#it is deeply disturbing but almost never has anything to do with my real life triggers so I can maintain a safe distance and find catharsis

[andthebeanstalk]

Fuck yeah new animated Junji Ito series is up on Netflix!!! I'm so excited! It doesn't even have to be a good adaptation of his work, I am fucking stoked.

All the warmth and familiarity of a comfort movie, while also being upsetting in this indescribable soul-deep way that nothing else ever is! I know exactly where I am!! It's nice. 😌🥰🐌🐚🦻🩸💉🔪☠🙀👾🧟‍♂️🦈🍭🩺🪦

#I found every spiral pattern I could Within the Emoji board #the rest are references to other stories of his #junji ito #original #horror #Uzumaki #for anyone not familiar he's the best horror artist maybe ever and he's a sweet mild-mannered middle-aged dude with an upbeat personality #I don't understand why his work is so upsetting. because it is. it is so fucking scary. #I don't understand how he does it and I've been trying to figure it out for years. as an artist I want to know how. #I'm a good artist but I can't even copy his work to the same effect #apparently the man used to work in dentistry and also doll making. which explains a lot. but not enough. #I find his work oddly comforting because I have read so much of it that I am familiar with the themes and limits of his work #it is deeply disturbing but almost never has anything to do with my real life triggers so I can maintain a safe distance and find catharsis

[totheblood]

true blue. (two)

pairing: modern!ellie williams x reader

summary: both ellie and reader are u-haul lesbians and there is a jump scare

warnings: SMUT! suggestive themes, drug/alcohol usage, cursing, descriptions of abusive behavior (neither ellie or reader engages in these behaviors)

a/n: this chapter... idk it has me giggling and blushing.

read part one here!

Ellie felt like throwing up.

After finding out about your history with Cat, she decided that it would be best to only talk about the project with you. She knew she came off cold, but for some reason she didn’t care. When it came to Cat, Ellie almost always shut down, and when it came to the idea that Cat may have also stuck her tongue down your throat, Ellie felt physically sick. A part of her felt bad about having feelings for you, but another part of her was deeply disturbed by the fact that you were into Cat. She also didn’t like that you still had the photo up on your Instagram.

A part of her also knew that she was being dramatic, but the less rational side of her was winning over at the moment. She found herself ranting to Dina about it almost 5 times a week, or everytime they smoked together. At about three hits in, Ellie was already ranting about you and your pretty hair and your pretty lips and how they were tainted by Cat. Like clockwork Dina would roll her eyes, rip the joint from Ellie’s hand, and diffuse it in the ashtray they made at Color Me Mine. 

“You need to get over this, man.” 

“I’m trying.”

So here Ellie sat, writing the second part of the project in your dorm and refusing to make eye contact with you. You almost instantly noticed an immediate shift in Ellie’s demeanor when it changed weeks ago, but you were at your breaking point. At this point it almost seemed that anything you did would annoy her, or whenever you spoke she would act shocked as if she forgot you were there. Not only was it extremely aggravating, but it was also getting in the way of the quality of your project.

“Did I do something?” You questioned, breaking the silence Ellie was enjoying causing her eyes to shoot up to yours. Yeah, you fucked my-

“No.” She grumbled as she continued writing. 

“Are you sure? Because the first day I thought we got along really well, and sometimes I just say everything that’s on my mind and I don’t realize I’m doing anything wrong until well-” You gestured to her with an almost panicked look on your face. “This.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Just tired is all.” Ellie mumbled as she went back to her work, pretending to not pay you any mind. All you could do at this moment was roll your eyes and try to get back to work without anxiety overcoming you. 

“You’re just like my fucking ex.” You mumbled under your breath as well.

“What?” Ellie snapped her head up at you, unsure if she heard you correctly. Because if she had heard you correctly, you were comparing her to Cat.

“Nothing.” You shook your head, this time it was your turn to avoid eye contact with her. 

“No, you had something to say so say it.” She continued, her voice rough. This time you looked directly in her eyes, something behind them she just couldn’t place. 

“I said, ‘you’re just like my ex’. Happy?” You gave her your best fake smile and went back to your work. It had never occurred to Ellie that maybe you hated Cat as much as she did. The difference between you and her, however, was that she would never keep up a photo of her making out with Cat for over a year.

“What does that mean?” She snapped with an almost immediate need to defend herself. 

“It means that things were nice at first until you started being an asshole with no real explanation of what I have done.” You answered simply, shrugging your shoulders. 

“I didn’t do that.” Ellie lied.

“You totally did!” You protested. “We were vibing, you were like telling me about your life and I was telling you about mine and you were fucking laughing. Now, you don’t even crack a smile.”

“I smi-”

“You do not, Ellie!” You took a deep breath before starting again. “I thought we were going to be friends. I wanted to be friends. You’re funny and hot, but you’re being a real bitch right now and I don’t like that. I’ve done it before and I really don’t have the heart in me to do it again.”

Ellie blinked at you a few times, the guilt from giving you the cold shoulder finally setting in. A part of her really wanted to blush at the compliments thrown her way, but she was overwhelmed by the idea that her behavior was mirroring Cat’s. You really were an innocent party in all of this and she took her frustrations out on you, the cute pen dealer. 

“I’m sorry. I’ve just been going through a tough time.” She lied, not wanting to reveal that the person you’re comparing her too right now is the reason she’s been acting this way. “ I know what that’s like, my ex was like that too and I didn’t mean to do that to you.” 

She saw your hard exterior falter at her sentiment and the guilt inside Ellie began to build again. 

“I had no idea, Ellie, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to push but if you ever want to talk about what’s going on, I am here.” You seemed completely genuine and that tore Ellie’s heart to bits. In an attempt to be kind you reached out and placed your hand on Ellie’s forearm again, right over the tattoo. “Plus, he didn’t deserve you.”

Ellie couldn’t help but snort at the comment, earning a confused look from you. 

“She.” Ellie laughed. “She didn’t deserve me.” 

You covered your hands with your face laughing at your own heteronormativity. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” You apologized, moving your hands from your face to stare at her freckled own trying not to burst out laughing again. 

“You really couldn’t tell?” Ellie teased, gesturing to her forearm tattoo, earning a giggle from you and a red face from her.

“I mean, I didn’t want to get ahead of myself.” You teased back. “She’s smart, she’s funny, and she likes girls? Nuh-uh, too good to be true.”

As funny as the situation was, Ellie felt a deep warmth at your words. She wanted to believe you were flirting with her, but as of two minutes ago you had thought she was straight. 

“Good with her fingers too. The whole package.” She added, a dimly lit fire behind her eyes. 

“Oh yeah?” You feigned surprise. “I wouldn’t know. She should show me.” You leaned forward, pushing your laptop to the side table and getting dangerously close to Ellie.

Ellie almost choked on her own spit as you leaned closer. She eyed you up and down, her eyes lingering a little bit longer on the space between shirt and skin where she could see your cleavage poking through.  

Without hesitation, Ellie threw her notebook to the side, leaned in and captured your lips with hers. You reciprocated immediately, your tongue trying to fight it’s way into her mouth. She parted her lips for you causing a moan to slip out of your mouth into hers. Fuck fuck fuck fuck, Ellie’s mind was racing. What the fuck was she doing, she thought. Not even an hour ago she was barely talking to you and now the sounds that were coming out of your mouth were about to make her come undone. Her hands wandered down your body, tracing the curves of your hips before slipping under your shirt. The feeling of her warm hands on your skin sent shivers down your spine.

Again, you moaned softly into her mouth as she teased your nipples, rolling them between her fingers. Breaking the kiss, Ellie moved her lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. Your hand moved to caress her hair, grabbing it lightly. She gently moved you backwards on your bed, never stopping her assault on your neck, not wanting your whines to stop. She was going to lose her fucking mind. As she worked her way down, her hand slipped into your pants, finding its way to your wet center. She began circling her fingers in what felt like slow motion as she peppered kisses along your collarbone.

“Ellie..” you moaned, causing her to look up at you. The minute she did, you pulled her head upwards, attaching your lips to hers once again. Ellie felt like she was fucking floating, but her movement never stopped. As she picked up her pace she reveled in how you were squirming beneath her. She made a mental note to remember this moment for later.

With practiced ease, Ellie slipped a finger inside you, eliciting a gasp from your lips and causing you to separate from her. She pumped in and out, curling her finger just right to hit the gummy spot inside and making you scream out her name one more time. “You’re doing so fucking good.” Ellie soothed, pressing a kiss to your neck. You writhed against her hand, your hips bucking in rhythm with her movements.

As your pleasure built to a crescendo, Ellie added a second finger, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Finally, you couldn't take it anymore and you came hard, your body shaking with pleasure.

Ellie pulled her hand out of your pants, licking her fingers clean with a satisfied smirk on her face. Your body relaxed into the bed as you tried to catch your breath. She sat back up, nearly panting, but still soaking wet.

“Well, that was quite the show,” you managed to say between gasps. Ellie grinned and leaned in for another kiss before sitting back on her knees. “Looks like you'll have to show me what you've got too, baby." 

-

E: I FUCKED HER.

D: WHAT????

D:.. who?

D: if it’s cat i’m going to go to wherever you are and break your rib. 

E: Not Cat. 

D: YOU DIDN’T.

D: cute project partner?

E: Yes.

D: it’s giving u-haul lesbian

E: It’s giving best sex of my life.

D: really??

E: REALLY. And I did all the work.

D: you are a freak

E: She’s so fucking hot… I don’t know what to do with myself. 

E: I can’t do this project with her, I’m just gonna think about finger fucking her the whole time.

E: I miss her.

D: oh my god

D: get a grip

E: I’m TRYING.*(@HFh3uq9)(U

D:...

D: anyways.

D: are you coming to the party tonight?

E: I will be there.

