#and then in scars with the weakness and pain being drive for a better future??? where weakness can be your strength to push through????? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stomajourney · 4 months

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So far

So..... roughly 6 months in now....but maybe some background is needed.

6 months ago, i went to the doctors with constipation. I had tried several different methods of relieving it but after a week or so of no improvement, some pretty bad stomach discomfort and a horde of people telling me to get myself checked out, i relented.

After a rather short face to face with the doctor, he urged me to get to the Surgical decision making unit at the local hospital as soon as i was able but that i should not drive myself as my heart rate of 140 was a bit unsafe to be driving.

I was then subjected to a barrage of tests in a short amount of time that confirmed what the doctor has suspected.

My constipation was a symptom of an infected/inflamed appendix.

After a failed attempt to drain what i was told was 7cm of pus surrounding my appendix i was told they would try again in the morning. But after a night of absolutely unbearable pain i was aware of what the doctors did not seem to be until they did a CT in the morning, my appendix was no longer intact, it had burst.

This led to my prompt arrival at theatre where i spent roughly 8 hours under the knife while they drained approximately a litre of pus from the area where my appendix used to be.

This seemed to be the solution to my issues, i was expected to make a full recovery in a short amount of time as the issue had been sorted but this is not what happened sadly. After a few days, possibly a bit more, this time is a bit of a blurry memory, i was not improving and i was losing weight and getting weaker.

One of my nurses became rather concerned and surgeons and doctors were summoned, i was taken for a CT and they confirmed i was in a bad way.I had developed an anastomotic leak, part of my bowel was leaking bodily waste into the cavities around my internal organs in my abdomen. They warned me there was a risk that i would not wake up from the surgery they now needed to do, but that if they didnt then the result would be that i would not survive what was happening to me, not much of a choice. I will never forget how terrified i was after signing consent for the surgery and even though i was very weak, i spent the journey to theatre wondering if i should be writing goodbye letters to those i care about, but being too weak to do anything about it apart from lie there and wait for the surgery.

I awoke with a much more impressive surgical scar than i did the first time, it was from my groin area to halfway up my chest. They had needed to drain everything and clean everything and they had been quite thorough. A rather distressing development was that the leak had caused sepsis (or i had it from the initial appendix inflammation) and this led to me losing part of my bowel and the doctors deeming it necessary for me to have an ileostomy bag.

For my four and a half week hospital stay this was not an issue. What i found more challenging was learning to walk again, regaining the almost four stone of weight i had lost from not eating properly for approximately a week now and learning how to support my activites with severely weakened abdominal muscles.

This continued for my recovery outside of hospital, i was more focused on regaining my mobility, my weight and keeping myself from going insane from boredom than i was concerned that i had one of my internal organs protruding from my lower abdomen and that for the forseeable future that was how i would be emptying bodily waste.

I feel at this point i should add that after the second operation, the doctors/nurses and surgeons all told me that i was very lucky, that i was recovering much better than the first time and that i should make a full recovery. It was explained to me that after having two major operations on my abdomen in such a short amount of time that it was going to be a long gruelling recovery but that in a few months (each doctor gave a different amount of time) when my abdomen had sufficiently recovered i could go back under the knife and have the stoma reversed and i would be back to "normal" in terms of bodily functions.

Over the next few days, weeks and months, this is what i told myself as i started getting used to having a stoma bag and the adaptations it forced me to make. Every time i got a bit upset when the bag leaked, or when i had pain at the stoma site or the skin was itchy or inflamed and painful (which was very often sadly) i just soldiered on and reminded myself that this was only temporary and it would be reversed soon.

Then the letter came.......a letter from the outpatients department.....an appointment with the surgeon i had been referred to.

The surgeon who would reverse my stoma and put my insides back inside. I started getting nervous and excited at the same time. The thought of going back under anaesthetic, even for a good positive reason scared me and still does....what happens if it goes wrong.....what if i dont wake up.....what if i get worse again and can do nothing to prevent it. The total lack of control of what i was going to have to endure to reverse the stoma terrified me and my mind overthought everything that could go wrong while simultaneously thinking "yay i will be me again".

Then the day arrives, i wait anxiously in the waiting room for 2 and a half hours....for what ended up being a seemingly rushed 10/15 minute consultation with the surgeon.

He told me how horrified he had been while he was reading what i had experienced, how awful the set of circumstances i had experienced were. How lucky i was that i had survived all that and was sitting here with him today.......and that how my best bet was to forget about the reversal surgery and live the rest of my life with a stoma bag.....voluntarily....

This was entirely unexpected.....i was told that if i chose to consent to the surgery then i was accepting the risk that i could end up possibly worse than i was now (no offence meant to those who also have the bag that i do, i do not mean to demean your situation).

He said i would be risking a permanent bag, possibly multiple bags if it goes badly, with the worst case scenario that the incision they make is unable to be closed back up and i am left with an open wound in my abdomen.

So within the next few months i have to choose from two impossible options......keep the bag or for the chance of normality returning....risk permanent and severe disability.

This has made me mind be as overactive as its ever been.

I overthink absolutely everything, even more than i did before.

My emotional walls are non-existent, my natural empathy combined with this mean i get very upset at the smallest thing as much as i do the big things.

Do i abandon the possibility of normality and accept the bag and all its permanency.....or do i accept that if the reversal surgery goes badly i will have to anyway?

#ileostomy

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meta-enthusiasm · 3 years

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You know what I am really fucking tired of seeing in popular media?

The "evil, hysterical woman in power" trope. The clichè that potrays women who are in a position of power as overzealous, unhinged, power hungry maniacs who are a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

Female leaders are shown as less resonable and down to earth as their male counterparts, and are often villainized by either the fandom or the narrative of the story itself. They are doomed to fail because of their womanliness and need to be taken down before they enact their evil plans, preferably by a man, or a woman who performs the 'right' kind of femininity.

This trope relies on the sexist misconception that women are more fragile than men, more emotionally unstable and unpredictable.

"Women aren't cut out to be leaders, they should be nurturing and supportive and tend to their families. Having higher aspirations is against their nature and will eventually break them and drive them crazy."

That type of bullshit that was designed to keep women out of leadership positions and keep oppressing us. To keep us quiet and submissive.

Here are a few examples to further explain this stereotype:

Daenerys Targaryen is one of the most well known characters to fall victim to this trope. She is an abuse and rape victim, seeking to change the current social and political systems of the world because she knows how many people suffer under its injustice. ("Crush the wheel.")

For all her compassion and charity she has shown over the series, the writers decided that it would be reasonable for her to go crazy at the end of the show and, despite promising she wouldn't inflict more damage than necessary, kill thousands of innocent people whose government had already surrendered to her.

And guess who had to kill her in the end? Yup, another man. Her love interest, who was "forced" to betray her.

Next, we have:

Morgana Pendragon, from "Merlin". To remind you, she is an abuse victim who had to endure her father's controlling behavior and bigoted attitude towards people with magic abilities which, suprise suprise, she turned out to have. She had to watch as her father murdered and oppressed people just like herself, and when she challenged that behavior, he would come down hard with punishment. (Going so far as to actually throwing her in the dungeons for a couple days.)

Eventually, she rebelled against the corrupt system and had her genocidal father killed. She led a rebellion against Camelot after Uther's son (Arthur) continued to oppress magicians under his reign, and sought to create a better future for herself and her people.

So far so good, right? Well, no. The problem here is that she is the antagonist of the story. She is portrayed as being in the wrong for not quietly taking the injustice and watching it happen.

Halfway through the show, she becomes obsessed with power and status and desperately chases after the throne of Camelot. She is extremly vindictive, manipulative and cruel to others to archieve her goals. She is a "hysterical woman" who is out of control, emotionally unstable, challenges the patriarchy, and therefore needs to be defeated.

Her death was portrayed as tragic, yet absolutely necessary.

(Of course it had to be a man who killed her.)

Azula is the epitome of this horrid, misogynistic trope. She is a fierce, ambitious leader and highly skilled fire bender, respected and feared among her people. She is highly driven and succeeds at almost everything she sets her mind to.

Ever since she came into this world, she was better at everything than Zuko. She was a better fighter than him, a better bender, better strategist, better child. And that is precisely the reason why she had to lose in the end.

Despite coming from the exact same circumstances as Zuko, the story and the fandom at large see Azula as way less redemable and likable than him. Even though she is an abuse victim whose own mother hated her and is a literal child soldier, she doesn't get any sympathy from the protagonists of the story. The otherwise so understanding and wise Iroh even calls her "crazy", (which is, if you've done some basic research into misogynistic expressions, really fucking problematic.) and tells Zuko that there is no saving her. Why? He doesn't tell, but it's obvious that the writers made him say this because of their own internalized sexist beliefs. She isn't offered a way out of her toxic environment like Zuko was. She didn't get the support from Iroh because he had already given up on her.

To top it off, she has a nervous breakdown near the end and loses her remaining sanity. Because, you know, "She's craaaazy!! And SO unstable!! Typical woman." (Not to mention how this further stigmatizes mental illness and portrays it as something only evil people get.)

She was supposed to become the next fire lord, a position that carries utmost power and influence. Of course, such authority could not be given to a woman. That's why Zuko, a man, gets to be the next fire lord, and we are left assuming Azula will be spending the rest of her days in prison.

The writers assume the audience detests Azula and wants her to suffer. She doesn't deserve a happy ending, or the love and support that Zuko got.

Why? Because she poses a threat to the status quo, the patriarchy. She challenged the belief that men had to be the best and most efficient at everything they do, that women could indeed be better leaders and be happy with having a career and not be nurturing, motherly figures to the men in their lives. And for that transgression, for breaking gender stereotypes, Azula was punished.

(It's also why Katara, someone who performs the "right" kind of femininity by being nurturing, motherly, supportive, healing, doting, and is the care taker of the group, ends up taking Azula, the evil and perverted form of femininity, down. I believe @batboyblog has made a similar post about this.)

This is Carmilla from the popular Netflix show "Castlevania", and if you've payed attention to my previous points, it should be pretty obvious what her character represents and how her story ends.

Note that she is also an abuse and rape survivor who is represented as evil and cruel for being angry at what was done to her.

To top it off, she is also an example of the man hating woman stereotype, whose anger at the misogyny and sexism of the world is portrayed as an "overreaction" and as "too much".

At the end of the story, she had to be taken down by another man (Isaac) so that the status quo could be preserved, and the reign of a crazy bitch like her could be stopped. Horay, the day is saved from yet another unstable, selfish woman who would have brought suffering and pain over her country if allowed to rule. Hysterical women with their demand for equality.

Conclusion:

In all these examples, we can see female abuse victims thriving for power and status, for respect, being represented as something negative and something to avoid. Trying to fundamentally change a system that is rigged against women/female representing people is a fruitless endevour that will eventually fail and drive us crazy, because our minds aren't strong enough to handle this type of responsibility and status.

Holding on to anger and bitterness over what was done to us is the sign of a bad person, and the only morally acceptable path is to forgive/ignore our abusers and let the injustice continue to happen.

Strangely enough though, that same gaslighting, victim blaming mentality gets almost never applied to male characters. Men who seek vengeance are never portrayed as weak or crazy for giving in to the wish of changing a corrupt system/killing bad people. (Batman, the Punisher, Hawkeye, John Wick, Jason Todd, Erin, Scar from FMAB, Iron Man, and so on)

The reason why these stereotypes almost never apply to men but almost always to women is sexism. There is no other explanation for this. These tropes were specifically designed to make society believe that women aren't cut out for leadership positions and are happiest with domestic, easy tasks like watching after our children and taking care of the household.

Women who are angry, women who are dominant are to be feared and distrusted. They are represented as a danger to the general public and need to be taken down before they enact their evil plans.

Feel free to add further examples.

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talesmaniac89 · 4 years

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Choices - The Beginning

Pairing: Dean x Reader OR Sam x Reader

Summary: Choices is an interactive Supernatural choose your own adventure story where your choices determine the outcome. You go on a hunt with the two Winchester brothers, one of whom you love. You decide who your Winchester is and what happens along the way. Each part is a fully independently written section and no parts are copies of others, so the story can be read a full 8 different ways with 15 parts in total and 8 endings!

Total word count: 45k+ words (over 15 parts)

Triggers: Dark, torture, reader death, angst, loss, pain, blood, serious injuries, heartbreak, implied possible major character death, fear of abandonment, loneliness, hostage situation, gore (series levels blood, torture and fatal injuries)

Triggers depend on your choices, so if you are easily upset by any of the above please proceed with caution.

[Your Story Starts Here] - You’ll be asked to make your first choice at the bottom of this chapter.

Y/N = Your Name

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“(Y/N)! Get a move on!”

Dean’s deep voice echoed down the hallway just as you shouldered your duffle bag with a roll of your eyes. It hadn't even been 10 minutes since the call for help had come in. If it wasn’t for the fact that you’d been busy cleaning your guns when the call came, you would’ve already been out there in the library with them, ready to go. It wasn’t as if you’d been standing around fussing over which ratty t-shirt to pack for an hour.

“On my way!” You shouted back, grimacing as the heightened volume easily erased the annoyance you’d wanted to subtly lace each word with. Throwing another quick look around your room in the Men of Letters bunker you sighed at the mess.

T-shirts and jeans were everywhere, as you’d pulled out everything to quickly stuff a few items in your overnight bag just in case the hunt took longer than planned. Not to mention the cleaning supplies you’d left abandoned on the floor from where you’d been sitting cross-legged polishing your favourite revolver.

It would all have to wait till you got back. Even though you knew you’d regret it once you made it back, bruised and stiff from the fight and the subsequent ride back in the Impala. Having to clean your room before you could fall into your bed feeling sorry for your aching bones was never fun.

Yet, sticking to a decision you knew you’d come to regret; you got a move on before Dean could call out for you again. Swiping up your phone, you hurried out into the hallway and nearly ran straight into Sam as he came barrelling out of his own room.

“Dean?” He asked, his hazel eyes meeting yours with a raised eyebrow a clear sign that your annoyance at being rushed was showing on your features. Though it didn’t matter, since the youngest Winchester clearly shared your irritation as he threw you a glance, underscored by an eye roll that put yours to shame.

“Yeah… Dean,” You said with a sigh as you lifted the straps of the duffle bag off of your shoulder. Attempting to bring some blood flow back into your arm from the heavy load of guns, knives, holy water and other goodies. As well as the clothes thrown in for good measure.

“Let’s not keep our oh so righteous leader waiting then. C’mon (Y/N),” Sam smirked, teasing a small smile out of you as well. Before quickly reaching down and effortlessly snatching your duffle bag from your hands and hurrying down the hallway. If it wasn’t for your relief of having the bag off of your shoulders you would have stopped him. Reminded him that you could easily kick his ass if you went one on one.

But, you knew that there were no hidden meanings in Sam’s gesture. He was just trying to be helpful.

You’d realised quite quickly after getting to know him that one of the things the youngest Winchester feared more than anything else was being abandoned; seen as useless or a burden and left standing in the dust. The shadows of his childhood fears were still clinging to him, little tendrils that he’d never managed to shake. Old fears from a youth spent in constant worry that his father would just drop him off somewhere and drive off without ever coming back. That, coupled with the many lost friends, lovers and hunters that had left him, willingly or unwillingly, made him try twice as hard at being of use to those he loved, every step of the way. From small kind gestures, like carrying your bag, to willingly offering himself up as a sacrifice to the big baddies of the world, in hopes of rescuing Dean, Cas, and now you.

Rolling your shoulders to shake off the rest of the strain from the bag, you pocketed your phone before hurrying after Sam down the hallway. No point in being grumpy when there were bad guys to gank. And neither of the two men in your life deserved your grumbled dissatisfaction. Both the bag and Dean’s insistence of getting on the road as fast as possible were just their own little ways of showing they cared.

Sam was just trying to be helpful and Dean was always worried about losing another civilian by being just a second too late. And you loved them both for it. After all, one was your best friend in the whole world, while the other already secretly had your heart. Though you’d never found the courage to tell him you slipped it into his hands when he wasn’t looking.

“(Y/N)!” Dean’s voice echoed down the hallway, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into your grumbled exasperation aimed at the oldest hunter. Ok… So maybe you’d allow yourself to be a tiny big grumpy until there were baddies in front of you to take it out on.

“I said I’m on my way!” You called back in a huff. Casting a quick glance at your closed bedroom door before quickly running to join the boys. Hopefully the bruises yet to come from the hunt wouldn’t make you regret your decision to leave the mess behind.

