printed magazine! Yay!

📱 Scroll through TikTok for three-quarters of an hour, far too long. Boo!

🚶 Walk on the treadmill while watching “The Man in the High Castle” because I like to consume popular media about 8 or 9 years after everyone else, apparently.

💻 Take a seat at my desk to finalize v2 of my portfolio presentation.

💸 Pay my 2023 taxes.

🍽️ Ate lunch: leftovers.

🤘 Put in my Airpods and queue up the entire discography of my favorite metalcore band, Spiritbox, to keep me entertained as I touch up my painted entryway floor with a fine paintbrush for two hours.

🌫️ Step outside to look at the clouds where the solar eclipse was supposed to be.

💿 Go to the thrift store to drop off some donations AND to flip through the records there because I simply cannot resist it.

🥹 Step into the regional home improvement store chain to look at lumber for a project. Hear John Mayer’s “Daughter” played as background music. Tear up a little bit, because that song always does me in.

😸 Have a fellow shopper say to me, “You’ve got the cat burglar get-up on today.” I was wearing a black beanie, black gloves, and a black windbreaker. He’s not wrong. I laughed.

🌌 Pick up the aforementioned daughter from track practice. Hear about her day on the way home. The space club she co-founded at school had a special meeting on solar eclipse day. They streamed it on YouTube.

🍝 Help make dinner, eat it as we watch 3 episodes of “Brooklyn 99.” We used to eat at the table, but we do this right now, and I’m very much okay with it. Going with the flow.

🎹 Pause dinner cleanup while my daughter has a piano lesson via Zoom. I know how pots and pans sound on the other end of a Zoom call. They can wait.

🎶 Resume dinner cleanup with an eclipse-themed record playing in the background.

🪚 Go back to the regional home improvement store location with my wife, decide what lumber to buy, buy it.

🍵 Make a cup of decaf green tea. Put on another eclipse-themed album (a CD, this time). Type these words.

THERE YOU HAVE IT. It’s not nearly as cool as witnessing a total solar eclipse, but it wasn’t all bad, either.

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callangreciaonline · 8 months

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Absolute Lightspeed Exhibition Text

Some artists complicate the creative process in the telling, but Callan Grecia insists that his is simple. Scrolling, reading and viewing are the primary inputs that fuel his imagination. He cannot approach the canvas without prior immersion in the media from which he derives his vignettes.

Grecia regards himself as a draughtsman first and a painter second, so he starts with a Lyra 6B pencil and sketchbook, using three tones against the white of the paper to draw miniatures that are then shortlisted weekly. Only the strongest concepts – usually one in five – are expanded and colourised on the canvas.

Colour adds dimensionality, but Grecia is at pains to explain how he translates monochromatic pencil tones into the vivid, unadulterated hues of ‘Absolute Lightspeed’. “I’ve never thought of myself as a colourist or someone who is attuned to colour,” he admits. The process is mostly intuitive, but he knows his work is bright, and attributes this to an eye for contrast, trained in the tropical climate of Durban.

“If I were painting in a realist way perhaps I would mix colours, but I am so sure I am not a colourist that I don’t mix,” says Grecia with confidence in his choice of paint brand. The 50 non-standardised colours of Heritage Craft Acrylic Paints offer Grecia the palette and opacity he feels he needs to bring his best ideas to life.

Painting with acrylics was not easy for the self-described “bad-ass with oil paints”. “I sucked in the beginning,” due to the feel of the medium. Adjusting to the house-paint-like quality of acrylic necessitated a base coat on the canvas just so the artist’s brush would glide familiarly. This new consideration, along with others, forced changes in the way Grecia paints: a challenge the artist claims to enjoy in this relatively new, three-year journey with acrylics.