Later that night Ellie found herself tucked into a sweaty frat party. Dina and Jesse really wanted to go and Ellie was still somewhat disoriented from her morning with you so she thought there was no better place to sober up. She was nursing a red cup with a brown colored liquid inside when she almost keeled over at the sight in front of her. There you stood in an impossibly tight dress, throwing back the very same gross drink Ellie had in her cup. Ellie looked around for any sight of Dina or Jesse but assumed they had found a quiet spot to make out and grind on each other for the rest of the night

She watched from the wall as you threw your hands in the air and started dancing to the very loud music with your friends. You were obviously drunk, but it was still nice to see the carefree side of you that she wasn’t able to see in the classroom. In your dorm room, however-

“Ellie!” You screamed across the dimly lit room, stumbling towards her and bringing her in for a tight hug. Ellie tried to say your name as enthusiastically as you had hers, but her voice got lost as you pressed your body up against hers. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked, the giddiness in your voice shining through. You were standing ridiculously close to her with your hand on the wall behind her, right above her head. You were smiling as wide as you possibly could and Ellie couldn’t help the smile on her face that grew each moment she was in your presence.

“Looking for you, obviously.” She teased, eyeing you up and down causing you to giggle into the crook of your neck. Her hand moved up to pinch at your waist, her eyes now steady on yours. 

“Aw, look who’s all confident after fucking me.” Your smirk, coupled with the already free flowing alcohol in her system, caused her to laugh. “We’ll see how confident you are after my turn.” 

Ellie swore you were going to kiss her, and you almost had if it wasn’t for your name being called behind you by your friends who gestured at you to come. You turned to look at them and nodded before you turned back to Ellie. 

“We’re going to another party? Want to come with?” You asked, hoping you didn’t sound as desperate as you felt. 

Ellie sighed, looking around the room for Dina but seeing no sight of her. What Ellie did know was that Dina wouldn’t leave the house without her, and it was an unspoken rule that she would never leave the party without Dina. She wanted to leave with you, but girlcode takes priority.

“I can’t.” She responded. “I’m with friends and I can’t leave them.” Ellie hates to admit this, but she took great pride at the sight of your face falling. 

“Oh well, see you Monday.” You somberly replied, waving goodbye and running to join your friends. 

“See you Monday.” Ellie said under her breath, practically to herself as you were already out of sight.

Ellie found herself upstairs after that, searching for Dina and Jesse so she could go home. However, she found someone she wasn’t looking for, or rather, they found her.

A cold hand tapped Ellie’s shoulder, causing her to turn around in relief that Dina had found her.

“Dina, thank go-” Her words got caught in her throat as she saw her ex standing in front of her with a sickly sweet smile on her face. 

“Ellie! So good to see you, I see the tattoo is healing?” She began, ignoring the dirty look Ellie was throwing her way. 

“What do you want, Cat?” Ellie spat. It was evident that Cat wasn’t being nice, and Ellie wanted her to get to the point. 

“Well, I just wanted to say how cute it was that you would flirt with my ex to make me jealous.” She disclosed, the smile on her face strong.

“I wasn’t trying to ma-” 

“It worked, I’m jealous.” She simply stated, moving closer to Ellie. Ellie was frozen, never in a million years would she ever think that Cat would be saying any of this. She leaned in close to whisper in Ellie’s ear. 

“Swing by my dorm room tomorrow, my roommates are gone for the weekend.” She pulled away from Ellie, smiled again, and patted her on the chest before walking away back into the party. 

And to be completely honest, Ellie wasn’t sure what she was going to do.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fan fic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams oneshot #modern!ellie williams #college!ellie williams #ellie williams one shot

[ellena-asg]

I've got new McDanno headcanon so let me do my babbling 😉

What I learnt about children in my ex work or just by observing my familiar kiddos (and by being a child years ago ^^) is that they (many of them) perfectly know adults. They may not know everything but they have great eyes, great ears and great understanding of emotions. And many of them are like little Sherlocks. Also, they can be painfully honest but... Sometimes they don't talk about everything. Sometimes they're too insecure to talk, they don't wanna disturb anything or have many other reasons to hide their "I'm not as unaware as you adults think I am". And... Sometimes instead of talking they express their emotions in other way. And sometimes they hope that their adults will see their sign. What I mean by "in other way"? F.e. drawing. And what I'm talking about? Well...

Let's look at Gracie in the Sarin episode (1x23):

Steve took her from school, told her about Danny and Sarin and now they're in the hospital together. Gracie is drawing. Then doctor comes and Steve says to her "let's go to Danno".

She gives him this look. Can I name it? Okay: cat's look. She's totally focused on Steve. She is looking at him and it looks like she's also deeply thinking about something. Something very Steve-related. Then she:

smiles to him. Cat's smile. She looks like "Yeah". She knows, she's got things to do, she doesn't say anything but in her head thoughts are very loud. Steve has no idea. Danny has no idea.

But she knows.

She sees what Steve always does for Danny. For her. And now, when Danny's life is in danger, when Steve came for her, when Steve is so close, when Steve is there (and Rachel is not), when Steve holds her hand and when Danny is so happy to see them both... She understands even more. How much Danny needs them - them, just them. How much Steve needs Danny (and her). How much she loves Steve for everything. How much she loves Danno. She almost lost him and... She needs to take care of him.

Danno can't take care of himself, Gracie thinks. He's strong, he's her hero. He's a fighter at work and in life. But she has eyes. And ears. And she feels. Yeah, physically he will be fine soon. But Danno's head won't.

Grace knows that Danno always cares more about her and others. That he wants her to be happy but he... He isn't happy. He's rarely happy. She understands. She feels his anxiety, she feels that something is often wrong. It's not that he loves ranting, that he is "just annoying gremlin" like some people joke. She knows her dad, she knows that when he's really happy then he's very different. She doesn't know all his problems, she just feels that he is angry at Rachel (but never at her, she knows well). And that... he is in love with uncle Steve.

Oh, he is very in love. Grace has never seen Danno being in love before. And really, it's so obvious that he's in love with uncle Steve (how can they be so blind, she wonders):

She's okay with that. She loves them deeply. She... needs to help them. They're so blind and unhappy that she needs to show them, needs to do something. They deserve to be happy. Her daddy deserves it. Danno... He almost died. He is alive and Grace... Grace is grateful. Grace now needs to do something for him. To finally do something for him. She owes him. She wants to protect him. Now it's her time to be a Care Bear.

So she gives Danno her drawing:

And she hopes that he will understand.

But Danno says that the pic is lovely and she's his Artist.

She still hopes that he will notice...

Come on, Danno. You're the greatest detective ever!

But naaah. He's as blind as he was before. She really tried...

Okay, let's look at her drawing.

There is her and Danny. And Hawaii.

Hawaii. No Jersey, no England, no "somewhere else". Just Hawaii. Ocean, beach, sun, palms... Their home. It's their home. It's Danno's real home. She knows. She wants the same. She is happy there and Danno is happy too. Hawaii can make Danno happy, she sees it. He wasn't happy in Jersey, he talks about Jersey but... he's different when he's in Hawaii.

Hawaii means home. It means Ohana. Means Danno and Grace being happy like never before. It means Steve.

There is no Rachel. Cause Grace knows. Rachel is her mother - but she isn't Danno's Ohana. Grace knows that Danny doesn't want Rachel in his life. He tries to talk to Rachel, he tries to be calm only for Grace. And Grace understands.

Grace only wants Danno to be happy. So she doesn't want Danny to be with her mother - cause when Danny is with Rachel he is (very) UNhappy. Yeah, it's great when parents are together and very in love - but Gracie knows that it's not her case. Her parents can't love each other. It's okay for her. And she is not going to change Danny's mind, she's not like "please, daddy, come back to mummy! pleeease" - she is not selfish. She is focused on what her daddy needs, what he wants. He can't sacrifice himself for her. Unhappy Danno = unhappy Grace.

So there's no Rachel in the picture. No people and no things that make Danno sad/anxious/mad. Grace needs to make him smile, she wants to help him, help to show him what he deserves. Hawaii. Grace. Ohana (team and other Ohana members aren't there but Hawaii may symbolize them too).

There's also no Steve. BUT. It's a different case than Rachel. Rachel isn't there cause she's not a part of Danny's life. She's not a wanted part. Steve isn't there BUT he can be there. There's a place for Steve. Gracie imagines him there in her head. She didn't draw him cause, I don't know... She didn't want to disturb Danny's (boys') feelings? She is gentle. She can't tell them what should they do. She doesn't know what to say, how to say? She wants to show them, give them a hint. Instead of saying "you dorks love each other" she shows the picture and hopes that at least one of them will notice the sign. Will realize.

"You can draw there uncle Steve", her eyes seem to say.

Oh yes, indeed:

She is looking at Steve. "Yes, Danno. Uncle is your everything! Hey, uncle, did you hear that?".

Boys of her life can't see and can't hear. She tries to do something else but then uncle Steve says his bye bye.

She stays with Danny, soon Kame comes. Grace is playing mobile game (Angry Birds? oh yeah, she's very sad and angry that boys couldn't see her sign, that she failed...).

And then, suddenly, Danny asks:

And Grace says:

Isn't it her way of telling "You, Danno, have no wings"?

Yes, Danno. You know well. You're like an angel, a bird without wings. You can fly - with Steve. You and Grace can fly - with Steve. And you're angry. You're sad. You're anxious. You suffer cause once you were hurt and now when you finally have the real pure love, when you and Grace have someone who loves you more than themselves... You don't see it. You are too afraid to see. To believe in Gracie's picture. In her happy end for you.

Poor Danno. Poor Grace. She's so sad. Her plan failed (maybe it would be better if she drew uncle Steve? maybe these boys need such a BOOM?!). Danno lost his detective skills and now... Oh, someone is calling.

It's Rachel. GOSH. Gracie's face when she sees the name on phone's screen! She's like "Not good". She's like "Nice that you're calling, mum but it's not a good moment".

Oh, Gracie is looking at Danny like a worried guardian angel. She doesn't want to tell him who is calling (he needs to feel good and safe, especially NOW) but he will be curious and she can't lie to him.

She only hopes that Rachel is just calling, not coming there. And speaking about Danno... And Steve. And McDanno. Yeah, she will try again one day. She's Williams, she can't give up.