---

“So where are we headed, exactly?” You asked after about an hour’s drive and a quick case briefing from Dean. Leaning between the seats from the backseat of the Impala in a way that had Sam throwing worried glances your way for your lax seat-belt etiquette.

“There’s a farmhouse, just 40 clicks away now, shouldn’t take long,” Dean’s voice had taken on that steely hardness it got whenever things got serious. And though the case was nothing out of the ordinary for the Winchesters and you, there had already been two reported deaths.

Which also meant that Dean had already added their names and faces to his list of sins to carry. People he could have saved if he could have somehow seen into the future. The oldest Winchester always etched the names of every lost soul into his big heart, burying them there among the many ‘should haves’ and ‘what ifs’ that weighed his broad shoulders down. He was a good leader, and a great hunter, but sometimes he cared a little too deeply. Leaving him hurt no matter how well a hunt went.

“... And put on your seatbelt (Y/N),”

“Yeah, yeah,”

… And sometimes he treated you like a little kid. The thought teased a wry sigh out of you. Quickly reaching out, you turned up the volume of the Led Zeppelin song that was playing, a small act of rebellion, before leaning back in your seat. Smiling innocently as Dean’s green eyes met yours in the rear-view mirror, his attempt at exasperation softened by the way his eyes crinkled in a smile.

No matter how hard as steel the hunter tried to act, he always had a soft spot for Sam and you. To Dean, his feelings were cracks in his armour. They were the blind spots his father had told him about when teaching him to ‘always watch his back’. Yet, the man was more deserving of a family, of love, than anyone else you knew. And so, Sammy and you watched his back instead. Where he watched yours. Both of you determined for the older hunter to see you as strengths, not weaknesses.

Soldiers, shoulder by shoulder.

And, though Dean would constantly complain... You knew he was secretly happy the two of you stuck around; silently terrified of the loneliness he always tried to force onto himself by pushing others away. No matter how loudly his father’s words echoed in his mind and tried to tell him he was leaving himself vulnerable.

Letting Black Dog be your soundtrack, you watched the two most important people in your world from the backseat of the Impala. The Winchester brothers; both carrying scars from the family business they’d fallen into after their mother’s death. Each fearing abandonment and hurt in their own bruised and broken way. Both forced to give up any dream of apple pie to make the world a better place. Children turned soldiers turned martyrs, shaped into a sacrifice by a world that turned a blind eye to their suffering. Which was why you had promised yourself that you would try your damndest to give them a home, and that you would never run away from your life with them.

Even if a certain hunter sometimes made that a hard promise to keep, as every friendly jab broke your heart at the clearly unrequited love you harboured.

You sighed internally as you cast a careful glance in the direction of the man you’d come to love as more than just a hunting buddy or a friend, more than anything really, over the last year and a half of hunting with him. He’d probably be heartbroken to know he was hurting you, which was why you could never tell him how you felt. How your heart and body reacted, as if by reflex, whenever he was around.

Anything he did, from the smallest smile to the feel of his eyes on you, set your body on fire. In a manner not so different to what Robert Plant was promising he’d do to you as Black Dog blared over the Impala’s speaker system. And fuck if you didn’t want to echo the great artist himself and ask the man in front of you to do some not so innocent things to you whenever your eyes strayed to lips that you’d rather have on you than rambling on as they currently were about the case.

“Right… So, to make sure we’re ready…”

---

Make your choice below to move the story along:

The man you love is speaking - who is he?

[Dean Winchester] or [Sam Winchester]

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Tags:

Dean Winchester Stories: @ria132love @woodworthti666 @defenderrosetyler @akshi8278

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @winchest09 @hobby27 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sea040561

Choices Tags: @deanwinchesterswitch @maddiepants @adoptdontshoppets @foxyjwls007 @mandalou29 @tiki-tay @inked-poet @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @rhysmybaby @heyyy-hey-babyyy @mellilla-rose @queenoftheunderdark @imaginationisgrowth @almostelegantfire @alwaysdreamingforthebest @mydelusionalworld-7 @fatalcrossbow @backseat-of-deans-67chevy @wearesuchstuff1 @amotleyworld @impala-20 @sandlee44 @ksgeekgirl @cheesewaster @aeo10fan @mrswhozeewhatsis @idabbleincrazy @writingthingsisdifficult @ellewritesfix05 @justanotherwinchester @starks-hero @storiesfromtheimpala @iluvsumbucky @ellen-reincarnated1967 @katehuntington

Tags didn’t work for the following names: @lottieellz101 @lovedrarrypizzasleep @katherineisagubler @m2ello @guesswhosback129 @deepsleepnat I’ve sent you a message to notify you instead! @ireallyhaveaproblem unfortunately I can’t send you a message either.

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ikevamp-shrine · 3 years

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Thank you @yanderepuck for giving me the courage to post this😊❤

Please ignore the crappy drawing of her, but that's kinda what she appears like in my mind. I will be writing with her character in future posts.

Name: Elizabeth Tudor

Vampire Type: Lesser Vampire

Height: 5’4

Birthday: September 7th

Occupation: Former Queen of England

Appearance:

Long, curly (and extremely thick) strawberry blonde hair, fair skin, red lips, and intense icy blue eyes. Her stance is strong, regale, and respectable. Her skin is littered with smallpox scars (only a few, very unnoticeable ones residing on her face, neck, and hands). Her expression is usually blank and unreadable. Her movements are controlled and polite. Her brows thick and stomach soft. Legs long and fingers thin and graceful. There are patches of freckles on her shoulders that mix with her scars causing a unique blend of color. Thick thighs and pale, maintained feet. Smaller breasts.

Childhood:

When her brother, Edward, was born from her father and his new wife, Catherine, her line to the throne was pushed back even further (she was declared third in line). Thankfully she was not neglected instead her father, known for his cruelty, treated all his children with affection and love. She became very close with her half brother and was said to be inseparable. She was also very close with and benefited from the love her step mother, Catherine, showed her.

She was taught a rigorous education normally only given to male heirs and was applauded for her perseverance and memory. She became fluent in French and Italian which profited when conducting diplomacy years later. Her involvement with the Reformation shaped the course of the nation, but she held no interest in religion.

With her father’s death, her step mother married the lord high admiral, Thomas, which resulted in his decapitation due to his intent to rape and impregnate Elizabeth forcing her to marry him in order for him to rule the kingdom. He was said to be overly flirtatious and acting inappropriately familiar with the young girl when around her (which one of the reasons she doesn’t like Arthur, his flirtatious nature reminds her of her past).

She was raised around sexism and taught that women were likely to act on impulsion and passion making them unfit to rule. Men were taught the arts of war and told they are the ones who dominate women while women were urged to keep their head down, mouth shut, and attend their needlework. She had remained unmarried, her want to remain single overshadowing any thoughts of seeking out relations with a man. She was rumored to have burst out in tears when Queen Mary, her older sister, had proposed to marry Elizabeth to a duke. This became a national concern when Elizabeth became queen and refused to take a husband, going against the belief that a woman’s place was a wife. It also raised worries that she would die childless, ending her bloodline, and giving Elizabeth’s title to Mary, Queen of Scots, a catholic posing a threat to the Protestants of England.

Dislikes:

her privacy being intruded on, loud talking, 3am, those who play weak and stupid or whine to get what they want, people who are lazy but still expect to reach their goals, women who chase men and believe they need a man to be successful in life, messy rooms, fake personalities and cheaters (in both games and relationships)

Likes:

walks in the garden at midnight, the sound of the birds singing their life’s song as the warmth of the day’s first rays of sun trace her skin, reading, learning new things, burning candles, smiling faces, happy children, the smell of freshly baked bread, warm blankets, animals, the laughter of children, hunting, dancing, and horseback (bareback more often than naught)

Personality:

She appears cold at first because of her bluntness and blank (almost annoyed) expression. Unreasonably serious with a strong sense of duty, responsibility, and morals. She is a firm believer in working harder than everyone else to achieve greatness. A highly intelligent woman that believe women are equal to their male counterpart. Extremely stubborn in a non-disrespectful way. She is adaptable, disciplined, dignified, and confident with a wit and tongue as sharp as, if not sharper, than any of the residents. She is blunt, doesn’t sugarcoat the truth, and is always honest. Focused, logical, and exceedingly loyal to those she decides to put her trust in. She is protective and straightforward but rather quiet. She tends to keep to herself. She is paranoid and distrustful when meeting new people but will not show it. She tries to work on it, but she can be very vengeful when it comes to people betraying her or hurting those she loves.

Preferred company:

Theo, Leonardo, Isaac, Jean, Vincent

Relationships (platonic, romantic, etc.):

Jean- platonic with a chance of something more

Has a deep understanding with Jean. They don’t really talk about each other to each other; their conversations mainly consist of stiff, dead toned jokes that you wouldn’t be able to tell they were jokes until specified. She is one of the few people that has actually seen a sober Jean smile. He is extremely protective of her and will stand behind her just so he has the peace of mind that her back is guarded. If she asked, he would show her what is under his eye patch, no matter what lingering emotions he has on the ‘ugliness under the fabric’. His blade is always ready, his mind perfectly clear, when it comes to the safety and well being of the woman he had found himself connecting to in ways no one had before. Often, they go horse back riding together, Napoleon will sometimes accompany but its only when her and the former solider are alone does she throw her head back, her laughs unrestrained while the wind rips through her hair and clothing. Jean will race her and chuckle at how free she looks, but of course she doesn’t hear. Spares with and helps better the woman’s defenses and attacks along with Napoleon

Mozart- platonic

Sometimes Mozart look for her and demand Elizabeth to listen to his new piece until she raises an eyebrow, daring him not to correct his wording. He’ll swallow thickly and glance off to the side, a scoff on his lips as he apologizes. She’ll nod and follow him to music room. Mozart will stare at her impatiently until she gives her honest (and extremely blunt) opinion. He values her words and while alone the pianist will replay the slight quirk of her lips as she praised his efforts. He has a small obsession with her and it drives him insane

Vincent- brotherly platonic and Theo- they horny for each other but don’t want to cross that line of friendship so they dance around their feelings while making out every once in a while

Has a soft spot for Theo and Vincent because their relationship makes her think of her brother. She only sees Vincent as a brother and will only allow him to do her makeup when he asks to, but with Theo its completely different. She sees Theo as a partner, a man she shares many values and goals with. She respects him and their shared opinions on responsibility and productivity. They understand each other intuitively and can conversate with just fleeting touches and quick glances of their eyes. There is a thick sexual tension that builds between them overtime resulting in hurried, frantic, sloppy kisses in hallways where the couple battle for dominance by pushing each other against walls and gripping roughly at the other’s clothing

Napoleon- just housemates (not friends or lovers)

She can and usually feels uncomfortable when around Napoleon. She has chalked it down to the fact they are both the leader ‘alpha’ types that ruled enemy lands. Truly, they just don’t have much in common and find it hard to build a meaningful relationship. Spares with and helps better the woman’s defenses and attacks along with Jean

Arthur- just housemates

Can sometimes get too snippy with Arthur. While she does find enjoyment in his jokes at times, she despises the sexual aspects of the author. Finds his skirt chasing habits understandable but disgusting. Admires his intelligence but can’t stand how he is able to tell you where have been just by the dust on your hand (she likes her privacy). Will play chess and pool with him even though she knows she will lose just because she enjoys playing. Will sometimes have deep conversations with Arthur in front of the fire place, both nursing a glass of alcohol, their eyes never leaving the fire as to not break the imaginary protective barrier around the two that eye contact will shatter. Smirks at his quirks and jokes sometimes and it literally makes Arthur’s heart leap because ‘damn a queen just found amusement in my joke.’ He internally freaked out the first time he met her mainly because the mansion now had two previous rulers instead of one and the newest one scared the living daylights out of him.

Comte- there is nothing between them

Doesn’t trust Comte as far as she can throw him. She can see the darkness in his heart and his past behind his eyes. She can see the death he’s caused- the pain, and while she knows that she, herself, has caused the death of many, she still has a deeply rooted gut feeling telling her to stay away from the pureblood. He wants her trust but soon realizes her opinion on him is similar to Jean’s. She will not take any gifts other than what is necessary from him (ex. Dresses for parties)

Dazai- just housemates

Dazai tries avoiding her. He feels suffocated when around and the victim of her stare. He feels as if her eyes and actions pick him apart and leave his in his barest, rawest form, and it scares him to no end. She does find his window habit hilarious though and will give him a hand up when he falls

Shakespeare- they don’t get involved with each other

She can tell Shakespeare’s mind is being manipulated, by what is the question she has yet to reveal though. She can tell he is dangerous. One who’s actions are watched and controlled by another always are. His unpredictable nature and mysterious, secret filled smile is what causes her to feel uneasy around him. She doesn’t ignore him, but she doesn’t want to be involved with the playwright and his actions so she tends to just quietly leave the room when he enters. He is polite to her and compliments her when they do talk but his fancy wording sometimes annoys Elizabeth, especially when she just wants to get away from him. She believes he is a good man at heart lead astray by forces more powerful than him, but still finds his company rather unnecessary.

Sebastian- they respect one another, are not friends but have decent conversations

Has an interesting relationship with Sebastian. She wouldn’t call him a friend, she has very few of those so it is understandable, but she does respect him for his work ethic just as he respects her for her accomplishments and standing in history. She let him interview him once and nearly laughed out loud from how excited he got. They always have a cup of coffee or tea in the morning together, Elizabeth not quite woken up yet so they sip in comforting silence. Sebastian usually asks how she slept and she responds by telling him about her dreams if she had one. She’ll end up helping him cook breakfast.

Leonardo- friends with a chance of something more

Elizabeth appreciates Leonardo’s straightforwardness and honesty, so they have a decent trusting relationship, but his matureness makes her feel like a little girl again and it bothers her. Her thoughts tend to be: she was a queen; she ruled a country with a strength that rivaled even the greatest men, she should not look at this chain-smoking man with admiration in her eyes like a giddy school girl, flustered over a boy telling her she is cute, while around the Italian. The start of their relationship was rocky, due to Elizabeth’s personal feelings on the man- Leonardo could have cared less, but soon enough they started to appreciate each other’s qualities. Leonardo is mainly the only one she allows to touch her hair. They often speak Italian together on the balcony as Leonardo smoke a cigarillo and Elizabeth reads.

Isaac- they have the chance of being more than friends but their relationship is mainly just comforting one another through their presence and (when needed) touch- they also trust each other whole heartedly

Adores Isaac and will purposely sought him out just so she can listen to his calming ramblings while he tinkers away, a book in her hand and two cooling cups of coffee on the surface closest to the pair. He gets so red around her; at times he turns snow white from the intensity in her gaze and how her eyes never stray from her company. They share an endless loyalty to each other. Neither knows when the bond form, it just happened on its own (and very suddenly). Isaac has lost control and bit her but instead of reacting in anger she accepted it and pulled him closer, shuddering with each frenzied suck against her neck, her nails gently scratching the scalp of a whimpering Isaac. When Isaac finally came to his senses, he tried pulling away, his voice thick with unshed tears as his panicked words rang through the air until Elizabeth grabbed him and held him close, shushing Isaac as he trembled with regret and guilt in her arms. They had held each other for hours until they feel asleep in each other embraces. Isaac will link pinkies with Elizabeth when he is being picked on without realizing it for support and something to ground him so his thoughts don’t run too wild. Elizabeth will just glare and clear her throat and Arthur will shut his mouth while looking at the former queen as if he was a kicked puppy. She has a habit of fixing his clothing or hair after he nervously pulls, picks, or twists at it- Isaac doesn’t even notice it after a while. His face does burn intensely though when she places a hand on his overactive, bouncing knee when he is anxious.

Fun facts:

Due to her makeup being poisoned by her undetermined enemy, which resulted in her death, she refuses to wear any cosmetics other than what Vincent personally makes (learned how to from Leonardo) and puts on her skin himself when going to events if he asks to.

She tends to wear clothing that covers all skin other than her neck and face when leaving the mansion due to children being scared by her smallpox scars.

She usually never strays from wine unless her emotions become a little too overwhelming for her to just push the feelings down, only then will she drink something stronger.

Elizabeth is a quiet, peaceful drunk that tends to curl up on the couch, her shoes discarded on the floor, her hair loose and flowing over the decorative pillow she’ll grab and hug tightly to her chest.