As a South African artist descended from the diasporic Indian community of Durban – the largest in the world outside of India – Grecia’s oeuvre has had to resist the imposition that it be a commentary on Indian positionality in a country obsessed with black-white relations. It is easy to read the alien motif ubiquitous in ‘Absolute Lightspeed’ as the marker of an outsider in racial terms, but it is simultaneously more and less than this interpretation. The alien iconography is representative of a personal aesthetics, influenced by the artist’s immersion in the popular imaginary of the 90s. Films likeIndependence Day (1996) and television programmes such as The Outer Limits (1995) centred extraterrestrials in the public consciousness, providing Grecia with an easily recognisable reference for feelings of isolation and rebellion.

The self-identifying “weird boy no one understands” conceals his true nature behind a mask and hints at this coping mechanism by depicting alien facades as disembodied, floating, two-dimensional headwear that could be applied to the face by a palm of the hand. Sometimes Grecia includes a green three-fingered salute to claim possession of a hidden self, ward off unwanted attention, or recognise those engaged in similar politics of the self.

“Painting is world-building,” proclaims Grecia, for a self in need of shelter and modes of representation. In an industry where taste-making is often the preserve of painters from wealthy families with artistic pedigree, the artist of colour at work on an autobiographical symbology must guard against an inferiority complex. Grecia bestows upon himself the permission to turn 90s pop-culture references such as the Nike swoosh or the E30 BMW 325is, into codes that not only edify but signify homage and aspiration.

In the Durban-based Indian community, the belief is that only those who have “made it” can afford face-brick homes. So the self-described “charo” in Grecia tips his hat to this marker of success by including brickwork in the background and edges of his frames. When the artist was growing up, his family was obsessed with the attainment of a particular type of vase that would communicate their taste and status to visitors. As a result, vases proliferate ‘Absolute Lightspeed’, signalling – tongue in cheek – the artist’s attainment of a certain prominence. The vases also hark back to a time when Grecia was cutting his teeth drawing still-lifes, thereby tracing the journey from relative anonymity to international solo exhibitions. As memento mori, the flower housing is a reminder to smell the roses before they are ultimately cast on the casket. Get the praise while it is due because eulogies are not for the departed.

That being said, ‘Absolute Lightspeed’ is not overly concerned with mortality, though the temptation exists to impose a preoccupation with death on the portals propagating the series. Through them, Grecia doffs a cap to one of his favourite paintings: Peter Doig’s Tunnel Painting (Country-rock) of the year 2000. “I like the open-endedness,” Grecia explains of the exploration of divine pathways, teleportation, and the third-eye in ‘Absolute Lightspeed’. The humble smartphone, too, functions as a transportive device, though one leading not, necessarily, to the palace of wisdom. “I don’t have all the answers,” Grecia admits while searching for them in the writings of cultural theorist and aesthetic philosopher Paul Virilio.

“I only read him,” says Grecia of the urbanist whose final project involved building the first Museum of the Accident. Virilio believed that technology cannot exist without the potential for accidents. Technology – epitomised by television in his time – separates us from the events of real space and time. It causes us to lose sight of the immediate horizon and resort to the indirect horizon of the dissimulated environment. The Accident, then, functions as a fractal meteorite hailing from a propitious darkness concealing future collisions. It is a comet hurtling through Grecia’s open-ended portals, to shock you back into corporeality.

Given that Virilio also concerned himself with the science and logic of speed in a field of study he coined as dromology, considerations of society’s consumption of contemporary media abide in Grecia’s work. The speed at which information is disseminated and consumed influences its very nature, and leads to the dominance of faster informational streams over those that are slower.

Teleport or pass through at ‘Absolute Lightspeed’ and salute the human faces behind alien masks. Navigate 90s folklore through Grecia’s emblematic retelling. Nibble on the knick-knacks that found their way to the artist’s childhood home, and reconcile depressing art memes with a cool Einstein reference in Grecia’s second solo show of the year.

Lumumba Mthembu is an arts reviewer and regular contributor to the Mail & Guardian, ArtThrob and Bubblegum Club. Currently he is the in-house writer for the Contemporary Archive Project, a non-profit organisation chronicling Durban documentary photography made since 2000.