#h50 #McDanno #grace williams #danny williams #steve mcgarrett #h50 meta #headcanon #1x23

[loumands]

I have talked about this show and uncomfortable topics so much today i’m exhausting myself but i want to say one more thing as an ipv survivor who cares a lot about this stuff. I’ve seen so, so many posts saying Lestat would never do this because he loves Louis more than anything, he worships him, he could never hurt him. This is fallacious and incredibly dangerous thinking. It shows up a lot both in real life and fandom: people saying both that [x] doesn’t really love their victim or it’s not “true” love since they’re abusive, or alternatively [x]’s actions weren’t really abusive since they love their victim, they meant well etc. There is a prevailing idea of abusers as consciously cruel monsters who don’t feel love or empathy. The disturbing and difficult reality is however that many, even most, abusers genuinely love their victims, sometimes extremely deeply and passionately so. Love has almost nothing to do with is the relationship abusive or not. This is pretty personal but in my own relationship my boyfriend was a lot of time extremely kind and supportive, treated me like a princess and did anything to make me happy. He was ready to sacrifice his own wellbeing to help me. When he later hit me (another thing to understand is that emotional abuse practically always comes before physical and abuse has a slowly escalating quality) he would be so upset with his own actions that he would cry. Now years later when i look back to this relationship objectively i still have no doubt in my mind that he really loved me. He was just too fucked up. But at the time the knowledge that he loved made me think that he wasn’t really abusive and not seek help, because i had heard over and over again that abusers don’t love their victims.

Low empathy and sadism can be risk factors for abuse, but the biggest risk factors/causes for abuse are social, economic and cultural factors, substance abuse, abuser’s poor emotional regulation and communication skills and low self-esteem. All forms of abuse are about control. If we analyse our fictional fucked up vampire household almost all the typical warning signs are there. Past experience of being a victim or witnessing abuse increases the risk to commit it later you because it may normalize it your mind (Lestat has a very long history of being violated and abused - i think this is most obvious with how he acts around Claudia: you get an impression he thinks this is a normal way you treat your children). If using violence and abuse tactics has worked in the past to solve problems this behavior gets reinforced (Lestat is used to dealing with things with violence - and otoh him trying to control Louis and isolate has worked in the past). They’re extremely socially isolated; they don’t seem to have any friends outside their family anymore. Their situation is extremely stressful which causes suppressed anger. Jealousy, infidelity and sexual problems are huge risk factors (needless to even elaborate). Most abusers suffer from intense anxiety and insecurity, have low self-esteem and problems at controlling their emotions and are terrified of abandonment (this is Lestat’s entire character in nutshell). Experts talk about so called ‘relationship retention behavior’ where abuser thinks that violence and abuse are the only way to save the relationship and keep their partner from leaving. Lestat’s actions in the past episode are a textbook example of this, and he has actually shown signs of it since the very first episode.

I emphasize i’m not taking a stand here are Lestat’s actions ooc or not, was it a bad or offensive writing choice or not or anything like that. I’m not really even talking about the show first and foremost. I’m just really worried seeing so many young people not realizing that love and abuse are not mutually exclusive and not understanding how abusive relationships develop. Abuser trying to keep their loved ones from leaving them is one of the most common situations where abuse occurs. Please never think that someone couldn’t abuse you just because you love them and they love you

#sorry this got long again but i feel intensely about this subject #i think i'm now trying to move on to more lighthearted subjects like what the hell is going on with rashid #iwtv #iwtv spoilers #abuse tw #txt #mal watches iwtv

[kierancampire]

Haven't cried yet, but it's real fucking close

Mum phoned me soon after the PiP thing cause i let her know, she made everything completely worse by saying that she doesn't know why i got it in the first place, nothing i do will get it, I'm being pushed to work, just all greatly upsetting things

Then just now she sent me a load of images and messages, wanna know what for? Not for help with PiP, no, cause, again she stated disputing it will do nothing so i should just give up. Instead she just focused on how i should look at getting a fucking carer and having someone come over to my flat to check in on me and shit every so often, like I'm fucking handicapped and haven't been living alone for almost 3 fucking years

But do you wanna know what also upsets me? 2 things. 1, do you want to know who were the only people who saw me for a long fucking time? People i paid to speak to me, or people who were paid to speak to me. Do you know how fucking depressing that is when the only people in your life are fucking paid to do so. And do you know how much it fucking hurts that they stop seeing you the moment they are no longer paid to. Do you know how fucking worthless that makes you feel.

2, mum and i met up the other day, and when we spoke she said enough that made it perfectly clear that she. Finally fucking crying. Fucksake. But she made it perfectly fucking clear that not only does she still only believe her and Jess's versions of events from when i lived with them, but that i still lie, that I'm still extremely fucked up, deeply disturbed, violent, have severe fucking issues, and was nothing but a massive problem to her. Do you know how fucking much it hurts, that you shared a fucking post online about how grateful you are for your relationship with your mum and how happy it makes you that you can finally actually fucking talk and hamg out, just to find out the next time you meet that she still views you the way she always has and nothing changed on her end. Do you want to know one moment in life where i was so fucking hurt that i broke down in fucking public, a thing i never do, the day mum told me she thought i needed to go into an institution and stay in a "safe" place where i would get evaluated, monitored, and treating like a clinically insane person who poses a danger to themselves and others. And she just said she thinks i need a carer.

I've lived alone and looked after myself for 3 fucking years, I've been through so fucking much, i achieved so fucking much, I've done so fucking much. Yet she still views me the same way as i was 4 years ago, and she still talks to me as if i was that person, and anything i have felt lately is all on my end as it's not changed for her. Do you know how much that fucking hurts.

#personal

[n3chiro]

My Nika || ZoLu

Law and the straw hats arrives in Dressrosa. Luffy has flashbacks of her argument with zoro two years ago.

• • •

 "You did what?!" Nami and chopper screams in unison, fear taking over their features. As zoro sits next to luffy with an unfazed expression plastered on him. Luffy laughs as she folds her arms, Sanji handing her a piece of fresh cooked meat. Brook throws his hands in the air as he slightly shakes in fear. Fanky and Robin laughs it off. 

"You did that?" Luffy questions, her inner thoughts saying something to her but she's blocking it off by ignoring it.

But oddly, law would've ignored straw-hat by now, but it appears that his seriousness and his victory over snail-phone had gotten to him. Zoro noticed it though, as he smirked to himself. Mumbling a few curse words under his breath. 

"It had to be done, not to mention he needs ceasar alive to continue making those fruits." 

Luffy takes a huge bite out of the meat she's currently scarfing down on, almost as if she's trying to understand the situation better and eat at the same time. Which makes zoro snickers at her. 

Luffy hopes that whatever's law is planning better work, her original goal is to take down one of the four emperor's. Kaido. Even if it means death, though she doesn't want to risk her friends being in danger. Nor dying trying to save her, though she'd definitely die for them. 

Two years ago wasn't what luffy expected, the disturbance of her brother's death flashed before her. Her almost dying in the process of trying to save him, having the rest of the straw-hats finding out of the terrible situation from others or the newspaper. Everyone was concerned for the younger, especially zoro. He knew luffy wouldn't take it lightly.

Those two years were a traumatic experience, luffy lost her dear brother, not only did she lose her brother she was separated from her crew—her friends. Her nakama. 

She remembered how her and zoro use to share romantic moments when they were alone together whenever they had the chance. Until zoro began to distance himself from her and the others, and whenever they went into battle he'd always fuss over luffy being so damn reckless. Usually he'd just shrug it off, but his irritation and fear of losing her only grew. 

Until eventually he snapped.

She could remember that day when her and zoro got into a terrible argument a heated one too. Luffy remembers it like it was yesterday. 

Zoro steps closer to her eye's boring into hers as they stare each other down, no room for understanding or even hearing the other person out. Luffy jabs a finger against zoro's broad chest. Frowning deeply. 

"I told you i was fine, im still alive aren't I?!" The raventte shouts, utterly confused as to why zoro was even mad in the first place about her risking her life to save camie and her friends from being killed. 

Luffy didn't see what was wrong with that, she was pissed. Camie was her friend so why wouldn't she risk her life for them. Zoro didn't seem to understand, in luffy's opinion. It seemed as if he wasn't trying to understand, like he was never interested at all. 

"You could've gotten yourself hurt, or worse. Do you ever listen?!" Zoro shouts, making luffy and the others flinch. 

"I didn't think—" luffy began, but zoro cut her off before she could even reply. 

"That's your problem, you never think. You just do what you want and expect everyone to be okay with it." Zoro says, fists clenching together as he looks at luffy with so much irritation and anger. 

Luffy is lost for words, usually she'd be in defensive mode about her being careless. But she couldn't help but feel the lump in her throat, tears threatening to rip from her eyes as her heart beats fast. She feels guilty and sad, the image of her brother dying before her eyes as she sits there, traumatized. Unable to do anything but cry and scream, waking up from her deep coma expecting it to all be a dream. But it wasn't. This was reality. 

"We should break up," luffy barley whispers. Zoro looks at her for a moment, he sees the pain in her eyes. She doesn't mean what she says, but it's probably for the best. 

"Yeah, yeah we should." 

• • •

"Mugiwara-ya." Luffy snaps from her daze. 

She looks up at law to only find everyone staring at her with concern written on their faces. Her eyes land on zoro who's already staring at her, eyebrow raised as she smiles a little and shakes her head repeatedly. 

"Luffy-san, are you alright?" Chopper asks as he hurriedly rushed over to the raventte and landed his raindeer paw on her forehead. Luffy just smiles, nami takes that as a yes as she continues to listen to law about the plan to take down doflamingo and the SMILE factory.

But little to much of their dismay, they weren't expecting to arrive at Dressrosa so soon. Everyone got into action, hide their faces and blended in with the crowd. Until it was time. 

Of course luffy can't stay still for the sake of everyone else, she smells food. Meat. And boy she was starving. She bolted away from the rest of the crew including law. Having Sanji, Zoro and Franky, Kin'emon chase after her. In order for this plan to work properly. But luffy never turns down the smell of freshly cooked meat or anything type of food for that matter.

"Oi. Luffy don't run off like that, we don't need any attention being drawn to us because you're hungry for food." Sanji say's sighing, before lighting up a cigarette, taking a puff. 

Kin'emon nods, putting his hand on luffy's shoulder as he sends her a small smile. "He's right luffy-san, we need to lay low." 