She died a virgin and has remained one ever since her resurrection.

The former queen is hesitant to allow others to touch her hair from her past concerning the loss of said strands (a result of surviving smallpox), but if she trusts someone enough and knows they’ll be gentle she’ll let them style the curls, even if she is tense the entire time.

Prefers to braid her hair herself and wrap in into a bun due to the protective nature of the style.

Loves sleeping in but is often unable to due to insomnia.

She is highly particular when it comes to cleaning and organization. She has told Sebastian not to worry about cleaning her things or doing her laundry, instead she does it herself with up most focus and determination.

When she does open up or is around the boys long enough, they realize her heart is truly kind and nurturing instead of what she appears when first met (a cold-hearted woman with a resolve like steel). This is especially apparent when around animals.

She is very sarcastic and doesn’t mean any harm but usually her joking words sound hateful due to her dead tone and blank face.

Her voice is deeper and soothing, most times holding no emotion which creeps Dazai and Arthur out

Lives by “no pain no gain”

Doesn’t waste her breath on hate- if she doesn’t like someone or feels as if she can’t trust them then they just don’t exist to her. She won’t hesitate to cut someone off without warning.

Has a bad habit of bottling her emotions which causes her to explode when pushed over the edge resulting in one of the very rare moments where her anger creates an electric static in the room that demands the attention of anyone present. She doesn’t shout or scream but her words are sharper than a blade, her eyes burn with a fiery rage while she takes control of the room, overwhelming anyone (even Napoleon) and making them feel as if they are an ant beneath her boot.

Her eyes freak many people out- they feel as if the ice like orbs are staring straight into their soul, picking apart their insides, leaving nothing but shredded organs and an empty husk of what used to be a strong mind.

Can always tell when someone is lying. It’s a gut feeling, and her gut is always right.

She still wears her coronation ring on her wedding finger as a sign of her symbolic marriage to her people and country

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen series #ikevam #ikevamp oc #ikemen vampire oc #ikevam oc #elizabeth tudor #Ikevamp Elizabeth #ikemen vampire Elizabeth #ikevam Elizabeth

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shadowayne-deactivated · 3 years

Text

dancing with your ghost

Melinda stands in the open doorway, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder with nothing in it but a collection of Polaroids, a ring, and his shirt.

Artificial light filters into the room from the hallway, bathing what is in the doorway’s path with a dim yellow light. The unmade bed is illuminated, untouched since she left a week ago.

It has been two seconds and also three months since she’s been gone, yet she knows she’s aged a hundred years.

Melinda’s exhausted, but she can’t curl up into the sheets, achingly alone, laying in cold sheets without the sound of his weak breathing in and out next to her. Not without his hand gently held in hers, fingers twitching occasionally.

She hasn’t slept in weeks. She spent every second listening to his heart beat and falter and beat and falter and beat, until it didn’t do anything at all.

The idea of laying in bed with no soft, strenuous beating under her hand- it feels more vast and empty than even the nights she spent in the tiny apartment after Bahrain; ghosts and guilt and hate replacing the spot where Andrew used to lie next to her.

Melinda closes the door behind her, the door that separates her and her ghosts from everyone else.

She has thousands of ghosts haunting her, but none of them are Phil.

The room is pitch black, but she doesn’t turn on the light. She lets it sit, the inky darkness swirling around and seeping into her body as she closes her eyes and breathes in deep, faltering slightly when the memory of his bloodshot eyes and rapid loss of speech float through her mind.

She uses vague muscle memory to light the same, unscented candle that has been sitting on her small desk since early in their time in the Lighthouse. Daisy found a short break day to deliver them each a small gift soon after they returned from the future.

Daisy’s gift for Coulson was a boy hula dancer, to match the other one sitting in a storage building with Lola. Daisy joked about finally being allowed to drive the precious car, and Coulson just shrugged with a small smile and an odd look on his face.

Now Melinda knows what the look meant. He already knew, even then.

She drops the bag on the cement floor and it lands with a hollow thunk. She pops open the bottle of beer that was pressed gently into her hands when she stood in the center of the common room on shaky legs barely holding her up as Daisy clutched her. She didn’t cry, just held on tight like Melinda would blow away.

Maybe she will.

Her stomach is full of rocks and she sits down on the chair next to her desk, gripping the back of the chair with her free hand, looking down at the ground because she can’t see her room without being hit with a memory of him.

Everything has Phil in it.

He is in Daisy’s earnest face. He is in the maroon couch where he explained to the team that he was leaving for good. He is in the small collection of cooking utensils hung on the wall in the cafeteria area from when he insisted to cook them a meal at least once every couple of days for morale, even when the world was falling apart around them.

Now she knows, can see what he was doing. He was trying to hold onto something he loved to do because he knew he was running out of time. He knew, so he tried to spend that time with them while he could.

Once, Daisy and Jemma joined him. The three tried making lasagna but it was mainly Phil cooking while Daisy and Jemma ate the ingredients and messed with him. They were going through their own personal hells, yet they were smiling and giggling, the unfamiliar sound of joy ringing through the lighthouse and lifting the mood of the entire base.

It was one of the only times she saw him smile recently, before Tahiti.

He smiled a lot in Tahiti, at least when he was awake.

Melinda still marveled. He smiled until the end. He smiled when she talked, when she laughed, when she brushed soft kisses to his lips as she cradled his head when he couldn’t stand anymore.

She asked how he could smile when he about to see nothing ever again. Be nothing.

“I won’t be nothing, Lin,” he replied. “I’ll be your memories of me. And I smile because I see your love, for me and for Daisy and for the team, and I know that you will live. And that’s all that matters.”

He said it so simply, so matter of factly.

Melinda wonders if he’d be smiling if he would know she can’t live without him. Won’t.

She’s nothing without him, nothing without her better half holding her away from the edge of the pit of mania and darkness and sickness, the kind that creeps over your mind so quickly that you don’t notice it until you’re gone.

Without him, she is silently drowning, thousands of hands grabbing at her skin and ears and eyes, rough, unlike his careful caresses.

Without him, she is dying.

Melinda takes another sip of the beer and rests her forehead on her desk, for the first time noticing the sheen of sweat that is sticking some of her hair to her face.

There aren’t five stages of grief. Whoever came up with that was wrong.

Everyone experiences loss differently, but the one thing that stays the same for every person is that the loss never leaves. It stays heavy inside a person, creating a chasm of emptiness. Every new loss adds to it, making it deeper and wider until there is more emptiness than there is human.

Melinda is nothing but empty.

They danced together, before he was barely able to tell her he loved her.

The radio was playing faint tunes as he sat at the dining table, reading a book. (Not Ulysses. They didn’t have enough time to get it for him.) He had a cannula running up around his ears and tucked inside his nose, trying to feed to him the oxygen he fought every day for.

A song came on that Melinda recognized. It had played at her 19th birthday, her first one celebrated at the academy. Phil had dragged her out to a club near the base, and slow songs had played over the speakers as he got her a sundae and offered to pay but she refused to let him.

The lyrics played, but she didn’t pay attention to what they said, not back then.

Oceans apart day after day

And I slowly go insane

Phil, with his endless energy, had bounded up and held out his hand. “Dance with me, Cadet May?” he had asked in a teasing tone.

She’d grinned. “Sure, Cadet Coulson. Show me your moves.”

If I see you next to never

How can we say forever

In Tahiti he’d gotten up, less energy than even a few weeks before, and held out his hand to her, his giddy smile exactly the same as thirty years ago in that club, somehow untouched by time. “Cadet May?” he prompted.

She suppressed a grin. (She wishes she hadn’t. She wishes she let herself be free with him, be happy without any boundaries, but she still wouldn’t, couldn’t.) She took his outstretched hand and got up.

Wherever you go

Whatever you do

I will be right here waiting for you

They stood together, her mostly supporting him, and they were barely moving, simply swaying, but Melinda was looking in his bright blue eyes that were getting hazier by the hour and felt like she was back in their undercover missions, getting spun around and twirled so quickly she was lighter than air.

Whatever it takes

Or how my heart breaks

I will be right here waiting for you

The song ended, and Melinda was brought back to the present, where the sun was setting and Phil was sagging in her arms. She murmured that he needed to sleep, and helped him into their bed.

He didn’t get up again.

Waiting for you

The whole time they were in the magical place, he promised her that the pain was bearable, but when her back was turned he’d grimace and make fists so tight his knuckles would turn white.

He’d never been good at hiding things from her.

He hid the scar tearing through his soul, though, for months. Maybe she couldn’t read him as well as she always thought she could.

The middle of their first night he woke up still half asleep, crying that he didn’t want to die. The opposite of seven years ago, when he’d pleaded with Fury to let him.

She held him, softly kissing him on the head as she soothed him back to sleep, his head on her thigh as she sat against the backboard of the bed.

“I don’t want to die either,” she whispered in the dead of night, after he’d fallen asleep and couldn’t hear her anymore. After nobody could hear her anymore.

waiting

“I will love you for the rest of time,” he always said. “You won’t hear it, you won’t see it, but you will feel it, and you will know.”

She remembers his words, but she’s sitting alone in a tiny room lit by a scented candle and the alcohol in her throat doesn’t burn enough to abate the emptiness.

She isn’t angry anymore. Or sad, or upset, or even scared.

She isn’t anything at all.

“You will feel my love, even when I’m gone,” he said.

Melinda sits and she drinks until the bottle is empty and the wick of the candle burns down into the molten wax and extinguishes the flame, leaving her in the dark black well of grief.

“You will feel my love,” he said.

And she doesn’t say out loud what she knows deep down.

Because the darkness already knows too; knows because of the glistening tracks on her cheeks and the empty bottle clutched tightly in her hand, soon to be replaced by another.

She doesn’t feel it.

And she’s not waiting anymore.

#daisy johnson #Melinda May #phil coulson #philinda #philinda fic #aos #aos fic #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d #mine #my fics #angst #angst fic

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alma37 · 3 years

Photo

I checked on AO3 and, a year ago today [02/02/20, for those of you who are a few hours behind France], I started posting for a deliciously wicked fandom, Dracula 2020.

So, to mark the occasion, I decided to post here (on AO3 later today), a little one-shot I thought about a few days ago. I wanted to put it in one of my wip, but it didn’t quite fit. I still liked the idea, though, and I needed to write it.

This is also kind of a gift for @hopipollahorror and @lady-of-the-wolves, my steadiest supporters of late. Thank you, girls, I am not sure I would have started writing again without your support.

For @thebeautyofdisorder, I know you had a rough year and I wish you a great 2021. We have so many tastes in common, It seems I continuously reblog from you. I am well aware it won’t make your troubles disappear, but I hope this little piece will make you forget them for 5 minutes (and that it won’t be perceived as further punishment or what’s the phrase? Cruel and unusual punishment!😉) .

For my other mutuals, I know we don’t talk much, if at all, but I am glad you came to see and stayed.

And, of course, for all my followers, occasional readers and everyone else who took the time to come and check my little nothing of a blog, leave comments, reblogs and likes. Thank you guys.

And now, i leave you with a small piece I had great fun to write. As usual.

I apologise for the long-ish introduction.

*************

This is a Dragatha, sometimes in the future (theirs, not ours; perhaps it is our present, in fact, who knows?). Dracula turned Agatha into a vampire. A long time before this fic.

Some sort of enemies with benefits.

And it actually answers to this prompt. I think.

Title : A [h]arrowing evening

Fandom : Dracula TV 2020

Relationship : Agatha x Dracula

Rate : I’d say T or light M

Words : I don’t know, I didn’t count, go check on AO3 when it’s posted!

- Come on, Agatha. Just admit it : you like me!

The former nun turned vampire, Dracula's most fervent opponent, was backed up against the wall, a small wooden arrow in her hand. Why did she decide to come and see him in his own apartment, she’ll never know. Her nemesis was crowding her, a triumphant smile on his face. She defended herself.

- Stop being so arrogant, Count. I don't like you.

- Oh but I think you do. Very much so.

His growing smirk, his roving hands and, mostly his acumen were too much for her. Suddenly blinded by years of pent up rage and frustration, she drove the arrow into his chest with ferocious intent. The small stake slid under his ribs upwards towards his heart.

For a moment, they stayed still face to face, Dracula's smile slowly fading, morphing into an expression of utter stupefaction, as his eyes fell on the weapon thrust into his thorax. Annoyed, Agatha pushed him backwards. To her absolute consternation, he stumbled with a groan, then bent over, his hand reaching blindly for the small piece of wood. His face was now wearing an expression of agony before his legs started to give out under him. With horror, Agatha watched him slowly falling to his knees before his upper body followed suit and he went down like a dead weight. By chance or instinct, he fell to his side, only just avoiding the stake from driving through his heart. Once on the floor, he started writhing in pain, barely able to hold his screams. Finally, Agatha understood : the arrow must have stopped short of piercing the heart, but was probably touching it if his convulsions were any indication.

After a moment of indecision, Agatha grabbed his shoulders to hold him flat on his back then straddled him.

- Stop squirming. You'll only succeed in piercing your heart yourself.

- As if you didn't intend to do it!" Her victim hissed through his pain.

Agatha opened her mouth to retort, then closed it, before she finally replied, surprised with herself :

- I... don't know.

His face was deformed by the unusual pain he was in. She supposed he probably hadn't felt this bad in centuries. Serves him right, but... His strained voice made her jumped out of her thoughts.

- Whatever you intend to do, Agatha, please do it now. It is unbearable.

At his begging tone, the younger vampire froze for a long time, undecided : finish him off, like she promised herself a long time ago, as it was a chance she certainly wouldn't have again, or remove the arrow and stop the bleeding, against all her principles?

Her nemesis was in a state of anguish she had never seen him before. He was shaking so hard, trying to control his body.

But he wasn't begging anymore, just waiting for her decision. She could see in his eyes the torture he was enduring. He still didn't utter another sound.

And she realised that, as much as she thought she hated him, she couldn't bring herself to just end his life, as lifeless as it was.

He was not only a unique creature, he was also the only one who understood her and she realised with a shock that she came to care about him in a way that prevented her from driving the small arrow all the way through his heart. She actually liked their fighting : it was invigorating and, yes, fun. They hadn't really tried to kill each other for years now. His half-hearted attempts to get rid of her, lately, was his way of flirting, she supposed. And apparently, she thought in dismay, became hers too.

But the biggest blow came when she finally realised she actually wanted to tame him somehow or maybe convince him to redeem himself in some ways, which was barely thinkable, much less doable. She just wanted him. Full stop. And annihilating him forever didn't suit her purpose anymore.

- Whenever you want, darling." The count groaned through gritted teeth, his brow drained in sweat.

At last, Agatha came to a decision and, instead of doing what her conscience was telling her, she chose to follow her heart : she wrapped her hand around the piece of arrow that stuck out from his chest and pulled it out without warning.

She was thrown out from his lap by his violent recoil as he screamed out of his lungs in pain. Agatha, not deterred, scrabbled back to him and pinched the wound to stop the bleeding. That last part was easy, as Dracula had promptly passed out.

When she understood he wasn't going to wake up any time soon, she put him to bed and took a book, while keeping watch over him, berating herself all night long for her weakness.

At dawn, the older vampire slowly emerged from unconsciousness. When he opened his eyes, he looked around as if searching for something - or someone. When he found her watching over her book, he started asking in a rough voice : "What..." He cleared his throat several times before trying again :

- What happened?

Agatha lifted an eyebrow.

- Don't you remember?

Dracula began shaking his head :

- I don't... I seem to remember flirting with you and... Ah!" His face cleared. "Yes! You tried to kill me.

Agatha shrugged.

- And I would have succeeded this time.

Dracula straightened up with a groan. Agatha, taking pity on him, piled up a few pillows behind his back and helped him get a more comfortable position on the bed. When she tried to sit back on her armchair, the Count held on to her hand, so she was either obliged to sit on the bed or tried to shake his grip. She chose the easy path and sat next to him.

- So why didn't you finish me off?You had me at your mercy, you could have cleared this world of my evil presence.

Agatha didn't look at him but rather at their joined hands.

- I.. I don't know.

- You would have missed me!

Agatha snapped back.

- Don't be ridiculous!

Dracula smiled his devilish smile.

- You, Agatha van Helsing, like me!

- I most certainly do not!" Agatha protested, outraged. She tried to remove her hand from his, but he was holding fast.