‘Absolute Lightspeed’ was exhibited at Gallery KICHE in Seoul, South Korea, from the 30th of August until the 24th of September 2022. For more information, please visit Gallery KICHE.

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boydkorsholm0 · 2 years

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tinyyoungblood · 3 years

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how ab a headcanon where the avengers all take a trip either to disney world or on a disney cruise? i’m a whore for the idea of everyone, especially peter and y/n, just acting like kids again

pairing: peter parker x avenger!reader

a/n: i like this prompt so much!! i’ve never been to disneyland, but i hope this is accurate enough lol. i also turned this into a vlog bc someone had to record this mess and since it can’t be me, i’m giving filming privileges to bruce

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the avengers in disneyland

everyone is very very excited and the days before they leave pass in a flurry of excitement, but peter has never been to disneyland, so he’s THRILLED beyond means

peter’s jumping up and down while everyone’s loading the van and he keeps asking them if they’re ready for this “life-changing field trip?????”

sam is genuinely afraid that if peter jumps any higher he will bounce off earth, so he grabs peter by the middle and carries him horizontally into the car

steve gave a whole lecture on not getting lost the day before and since tony couldn’t resist it, he is dressed head to toe in neon yellow and grinning cockily

nat steps into the van, sees him, and turns around with her hand over her eyes like she’s been blinded

bruce brings his video camera with him and records everything. first thing they do is hit up a gift shop and it is better than any oscar nominated movie

everything they pick up is subjected to a thorough label reading and some kind of commentary

“steve, show them what you’re getting!!” “slippers” “what kind of slippers” “uh...soft”

thor on the other hand takes it very serious and his commentary ends up being very ~shakespearean~

peter and y/n get matching friendship bracelets for everyone

loki: “i’m not wearing that”

y/n: “that’s alright-“

loki: “no tie it on for me”

bucky wouldn’t have come along if it weren’t for steve and sam, but now he’s taking it upon himself to make sure that everyone stays in good condition so they don’t miss out on training

the whole team gets hourly text messages from him in the group chat

bucky: “There’s a water leak in Mickey’s Toontwon. If any of you slip and hurt yourselves I will kill you.”

y/n: “love you too buck”

(they know it’s his way to express his love for them so every message almost makes them tear up)

loki really wants to go on splash mountain but since he doesn’t want to get his clothes wet, he asks the guards how ~splashy~ splash mountain gets

they don’t take him seriously and it infuriates loki because it’s a perfectly reasonable question but it quickly turns into a passionate argument that holds up the entire line

“I DEMAND TO KNOW HOW HIGH THE RISK OF GETTING WET IS, YOU INCOMPETENT FOO—”

*cue y/n and nat dragging him away while bruce runs after them to zoom in on loki’s pouty glare*

they get him a green rain poncho with black polka dots from one of the gift shops, and he’s still glowering but he puts it on without protest before each ride that involves water

normally the avengers would easily get recognised but since everyone is walking around in costumes, people approach them for several other reasons

thor is just peacefully standing in life, staring at the incredicoaster like it’s the love of his life, when a little kid tugs at his cape

“excuse me sir, why are you so tall?” “good question, why are you so short?” “hmm” “hmm”

they find a micky mouse whac-a-mole and everyone is having Fun but something possesses tony and clint and they are really going for it

tony is a 5 foot tall ball of stress and competitiveness and he is yielding that plastic hammer like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do

clint on the other hand is starting to feel the numbness in his arms

y/n, with sarcasm: “you can do it, clint!”

clint, with spite: “i cannot do it, thanks”