Luffy nods, and she smiles. Brightly a little too brightly because she knows that they are only trying not to get caught. If she was using her observation Haki, she would've sense zoro was staring at her. He's been doing that a lot lately, it's like he's been dying to say something to her but is afraid. She's not ready to talk to him just yet, she can't afford for them to start back to square one. They both would hate that.

"Oooh, there's a restaurant nearby. Let's eat there!" Luffy declares, excitement filling her voice as she sprints towards the restaurant. The boys follows behind her with an amused look plastered across each of their faces. 

Zoro though had noticed a blind man approaching with a wooden stick, or so it seemed. The green swordsman was hesitant as he carefully walked placed his hand on his sword. Ready to attack at any moment. But the blind man simply walks past him, though he comes to a stop which makes zoro clench onto his sword tighter. 

The blind man turns around towards zoro, "Excuse me, do you know a place that gambles?" There's no danger in his voice. It's quiet soft but husky at the same time, he doesn't seem like a threat. But looks can be deceiving.

Zoro shrugs, "Don't know." 

The blind man was silent before his lips formed into a small smile, "I see. Well, thank you." 

And with that, the blind man walks into the restaurant where luffy and the other's were waiting at for him so they could eat. 

• • • 

"Ahh, this is so good." 

Luffy voice is muffled due to the food stuffed into her mouth all at once, her pink cheeks are huge since she has so much food in her mouth. Sanji and Kin'emon smiles at luffy satisfied expression written on her face. Franky chuckles as he shoves a pice of sushi into his mouth. Sighing in content. 

Zoro only chugged two huge botles of sake, asking Kin'emon if he drinks. Which ended up with him drinking as well, luffy wanted some sake too, her never ending fake glare goes to zoro as he proceeds to drink the sake and not notice her staring into his soul. 

But she quickly lets go of the subject, as the pile of food takes over her mind and vision, the sound of people chatting comes to a halt when the delicious smell of meat fills her nose. She couldn't take it, it was too much. Kin'emon had asked her a question about her brother ace, which made franky, sanji and zoro tense. Waiting for her answer or reaction as she eats. 

"Luffy!" Zoro says, catching her attention. She gulps down the rest of her food as she looks at him in confusion. "Eh? What is it?" 

"Kin'emon asked you a question. About...your brother, ace." Luffy tensed at her brother's name, it's been a while since she's ever brought him up into any conversation. 

No matter how much guilt she felt about what happened two years ago, it was still haunting her, trying to escape it was almost impossible. It's impossible, she has nightmares every night so she stays up as an excuse to keep herself awake. Zoro use to comfort her all the time. 

But not anymore..

"He was a good brother to me, and he was a total badass. In a good way." Zoro already knew what to expect, luffy's not the type to lay out a whole list just to describe her brother to someone. She never like talking about him, and she damn sure won't hesitate to point out that you're making her feel uncomfortable and gloomy. That's his captain for ya. 

Luffy takes a huge bite out of the meat in her hands, "Don't wanna talk about him anymore." 

It wasn't harsh nor dry, her voice wasn't filled with anger or frustration. Just tiredness, from losing people the she holds dearly. 

Kin'emon nods, as he studies luffy for a moment. The realization coming to him in an instant, as he puts a hand over his fake white beard. "Oh, I see." 

Zoro whishes that he could comfort her, he really does but he's disappointed in himself, he let the fear of losing his nakama—his captain and lover, what they had was once beautiful. Zoro whishes that it would've never ended, but luffy still loves zoro, even if they aren't together anymore, she still loves him the same.

Suddenly luffy stands up, feeling the huge lump in her throat as she blindly fights the battle between her tears and showing her vulnerable side of her. Zoro knew whenever she'd did that she was going somewhere to cry alone, to let all her pain that's been balling up inside of her out. 

He wants to go with her, but he isn't sure if she'd want him there. Fighting the urge to follow her was to hard, he needed to be there with her. But she probably hates him. 

And since when he was familiar with a slamming door?

• • •

Luffy sits outside on the side of the restaurant, she silently lets her tears fall from her tired eyes, she doesn't even know why she's crying. But she couldn't help the feeling but miss her dear brother ace, that's two brothers she's lost. And now she has no one. Though she has her nakamas, but they almost died because of her. It was very reckless of her, but she didn't care at the time. She didn't think.

That's your problem, you never think. Zoro's voice echoes through her mind as she sniffed, maybe he was right. She's always been reckless, almost causing harm to herself and others. 

Maybe she shouldn't be captain or the future pirate king, maybe it's time to put an end to becoming what she wishes for. 

Luffy hears footsteps approaching her, but she's too tired and sad to even look up at whoever's walking towards her, though she manages to speak up. "Who's there?" At first there wasn't any responses, though they had stopped walking. 

"You really shouldn't be out here in the open like that, luffy." Oh it's just zoro. 

"Zoro?" The way his name rolls off her tongue like sweet honey makes him want to kiss her until she can't breathe. But he fights the urge to kiss and touch her, he knows she wasn't expecting him maybe at least franky or shit cook, is what zoro likes to call sanji.

He sits down on the ground next to her as he puts his three katanas next to him, luffy looks at him for a moment before focusing her gaze on the ground again, she's nervous. She honestly doesn't want to talk to him, but eventually she knew that this was going to happen. Sooner or later. 

"Can we talk?" Zoro wasn't sure if she'd want that, after all that's been happening. She never brought up the argument they had nor did she seem to hold a grudge against him for it either, she acted as if it never even happened. 

Luffy finally looks up at him, her eyes fully of guilt and sadness. But she thinks Zoro doesn't sees that, though he already had noticed. 

She sighs as her lips form into a deep frown, she couldn't help but scoff. Though Zoro knows she's not good with having serious conversations like this but zoro knew that they eventually would have to talk it out. Luffy tries her hardest not to sniff, but she couldn't help it since zoro was there. And he would always tell her that it was okay. Though this time is different.

"I want to hate you," luffy starts. As she looks at him, she can barely process what's she's saying because of the tears overflowing in her eyes. Making her vison blurry. 

Zoro slightly tenses up at her words he knows that it's hard for her, he wishes that none of what he said to her back then wouldn't have happened. They probably would've been happy together, more than they will ever know. 

"Though I can't, I can't hate you because i still love you. It hurts zoro, it really does. And I don't think i can recover from that." 

Zoro is luffy's first love, first kiss and touch. They never slept together though, because zoro wanted to wait for the right moment. Before any of this happened, maybe there was a reason zoro wnated to wait. Good thing they did, or luffy was really goona be messed up.

"Im sorry, i know that won't be enough but just know that im your nakama and i will never leave your side. I love you with all my heart." Zoro says gently, his hands tangled in her short black locks as she leans into his touch. Normally he would've scolded her for not keeping a low profile because of the white beard on the ground next to her. Though he doesn't mind, not one bit of it either. 

Zoro looks at the raventte then at her lips, he wants to kiss her as tempting as it sounds but he doesn't, he wants her to feel ready. He's not even sure if they are together again, they should take it slow anyways. 

"I want to kiss you," luffy murmurs. Already leaning in close and Zoro doesn't protest. 

God he missed this, and he missed her...

• • •

Nami and chopper sits on the green grass on the sunny, momonosuke rest in between her thighs as he looks at chooper whos sighs, clearly stressed. Nami smiles a little, as she gently rubs his head soothingly, Making the little boy lean into her touch. Brook leans against the edge of the sunny, looking up at the sky as he hums a soft melody. 

"Do you think Luffy and zoro will get back together again?" Chopper asks, his eyes gazing up at nami patiently waiting for an answer. 

Brook turns around to face nami with a knowing look, luffy and zoro have been avoiding each other on the ship after they all reunited on Sabaody, sleeping in different places on the sunny and avoiding eating at the dinner table if having to face each other or even be in the same room together. 

Especially when they had to battle someone, though they were still the same when it came to them having fight side by side. But nami knows they both still love each other very much, they just needed to talk it out. And eventually they would, and they will. But at the meantime they have bigger problems to deal with. And one of them is taking down doflamingo and the SMILE factory. Then the emperor kaido.

"I hope so, though they shouldn't be avoiding each other for too long. There gonna need each other in battle, otherwise, this whole plan of laws isn't gonna work." Nami says, looking up at the sky. Then down at momonsuke and chopper, brook. 

For whatever reason nami had a bad feeling about this whole situation, law planning on taking down the SMILE factory and Doflaming was just too much, though luffy agreed to help him if it only meant that she would get to take down on of the four emperor's of the sea. Which is Kaido. She has a very bad feeling about this, as much as she wants to protest there's no changing luffy's mind at all.

Chopper sighs as he looks at brook then back at nami with a smile on his face, "Good thing they didn't mate with each other yet." This caught nami and brook off guard, as they both chocked on their spit.

"N-NANI?!" They both screamed in usion, with a blush on their faces. Making chopper laugh.

#zoro x luffy #roronoa zoro #monkey d. luffy #anime and manga #one piece #cat burglar nami #one piece usopp #vinsmoke sanji #nico robin #cyborg franky #tony tony chopper #jimbei #soul king brook

[astrologyartandcinema]

Mercury Pluto Aspects

Taken from the Late, Great and disabled Astro Arena, not my original work but impossible to find on the web these days. If anyone knows if the former owner of the Astro Arena blog has a Tumblr or link I can give credit to please DM or comment. I haven't been able to access their writing in many years and any information on where to access it would be appreciated.

I wish to look in detail at the Mercury – Pluto combination, which in keeping with allapplications of Pluto evinces a range of difficult effects, most especially because until the behaviour is recognised and reconciled it creates a compulsion, which will be especially uncomfortable for the subject. Inevitably this difficulty and discomfort will affect important relationships too and ultimately – as with any Plutonic contact – the aspect must be transformed to prevent it becoming ultimately destructive. Aspects to Pluto from any of the personal planets are profoundly problematical, but as ever, the first and most effective step on the path to cure must be to recognise the behaviours and take responsibility for them. Owning up to our Plutonic compulsions, shining light upon them – uncomfortable though it may be – is often powerfully effective in transforming them: indeed, in many cases an “instant cure” is entirely possible.