- Well, I wouldn't blame you, you know. I am probably... Definitely head over heels in love with you after last night's little demonstration.

Agatha finally pulled her hand out of his, and stood up, shaking her head.

- You are a...

- monster?

-... beast! And obviously better. So I am leaving. Goodbye, Count Dracula.

Dracula reached for her once more :

- No, wait!

Agatha sighed, annoyed :

- What?

- You could at least kiss it better.

The former nun was about to will him to hell but something in his apparent casualness made her change her mind. She came back to sit on the bed and, after barely an hesitation, she straddled him. She felt him tensed momentarily, probably a reminder of the previous night. But he relaxed when she gently unbuttoned his shirt. She glanced at him and smiled when she saw his look of intense concentration turned towards her. She bent over and she licked the disappearing scar under his ribs. She felt his entire body shudder with pleasure, which made her smile grow larger. She had cleaned him the previous night, so there was no blood to tempt her. His all body was temptation enough. She nibbled at the scar then soothed it with her lips and tongue. Her nemesis had grown rigid from repressed desire. She finally moved from the scar to make her way upwards with slow, languorous and arousing kisses.

The first time he tried to touch her, she took his hands and flattened them back on the bed. The second time, she just held onto them.

The third time, she felt his eagerness wouldn't be denied, so she deftly evaded his grasp before he could close in on her. She moved swiftly out of the bed and put some distance between them, so that he could not reach her fast enough.

- And that's about all the kisses you'll ever have from me. Get a rest, Count Dracula. I will come and check on you tonight.

Without waiting for an answer, she left him in a state of obvious arousal, but laughing at her cunning.

- I can't wait." He called after her. He couldn't resist having the last word. Agatha shook her head in disbelief, but she was smiling.

*********************

Soooo, what did you think? (If it’s bad, please don’t tell me! 😉)

Anyway, I just really really wanted her to stab him at close range and truly physically HURT him (like Zoe, in TDC, but more purposely, if you know what I mean).

For the arrow, I imagine she has a small-ish one, like those used for a crossbow, except it is completely made of wood, even the tip. Something like that...

But, well, you know me : I always prefer a happy (-ish) ending. Reality’s sad enough. We don’t need it into fiction. In any case, I hope you enjoyed it.

If you really liked it, give me a shout and I’ll post the little follow-up I just had an idea of. Which is more on the comedy side (as in funny).

#dracula 2020 #dracula bbc #dragatha #agatha x dracula #my fanfiction #fanfiction #dragatha snippet #not in my next fanfiction #not that I know of anyway #just a thank you one-shot #to all my dracula2020 followers

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buzzbuzzbumblingby · 3 years

Text

GRIPLESS UNCERTAINTY

“

Gripless black walls of uncertainty Drip drip drip - the consistency of thoughts Pattern of patterns upon walls of hurt

“it gets better, time will heal” Hope hope hope - what does that mean what does that look like, what should I see?

Need to calm my senses Need to deconstruct Need to find the kindness in my heart

Tired of the scars Tired of the pain Tired of the process Want to be whole, full stop.

I rest my eyes but to no avail, I see everything unfolding I rest my mind but to no avail, my thoughts keep swirling I can not find reprive

Sleep cannot rest a tired mind from emotions that do not slumber

Working against the cycles that burry those hard memories. Once those cycles helped my heart survive, now they hurt my mind from wondering and wandering.

Those memories echo: Nothing is safe, no one is to be trusted. Fear of being misused. Fear of being left behind, again.

How can I create and mould the present and future with that mindset? How do I unwind such a carefully crafted, self-protective web my mind formed for the benefit of my broken heart?

I know not the secrets anymore and I know not the pain for things are being deleted. A memory drive with blank spaces that must be discovered in order to find and dive into the encrypted files.

I am to the point that I don’t really care anymore, I just do not want to throb in pain distantly and not be able to rest in peace.

A nagging memory from my child self, a reminder to my present self of hints to patterns that could become dangerous to myself. Enough! Enough of the red warning lights brain, I no longer have need of them.

Oh, I had become so adjusted to preparing for the worst and expecting the least. Oh, the secret sorrow I wept from emotions I had to burry to survive. Oh, I hate the thought of “woe is me”.

Here I am, fully refeeling the emotions I paused and burried. Reeling from trauma I desired to forget, but it doesn’t work like that. I am not starting again or over, but I am starting from where I left off.

Now once I encounter a memory, I embrace the emotions and let the grief wash over the gripless black walls of uncertainty my heart sat in during that time.

Uncertain if things would get better Uncertain if I would survive Uncertain if anyone truly cared Uncertain if I could one day forget.

‘One day’ is today.

In order to recover from my trauma, I must remind the child in my memories of what I know now. And give her a hug, God knows she needs/deserves it.

This will be my anthem: (This has been my anthem; but I have felt too ashamed of what happened to me to feel pride in my strength.)

I made it. It did get better. I am surrounded by people who care. I cannot forget the past but I can reshape the memories. I am a surviver.

And I can choose who to let into my life. I do not “owe” anyone anything, Especially if they are toxic to me.

I do not need your pity. I do need your encouragement; Because sometimes, More often than not, I forget what Gripless, black walled box I fought out of.

Here I am, Strong from fighting but weak with emotions.

“

((08-2020)) Belfast, N.Ireland, UK

#poem #poetry #gripless #uncertainty #childhood abuse #surviver #abuse surviver #therapy #voice the trauma #trauma surviver #here i am #i made it

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fyregrayfong · 4 years

Text

Hesitate 7|15

FryeArcana

Chapter 7

You Say

Summary:

You finally let Lin know your story. Who you are and what caused those scars on your body.

You spend the day with Asami and go racing in the new Racer cars her dad has made.

“I thought I had you there” you smile as you take the helmet off and look over at Asami as she climbs out of her car and fixes her hair.

“I’ve had time to get better, these cars are nothing like the satomobiles” she smiles as she puts the helmet on the car seat.

“yeah, it has way more power and speed” you smirk as you did the same and followed Asami back to the mansion and get some refreshments.

“so how was your little date with Mako, it was a couple of nights ago right?” you look over at her as Asami is sipping on some lychee juice.

“hmm? Oh it was really nice. He’s sweet. We had dinner then you saw that he came with me to the gala, then we took a carriage through the park” she smiles a slight blush appearing on her cheeks.

“that’s nice, as long as you like him and happy then I'm happy too” you smile back and eat some fruit from the fruit bowl.

“y/n!” you heard an older man calling after you and you turn around and see Hiroshi Sato

“hey, Mr. Sato! Long time no see” you smile and walk over to him and extend a hand to him.

“come on, you know better, I’ve told you to call me Hiroshi.” He gives me a stern look but quickly smile “no matter, when Asami told you me you’ve returned to Republic City, I knew it was a matter of time before I would see you here. You are coming back to Future Industries?” he looks up hopefully

“Y/N is working with the police now remember, dad?” Asami walks up to the both of you and puts a hand on her father’s shoulder

“ah, yes that’s right. So how is it working with Chief Beifong?” he looks at you with a intrigued expression.

“it’s exciting honestly, but I see what all the comments about her demeanor comes from. What can you expect from being Chief of Police. It comes with the title I guess” you smile but quickly change the subject not wanting to talk ill of Lin “Asami mentioned your new line of racer cars, we took a test run and it’s coming out nicely.”

“Ahh so you’ve had a chance to check them out, good. How did you think of the design? We implemented those colors you’ve mentioned, yellow and red.” He walks you girls out towards the gardens of the mansion.

“the overall is nice, it’ll surely catch the audience’s attention when the red and yellow cars are flashing by. Surely, it’ll help with gaining the attention in future investors and clients” you smirk

“well I take help any way I can and if it wasn’t for your keen eye on design, these satomobiles wouldn’t have taken off. What was your pitch at the meeting?”

“oh you’re overreaching there Hiroshi, all I mentioned was about curving the overall look of the car, it helped with speed. 100% durability 100% desirability 1000% A good time” you chuckle as you mention the pitch again.

“that’s the pitch, that’s what won over those investors.” He clapped his hands and had a laugh

“well it was a group effort. Future Industries is known for using the very best materials, no cutting corners. All we had to do was design a car that not only attracts people, but also elevates the people driving it. If it makes you feel good while you drive it, it’ll be out in the streets more times than just parked in some street or house. Even then, it’s free publicity when a car looks so good that it attracts more customers to make a purchase for a satomobile rather than a Cabbage Car.”

Hiroshi smiles and chuckles “always quite the salesperson, it’s that bright mind that I miss on the team, but I understand you had other plans.”

You nod understanding and lightly shrug “I learned a lot with you and Asami, but the spirits had other plans for me, and who am I to ignore it” you smile

After some time you’ve spent with Asami and Hiroshi you’ve made your goodbyes after lunch and left.

Walk thru the park and decide to take a seat under a tree overlooking the water, you take a moment to meditate closing your eyes and focus on the noise around you of people enjoying their time outside and kids’ laughter, you can’t help but smile.

‘fancy seeing you here” a voice you recognized all too well

You crack a smile as you slowly open your eyes and look up to your right and see Lin walking towards you. “Afternoon, Chief, I could day the same thing. Care to join me?”

Lin looks around and just when you think she was going to refuse she surprisingly leans down and sits beside you. “I see you’re enjoying your day off”

“yeah, I figured it’ll be good to get some fresh air” you exhale deeply then look out at the water “how’s the station?”

“busy as usual, nothing new, but the streets are calm, surprisingly” she groans as she leans back on the tree

“that’s good, take in the scenery, breath in some fresh air before having to get back to the station. Take advantage of it” you look back at her and your eyes sort of smile on their own as you can’t help but notice how the run radiates and highlights Lin’s eyes to a beautiful soft green.

“can I ask you something?” Lin not noticing your glance but turns her head to look at you.

“anything chief”

“so what’s your story? You mentioned that you have this whole story in the making.” She creeps her arms up and crossing them in front of her.

“ahh, my story huh, well it’s pretty long, if you dare to stay to listen to it all.” You grin as you rub the back of your neck

“depends on how well the story is” she mutters

You breathe deeply mentally preparing yourself to tell your story “well, I have an earthbender of a father and my mother was a waterbender, their marriage produced three kids - all girls -- me being the eldest and the earthbender, the second a waterbender, then the surprise of the family the youngest, a firebender. She is quite the hot head that one, turns out we got some fire benders from my dad’s side. We stayed in Ba Sing Se” You close as you remember your family and chuckle at the thought when you think about your sisters.

“Did your scar come your fire bending sister?” Lin softly asked listening intently

“oh I see, you’re trying to figure out the story behind these scars.” You smirk “all you had to do was ask Chief, no need to beat around the bush. I’m an open book, just got to learn to ask the question.” You look over at her and scoff

Lin tenses up and frowns rolling her eyes “it’s not nice to pry, some folks don’t like talking about their life.” She muttered under her breath.

“so, if I tell you the story of my scar, will you tell me yours?” you taunt her seeing if your push might get you to find out how she got her scar as well.

Lin looks over at you then looks away “I don’t like to talk about it..” she trails off

“hey, I don’t like to be pressured into anything, so I won’t pressure you, but since I like you I don’t mind telling my story. Everyone has a story worth telling, but no one will hear it unless you voice it.” You mimic your voice like an old monk and laugh “that’s what this old merchant once told me”

“so how did you get your scar?” you hear Lin’s voice as soft as you never heard before you think some other lady was with you.

You inhale and exhale as you prepare to speak

“I was 12 and I was walking out of school, heading home. On my way I saw this small non-bender boy probably around the age of 10 getting teased and bullied by 5 older boys. I heard them tell this little boy all sorts of trash remarks. How weak he is to be a non-bender and that he has no purpose in life if he can’t bend.”

You look down sadden remembering the scene then ball your hands into fists

“I got so angry that I meddled in and defended the boy, told the group to leave him alone and that they were all just a bunch of dumb schoolboys. They were no better than the little boy. The group of boys all snickered and told me to leave, that this was no place for a girl. A pretty girl like myself should focus on how to be a lady instead of meddling into “man” talks. Whatever that means” you roll your eyes and scoff.

“I told them to shove their man talks into their pants and started to fight them giving the little boy time to run and escape. I was able to scare off two of the boys, but I was overpowered when the waterbender froze my hands together and gave an earthbender the chance to knock me to the ground, the firebender, the ringleader of their group told the other two guys to hold me down and he put his foot on my head. Told me that he hoped this would stop me from meddling into what doesn’t concern me and that it’s such a shame since I was a pretty girl, then he blasted me with his firebending all down the left side of my back and a slash across my left bicep. The other two boys got so scared from the sight I don’t think they knew the firebender would do such a thing. My screams of agony scared them all to run away from the scene. I soon passed out from the pain, next thing I know I wake up in a water basin in a dark candlelit room. My eyesight was glazed over, but I could see someone there with me, a healer, softly speaking to me that I was okay and that she was doing her very best to heal my burns. Her voice sounded so beautiful and easily trusting, I didn’t recognize her or see any details on her face except two things, one, she had the most beautiful eyes, a bright blue almost teal, as blue as the clearest ocean or sea in the world. The second that she had on this necklace with a crescent or something I couldn’t really tell. I tried to speak but my throat was so dry, and I felt so weak that I just knocked out again. The following morning I was in a bed with bandages wrapped around chest and arm. I never saw that healer again, I asked about her, but it turned it she was just traveling by on her way out when she ran into me and took me to that healing hut and didn’t leave until I was in the clear. Once I got home my parents were so angry once they found out what happened to me. I rebutted that I couldn’t just stand idly by and let a poor boy get tormented. My dad finally gave in and smiled; told me he was proud even though it was stupid to try to take on 5 guys at the same time.” You smile and laugh remembering his words, then look down overcome with sadness.

“sometime later my dad overcame with an illness, Cabbage Fever, I believe. My mom tried every remedy she knew from her water tribe roots, but nothing worked, and he soon passed away.” You take a moment to yourself as you look up at the water nearby in front of you and Lin. You don’t look at her as you try to control your emotions then continue on. “you know...there is this saying that when two people are destined to be together, their spirits are tethered together. Sort of like one can’t live without the other… I believe that is what happened with my parents. They couldn’t live without the other because as soon as my dad passed my mom no longer had the strength to live on. Or at least her spirit didn’t, and her body followed after and soon she passed quietly in her sleep. The only thing the healers could explain in simpler terms was that my mother passed from a broken heart…” you ball your fists more as to try not to try but you can feel tears forming at the corner of your eyes.

“I was 16, my sisters were 14 and 12. My parents prepared in any case were this to happen we had guardians in place. Turns out we have family all around the world. The waterbender went to live with an aunt in the southern water tribe and the firebender lived with an uncle and aunt in the fire nation. I was supposed to go to live with my uncle in Ba Sing Se, but I was adamant that I wanted to travel the world. I didn’t want to be stuck in someone else’s home. So I packed up my things, made sure my sisters were taken care of and promised to send whatever money I can to them and send them letters of my travel. I spent the next year or so traveling all over the world. Spent a couple months in Kyoshi Island where the Kyoshi warriors were kind enough to each me to fight, learned about girl power, and even were kind enough to teach me some chi blocking fighting style. Spend another month at Ember Island, visited the Si Wong Desert, where I spent some time sand-sailing with some Si Wong people. The Northern Air Temple was interesting since it was taken over by Earth benders, spent some time with my sisters at the Southern water tribe, saw the northern spirit lights. Just to name a couple of places” you smile “I met a couple of nice of people alone the way. After two year I felt like maybe it was time to settle down and went to Republic City, I stepped into this little tea shop owned by the sweetest old lady who offered me shelter in exchange to help her clean the shop and wash dishes. She even taught me to cook some dishes. I spent about a month in the city and ran into the Sato family one day. Gave them some smart ideas about their satomobile designs, Hiroshi Sato liked it so much he offered me a job as the Head of Design for the satomobile and other cars.” You hear a noise coming from Lin and your ear perks up and turn over to her

“wait, you’re telling me that the car that I drive as well as the rest of Republic City…” Lin gives you an incredulous face, her lips parted not believing a word you’re saying at this point. It gives you a moment to start laughing and you grin. “Yup, I designed them. Well Hiroshi Sato had a blueprint of his initial plan, but I modified it to give the sleek design it has now. The curves and overall look that makes those cars desirable to own. Might I add, you look incredible in your car, Chief. Even though you don’t need the car to look incredible. You do well on your own.” You smirk and look at her that Link closes her lips and gives you a small frown you can see a slight blush creep up on her cheeks and rolls her eyes giving you a puff and looks away. “Quit the garbage, y/n”

You softly laugh “I’m serious on all accounts, the design, and about you in the car. I think you’ve known me long enough to know that I am nothing but honest.” You smile then you lean back on your arms and look over at her. She just lets about puff of air crossing her arms more on her check. You let the silence settle down a bit before you attempt to speak again “I spent two years in republic city working with the Sato, I kept hearing a voice that there was more other there for me. Most people would call me stupid for leaving a good job. I was paid handsomely; I could afford anything I wanted. I send half of my earnings split between my sisters and kept the other half and still had a hefty amount of yuans left. I looked at tourist attractions and a couple of maps and noticed about Zaofu. I already told you that part and the whole part of me coming back here.” You think back making sure you haven’t left out anything out then realized “oh! The cycle, it was a parting gift from Asami and Hiroshi Sato, it was Asami’s idea and it gave the two of them a chance to work together, so that was nice. They both built it together but Asami made clear that she handled the overall look. During the time I spent with Asami, I learned to maintain that cycle. So far that cycle is my most prized possession. It’s my preferred mode of transportation.” You smile then exaggerate a long exhale then give a long stretch

“well that’s everything, you’re caught up to my story” you look over at Lin and her eyes are full of awe and wonder.