*y/n stares into the camera*

they also make up a rule that if you are in a 5 meters radius of one of the theme park characters, you HAVE to snap a picture with them

steve, who gets constantly shoved nudged by bucky into some character’s path, ends up taking a picture with almost every single disneyland character

at some point, he’s just downright sick of it and there’s a 7 min video of steve zooming across the lot while goofy and woody run after him with wide open arms

bucky is doubled over with laughter in the background while sam is standing beside him and wiping away his own tears

the avengers also buy all the pictures that are taken of them on the rides and even stop at some photo booths so they can send them to wanda and vision who are both vacationing on hawai’i <3

thor, peter, and y/n run themselves ragged and their legs almost give out but they will not stop until they have been on every ride that disneyland has to offer

the others think it’s obnoxious but they follow and join them without hesitation

tony is secretly trembling with fear. doing loops in the air at the speed of light is fine and so is battling aliens, but getting on a rollercoaster ride is just heart-stopping horrifying

it’s not that he doesn’t like rollercoasters, (that man has no self-preservation skills, anything that resembles plummeting to death will be gazed at with big heart eyes) but he just doesn’t trust them

if he didn’t build it or prove it, he doesn’t trust it. period. but the avengers are just so excited and happy that he can’t find it in him to sit out

that quickly results in thor and tony re-enacting very impressive Shouting Contests on each ride without fail

tony is screaming and clinging onto whoever is sitting next to him for dear life because he’s Petrified™️

and thor is screaming, because he’s having The Time Of His Life

he’s feeling the wind in his hair, his heart in his throat, and if he’s not shredding his vocal chords and flinging his limbs around, what’s the point of it all

after 20 different rides, tony is sick of pretending and just trudges through disneyland, the happiest place of earth, like it’s the sole cause of all suffering in the world

nat rejoins the group after she mysteriously disappeared for a moment and her hair is tossed, there’s ash on her face, and half of her clothes are wet

bruce, startled: “where have you been??”

nat, beaming: “there was a ride that spat fire from all sides and people jumped out of nowhere to scare you while the whole place was filled with hot water!!!”

bruce, concerned, zooms in on nat’s excited face

“nat i think you went to hell”

sam is big on merry-go-rounds so he drags everyone with him and while some one them first don’t seem to enjoy it, they change their mind once they see bucky’s little smile

(they go on at least ten more rounds until it starts to get dizzy)

a little girl trips over her princess gown and falls close to where steve is waiting in line, and steve immediately abandons his spot to rush over

bruce zooms in on them bc steve has always been kinda awkward with kids, but here he is, crouching down and comforting that little girl, and it’s so unashamedly soft and sweet

they can’t hear what steve is saying but she’s BEAMING now and even giving him a wobbly courtesy while he claps proudly

bruce turns the camera around and both he and clint are lowkey in TEARS like “why are we crying?? we didn’t even fall down” “i KNOW!!”

nat gets a hold of the camera and she’s on a mission to get the most embarrassing greatest footage possible

“bucky, go stand next to moana” “why?” “it’s moana go stand over there” “but i don’t know-“ “bucky.” *cue bucky, awkwardly standing next to moana while nat grins broadly*

when he’s back with the team, sam just stares at him blank-faced, clearly waiting for bucky to ask why he’s looking at him

eventually bucky caves in with a long sigh

“what” “i can’t believe you don’t know who moana of montunui is. she restored BALANCE to the WORLD. put some RESPECT ON HER NAME”

no one knows why but there’s footage of y/n, thor, tony, and loki strutting up and down in the middle of the lane in minnie mouse plush shoes like it’s a catwalk

sam, bucky, and nat are holding up their fingers to score them while steve is staring at them like he’s analysing their fighting stances

bruce, clint, and peter are standing on the sidelines and cheering them on as they should be

they end their day by digging into an unholy amount of fries that even steve can’t resist because they’ve been walking the whole day

a questionable amount of cotton candy also end ups in their possession and the footage of that is just mostly everyone trying out each other’s cones while the camera is passed between them

soon after, the avengers are back in their van to drive home and bruce zooms in on the row of seats where y/n has her head on peter’s shoulder while the others are also half-lounging on each other, and everyone is asleep <3

* * *

guess what i’m about to say?

stay hydrated pals

hc masterlist

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