Mercury Pluto, in keeping with other applications of Lord Hades deals with hidden, sinister and subtle aspects of communication and of course the mental processes that underpin them. Indeed, the entire arena of interpersonal communications is fraught for Mercury – Pluto, usually because of an early childhood that is characterised by difficulty, cruelty or power-games in communication matters. We shall explore these causal themes in the ensuing discussion, but first I would like to examine some of the specific effects.

Mercury Pluto is the aspectual manifestation of Mercury in Scorpio, which is renowned for being either verbose or rather monosyllabic. This implies nothing about the underlying mindset or facility for language or mental processing, but only the willingness or unwillingness to reveal the self. This is reflected perfectly by the aspects between Mercury and Pluto, most especially with the conjunction and to a lesser extent the easy aspects there is a loquacious response to the contact: these people talk, often exhaustively although without necessarily revealing much of substance about themselves. Conversely, those with hard aspects are not likely to give too much away, or at the very least – while they may talk freely – they are never comfortable talking about themselves in a way that is particularly incisive or revealing. In either case it boils down to a profound fear of communication and a sense that somehow words can cause pain and lasting damage. With the easy aspects there is not the same urgent sense of danger, but nevertheless there is a need to control the conversation which is engendered by the same mindset as the individual with the hard aspects. Often the Pluto conjunct Mercury person will talk exhaustively and exhaustingly, and the ‘listener’ will often walk away feeling tired and somewhat overwhelmed by the experience. In any case, the process of communicating, with easy aspects or hard, is uncomfortable for both parties involved in the dialogue.

It should be remembered that any aspect between Mercury and Pluto will evince one or other of these effects. For my own part I am extremely familiar with Mercury – Pluto as I have Mercury in Scorpio, peregrine and semi-square, contraparallel and in mutual reception with Pluto, I can speak from experience as to its effects.

With the hard aspects especially, the sense of difficulty with communication creates an observer rather than a participator. Here is somebody who is aware of every subtle nuance of communication and is typically deeply distrustful of words. Usually it will be found that Mercury – Pluto grew up in an environment where truth was taboo, and one or both parents will have been the murky wellspring from which this skewed sense of things was first experienced. It is also possible that an older brother or sister was the cause of the problem or some difficult secret in connection with that sibling or one that haunted and tainted the family environment in some way might be found to be in evidence. On a fairly simplistic level, the Mercury Pluto child will have learned early on that words were not to be trusted at face value. The resentful and controlling mother who would tell her child: “of course I love you darling, more than anything in the world” while evincing no genuine or believable warmth is one good example of this effect. There is then a dichotomy here, between words and more subtle forms of non-verbal communication that have poisoned the child’s perceptions. Body language, ever a reliable indicator of true feelings, is therefore valued much more highly than any simple verbal statement, but this again is fraught with difficulty. The Mercury – Pluto person is formed in such away that they are innately suspicious of any communication: this is very often sensed by others, who feel that they are “on the spot” somehow, and their body language will betray their discomfort which will in turn set off the ultra-sensitive radar of Mercury – Pluto. This can create a cycle of suspicion, distrust and interrogation that is especially exhausting within close relationships later in life.

Therefore, the Mercury – Pluto type is often handicapped in life by being too perceptive and it is through this mechanism of not being able to take things at face value and exhausting oneself and others by continually investigating the most subtle of interactions that the damage is done.

The child learned to do things this way because of the unreliability of close family communications. Language may have been used to damaging effect by a parent or sibling, secrets were kept and wielded almost politically within the early home environment and this actually characterises very neatly the quality of this combination for the afflicted. Words cannot ever mean what they say, there is usually a hidden agenda, an ulterior motive, a secret being kept: indeed this is exactly the case in the childhood home, but the problem is that the child grows up and takes this same understanding out into the world and applies it indiscriminately to every relationship in the whole of life from then on.

But there is a more profound realisation here too. It is not actually so much what is said that concerns Mercury – Pluto, but indeed what is  not said. This creates an anxiety about communication that is really very disturbing: this is why the native talks so much (in the conjunction or easy aspect), not because they have anything much to say, but because they are terrified of the silence and what it might mean. The child will no doubt have been controlled with lack of communication as much as the use of ugly, brutal or cruel language. A parent or sibling may have ostracised or ignored the child as a means of creating an emotional anxiety, or made vague, open-ended threats which would have created a sense of foreboding and impending anguish all with the express purpose of eliciting control.

There is too a legacy of damaging secrets in the early home which would have reinforced this sense of anguish, very often there are half-brothers or sisters who are kept secret or in some other way separate from the rest of the family. There may also have been other secrets relating to siblings which, when revealed created anxiety in the native: I have seen cases where a more favoured sibling is secretly given money or some other treat or benefit by a parent unbeknown to the Mercury Pluto child and when this is learned the assurances by the parent that they love their children equally become hollow and suspect.

At its best, and transformed, Mercury Pluto makes an excellent researcher and psychologist. Able to delve into the deeper and more innate realities of interaction they can often see cause where others cannot; they see the subtle motivations that are in fact pre-cognitive, and in a very real sense they do not need the words to arrive at an understanding. In fact, the Mercury – Pluto person can often be frustrated at the depth of their understanding because words are ultimately a rather blunt instrument when trying to convey the profundity of their insight and this creates another signature of the contact of course: Mercury Pluto despises the superficial and capricious. Intense and insightful, but with a need to avoid obsessing, Mercury Pluto is a natural researcher and student of human nature and motivation, they make excellent counsellors and – once the aspect is transformed – powerful and persuasive communicators who are able to see into the heart of any matter.

#mercury placements #pluto aspects #mercury aspects #scorpio mercury #astro observations #astrology observations #astro notes #astrology notes #mercury conjunct pluto #mercury square pluto #mercury trine pluto #mercury sextile pluto

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.19

The True Heir

03/09/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 5,781

Warnings: angst, depression, pregnancy, marital troubles, pining

A/N: There is very little editing. Forgive me. I’m sleepy. I’ve been up writing all night. I’ve also been hurting, but it’s all good! I’m so happy to get this chapter out. *insert evil laugh* If you happen to reblog, thank you so much for helping me spread my work! it truly means so much, more than you know. xoxo

Sunday

Today you do nothing.

You’d opened up your laptop last night and attempted to scribble a few lines for your next book, but all you could think about was Thor, Jane, the babies to come, and where exactly you fit amongst all of it.

After typing Thor’s name along with a few other random words for the tenth time, you gave up and shut the laptop. You’d crawled into bed, bundled up under your fluffy comforter, and bid goodbye to the world as you caved in to unconsciousness.

The fact that morning is here, you find that your hope for today to be better than  yesterday was silly. How can anything ever be good again?

You place your hands on your lower tummy, caressing what feels like a very slight swell. It’s just barely harder than the rest of your stomach. Firm. Despite the happiness that your baby brings you, you stare across the room at your computer and can’t find it in you to get up and work.

Instead you roll over onto your other side and pull Thor’s--that is to say, the one he’d used while he was here--pillow over to cling to.

Thor’s texts are also still fresh in your mind.

Sleep didn’t dull their effect on you or the confusion they raised.

Did they mean that he wouldn’t get an annulment? That’s sorta what you were getting from them. His declarations that he couldn’t live without you and that he would die for you and that he missed you so much at his side sounded like he was also telling himself how he felt. As if he were, not so much convincing, but reaffirming what he already knew.

You reach over and switch your phone on, clicking through to your messages to find that Thor must have stolen his phone back from Loki at some point.

Thor: Good morning, my cherub. I hope you slept well.

Thor: I could hardly sleep with you absent beside me.

Thor: Our bed is too big without you in it.

Thor: Have you seen the doctor yet? You’ll text me as soon as you get a diagnosis, won’t you? I’ll be waiting.

Thor: Loki insists that I give you some distance to rest but being apart from you is torture.

Thor: Would you be very angry with me if I came to see you?

Thor: I have some things I must deal with here before I can go though. Loki is right. I should allow you rest and fix things here before I come to you.

Thor: Are you still sleeping, cherub? I’m sorry if my messages are disturbing you. I haven’t gone this long without talking to you since...I wish I’d met you years ago. When things weren’t so complicated.

Thor: Would you have let me court you even though I am the God of Thunder? Future King of Asgard? Would you have married me when I came back with my people to live here on Earth?

Thor: I think if I had to choose all over again, you’re still the only woman equal to the task of being my Queen.

Thor: And the love that has grown between us is...I will never take it for granted…

As you read that last message, you assume he wants to say he won’t take it for granted again. He’s already let it slip through his fingers, although he doesn’t know it yet.

Thor: Perhaps this can be that break you were talking of. For our baby? Maybe we do need a little bit of relaxation to let our bodies recover?

Thor: And yet, I can’t wait to start a family with you, cherub.

You’re bawling all over again, your eyes flooding with tears as you bury your face into his pillow and sob loudly.

He’d said that he missed your body next to his. You can relate. You want to feel the heavy fall of his chest, the deep breaths that fill his lungs and escape through his lips in a quiet little snore that always makes you cuddle into his side.

Normally, he’d respond by turning to face you and holding you right up against his chest.

The comfort that simple thing would give you right now when your heart is aching so painfully is what you so desperately need. But...you’re so angry too. You don’t want him near you.

The images that flood your mind are torture. Mixtures of pleasant, happy moments now marred by the betrayal and anger that has taken hold of your heart.

You bury your face into the pillow and scream until your throat really does go hoarse. Frustration at the force of change you’ve had to make in the past twenty-four hours.

You’re startled back to the present when your phone rings. You make a small attempt  to clear your throat then answer and the absolute gravel voice you use settles any wondering as to whether your illness is real.

“Hello?” you whisper, clearing your throat to no avail.

“Oh, cherub, you sound terrible.”

Your heart panics. How are you supposed to talk to him?

You don’t want to talk to him.

“I can’t really talk,” you say weakly hoping he’ll take the hint.

“Did the doctor see you already?” Thor asks, his worry evident in the quiet tone of his voice.