“but you’re so young, yet you’ve experience so much.” Lin muttered

“yeah, it’s a gift and a curse” you mumble

“how so?” Lin raised an eyebrow as she glances your way focused on you and only you.

“well most people just stay at the place they were born. So people my age all they know is their place of birth. So it’s hard to find exciting people. I tend to relate more and make better friends with the older generation, who have gone out and explored or have experiences, than people my own age.” You softly chuckle

“well not me, I’ve stayed here in Republic City majority of my life. It’s all I know and all I want to know” Lin mumbled

“I didn’t mean to offend, it’s good that you know what you want, but I feel it deep inside that Republic City is where I am needed.” You look up at the sky and see the sky setting

“so since you got to know more about me. You want to tell me about your scar?” you softly speak not really looking over at Lin

There is a long pause and you’re about to tell her to forget about it until you hear her voice as she tries to speak.

“I was answering a call about a robbery, I answered and ran into the car and chased it down. I rammed into the car with my metal cables and saw Su- the perp steps out the car. I told her to stay where she was, and she attempted to leave. I apprehended her with my metal cables, that’s when Su- she cut herself free and the cables recoiled and hit me on the cheek. The pain was excruciating. I closed my eyes from the pain and by the time I opened them the perps were gone.” It sounds like the story causes Lin to get upset.

“wow, that sucks. I hope you found that perp and slammed her into a ceil” you mutter out loud as you lay back putting your arms behind your head.

“oh I tried” Lin mumbled under her breath; you could barely catch what she said.

“what?” you look over at her

“I couldn’t find her. It seemed like she escaped the city” Lin quickly spoke out.

“well if I was that perp I would do the same thing. I would probably just change my name and ask Mother of Faces to grant me a new face.” You breathe out you can’t help but notice Lin smile at your comments which brings a smile to your face.

“but that firebender-- the one that gave me this scar--was wrong about one thing”

“what’s that?” Lin asked and you smirk as you look down

“those scars actually helped me in the whole romance department. Women love scars, I would be lying if I said I picked them up by my charming personality” you smile and laugh softly “there is something about scars that people find attractive, I guess it’s the mystery behind the scar, it gives them a sense of danger, sexiness. I don’t know but its works. So maybe I should find that guy and give him a thank you card” you shrug and look at Lin your eyes glancing over to her scars. “I think they’re right” you mutter as you sit up and look at Lin turning half your body towards her.

“I had every intention of getting revenge on that guy but If I remember right there’s that saying about how revenge is like a two-headed rat-viper. While you watch your enemy go down, you’re being poisoned yourself. It's easy to do nothing, but it's hard to forgive.” You softly speak then look up at Lin “as much as it’s easy to go after the person who caused you and I harm, sometimes it’s better to forgive and move on, and plus the scars you have are hot” you smile

“Don’t let the scars wear you. You wear the scars like a sexy badass. They increase your sex appeal. I mean you’re beautiful with or without the scars. I’ve never seen you without the scars but you look incredible hot now.” you mutter out then your eyes widen realizing you just said all that out loud. You slowly turn your head over to look at Lin, your cheeks a bright red, and you see her look at you with a blush as well.

“what did you say to me?” she muttered, her breathing gets slightly uneasy. unsure what to do.

You lean in a bit and reach over and softly brush her scars on her cheek, her breath hitches. “you, Lin Beifong, are beautiful. It’s hard not to find you beautiful.” You softly whisper as you look at her eyes and see the sunset setting down. The rays hitting her eyes illuminating you glance between her eyes and lips and the air around the both of you has drastically shifted. You sense a change of gravity as you slowly lean in and Lin’s body seems to react the same way. Both of your faces merely inches apart, “Lin…” you whisper the breath from your lips touch hers and causes her lips to part slightly as you can feel her breath hit your lips as well. Your hand softly on her scarred cheek and you close your eyes readying yourself with anticipation to kiss her.

There’s a static noise and the sound of a radio interference comes thru “Chief Beifong do you copy” those words seem to wake Lin from a trance and you feel a hand on your chest slowly push you back, you open your eyes and see Lin lean back as she looks down slowly shaking her head.

“This can’t happen”

“Chief, do you copy?” the officer on the radio calls out again.

“Lin…” you speak out softly, your eyes with confusion on what’s going on.

“this didn’t happen” Lin doesn’t seem to listen to you as she quickly gets up and collects herself.

“Lin” you call out to her. You mind can’t think of anything other than her name. She finally looks up at you and stands her ground.

“nothing happened” her voice stern as she gives you a glare as she starts walking back to her car.

“1-2 Chief, do you read me?” the officer calls out again thru the radio

“what is it!” Lin barks out as she answers the call

“Sorry Chief, councilman Tarrlok called. He wants to speak to you about a council meeting at City Hall” the officer rang out Lin pushes the button to respond

“I’m heading over there now” Lin groans in annoyance then ends the transmission.

You finally catch your thoughts and walk over to Lin “so are we not going to talk about what almost happened?”

Lin looks around and then gives you a hard glare “There’s nothing to talk about. Nothing. happened.” She muttered harshly then quickly speeds off. You stand there at the sidewalk left with more confusion and walk back to the tree and try to gather your thoughts.

You groan and sit back down then out of aggravation you punch the ground and accidentally raised a piece of earth above the ground and you curse under your breath and try your best to fix the ground back to its previous state. Then fall back on your back and close your eyes picturing everything as if rewinding then stop at that moment. The moment everything changed.

Lin drove down the streets of Republic City, but her mind was racing with the images reserve in her mind. Y/N mentioned you was beautiful and your whole demeanor changed. Your face went… soft. It’s as if Link didn’t think she could or would be called beautiful, sexy, she thought she didn’t have any sex appeal. Yet, here is y/n and she is telling you all these things that were unheard of to you. Then if that wasn’t enough, she had to softly touch your face, she caressed your cheek with such delicacy as if not trying to cause you any more harm on your scarred cheek.

Your body just reacted to hers and leaned in, leaned into her touch, leaned into her space. You had this longing feeling, something awakened deep inside you that you couldn’t quite place. You saw her lean in, right? Y/N leaned in just as much as you. Right? No. You lost control. You went weak. You shake your head and concentrate behind the wheel, swerving to the next lane as you almost hit a truck, then gain control.

“No, this can’t happen. Nothing happened. This is just my mind playing tricks with me.” Lin mutters under her breath as she looks out into the streets as she drives gritting her teeth.

You stay at the park and pulling your knees up to your chest as your mind keeps replaying those images in your mind. There is something brewing between the two of you, at least from your part you’re starting to fall for Lin. Do you think Lin feels somewhat the same? I hope nothing changes between us during work. You wonder then fall onto your back and cover your face with your hands. This is going to be a long night.

#TLOK1Hesitate #fanfic #linbeifong #lin x reader #Fyrefics

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darks-ink · 4 years

Text

Parasite

Prompt: Plasmius is an evil ghost that has possessed Vlad since his accident. Vlad fights back as much as he can – silently apologizing to overshadowed businessmen while they share a mind, diverting malicious attention away from Jack and Maddie, and holding back against Danny long enough for him to learn Plasmius’ weaknesses – but he won’t be able to on much longer Prompt by: @sapphireswimming Word count: 4,056 Genre: Angst with happy ending

Content warning: possession, loss of control, powerlessness, self-sacrifice, dark themes

[AO3] [FFN] [more Phic Phight fics]

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Plasmius, Vlad was sure, was the world’s punishment for any and all bad thoughts he had ever had. It was the harshest wake-up call imaginable… and unimaginable. Because, honestly, who could ever believe such a thing?

With the power of hindsight, Vlad had come to know, and acknowledge, that he’d been an awful human being. In college, he had constantly shunned Jack’s kindness, every attempt at friendship despite Vlad’s prickly responses. And Maddie… Oh, Maddie. He had refused to accept her interest in Jack, sure that he just had to convince her that Vlad was the better choice.

He’d been toxic, from top to bottom. That, Vlad was sure of.

It was not all that surprising, then, that this flaw of personality drew in equally toxic ghosts. Or, one ghost, specifically. A type of spectral parasite, which latched onto Vlad during the accident with the Proto Portal.

Vlad had not been in a good place, back then. He’d been in pain, horribly mutilated. Had been going through an experience no one else knew of, could sympathize or help with.

And all of that had been so much, that Vlad honestly hadn’t even realize that part of it wasn’t his newfound part ghost nature. Part of it had been a parasite, possessing him.

It had started slow. Had whispered bad thoughts into Vlad’s ear, its core pressed against Vlad’s until they were impossible to tell apart.

Had they ever truly been separate? Vlad didn’t know. Maybe not. Maybe he had only ever become half-ghost because a full ghost had possessed him.

Because that was what this was. Possession. Most people think that there is no difference between overshadowing and possession, but there is. It was just that most ghosts wouldn’t lower themselves to possession. There was no point to it, really, for most ghosts. It would allow them a foothold in the human world, yes, but it came with severe weakening. With a constant struggle to overpower the human they mingled with.

Plasmius had gotten lucky. He’d gotten his claws on Vlad just when he’d been sick, and weak, and ecto-contaminated.

And Plasmius had dug his talons in until Vlad couldn’t throw the ghost off anymore. Plasmius had integrated himself so neatly into Vlad’s very anatomy that removing him would surely kill the both of them.

The ghost had waited until Vlad was at his weakest, most inclined to listen to the venomous thoughts in his head, and then lunged. Had hard-handedly torn the steering wheel out of Vlad’s hands, pushing him into the crevices of his own mind, his own body.

At first, Vlad had let him. Plasmius wasn’t held back by any of Vlad’s weakness, his sickness, his lack of control. Plasmius wielded their ghost powers like an expert—because he was, really, an expert. Plasmius settled the ectoplasm and the flesh into their right forms, into a perfect mixture of the two, until their body was no longer wracked by sickness.

Plasmius dreamt of the things that Vlad wanted. Of getting riches, of getting revenge on those who hurt them, of getting the love they deserve.

Sometimes, Vlad wondered if he had influenced Plasmius right back. If he had carved the ghost’s mind into the same patterns as his own. Most times, however, he decided it didn’t matter. They had long surpassed the part where Vlad could influence Plasmius.

Freed from the hold of the hospital, of their sickness and weakness, Vlad had rejoiced. With Plasmius’ help, even his skin cleared up, scars fading away like nothing had ever even happened.

He’d asked, foolishly, what he could do for Plasmius to repay him for services rendered.

And Plasmius had laughed, in their shared mind space. Had cackled, sharp and vicious and unkind in every way.

“You won’t do anything, anymore,” Plasmius had told him. And after that, Vlad couldn’t remember anything.

The memories got muddled, then. Plasmius had torn control away from Vlad entirely. The only things he knew was what the ghost had accidentally slipped through into their shared space.

It was something about the way the ghost was constructed, Vlad thought. He could have his thoughts to his own, and speak to Plasmius only when he wanted to, but the ghost could not. All of Plasmius’ thoughts were direct, and easy to read.

They were the only thing Vlad knew, most of the time. He had no input from his body, from their shared body. Nothing from outside. Nothing but Plasmius’ thoughts.

So, over the years, Vlad had had a lot of time to think, and to reflect. To realize his many mistakes. To vow to do better.

Occasionally, Vlad was joined in the mind space by another mind. The first time it had startled him, but he knew what had caused it. Plasmius desired money, because money was power in the human world. But Plasmius was no businessman, had no financial smarts.

Instead, the ghost used the thing he did know: his ghostly abilities. Plasmius overshadowed businessman after businessman, forcing them to give their possessions, their riches and businesses, to Vlad. Or, more accurately, to Plasmius in Vlad’s body.

And, every time Plasmius overshadowed someone, the poor soul would gain temporary access to their mind space.

At first, Vlad apologized to every person Plasmius overshadowed. The businessmen, especially, he silently apologized to. Silently, because he didn’t want to draw Plasmius’ anger, his ire. The ghost probably couldn’t do him any harm, but the same could not be said of the people he overshadowed.

Later on, after Vlad realized what Plasmius was planning for their future, he started asking people to stop them. To stop him. He apologized first, of course, but then pressed on to point fingers at Plasmius. Begged people to please, please, inform authorities of Vlad Masters, dangerous half-ghost.

Plasmius had to be stopped, even if that came as the cost of Vlad’s life.

Nothing ever came of it. He didn’t know why. Didn’t know what to change so he could just convince someone.

Vlad Masters became a rich man. The proud owner of a Wisconsin mansion, decked out liberally in green and gold and Packers memorabilia. Plasmius, apparently, had decided that the Packers were an interest they shared.

Plasmius’ eyes started wandering back to the rest of his list of goals. Of acquiring Maddie’s love, of doing away with Jack.

And Vlad… Vlad thought back of all the scared businessmen that Plasmius had hurt. Of Maddie’s lovely smiles, and of Jack’s overly jubilant attempts at friendship.

He steered Plasmius away. To the best of his abilities, of course. He threw up distractions, made suggestions for Plasmius to pursue.

Two decades, he made it last. Two decades of holding off Plasmius, before the ghost finally decided it was time to chase down Jack and Maddie.

Twenty years was a long life, Vlad had consoled himself. And he peeked in on Plasmius’ vicious plans, and suggested, meekly, a college reunion.

The invites were sent out in Vlad’s name, of course. Two of them went to a little town by the name of Amity Park, addressed to Jack and Maddie Fenton. Plasmius had been beyond anger, but Vlad…

Vlad was glad. He was happy that those two had found support and love in each other. That they hadn’t been driven apart by his own accident.

Plasmius was still gunning for Jack, Vlad knew. Was sending all matter of ghosts after the man, yet none of them had succeeded. The few that dared to return to the mansion explained that another ghost had stopped them.

This, Vlad realized, was driving Plasmius crazy. The ghost decided, apparently, that he would just do the job himself.

See, Vlad had steered Plasmius towards a college reunion in the hopes that the ghost wouldn’t be crazy enough to murder Jack Fenton with so many witnesses. Now, he had started to worry that that might not be the case.

He had still been busy wondering if Jack and Maddie had held onto their interest in ghost hunting when Plasmius got agitated all over again. The ghost that had thwarted Plasmius’ attempts at killing Jack in Amity had come along.

Danny Phantom. The half-ghost son of Jack and Maddie Fenton.

Plasmius had tacked another goal onto his to-do list. To kill Jack, to acquire Maddie’s love, and to destroy Danny.

“Why not recruit him?” Vlad had asked, foolishly. “Isn’t he like us/you?”

This, apparently, had been the wrong thing to say. Plasmius had gotten even more agitated.

As it turned out, little Danny Fenton-Phantom was an actual half-ghost. They were a thing of legend, something that no one thought could exist. Plasmius had designed their shared body with this in mind. No one would be able to tell that Vlad was possessed, because they would be unaware of what was normal for a half-ghost like them.

Danny, however, would know. Or would lead others to know.

So the boy had to be destroyed, lest anyone else figure out what was wrong with Vlad.

And Vlad had looked at this teenager, this boy barely fourteen years old, and prayed for forgiveness for what he was about to do.

He had started pushing. Prodding Plasmius into lashing out, into making more and more vicious plans, in revealing his hand. And, simultaneously, in coaxing Danny to find their weaknesses. Steering the boy into knowing what Plasmius could do, and how to take him down.

Danny had to know that Vlad Masters—Vlad Plasmius, apparently—was trying to kill him. All Vlad needed for him was to get too fed up, go too far.

To end it. Before Plasmius could do worse.

---

Plasmius had another plan to take out Danny. Daniel, the ghost insisted on calling him. Plasmius had never been very good at respecting other people’s desires.

Vlad no longer wondered where that came from, either.

But his strength was waning. His ability to influence Plasmius lessened and lessened.

Which is why they were in the Fentons’ lab, now. They were fighting, Vlad thought, but he had no way to really know. Plasmius had locked him out of his own body twenty years ago, and had never let up.

So when Vlad suddenly thudded against a hard floor, cold against his bare hands, staring up at a blue face with blank red eyes and fangs, well.

He might’ve screamed.

A bolt of green knocked the ghost away from him, and it—he, something in Vlad’s mind told him this was Plasmius—snarled.

“Oh no you don’t!” a youthful voice yelled. Vlad didn’t look at the source, too busy taking in the ghost that had inhabited his body for all those years.

Pallid blue skin, only visible on the face and part of the neck. The eyes were entirely red, with no way to distinguish sclera from iris from pupil. Black hair, swept strangely in the shape of horns, and a matching black goatee. Pointed ears, and overlong fangs, which the ghost bared at either Vlad or whoever had yelled.

The clothing was a strange mix of vampire-like and lab clothes. Mostly white, the shirt tunic-like but with a tight shiny collar and gloves. A big cape, though, flaring out and red on the inside.

Plasmius snarled again, and Vlad could see, now, that his fingers were sharp like claws.

“Alright, that’s enough out of you,” the voice behind Vlad decided, and another bolt of green blasted against Plasmius.

Naturally, this only riled the ghost up more. He pushed himself up, lunging forward at Vlad.

A blue vortex caught him before he made it all the way, and the ghost was sucked up. Vlad followed the stream, repressing his surprise at the fact that his body let him, and saw…

Well, it must be Danny Fenton-Phantom. Just a boy, dressed in a black jumpsuit that reminded Vlad of the ones Jack always liked so much. Messy hair, an unnatural white, and glowing green eyes.

“Seriously, Vlad, what’s wrong with this guy?” Danny asked him, shaking the device that Plasmius had been sucked into. “I thought that taking you through the Ghost Catcher would help me understand you better, but this just made me more confused.”

Vlad blinked at him. “The… huh?”

“The Ghost Catcher,” Danny repeated, like that was the only part that could’ve confused Vlad. He gestured next to him, at a giant dreamcatcher-like invention. Its net glowed an eerie ectoplasmic green.

Yeah, that looked like something Jack might put together.

“What did… How did…?”

“You are seriously out of it,” Danny commented, frowning at him. “Your ghost half was all snarly, so I figured you were the smart half, but now I’m starting to doubt that.”

Danny had separated them, somehow. For twenty years, Vlad had thought that that would be impossible. From the moment Plasmius rewrote his body to be half human and half ghost, he thought it would’ve killed them both.

“How?” he asked again. He had to know. Could they destroy Plasmius, did he have the time—the strength—to do it himself?

“The Ghost Catcher.” Danny shook his head, watched as Vlad pushed himself into a sitting position. “It takes all the ectoplasm out of your system. When I went through it I got two distinct personalities, so I figured I would try it with you, but…”

Danny trailed off, then shrugged. “You’re not as mean as before, though, so I guess your feral half took that.”

“It was always his to begin with,” Vlad scoffed. He tried standing up, but wobbled precariously. Danny caught him by the arm before he fell, though.

“Well, yeah, I guess most of your anger came from the accident that made you a half-ghost, but—”

“No,” Vlad interrupted him. “The accident didn’t make me half-ghost. He did.”

Danny rolled his eyes, dropping Vlad’s arm. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You always blame my dad for it.”

“That’s not what I was saying at all.” Vlad shook his head, but let his eyes wander back to the… what did Danny call it? The Ghost Catcher? “The accident with the Proto Portal didn’t make me half-ghost either. Not directly, at least. I’ve got myself to blame at least as much as your parents.”

“Oh, uh.” Danny blinked at him, apparently surprised at the admission. “I mean, I guess that the Portal gave you Ecto Acne, and then that made you—”

“Plasmius made me half-ghost.” Vlad tore his eyes off of the miraculous invention, back towards Danny. Back towards the device in his hand that held Plasmius. “We need to destroy him, before he gets out.”

“Woah, woah.” Danny held up his hands. “That’s a little extreme, isn’t it? I mean, my two halves didn’t like each other that much either, but—”

“You don’t get it, Danny!” Vlad snapped. His heart thumped in his chest, blood roaring through his ears. Sensations he’d missed for twenty years while Plasmius paraded his body around. “You’re a real half-ghost. I never was. I was human, and Plasmius was the ghost who possessed me. Why do you think he wanted you gone so badly?”

The boy stared at him, so still that Vlad wondered if he still had to breathe in his ghost form.

“You… called me Danny,” he finally said, quietly.

Vlad resisted the urge to throw his hands in the air. “Yes,” he snapped, then stamped down his anger as well. He could be angry later, when Plasmius was gone for good.

“Yes,” he repeated, more calmly. “I’ve been referring to you as Danny the whole time, since you’ve said that that was your name. I… I have had a lot of time to think. To realize the mistakes I’ve made in my life.” To repent, he thought, but didn’t say. To realize that he’d been so terrible that no one saw the difference between him and Plasmius.

“I… I don’t know if you can live without your ghost half,” Danny said, eventually, reluctantly. “If you’ve been half-ghost for twenty years, like Plasmius always said…”

“I don’t care. If I die… so be it.” Vlad ran a hand through his hair, startled to find it tied back into a ponytail. At least Plasmius had kept their hair long, he supposed. “He has been puppeteering my body for twenty years, Danny. The only things I knew for twenty years were his thoughts, and his thoughts only. I had no control, could only make suggestions, and he’s been getting harder and harder to influence as time moved on.”

“That’s why he always held back.” Danny’s eyes grew wide. “I wondered about that. Why you—he, whatever—never used the full power of twenty years of experience. You held him back.”

Vlad nodded. “I wanted you to figure out his weaknesses. To grow strong enough to… to put an end to it.”

“You wanted me to kill you. Both of you,” Danny realized, his voice dropping.

“It would’ve been a bad thing to put on you,” Vlad agreed. “But the alternative would’ve been worse. Plasmius… he couldn’t be stopped. For twenty years, I derailed him into focusing on wealth, on acquiring power, but he finally set himself on his original goals. He would’ve killed Jack, would’ve found a way, no matter how despicable, to make Maddie his own. When he found you, a real half-ghost, he added your destruction to your list. And once he had achieved all those goals?” Vlad scoffed. “It would’ve been awful. Plasmius has no compassion, no caring.”

“So you wanted me to kill you? To put blood on the hands of a fourteen year old?”

“Better to hurt one teenager than to kill dozens. Or more, perhaps.” Vlad shook his head. “Even if it was the wrong thing to do, it doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve found a solution to split him off without shedding any blood. Now we just need to destroy him, permanently.”

Danny’s hands tightened around the tube-like device. “I— I can’t. I’m not gonna kill some ghost just based on— I can’t just kill some ghost.”

“Then give me some kind of invention from your parents and I’ll do it myself.” Vlad drew back his shoulders. “He needs to be gone, Danny. I’ve lost twenty years of my life to him. He has hurt countless people, and would hurt far more. Will hurt many more, if you let him out.”

The boy shook his head. “I can’t let that happen. He can stay in the Thermos.”

“Sooner or later he’ll break out of that,” Vlad insisted. He couldn’t… couldn’t risk that. Never again. “Or someone will release him.”

“I’ll bury it.” Danny met Vlad’s gaze. Stubborn to no end. Not very surprising, Vlad supposed, knowing the boy’s parents. Both Jack and Maddie were not known for giving up.

“It’ll get dug up.” Vlad stared at Danny, tried to will him into understanding. “Danny. I know you don’t like this. It’s a cruel thing to ask of a boy your age. To ask of anyone, really. Give me the… the Thermos, and your parents and I can take care of it. They’re still ghost hunters, aren’t they?”

“I…” He bit his lip, looking down at the Thermos in his hands. “I… I don’t think that that’s a good idea. They think that all ghosts are like that. This will just be— be proof that I don’t want them to have. They’ll think that all half-ghosts are like that.”

“That I’m like that” went unsaid, but Vlad heard it anyway.

“They don’t have to know that Plasmius possessed me all this time,” Vlad insisted. He needed the ghost destroyed. It had to happen, no matter what. “I just need him gone, Danny. I need to know that he will never hurt anyone ever again.”

“I just… I can’t let that happen.” Danny shook his head, slowly moving his arm until the Thermos clipped onto his belt. “He’ll add to my parents’ proof of how bad ghosts are, and even if I let you three deal with him… What’s stopping him from just possessing you again? Or one of my parents?”

Danny shook his head again, the movement sharper, jerkier. “I… I’ve dealt with bad ghosts like him before. That one, I left locked in a Thermos at Clockwork’s tower. I’ll do that with Plasmius too.”

“In the Ghost Zone?” It was not ideal, but… the Thermos would not decay in the Zone, and no ghost would be crazy enough to mess with such a device. And even if Plasmius broke out, it would take forever for him to get back.

“Yeah. Is that a good compromise?”

Vlad nodded, reluctantly. “As good as we’ll get, I think.” He paused, looking around the lab. “Excuse me for asking another thing of you, Danny, but… I’m afraid that I have no explanation for your parents as to why I’m in their lab.”

“Right, yeah.” He shot Vlad a suspicious look. “This isn’t a plot to steal the Thermos from me, is it?”

“I promise to you, it is not.” He placed a hand against his chest and realized, belatedly, that he was wearing a suit. Since when did he wear suits? What was Plasmius thinking? “Bind my hands if you must.”

“Alright, no need to go so far.” Danny rolled his eyes, walking closer to Vlad. “If I get you to the street, will you manage from there?”

Vlad patted his pocket, feeling a hard shape. He took it out to reveal…

“You have a phone, good.” Danny nodded. “You can call for a cab and take your private plane back to Wisconsin, or however you got here. How did you get here?”

“Bold of you to presume I know.” Vlad sighed, placing the phone back into his pocket. “I might just… take a walk, first. It has been a long time since I could.”

Danny threw him a heavy look. “Yeah. Of course. I won’t stop you.”

“And I…” Vlad paused. “I would like to reacquaint myself with your parents. I know that, between my behavior in my youth, and Plasmius’ behavior in more recent times, I don’t deserve that, but… I have learned my lesson a long time ago.”

This, Danny needed time to process. “You’re… not after my mom anymore?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Vlad assured him. “When Plasmius sent out the invites, I caught wind of their marriage. I was… very glad. It was wrong of me to ever continue to pursue Maddie, when she clearly had no interest in me.”

“Then you’re welcome back, I guess.” Danny reached for him, and Vlad let him. Let the boy wrap his cool hands around Vlad’s arms. “I’ll let Jazz know not to get too harsh on you, but I can’t do anything for my mom.”

“Ah. Yes, a Maddie scorned is a Maddie to fear.” Vlad nodded understandingly. “Jack… Jack, I am sorry to say, I never appreciated as I should’ve. I would be glad to accept his offer of friendship this time around.”

Danny lifted him with ease, like gravity suddenly stopped having an effect on Vlad. “Yes, I… I am sure that Dad would love that. And if you try, Mom will see that, too. It’ll be…”

“I’ll do my best,” Vlad promised, after Danny had remained silent.

The boy nodded, then lifted up further. Phased them straight through the ceiling, which led them into the upstairs living room, and then through the wall. Carried Vlad a little further, until they were out of sight from the house.

“I’ll let you wander around first, then.” Danny put him down, surprisingly gently. “Come by whenever you’re ready, Vladdie.”

Vlad smiled back at Danny, feeling something warm and hopeful bloom in his chest. “I will, my boy. And… thank you. For your help with all this. For allowing me to finally be my own person, away from Plasmius. I didn’t— didn’t think it would ever happen.”

“Glad to be of service, then.” Danny bowed, deep, but rose with a smile on his face. “I’ll get this Thermos hidden away somewhere where no one will find it for the next eternity. Have a nice day, Vlad!”

“Yes, you too, Danny Phantom.” Vlad felt the corner of his mouth twitch up. Danny waved, then promptly disappeared from sight.

Vlad waited for another moment. Felt the mild wind breeze past him, tug on his long hair and his suit jacket.

It was good to be alive.

#phic phight #phic phight 2020 #phic phight 20 #danny phantom #dp fanfic #phanfic #phanfiction #dp fanfiction #vlad masters #vlad plasmius #danny fenton #dark writes #me? living up to my name? writing angst? shocking

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ultravioletsoul · 4 years

Note

Can you rank your fave CoD antagonists?

Hello there nonny, sorry for taking so long to reply and thank you for your ask ♥♥

Rank my favorite CoD antagonists? Sure, I can do that! There are several antagonists in the series, but I’ll only rank my top 3. Hope that is okay with you c:

3. Jonathan Irons

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Advanced Warfare may not be a series as popular as BO or MW, but I actually enjoyed the game and I also liked Irons. Honestly, I don’t think we’ve gotten that many antagonists that started out as our allies in CoD (at least I don’t remember any others atm), much any less an American antagonist, so that kinda made him stand out to me.

I’m not familiar with Kevin Spacey’s works, and I barely watched any trailers pre-release. So to see Irons go from someone who I believed genuinely wanted to make the world a better place, where every human being could live in peace and thrive, away from the pointless wars that governments waged, to someone who was willing to use any means necessary to achieve his goals, regardless of how many lives he had to sacrifice... well, that was something that hit me hard.

This man who gave my character a second chance, who treated me (Mitchell) as his son, who cleaned up after the colossal mess that others countries made, helped people from devastated war-zones rebuild their lives and gave them hope for the future, turned out to be someone I was forced to betray because of different viewpoints and philosophies. Despite everything, I think Irons had his heart in the right place, but his methods were ultimately terrible and in his messianic delusions he ended up doing more harm than good, so of course he had to be stopped.

And what I liked about him was that he didn’t start out as a bad man, he didn’t do all those things because of greed, and his characterization wasn’t that of a cartoonish villain. In a way I could find logic in his arguments, he made a few good points about the current state of the world and the inability (or indifference) of many politicians to solve the real problems of the people. But the root of it all lies in the loss of his son, his only child, to a government he no longer trusted nor had any faith in doing what was right. Despite having served in the military in his youth, Irons had grown disillusioned at the way the US handled domestic and international policy, and strongly disagreed with them— opposing the status quo in favor of change.

One could argue that serving in the military was entirely Will’s choice all along, and as a grown adult he knew what he was getting himself into. Still Irons couldn’t help but think that if that war had never happened, Will would still be alive. So that left him with a bitter taste, and it served as the catalyst behind his actions.

If nobody else would bother to do anything to actually solve the world’s problems, then he would be the savior to do it— whether they liked it or not. And he didn’t care what methods he had to use, how many had to die, or if he had to plunge the world into total chaos before he could ultimately end all wars and bring everlasting “peace” (perhaps one of the greatest ironies) as his dream seemed to be. Even at the cost of such a high price.

I don’t think Irons gets the credit he deserves.

2. Raúl Menéndez

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BO2 is one of my favorite games and Raúl is undoubtedly one of the most memorable antagonists in the series. Much like Irons, his actions were heavily motivated by the loss of a loved one but his life is also one sad story, so it’s no wonder he turned out the way he did. Not to justify him, but it’s not hard to understand what led him to do all those things.

From a very young age, his life was destroyed by the actions of Americans, from the horrors of the dictatorship in Nicaragua (in which the Contras were supported by the US); the crippling and disfigurement of his young sister Josefina, due to the greed of an American owner who burned down a warehouse in order to obtain 11,000$ through insurance fraud. After losing everything during an earthquake, and becoming homeless, Raúl and his father started over by selling drugs, successfully establishing a cartel that was so powerful in Nicaragua that they were equally feared and admired among the people.