“Yes, he gave me some medicine and told me to try not to talk,” you lie, surprisingly easy right now since you don’t want to talk.

For your emotional sanity, you need to hang up soon.

“I’m so sorry, love. I wish I could take this illness from you. Where’s David? I’d like to talk to him.”

You panic again, floundering as you cough and clear your throat to buy some time.

“He’s not here. He went to the store to get some groceries,” you hope he buys it.

“I’ll call him a little later then. If you need anything, let me know. I’ll get it for you.”

“Thanks, Thor,” you mumble, suddenly not wanting to hang up.

How can one person give you so much ease and worry all at once? How can he be your source of agony and comfort at the same time? It’s not fair.

“I have so much to tell you, but...now is not the right time. You need to get better first.”

Nevermind! Fuck this guy. Your heart sinks.

“I have to go,” you tell him, hoping he’ll just hang up and leave you be now.

“Very well. I love you, cherub.”

How do you answer him without giving anything away just yet?

“Me too,” you choose. And it’s true.

Even if he’s torn your heart into pieces, he’s still the father of your baby and you still love him.

Whatever madness overcame him when he’d suggested to Loki getting an annulment was the best course of action seems to have passed. Loki must be right about him.

“Bye, Thor,” you whimper.

“Bye, Y/N,” he says your name, making your heart quake a bit.

You hang up and quickly dial up David.

He answers after two rings.

“Hello? How is my favorite girl in the whole wide world?”

He sounds amused by something, or just happy. It’s such a difference to how you feel at the moment that it breaks you and you sob again, renewing your tears.

“Y/N? What’s the matter?” David demands, clearly now beginning to fret over the way you sound.

You tell him everything. Somehow you manage to get it all out minus one important detail and when you’re done recounting the most horrible night of your life, David sighs heavily and you can almost picture him settling into a deep armchair with massive worry weighing on his shoulders.

“Well, the good thing is, if he goes through with an annulment, you’re to be given a monthly allowance for the rest of your life. It was a condition in your contract, should Thor change his mind about marrying you. But he didn’t so it was moot, until now. You will be a very rich woman. More so than the small fortune you originally inherited.

“I know that money is hardly a consolation for the man that you love-” David sighs again. “Perhaps he said it in madness? He must have been very upset. Caught by surprise?” David offers.

“Even if he doesn’t mean it or doesn’t go through with it, I know that for you the point is the thought was there.

“However, I do think we must make allowances for Thor. I’m sorry to say. He is a king and he’s responsible for his entire people. A baby would give them security. Stability. A legitimate heir would tie them to Earth forever.

“We musn’t make light of his choices. This isn’t a common situation to find one’s self in. For either of you.”

“David, I’m pregnant.” You finally explain, knowing that it will maybe just show him a little bit more of what you’re facing. “I went to tell Thor and that’s when I overheard them.”

For a moment he’s speechless. When he speaks again, his voice is heightened.

“Congratulations! I-I knew it would happen eventually. The timing is a little-”

“I haven’t told him yet, clearly.”

Silence again. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I was so happy when I went to tell him and then I heard their conversation and I-I just can’t find the strength to do it right now. Not until I know whether he wants the annulment.”

David breathes in deeply and then exhales slowly into the phone. His breath is light and soft.

“You’re afraid that he will only stay with you because of the child,” a statement.

David knows you better than anyone else in your life. It’s not surprising that he’d make the leap so quickly.

“He’s willing to leave me and marry Jane because of her baby. It’s possible that he’ll stay by my side only because of our baby and I’d rather he do what’s best for our people than to stay with me because of a sense of obligation.”

“It could be that Jane will not want him. She might keep her child away from the Asgardian royal court. Didn’t she refuse to marry him because she didn’t want to be Queen?” David’s voice is pensive. “This might all feel much larger than it is. I suggest you take some time to really think through your actions before making any decisions.”

“I’m not going to never tell him, David. He’s the father of my child. He has to know that he has two and not just the one. I don’t think I could do that to him. I could never keep him from his children.

“Either of them.”

“You are magnanimous, Y/N. More than even I thought you were capable of.”

“Bullshit. I ran away and am refusing to see him until I get my week of space,” you nod firmly. “But David-?”

“Tell me,” he urges you, recognizing your tone of anguish.

“I-I know that I accepted this marriage hesitantly. It wasn’t like I asked for it and you know how I felt before Thor asked me to marry him. You know how s-scared I was about marrying someone who was in love with someone else, and now...now he’s-”

“He’s married to you, Y/N. Not Ms. Foster. And from what I have been able to see, he does love you. Not Jane. This is a temporary setback. If you’re angry at him, be angry at him. Don’t pretend you aren’t. If you’re hurt, show it. Wear your heart on your sleeve.

“Loving someone is one of life’s greatest blessings. Sometimes that love doesn’t last, sometimes it takes a beating. But you must choose whether your love is worth fighting for.

“You’ve also got obligations that you cannot escape from. Duties to your people as their Queen.”

“Assuming Thor doesn’t leave me and take my crown,” you scoff.

“I’m with your brother-in-law. I don’t think it will come to that. I think Thor was a little shocked and thrown by Ms. Foster’s news. Now that he has had some time to think, I believe he’ll do right by you and when you tell him, your child.”

“I won’t tell him until he makes up his mind,” you insist.

“That is your prerogative. Do what you need to. What can I do to help? What do you need from me?”

“Just be prepared for any eventuality. I’m not sure what’s going to happen at the end of this week. Oh, and if Thor calls you--just make something up and tell me what you say. He thinks you drove me from the airport and have been staying with me.”

“Using me as your alibi so that your husband won’t come looking for you,” David clicks his tongue. “How much detail shall I give him?”

“You’ve got a job too, just tell him you’re coming and going. Tony had his staff install some security on the house after the honeymoon. I’m safe here. He’ll believe that I’m safe if that’s all you say.

“Anyway, I need to go. I have two more calls to make before I can relax and enjoy my break from the throne.”

“If you need anything, you know how to reach me. Anything, Y/N. I mean it.”

“Thanks, David. I can always count on you,” you smile.

Just a tiny one. A very subtle curve at the corners of your lips.

“Well, you do pay me,” he jokes, which actually pulls a small laugh from you.

“Right. Bye, David.”

“Goodbye, Your Majesty.”

You take only a minute to think about your conversation with David before you make the most important calls of your week in solitude.

The first one is simple. Just a reminder of doctor-patient confidentiality. He understands what you’re saying even if he doesn’t practice by that mentality.

Dr. Wilson’s phone call is more difficult. She wants an explanation. She wants to know why she’s not allowed to tell your husband, the King of New Asgard, that he’s finally got what you and he have been wanting.

An heir!

It’s painful to talk about but you tell her what’s happened. You tell her that Thor doesn’t know that you know about Jane’s baby.

She’s very quiet as you talk. She assumes things and you can hear her anger when she starts to ask for what she can tell Thor.

“He didn’t cheat on me, Dr. Wilson,” you explain, hoping that this will ease her anger.

You’re angry at Thor because of the annulment, not because he and Jane have created a life from their love. You’re hurt because he’s willing or was willing--you’re not sure yet--to leave you to be with Jane, even if not for love but for the baby growing within her.

You’re hurt because the man you love was choosing his duty over his feelings for you.

Even though you know that he’s right to do it. Even though you know that you should understand because he’s King and you also took an oath to put the people of New Asgard first.

It’s your duty to put their well-being before your own. That doesn’t mean you have to like it.

In Thor’s mind, his only duty is to his child. Jane’s child. He doesn’t know you’re carrying one of your own yet. Even though that would probably make sure that he stays with you because of the baby, you don’t want that to be the reason he stays.

Proud fool.

“Thor slept with Jane the same night he proposed to me. This was before we loved each other, when leaving Jane was the hardest thing he’d had to do. I don’t hold that against him.”

You don’t tell her about the annulment. She doesn’t need to know how messy this all is.

“He’ll probably call for you and Dr. Alric soon. Loki suggested they get Jane checked so act surprised? But please don’t tell him I’m pregnant. Not yet. He’s coming to see me at the end of the week and I’ll tell him myself then. Please?” And it really is a genuine plea.

“I’ll do whatever you need, Your Majesty. I would like to come and check on you. You don’t sound well.”

She’s very sweet and her concern is touching.

“Thor will probably send you to me eventually. He’s worried but he’s clearly got other things on his mind.”

“I’ll make arrangements to head over there tomorrow. Oh, can you hold for one minute Your Majesty? I’m so sorry.”

“Of course.”

There’s silence on the phone for a few minutes before she comes back.

“It was His Majesty. He’s told me about Jane but she’s not available for an examination until later in the week. So, he’s asked me to come to you first. I’ll be there tonight.”

For some reason, the idea of having her with you eases some of the stress you’ve been carrying with you since yesterday.

“I’ll call and have a car sent for you.”

“Actually, His Majesty has promised to bring me straight to you via bifrost.”

“Wait, what?” You sit up in bed, clutching your blanket to your chest as your nerves suddenly fray and panic begins to build up within you.

“Should I come by plane?” She asks, worried by the sound of your voice.

You can’t see Thor. No. You can’t.

“No. I’ll just be going out later tonight to pick up a few things that I need here at the house. Toilet paper, napkins, laundry soap. I just didn’t want you to get here when I was out, but I’ll text you the passcode to get in.”

You’ll just have to make sure that you’re not at home when they come. That’s what you’ll do. This is a perfect excuse to be out since you need to get the stuff you listed anyway.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t just like me to come by plane?”

“No, really. The sooner you get here, the better. The car ride is so long from the airport. I’ll see you tonight, Dr. Wilson.”

“Bye, Your Majesty.”

Even though you know that you have hours upon hours until Thor brings Dr. Wilson here, you force yourself out of bed and abandon your plans to wallow in your feelings so that you can shower, get dressed, and leave the house.