But this status and power they had newly acquired concerned the US government, and it wasn't long before they sanctioned an assassination order on Raúl's father and sent the CIA in to kill him. Raúl observed it all, a teenager back then, and managed to escape thanks to his father's training. Though he could do nothing to stop it, nothing to save his father, this event marked him and further embittered him against the US and the West. And the last straw was the unfortunate death of Josefina, at the hands of Woods. He lost his sister, the only living relative he had, and his world fell apart. But if we think about it, Raúl was indirectly responsible for her death too, after the horrible torture he put Woods through in Angola. So the next time Woods saw Raúl he lost his mind and threw the grenade that tragically bounced into Josefina's bedroom and killed her.

So he spent all his life orchestrating a huge plan, a brilliant plan, that would shake the US from the very ground. And he was damn charismatic while executing it, earning the support and approval of billions of people all around the world— even from those who lived in US soil!— to begin a world revolution and end the dominance of capitalist nations that had subjugated other weaker countries, amassing huge riches through market economy and wars for resources, destroying lives and sinking many in poverty. And he also manipulates and pits two superpowers against each other... sending everyone to the brink of another world war, or a second cold war at best.

He wanted revenge on the US for playing with the lives of other people, for taking everything he loved away from him, by making them live in fear and destroying everything they had built. He wanted them to feel the same pain, to suffer the way he did. And he wouldn't rest until he achieved that because he had nothing to lose anymore.

Depending on the outcome, he can get revenge on Woods for Josefina, as well. And though we all like it when the "good" guys prevail and foil the plans of the villain, I think this particular ending had a much deeper and stronger emotional impact. The conversation they have at the end is something I didn't expect. Raúl has come to kill Woods but they're both in a place where the years have beaten them down with the weight of they’ve done and rather than an over the top scene, what we’re given is quite the opposite of that.

There’s no screaming, no heated argument between them, no dramatic lines. It’s just two old men who had to live with what they’ve done, and who have come to terms with the inevitability of that moment. Raúl slits Woods’s artery with Josefina’s pendant, and then he does something that surprised me: he closes Frank’s eyes, takes him off the wheelchair and lies his body on the bed. Something that is a huge contrast with what he did to Hudson many years ago... the savagery he used when killing him. For Raúl to behave that way with Woods, the man he considered to be his sister’s killer, it raises the question as to whether he still hated Woods after all these years, or maybe deep down he finally acknowledges that his actions (namely torturing Woods and killing his whole team) was the true motive that led to Josefina’s death.

The thing is, Raúl knows that he's to blame for what happened. It's also the reason why he burns himself alive in front of Josefina's grave. It’s because he has to pay for what he's done to her, too, and he chose to do it in probably the most horrible way possible but it didn’t matter to him. Nothing was more painful than living with the knowledge that his sister died because of what he did.

To him Josefina was the true innocent soul, who didn't deserve any of the suffering she went through.

1. Vladimir Makarov

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It’s no secret that Vladimir is my most favorite antagonist (and character) in all of Call of Duty.

Though his background and motives weren’t as well developed and explained as those of other antagonists in the series, his untold story (which you won’t find anywhere in the game, though you can deduce if you have a basic idea of the situation before and after the fall of the Soviet Union) perhaps says a lot more about him than one might expect.

There’s not a lot we know about his past other than the meager information that was provided in some loading cutscenes, but it’s reasonable to think that Vladimir wasn’t always the trashbag that we see in the games. He once was a young man with dreams of patriotism, who wanted the best for his country, who loved Russia with his soul, and who would do anything to protect her, because as a soldier that was what he was taught to do. As a soldier, that was his purpose in life and without that reason to drive him on, he had nothing left.

And however vague his backstory may seem to be, it gives you an idea that Vladimir in a way was a victim of a system that imparted a type of soft indoctrination on him, from a very young age (as many states do all around the world in some form or another, even those who hold democratic values), all the way to his education in the military academy and his brutal training in the special forces, that further cemented this undying love for Russia, maybe in a way that bordered brainwashing.

His true radicalization came after the fall of the Soviet Union with the loss of his homeland and the Soviet culture as he knew it, as well as Russia becoming weak and losing much of her power and influence across the world. Then came his deployment in Chechnya in 1994, where he lived the horrors of a war that most likely left him psychologically scarred after the experiences he had to go through. And when he returned home, he was kicked out of the armed forces under accusations of human rights violations during the First Chechen War. And they may be true, he probably did a lot of bad things there (under the illusion that he was serving his country for a higher cause), and sadly it’s something commonplace in many armed conflicts. I’m going to leave this short post here for some details on that.

When he returned from war, he didn’t receive any professional help or if he did, it didn’t work. He didn’t know how to cope, he ultimately was unable to adapt to a normal life, he became a misfit. He had lost his job, he had a stain in his career, and finding a decent way to get by was very difficult at the time when the country was in the middle of a political, social, and economic crisis.

He was in financial ruin, and it was hunger that pushed him to become a criminal (something that wasn’t uncommon for ex military men in 90s Russia). Not just that but also hatred for those in power as well as society as a whole, and what they represented: total decadence and the reason why Russia was falling apart with these “stupid” western conceptions about freedom that in his eyes did nothing but give leeway for debauchery and corruption, which he ultimately sought to “fix” by returning Russia to what it used to be (a god-fearing empire under the autocratic rule of a tsar that was likened to a father to all his subjects, and where religion was used as a resource to legitimize his power and as a moral regulator that maintained the social order).

He pretty much felt abandoned, betrayed by his government— a leadership that had done nothing but sink Russia deeper and deeper into ruin, destroying the values under which he was raised and turning people like him into cynical masses that had lost faith in everything and were adrift without any real purpose in life, no future to look forward to, completely disillusioned that the dreams they’d bought into, the promises they had been sold by the west, were nothing but lies.

He’s still a piece of garbage, we know that, but I also think that he’s gone through a lot of struggles and bad experiences in his youth that marked him and filled him with resentment. Everyone sees Vladimir as the puppet master of the storyline of MW, and we have to give him credit for that, but deep down he’s just a man who has been a slave to his own obsessions and ambitions, unable to free himself from the hatred that has poisoned his mind for years, which led him to commit so many atrocities and strip himself from any semblance of humanity— all for the sake of a higher cause, as he undoubtedly tried to justify his actions at the end of the day.

In conclusion, all three were marked by losses in one way or another, and saw themselves as men who had to take the hard path and do what had to be done. And it’s also curious that Call of Duty, while not a game with any deep meaning on the surface, almost seems like social commentary on how war ruins lives and how anyone can do horrible things if put through the wringer enough times. It’s like these stories are trying to say that bad circumstances can make bad men out of seemingly good people, who wouldn’t have done any of the evil they did if maybe things had been different.

And I think that’s what makes these characters so interesting.

#vladimir makarov #raul menendez #jonathan irons #call of duty #modern warfare #black ops #advanced warfare #i'm really sorry again #it took me a while to write this one!#but it's done at long last c:

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border-spam · 4 years

Text

Seifa’s thoughts on isolation and the loss of her friends and the twins, having fled the Holy City towards late COV.

She mostly deals with it by being so goddamn angry with herself.

Every new update from the city is a reminder of her utter failings over the last 5 years. She fucked up. Completely and utterly. She made every wrong choice she could have. She walked straight into every mistake that she should have been smart enough to see coming, and she’s pissed. Constantly pissed with herself.

It’s inescapable, there is no one else to blame.

If a friend had told her they were planning on taking the steps she had - settling with a cult, not cutting ties with its leaders even if she cared about them, putting down roots when that way of life had never worked out before, she would have laughed at their naivety. And still, she’d charged ahead and done it all anyway. like she was better than the people she would have advised against it, as if it wasn’t going to be a mistake if she did it. Like things were somehow going to work out because it was HER making these shitty choices and not someone else… stupid, egotistical moron.

She wasn’t herself out here, she was lonely, something Sei had never felt before, had never been in a position to feel. Really lonely, and the messages from oil hands, friends in the city, or traders with ears on the ground and fingers on their ship ignitions ready to rocket off planet and pretend they’d never heard of the Children Of The Vault? They just keep cutting deeper.

Ven, JK, Eli, a hundred scarred faces of mechs and engineers with missing teeth and twinkling eyes, drinking buddies, hell, even some of the clergy - she’d had friends there and nothing on this off planet base. Just a title and a lot of fearful glances, the luxury quarters of a Saint and the lingering fear of being hunted down as one. Thank fuck she still seemed to have friends in very high places… but then again, that was one of her mistakes.

She’d let people in, given little pieces of Seifa to those she cared about rather than hoarding those facets safely like she always had before. Now she was weak, isolated on this shitty little dead planet surrounded by asslickers and morons, spread too thin and too far apart in the hands of other people to be safe and whole in herself anymore. She wasn’t a rock, she didn’t feel like her. She was unsure.

Sei had put down roots on Pandora when she’d known damn well it was a bad idea. She’d played pretend that this was a long term gig, that it wouldn’t go tits up for once, that she’d be able to scrape out some mockery of a life with the same faces and the same friendships and a family of some sort. Stupid. That wasn’t something people like her got, she’d.. she’d set up a home for fuck’s sake, hung ornaments from the ceiling, potted goddamn plants like a little girl playing house. Idiot.

There was a strain in Eli’s messages, his upbeat friendliness didn’t flow the way it used to, voice mails had an edge to his laughs, the energy wasn’t there. He was drained, the world she’d run from was weighing heavy on someone who didn’t deserve the burden or the pain. His brother was breaking and it was impossible to miss.

Ven would drop painful truths in between jokes with her when they would call or message, he’d share updates on the city and districts. Hint that Troy was pushing him far further than he could manage, demanding flawless results in every project or operation the departments he managed ran, then turning on Ven if he hadn’t warned of poor outcomes when the inevitable happened. That hadn’t been part of his contract, that wasn’t his job.

Ven’s foresight had been offered to the twins as a way of steering major choices towards the best possibilities, but he’d been clear even when he first approached them that Siren touched futures were blurry and difficult to read. He’d guide them, and he had in return for the medical support Eli needed like they’d agreed on when he joined the cult, but Troy’s desperate fixation on perfectionism was eating him alive while working him to the bone. Ven was losing himself to exhaustion and fear of what would happen to his brother if he stopped being useful to Tyreen… and Seifa wasn’t there to help.

Jak-Knife would send on photos mostly, things they thought would make her smile. Landscapes, the dunes at night, the lower city in the early morning as grates steamed and cool sunlight gleamed off chrome and neon. Delicate waxy petals of desert blossoms, a flock of Rak outlined against the moons. Their text updates were sporadic, they had still been learning to read and write when she’d left, but Ven filled her in often.

They were falling apart. Weight lost and muscle heavy over bones now, The Blight Devil was torn between serving the twins and protecting their people. Troy’s Vanguard and the Crusaders as a whole were stretched thin, overworked. JK was leading raid after raid with no time to rest, being pushed as hard and for the hours on end that Troy forced himself to, and Ven’s concern was palpable.

They were going to get hurt, he’d said. And they had. She wasn’t sure if it was the injury, or the betrayal of a brother’s cruel claws that would take longer to heal.

She missed the twins desperately. Both of them differently, but both of them still.

Tyreen was terrifying even now. Every time a new message arrived treating this situation like it didn’t exist, like everything was normal and she hadn’t spent a year threatening Seifa with gallows humor and a smile that never reached her eyes, she felt that grim panic again. Even then, she missed her so much. Missed that beautiful girl with the laugh like tinkling glass and nothing but a drive to be loved fueling her. Missed the late nights, the long talks, the bitching about a lanky asshole.

Troy… she’d let Troy get far too close, and he was eating her alive.

Another stupid fucking mistake she knew was wrong but had walked into regardless, like she had pretended she couldn’t see it coming. She’d said it wouldn’t happen again, promised herself that “love” shit was over well before she’d met the twins, and yet it had happened anyway. He’d been so broken and so alone. She’d cared too much, pitied him enough that she’d slowly, painlessly, split her ribs apart and taken him in, embraced the flickering light of who she saw he could be if given the chance.

She’d protected him inside the cage of herself for so long that she’d not even noticed when it was he’d sunk gilded fangs into her heart. God, she wanted to fucking dig him out now, claw him out of her chest like rot, but it was too late. She’d been too stupid. Cutting him away now would bleed her dry. She couldn’t even run properly because of him, and that’s all she’d ever been really.. good at. Running, being free, now she was trapped by the threads she’d woven herself into willingly, it was all her fault.

He wouldn’t respond, and being ignored would be bearable if he wasn’t still sending her things. The idiot, the pathetic joke of a man, refusing to reply to any of her concerns but still making sure she knew he was thinking about her, like the packages of components she’d mentioned being interested in years ago, or the gifts of jewelry that suited her better than any she’d think of choosing meant anything in comparison to just saying sorry. Like he was punishing himself by refusing to communicate and not understanding how much it was hurting her too.

God.

She found herself often thinking she never should have helped them. That if she’d laughed at Ty, kept walking and ignored her pleads for help instead, maybe she would have found someone else in that junk yard. Someone who would have helped her and Troy properly.. helped them better than a train wreck like Seifa could have, and they would have turned out ok.

Maybe all three of them would be happy, the COV wouldn’t be scouring across Pandora like a cancer, maybe in the end it was all her fault for pretending to be a good person and helping, when she knew damn well she wasn’t. She was just trash, it was all she’d ever really been.

The updates from planet side confirming what she knew would happen just made it worse, every day. Rubbed in the failures, made her ignored messages sting sharper. She missed her friends. She missed the Twins she’d known, she missed that stupid, pointless fake little life she’d lied to herself she might have. Every day is just another tick on a sheet, a fraction of herself and the woman she was slipping away, and a step closer to running and never looking back.

Asks are Open!

#borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #troy calypso #tyreen calypso #calypso twins #leech lord #ven #jak-knife #eli #seifa #my hcs #my writing #lldrabbles

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i-saw-my-corpse-along-the-path · 3 years

Text

I’m so tired, I’m so sick and tired of everything

I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I never have, I want to relapse every day, I’m in fear of loosing my grip on “reality”, I do nothing all day, I’m worthless and lazy. How can I be so high functioning when ALL THAT GOES THROUGH MY HEAD IS HOW BADLY I WISH I COULD DIE??? I don’t even believe anyone knows the real much less loves them because if anyone knew they would HATE ME I’m weak and disgusting and sick, my head is filled with vile thoughts and I NEVER GET BETTER I’m so scared. of being punished for all this so I drag myself around all day, push myself past every limit and somehow it worked and everyone thinks I’m fine??? I’m never going to the hospital because my life would BECOME HELL MY FAMILY WOULD SCREAM AND SCREAM BUT I CANT LIVE LIKE THIS I can’t do it anymore I’m rotting away

There’s nothing for me in the future, my dreams will never come true and yet I have to keep living because I made friends somehow and even if they would hate the real me and have never ever seen me as I should be suicide hurts people and I can’t kill them, I can’t I can’t

But god I want to run away and rot in the forest, I’m so stupid and weak and small, everything that happened to me is normal right?? And yet I’m like this! Why am I like this?????? And what if it gets worse?? What if the things come back again oh god oh god

No one will ever want me, god I ache to be loved, I ache for it even if it can’t happen and I don’t deserve it, I want to be held even though I know I hate to be held, why am I like this?? I think such nasty vile thoughts and yet I could never really do that, I could never really get past myself and lay myself bare and flayed open for another, and god anyway my body is disgusting. and no one will ever ever ever want it, if anyone really saw it vile would rise in their throats, and GOOD GOOD I don’t deserve anyone, I’m glad! Ha! THANK YOU YOUNG ME! YOU DID GOOD IF MY BODY DOESNT SCARE THEM OFF THE SCARS WILL

I’m destined to live writhing in pain and never doing anything about it, my life will be dismal and miserable until I finally get in an accident or really, really just drive my friends away. But I cling to them. Oh god I cling and act and try to please them,, please don’t leave me! But I just want to die...