If Thor’s coming, you’re going to be as far away from your house as you can be. You’re not ready to see him again just yet. You only have small errands to run but you’re gonna stay out all damn day if it’s the last thing you do.

~~~~~~~~~~

Tuesday

Thor is at a loss. Completely and utterly lost without you.

If he was ever in doubt as to how he really felt about you--which he never has been because he knows himself well enough to know better--he knows now that you are the light of his new life here on Earth.

His reign would mean significantly less without you at his side.

Even though the time you’ve spent together has been a short few months, they have been the best months of his life.

If he’d had one of those other women he’d interviewed become his Queen, this life he’s chosen to lead would have felt empty and tedious. Instead of watching his Queen spend her time with his people leading the way in progress.

You’re so eager to be part of the Asgardian populace. They’ve embraced you so fully.

With a sigh, Thor leans forward and buries his face into his hands as he mentally trashes himself for the absolute fool that he’s been about this entire situation.

The fact that he’d even entertained the thought of leaving you.

He wants to cry and tear his hair out in frustration.

Should he tell you that the thought was weighed along with many others at Jane’s news?

And Jane.

Thor groans.

She’s been avoiding him since she told him. He can’t exactly blame her for it. He hadn’t exactly taken the news well.

He had no reason to expect her to be receptive to him after he’d basically accused her of being confused about it. She knew her own body. If she said she was pregnant, what reason would he have to doubt her?

He’s messed everything up so much and he’s terrified to tell you about Jane.

What if you have the same idea he did? What if you decide to leave him in some foolish attempt to have him marry her and legitimize his future child?

It’s something you would do. Sacrifice yourself so that he could do the right thing.

The thought of living this life of rule without you at his side is unbearable.

With another frustrated groan, he gets up and moves to pace the length of the room, ignoring the large pile of paperwork on his desk as his mind moves in circles.

It always comes back to you.

And then you’d been out when he’d gone to drop off Dr. Wilson. He hadn’t expected you to be gone. He’d wanted to see you. To hold you. Touch you. Hear your voice after so much turmoil.

You are his only solace.

Going so close to you and not seeing you has left him with a terrible pain in his chest.

His phone rings.

Thor dives for his phone and fumbles with it as he grabs it off the bed. He almost loses it over the opposite edge.

He literally throws himself towards it and lands with a grunt onto the bed as he catches it.

He presses the button on the screen without looking to see who it is because he only wants it to be you.

“Cherub?” he gasps, his voice an octave higher than normal with the little bit of exertion he just underwent.

“Oh, no. Sorry, Your Majesty, it’s Dr. Wilson. I was just calling to give you your daily report on Her Majesty’s health.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry. I just haven’t heard from-” He clears his throat, sits up, and slides to the edge of the bed. “No matter. How is my Queen, doctor?”

“She was asleep. But just woke up. She’s very tired. Her throat is better, but she’s had a fever every morning since Sunday.”

Thor sits up straighter, hand clenched into a fist around the edge of the bed as his heart starts to thrum loudly.

“Is she seriously ill?”

“No, of course not, Your Majesty. But she really does need rest. She has been under severe stress and I’m sorry to say that your constant messages are not letting her rest.”

Thor’s heart drops and buries itself into a hole at the bottom of his stomach. He feels numb suddenly, fearful of what he might be doing to you. The guilt of what he knows he must tell you soon also weighs down on him.

“Are you saying that I should leave her be until she is recovered?” Thor checks, just in case he’s not understanding correctly.

“I’m saying that if you want her to get well quickly, you must give her what she asked you for. She needs rest.”

Thor hates that he can’t be there to check on you. He wants to feel you close. He wants to see you. What if you’re deathly ill and you’re telling Dr. Wilson to lie for you?

You abhor lies and cherish honesty , but he can see you lying in order to spare him pain. Just as he is lying to spare you the worry of all this uncertainty with Jane.

Although he knows that he can never lose you now and even with a child coming with Jane, you are his wife and he can’t leave you. He was stupid to think he could even try. The thought was a sin and he’ll never forgive himself for thinking it.

Loki was so angry with him.

Rightfully so.

The good thing is that you’ll never know how bleak things looked. At least he has found his sanity again.

“Will you keep me informed? I’ll stop contacting her if you will promise to tell me how she fares. If she gets worse, I want to know.” Thor insists, his voice passionate and begging.

“You have my word, Your Majesty. Have you heard anything from Ms. Foster? Do we know exactly when we’ll be running her tests?”

“She’s very busy. As of now, it’s looking more and more likely that we won’t be able to find the time until the week’s end. After we confirm her pregnancy, I’ll tell Y/N. I’m sorry that I’ve asked you to collude in this business.”

There’s a long pause and for a moment Thor thinks that maybe the phone has disconnected but then Dr. Wilson sighs, “I cannot wait for this week to be over. Will you come back for me then? When she’s ready?”

“Yes. I’ll pick you up in the same spot that I left you. My wife wasn’t too upset about her lawn, was she? Only, Stark seems to get irritated with me every time I land on his.”

“No,” Dr. Wilson chuckles once. “She was not upset. Again, there’s little more than her throat, head, and fever on her mind. I’ve gotta go. She’s gone out into the garden for some fresh air but I need to get her back into bed.”

“Please take good care of her, doctor. She’s...well, she’s my wife,” Thor finishes heavily.

The phone goes dead and Thor sits there staring at his phone until he can find the strength to get to his feet and go off in search of Jane. They really need to talk.

~~~~~~~~~~

Friday

Thor is upset.

He’s beyond frustrated by now.

He’s irritated.

It’s a week tomorrow since he’s seen you and he can’t stand the distance anymore.

Dr. Wilson snuck him a photo but you’d been sitting on your sofa, looking weak and withdrawn.

He’s not sure what exactly is making you sick, but he knows that he can’t go another day without seeing you.

He needs to get Dr. Wilson back here and he needs to get confirmation so that he can have something to tell you once he sees you.

He won’t lose you over this.

It was one last time. One final goodbye with Jane and he’d thought she was on her birth control but apparently she hadn’t been so he hadn’t bothered to protect himself from the possibility of getting her pregnant.

Why hadn’t she said anything?! Why hadn’t she told him that she wasn’t on her pill?

He knows it’s wrong to blame her. It took both of them to make this baby, but being away from you for so long is wearing thin and he’s losing all semblance of patience.

It takes some very careful maneuvering. Heimdall is sent first, then Hilde, then Loki.

None of them know why they’re going in to corner Jane in the tower except for Loki. Well, Heimdall knows, but there’s no hiding much from Heimdall. He pretends not to know and that’s good enough for Thor.

Loki is just stepping out of the tower when he turns to look at Thor with a grave almost exhausted expression.

“She’s up there,” he assures Thor, frowning as he shuts the heavy door. “When will this end, Thor? Are you going to keep the Queen away forever?”

Thor says nothing, he’s too upset to speak. He pulls the door open roughly and stomps his way up the steps taking them two at a time until he’s standing on the top floor landing.

He can see Jane biting her lip, pacing the length of the room until she turns and finally sees him.

“Thor…” she gasps, not expecting to see him.

“We have to talk, Jane.”

She looks away, turning her back on him then moves towards her laptop which she carefully closes. She puts her hand up to her throat and turns to face him.

“I will have Dr. Wilson brought in and Dr. Alric to give you the same tests they have been giving Y/N. They will be confirming your pregnancy and once we have that, then we can all sit down and figure out-”

“I’m not pregnant,” Jane gasps, her voice filling the room despite the quiet breath that escapes her pink lips.

Thor’s stomach twists. It’s agony.

On the one hand, the words she’s just spoken are...they’re a celebration. They’re simplicity. They’re peace and a return back to normal where in his life there is only you.

On the other hand, he’s just lost a baby he never had. An heir that he’d been expecting and now can never get back.

He’d made plans for this child. He’s pictured his life with them, the happiness and joy that their birth would bring to the people of New Asgard. The assurance that they would always belong to Earth.

He’d picked names for boys and girls. He’d begun to make a list of nursery items they would need even as he lamented that the baby was not yours but Jane’s.

This baby would have, and had already begun to change his life.

And now this?!

“What?” he very nearly spits.

Jane is so flustered she’s wringing her hands hard, welting them red.

“I’m...I didn’t expect to come here and see you with her and see how fast you just-” she waves her hand as if shooing away some animal. “-moved on. It’s like you were never with me.

“You were both so happy and talking about the future and I just lost it for a little bit,” she shrugs. “I have no excuses, Thor. I’m sorry if what I said hurt you. It was selfish of me and I just loved you for so long. You were mine, you know? And now you’re married, planning to have kids, and your wife is so nice and considerate and even though she has every reason to hate me, she was polite and so damn perfect…

“I’m not afraid to say that it made me hate her. I’m ashamed of it, but not enough to take it back.”

The silence is thick. The air suddenly grows charged and Thor’s eyes shine a bright sparkling blue.

His hands crackle and his eye spits as if full of blue fire.

The sky overhead thunders and the world shakes with the boom. The lightning strikes sharp and fast, shaking the tower so that for a moment, Thor can see how Jane thinks it might topple.

His anger gives way to betrayal and his lightning fizzles out as he takes a step towards her, his brow furrowed, eye full of pain as he stares at her, searching for the joke that this must be.

There is no way that this is really happening.

“You lied to me?” Thor accuses.

Jane blanches, her lips going pale as she takes a step towards him.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie, I just-I didn’t want to see you with her anymore and I wasn’t thinking straight so I just said it before I could stop myself. I know that it was wrong and I didn’t think it would go on for so long. I wanted to tell you almost as soon as I said it that it wasn’t true, but then you just took off and then the Queen left and I wasn’t sure if you told her and maybe that’s why she wasn’t here.”

Thor shakes his head, turning away from her as he paces towards the stairs but then turns back, his anger returning but full of pain now.

“I defended you. When Loki insisted I have you tested I asked him if he doubted you and I assured him that you would not lie about something this important. What reason would you have to lie?” he demands, almost of himself instead of Jane.

“Thor,” Jane begins.

“How long were you going to let me think you were carrying my child? How long were you planning to con me?” he accuses and his words seem to hurt Jane.

Thor can’t find it in him to care too much.

“I wasn’t-that’s not what I meant to do, Thor. Please, you have to believe me. I just didn’t know how much seeing you with her would-”

“You have no right to be upset!” he booms, his voice loud and it startles Jane quiet.