#vent #self #my writing #don’t rb

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pattispunk · 4 years

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All Alone-ly

Summary: Reader is part of the legends crew. She is from one of the other Earth’s, Earth-5. It’s a post-apocalyptic Earth. Her family is dead, fallen victim to what they called The Culling. A supernatural occurrence that wiped out most of her people – it also happened on her birthday. The Culling devastated the planet, leaving the reader alone and lost with no purpose. This tragedy left the Reader with strange abilities and desire to leave, to get away. It wasn’t until the Legends showed up two years after The Culling happened, that she finally got her chance to do so. With nothing to her name, she joined the Legends crew; helping others avoid having go through the same pain that she goes through daily. She has finally found a purpose, a drive; but no matter how much time passes she still remembers the Day of The Culling. Every year it is burned in her memory, scarred on her body – the Legends never realized that she was absent for one day of the year. Not until three years after they picked her up, five years after it happened.

Author’s Note: Hey guys, it’s been a while since I wrote anything really including my poetry (which you can find under - wickety-wack-its-jack-Kerouac). Anyways, I’ve had part of this one saved for a while and I needed an outlet so I finished writing it. It was supposed to end up being a mick rory x reader type fic, but this ending just suited it better. Hope you like it! There is one sentence that if you have an active imagination then yeah its hella gruesome. But the rest of the story is good! hopefully….

______________________________________________________________

You wake up in a cold sweat. Like clockwork every year, your body says no, not today. You toss in your bed, to see the clock read 2:00am in green neon numbers.

Your heard fills with dread. Everyday you walk out the door and put your past exactly where it belongs. You leave it at the door. Someone takes a look your way and no one could tell that you’ve been through heartbreak, through tragedy. You pride yourself in your ability to continue on even though your heart aches with every step you take. But today, today you allow yourself to feel.

You open your door and step out. Silence hangs in the air, a heavy weight crushing your chest as you struggle to breathe. All you’re thinking is I have to get there. I have to go. Right foot. Left foot. Gideon knows the drill, she has been the underlying salvation you’ve needed to get through this day every year. She whispers, (Y/N) you are almost there keep going.

A few more left turns, and all that is left is a door. When you got here, the first anniversary, you had a panic attack as soon as the clock struck two. Gideon directed you to a small room far from curious eyes. The first time you had seen the room, it was simple, the size of a college dorm room here in Earth-1, all gray with soundproof walls and no cameras. Since then, Gideon transformed it. Rather than being a simple panic room, she changed it to a fabricator. With the help of your memories, every year, you can go back. See your home, your family. Happy before The Culling ever happened.

You stare straight at the door, as if looking right through it as Gideon quickly opened it. You take two steps and when the you heard the mechanical lock of the door, you let out a guttural scream. Tears streaming down your face, your scars that run down from your arms to your legs burn with grief, and memories that have been repressed for the year come flooding to your mind. You snap your eyes shut, your voice raw as you drop to your knees. Despair filling your body as you let go any ounce of control you had.

When you finally crack your eyes, you knew Gideon had come through. Your knees sank less than a quarter of an inch. Your palms flat on the sand that blanketed your hometown. You look up and see a little girl with a huge smile, as big and bright as the sun in the sky, running towards you.

You whisper with a smile ruefully tugging at the corners of your lips – “Evine”

Back on the rest of the ship, hours have past. Everything and everyone have woken up, the team milling about as they do on lazy days. However, today the whole team have decided they need a well-deserved break and have all gathered in the control room trying to figure out where they should go.

Ray and Nate are arguing with Amaya and Zari over which time period they should go to. Jax and the Professor are of course arguing what type of vacation should glean the most rest and relaxation from the entirety of the team.

“We should obviously go to the past, come on a chance to dress up, go to parties, drink some ale!” Sarah shakes her head, Mick’s eyebrow cocked in approval with Nate’s suggestion, but was quickly distracted by the lack of your opinion butting in.

“I’m with Nate” Of course Haircut agrees with Pretty. “How fun would that be! We could go to the old American West, an oldie but a goodie. We can go to old Victorian, London and… OH MY WORD NO WE NEED TO GO MEET ROBIN HOOD!”

“Men in tights… not my thing.” Mick grumbles still sweeping his eyes across the room looking for you in case you were hiding. “Hey….”

Mick is interrupted by Zari – “And give ourselves the opportunity to mess up the timeline? I say we go into the near future and enjoy ourselves on a nice bea…”

“HEY” Startled eyes from each member of the team immediately turn to the seemingly angry pyromaniac. “Where’s (Y/N)?”

That statement won confused looks from every individual, as they turn there heads only now missing your snarky comments and sassy remarks throughout the entirety of the conversation.

______________________________________________________________

The sand was warm against my back as you lay there, tears sun-dried. Evine and you were staring at our red sun, heads touching. You shuddered as your sister laughed, a sound you missed so dearly only brought back bitter memories. You sat up, and staring off into the distance, you saw your small little village. A desert village with stone buildings, very few green sceneries but it was quaint. As quaint as it could be for being the remnants of somebody else’s mistakes. It was war that ravaged Earth-5. Greedy men who thought of no one except themselves. Cities were torn down, peoples starved, civilization fell. Many survived, most did not. You were the sole survivor of your family. Fresh tears trail down, turning your head, you see Evine glowing. Happy. Radiant. No longer in pain. You closed your eyes and you could feel the atmosphere shift. She was gone, home was gone. Reality came knocking.

Your eyes open, and all you see is the empty room. Arms shaking and knees weak, you hear Gideon faintly in the background.

‘Miss (Y/N), the corridor is clear to your quarters. You should go now.’

You didn’t wait a second more, and stumbled, using the wall as your support, all the way back to your room.

_______________________________________________________________

The team swiveled their heads to no avail, you were nowhere to be seen. Before Sarah could even open her mouth, Gideon interrupted.

‘Miss (Y/N) should not be bothered today. She is in her quarters and unless you want me to lock down this ship, you will not even go anywhere near her room.’

Everyone had a look of concern and confusion. Mick’s ears turning red, he kept any and all emotions off of his face. He was angry, why couldn’t he see you. Sure, he doesn’t display a whole lot of emotions but he… he… realization dawned on him. He liked (y/n).

‘Why not.’ Mick grunted, more of a demand than a question, but one that needed an answer, nonetheless.

Gideon sighed and displayed Awn Verna in ruins – (y/n)’s village in ruins. Dead bodies lying everywhere, out windows and in the streets. There was one image so gruesome, everyone especially Mick HAD to look away. In the commons of the city, there was a pile four feet high of carcasses and at the top - a girl, younger than a teenager, speared. Clothes tattered and covered in blood. Ray threw up in his mouth, Sarah had tears in her eyes.

‘The girl’s name is Evine. She was (y/n)’s sister. This was her home before she joined the legends. Today is the five-year anniversary of the attack of Awn Verna, today is (y/n)’s birthday.’ A few gasps but a collective silence was the predominant reaction. ‘Every year, I have helped (y/n) spend the day in solitude and watched her spend the day in pain. So, no. You will not go to her, what she needs is this one day. One day to remember her sister without any interruptions.’

The control room was… silent. No one spoke, no one wanted too. Sniffles could be heard; eyes were red, and hearts were broken.

“No.” Mick whispered – breaking up the monotonous silence. The Flame who never showed any emotion, but anger and contempt was crying. He got up and left the room, quickly making way towards your quarters.

_______________________________________________________________

You stood in the center of your room, slowly and barely swaying and eyes closed. You were never religious, wasn’t raised it and sure as hell didn’t become it once I left home. But this… honoring your family, honoring Evine… it felt right. You wore a light, white linen wrap draped over your body, barefoot and hair down. Your scars from The Culling on your arms and back were clearly visible. A small amount of smoke filled your room as you stood in silence, breathing in slowly and remembering your loved ones.

You suddenly hear heavy footsteps coming down the hall and then they suddenly stopped as if they were forced to. You hear Gideon trying to muffle a voice, but you could pick that voice out from a mile away.

‘Mick?’ You open your door and step out into the hallway, forgetting how exposed you were. You saw Mick being held back by Nate and Ray, but everything stood still as they saw you.

…

Mick stopped struggling as his eyes met yours. What he saw in front of him, was something he had never seen before. He saw pain and heartache wrapped in a warmth that defied hate and anger. He stood up, shrugging off his teammates and walk towards you. And suddenly no one was there, it was just you and Mick, the only two people who mattered.

He stopped and traced his rough, gloved fingers along the scars that snaked up your arm. You turned your head to the side, not ashamed but resigned to the fate that these scars reminded you of daily. He circled behind you, his hand following the scars across your back. All the while not a word leaving his mouth, not even his signature solitary grunt.

You don’t know why you don’t stop him. Yes, you and Mick had gotten close this past few months since Leonard died and while your feelings for him had grown, you never thought it would ever get to the point of what it was. Of what was happening.

Mick circled to the front and looked at your face. But it felt more than that, there was no need for words. There was something there that replaced verbal affirmations and encouragements. He looked into your eyes and he saw you.

Beautiful. He thought, he didn’t need to know the specifics of what had happened. He didn’t need for you to explain, he just saw you. With more than just his eyes.

Mick maintained eye contact and motioned for you to take off his jacket. Slight movements revealed Micks arms and hands, nothing left your mouth as you traced your fingers along the scars that covered every inch. You looked up at him and you saw Mick. And you just knew that everything was going to be alright.

You retracted your hand, moving your arms in a motion to hug yourself as if to close yourself off to anyone and everyone when Mick stopped you. He dropped his jacket and grabbed your arms. And instead of letting you wrap them around yourself, he guided your arms around his waist and you held each other, knowing that everything was going to be alright.

#legends #legends of tomorrow #zari tomaz #amaya jiwe #nate heywood #ray palmer #sarah lance #Mick Rory #mick rory x reader #legends of tomorrow x reader #lot fanfic #lot headcanon #reader insert #oc characters #justice league #DC comics #dc universe #fanfic

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typeusernamehere · 4 years

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Takhta

To be strong is to have the strength to control yourself. To control your emotions, your acts and your behaviors. To fight for your future and to keep on fighting. But what does it mean to fully lose yourself? Are you then considered to be weak? Never again to stand on your own two feet?

We all strive to be the strongest variant of ourselves. To stay true of what it means to fight. To overcome anything in which we travel. We all want to survive. We all want to become strong. Or at least I do.

Years have passed and I've noticed that the peak/s of our strongest moments will come, if not already were. And after that, as often as it can happen, we tumble, crawling in the muddiest part of our weaken self. Which is far more humiliating than to be disgusted by. Are we unable to stay strong? Or are we not worthy of carrying such title?

I hate being weak, and I'm sure you do too. But I can't seem to get pass being this emotional little human. I'm sick of being weak. But I dwell on the past and force myself to make excuses.

So when will we ever be strong? When will I become strong?

Well I might not have a definite answer for that, especially not from me, though I've found a different way of viewing it.

If life is not for one's self, then it is for others. If the answer is not within your own self, then look through the eyes of others.

We are going through a lot. Unspeakable things. But sometimes, we forget the fact that others do too. Maybe not as difficult, but surely do too.

You are strong.

For all the bad things you stumbled upon. You are strong for the tears you cry, thinking of how hurt you are. You are strong for all those long midnight drive, just waiting for a wall to crash into. You are strong for the pain you feel inside your chest, trying to let past things go.

Also, for all the good things you didn't even realize. You are strong for the smile you give, without you knowing of your bad days. You are strong for the help you bring, without you remembering of the walls you've build around you. You are strong for still being alive, right here, right now.

You could trade your shoes, heck we could even swap places. But we might not be able to make the first step, afterwards. You know, not everyone can withstand the things you've been through. From the scars carved with a kitchen knife all the way to losing a rock-paper-scissor. We've been through hell, our version of hell, and making it to tell the tales.

You were always strong, and will continue to be strong, regardless of where you are in life. Nobody can be as strong as you, remember that.

Alrighty then. With that being said, do stay strong, ji. Take notes on the lessons learned and fight for a better, stronger you.

Until next time,

Jiji Yusof

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deanscasanova · 5 years

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our waking souls

destiel, 1k Read on ao3

I haven’t posted any fic in so so long, constructive feedback is welcome (but please be gentle)! Thank you to @wingsandimpalas @reallyelegantsharkfish and @futureboy for reading over this for me!

Dean is tired.

He never seems to stop aching. His back, his arms, neck, feet – everywhere. His right knee has been giving trouble for years now, since a vampire hunt in ‘13. He pulled his left knee climbing out of a grave a few years later, and the same ankle in the fall right after. His right wrist complains whenever he picks up a knife, his left when he drives, and both have an annoying habit of clicking when they move. Every night in bed his feet throb from hours hunting, or his ass is numb from sitting researching or driving.

And it’s not just the injuries, it’s his whole body. He doesn’t like to think he’s someone who cares about his weight, but his stomach is softer than it was before, his hips less sharp; a body that was once lean and toned, instead starting to reflect his age. And that’s all it is, his age; he looks good for – God, 40 – but he never imagined he’d get here. Never imagined his body would make it to 30, even, not with the life they lead.

It’s a life for younger men.

He’s not old – not yet. 40 isn’t old, not by any means. He knows that. But for a hunter – he can count on one hand the hunters he’s known that lived into old age. The life caught up with them, will catch up with all of them. It’s caught up to him more times than he can count, and nowadays it feels like any death really could be his last.

He used to be able to take this all in his stride. Now, it seems, it’s his stride that’s the damn problem. He can hardly move without hurting himself, can’t allow himself the time to heal, so the injuries linger. They fester, cause new problems and new weaknesses with every passing month.

It feels like time is catching up with him, and he doesn’t know how long he has left.

Every long year is seared into his skin, every wound and every death, his body a map of scars upon scars. At this point, he’s not even sure if he remembers how he got them all; in earlier years he could count them, run his fingers over the smooth tissue and remind himself of each story, every hunt. It’s been so long since he counted, and now he doubts he could. There’s too many, some faded and some still fresh. Each a reminder of pain, of the misery and misfortune that plague him.

His hands are the worst, palms broken over and over, by his own knife or otherwise. In some places, there are so many scars that he has no intact skin left, just patches of lumpy white. He runs his thumb over the scars, wills himself to feel anything, but it’s numb. He’s numb.

Where they’re not scarred, his hands are rough, years of misuse wearing away at what was once soft skin. Delicate, even, but his hands haven’t been delicate for decades. The years have hardened him; not just his hands, not just his joints. He remembers, once, he was full of youthful optimism, naive hope that he could make the world better. He wonders when that man perished. How many tragedies and losses it took for him to die his bloody death.

Cas’ hands are rough, too, when they slide into Dean’s. A testament to how far he’s fallen, how long since Dean corrupted his whole being – his soul, even, though the thought may be blasphemous. He used to be an angel, used to smite demons and monsters with a glance or a snap of his fingers. Now, he’s this: human, ageing, fragile as the rest of them.

All because he fell.

He fell, for Dean. He ages with Dean. Grows weaker and tired with Dean.

Their hands slip together, coarse palm to coarse palm. Every trial they’ve faced together written into their skin. Every scar on his tired body a memory of pain, yes, but also of the moments after. Of the weighted silences and tender minutes between the fighting and the heartache, alone with his agony and his angel. When Castiel would heal him with a brisk touch, or, later, would let his hands linger with all the comfort he could give without grace. They were forged in moments like that, lonely and in pain and by each other's side, always, always.

When their lips brush for the first time, it’s bittersweet. Dean knows how his smile wrinkles his face, now, can feel Cas’ crow’s feet under his thumb. It’s taken them too damn long to get here, too many missed opportunities and wrong decisions. Too much loss. Too many tragedies.

He’d give anything to be 26 again, hopeful and scared and believing there was more to his life than he’d seen so far. Filled with faith and promise and a desperation to prove himself worthy to the world. Maybe this time with the wisdom to know he was always worthy, that his path is his own, even in a life so ruled by fate.

He’d give anything to be back in that god-forsaken barn, broken and bloody from the horrors he’d seen, unprepared for the horrors yet to come. To meet Castiel for the first time, to fall in love again. To make different choices, better choices, save them all the time they’ve lost between hesitance and fear. To give himself fully to the man he – Fuck.

He’d give anything to skip to the ending, to be safe and secure in a home of his own, Castiel by his side – Castiel, by his side, always. To know that it’s all been worth it, that he’s been worth it, that maybe, just once, they can have a happy ending.

Castiel kisses him again, and he’s ready to give everything he has to this. This moment, this man, the future they’ll build together. It may take time, and hard work, but it’s nothing they haven’t already given each other a thousand times over. They’ve always been in this for the long-haul, even if they didn’t realise it before.

Castiel kisses him again, and he promises home.

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #is this... original content #shocking I know #my fic

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