She’s never heard him angry like this. She’s never heard his voice raised.

“I gave you every opportunity to be with me, to marry me, to build a life here with me and be my Queen. You didn’t want it! You flat-out refused to be tied down by me and this Kingdom but now that you see me and my wife happy, you change your mind?

“You have the audacity to raise obstacles between us because you have regrets?”

“Thor,” she tries again, but Thor won’t let her speak.

“Get out,” he says sternly, turning to move towards the stairs.

“What?!”

“I said, get out. You are no longer welcome in my home. Pray no one ever finds out of your treachery. And should you have the urge to return for any reason, don’t.”

Thor storms down the steps, so angry that each step shakes the tower.

He’s breathing heavily as he slams the door shut behind him.

The storm air helps to calm him a bit. It clears his mind at least and the past week zooms by him like an unpleasant movie.

All of that worry and the plotting and planning. The agony that he felt wondering if you’d leave him when you found out about his child with Jane was the most unbearable.

Your face flashes before his eyes and he knows that there’s only one place he can be right now.

He throws his hand out and a metallic whistling rushes closer before his fist closes around his hammer.

He swings it firmly and throws it up into the air as he makes for your home.

Now that he has nothing to keep him here, he’s eager to get back to you. He’ll tell you everything and hope that you can forgive him for lying to you about Jane.

Even though it was a lie by omission, it was still a lie.

“I’m coming, my cherub,” he whispers, so eager to have you in his arms again.

Nothing will ever tear him from you again. He is certain. Nothing. Not a false heir, or a former love, no doubts exist within him anymore. You are the one.

The only one.

#king!thor x reader #thor x reader #arranged marriage au #royal au #a wife for thor #king!thor x reader fanfiction #king!thor x reader fanfic #king!thor x reader fic #king!thor x you #thor x reader fanfiction #thor x reader fanfic #thor x reader fic #thor x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #a wife for thor pt19

[theshelbyclan]

Childhood Sweethearts

Summary: You and Finn had been together for a while now and it was all going great. The only problem was, all of the brothers didn’t know yet

A/N: Requested by a lovely anon: hey can i request a Finnxreader where Finn got her pregnant and her brothers come in the Garrison with guns and all and are like "We dont care who you. That you're a shelby, but you got her pregnant and you're gonna marry her" and than Finn has to explain to his bros that he is kinda dating her for a year and some fluff please??? I got so many requests for my baby Finn and I’m ignoring how they changed him in season 5. Hope you like it!

Words: 2605

***

When you’d first met Finn, he’d been boxing. You had only been fourteen at the time and he was only thirteen, but he was a Shelby, so there were expectations. “Call yourself a Shelby?” the owner had kept on shouting out at him. And you could see Finn was really trying, but he just wasn’t that type of Shelby. 

Your brothers were at the gym as well, which is why you were there. Women weren’t allowed, no exceptions. Well, except little sisters. You were let in when you came to pick them up and the youngest Shelby sister couldn’t be kept away, but apart from that, no women allowed.

And then it’d happened. Arthur went feral, everyone went crazy and Finn reacted like no one else could. And you watched him, calmly, but with interest. Afterwards, you handed him a towel. He suddenly looked young, not at all like he had seemed while fighting, and he’d said: “No women allowed.” You had smirked and replied, “Then go.” *** And so the two of you had become friends. First it had just been talking on the streets about brothers and life in general. Because if there was one thing the two of you had in common, it was the burden of having too many older brothers. While the Shelby’s had big plans with young Finn, yours seemed to want to keep you ‘sweet and innocent’ for as long as possible. Neither fit the pair of you really.

“What would you do?” Finn asked you one day, “You know, if you could do anything.” “Hmm…” you thought out loud, while trying to balance on some forgotten piece of scrap, “I could open a salon, or make ice-cream all day, or I could fly a hot-air balloon to Paris!” You were always the one making up stories and Finn would just sit there and listen. He was definitely the quiet one. In his world of chaos and violence, he could do with a bit of imagining. “I could buy a camel!” you laughed out loud, “Go to Egypt dressed as a man and raid one of the pyramids. I’d become the richest woman alive and no one would ever even know that it was all stolen, including my fake name.”

Finn grinned, “You’d probably get away with it too…” “Or, I could steal some expensive jewels and seduce the man guarding them,” you spun around a lantern post feigning seducing it, “I’d kiss him when he’d catch me and tell him I’ll split the profit with him. I’d say to meet me in Paris at midnight, but never show up. Then, years later, after I’ve come back from Mexico…” “Mexico?” Finn called out, enjoying this story way too much. “Mexico, obviously, where I’ve been hiding?” you replied with a face like it was obvious, “After Mexico, I’d go back to find this man and tell him to follow me. He would, of course, and I’d tell him to meet me in London. Then, and this is the best bit, I go back to Paris to get the jewels and blame it on him!” Finn grabbed your hand and spun you around, both laughing, “Y/N? Ever thought of becoming a Peaky Blinder?” “That!” you joked, “If I could do anything, I’d take over the Peaky Blinders and…” “Move to Mexico,” he finished. “Move to Mexico,” you said softly, because the two of you were suddenly no longer dancing. Standing closely, noses almost touching, you were, for the first time, lost for words. “Ask me,” Finn practically whispered. You raised your eyebrows slightly in question. “Ask me, Y/N,” he repeated, “What I would do if I could do anything.”

You indulged, “What would you do, Finn?” “I’d marry you.” “But we’re only fourteen,” you blushed a little. He was completely serious however. The two of you were always laughing and playing, but his eyes were no longer sparkling with childhood joy. Something else had settled in there, “Then I’ll wait, for now.” After that one evening, the two of you became inseparable. ***

Sneaking out at night was easy, especially after the two of you just watched how Ada did it. As you got older, your games of truth or dare became more and more dangerous. Late at night, you met in dangerous places and together, you grew up at midnight. Making love under the bridge, kissing quickly in the Garrison when no saw and holding hands under the table, it was all still a game to you. But the love, that was real, and it only kept on growing. How no one found out about it was a miracle and a tragedy at the same time. You’d grown up with five older brothers and a part of you now wondered if they even acknowledged your existence. Surely, you two were not that subtle? And besides, you had the horrible habit of talking too much and had often divulged a little, but they never picked up on it. Guess they were too busy with their own lives, which was just as well, because loving a Shelby was not a preferable situation. But sneaking off to secret rendezvous was easy, concealing love was also manageable, but hiding a belly with a baby inside of it? That was going to be hard. “They are literally going to kill me, Finn,” you sobbed. Why did you even sob? You never cried before. “Don’t worry,” he put his arms around you and spoke soft and lovingly, “They’ll kill me, not you.”

“That is not fucking helpful!” “I know,” he looked down, “Sorry…” The two of you were sitting in a closed Garrison. Luckily, the pub was never truly closed for a Shelby. Here you could find some peace at least and no one there to disturb you. “A baby though, Y/N,” you could see the sparkle in his eyes, “Our little baby!” You sighed deeply, “I don’t think you understand how serious this is.” “I don’t think you understand how wonderful this is!” “Finn…” “No,” he interrupted you, which he never ever did, “We made that.We did. Like, I loved you so much and you put up with me for so long and then this happened. Can you imagine? That’s amazing, isn’t it?” You couldn’t help but smile at his awkwardness and excitement, “Someone did tell you where babies come from, right?” He smiled broadly and kissed you suddenly. “Finn?” you asked, a little unsure, “I think my mum knows I’m pregnant.” “How would she know?” “She knows these things,” you shrugged, “She had seven kids.” Finn frowned, “What do we do?” “Well, if she knows, we’ll find out soon enough.” You hadn’t even finished your sentence properly, when a loud noise came from the door of the Garrison and five big men walked in. They didn’t look pleased. “On your feet, boy!” one of them bellowed. Finn had no idea what to do, so he decided it would be best to get up.

“This him?” one of your brothers now turned to you.

You nodded solemnly, “This is indeed Finn Shelby.” Another asked, “This the one that knocked you up?”

“That’s a charming way of putting it…” you protested. “Well, how do you want us to put it?” “You could ask me if I’m alright?” you suggested, “Or: is this the boy of your dreams? Or: is this the man who will take you to Mexico? Or…” “Alright, we get the fucking idea, Y/N,” your eldest brother interrupted you, “No need to get poetic about it.” From the corner of your eye, you could see Finn had sat back down again. While you and your brothers continued arguing, he started downing whiskey. Did you blame him? Not really, what else was there for him to do but wait really.

And suddenly one of your brothers turned away from you and pointed at Finn, “Right, now I know you’re a Shelby and we know how you do things!” “Do things?” Finn genuinely didn’t understand. “You’ll not be taken our sister to some fucking doctor.” “Finn wouldn’t,” you quickly said, “He’s not like that.” Finn still didn’t understand though. “You don’t even know him,” your brother said, “Just because he fucked you…” “Oi!” Finn called out suddenly, lifting one hand to his cap. But your brothers were big and annoyed, so they picked Finn up like it was nothing and simply placed him outside the pub. If you weren’t pregnant and miserable, you could’ve died of laughter.

“Okay, listen…” you started, but they didn’t let you finish. Through the door they started shouting at Finn about taking responsibility and pretty soon you decided it was no use trying to get them to listen. So you rolled your eyes, sat back and waited for the storm to be over. And then there were more voices coming from outside the pub and you sat up to try and get a look at them. An angry voice seemed to be reprimanding Finn and a calm, low voice kept on interrupting the other. Without warning, the three oldest Shelby brothers barged in. Now, this was all you needed: more brothers in the room. There were eight now, all yelling, and slowly, you could see Finn moving back in through the door. You two exchanged glances, admitting defeat and decided to just wait.

“I don’t give a fuck who you people are…” one of your brothers was now actually screaming. “Let’s not play games, eh?” Tommy replied calmly, “You know exactly who we are.” “He will do the fucking right thing!” “And he will!” “That little rat may have thought he could just have his way with her and not carry the consequences...” “WHO THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU CALLING A RAT…” Finn crept down next to you and leaned over to whisper in your ear, “Should we tell them?” “How?” you mouthed back, “They’re kind of busy right now, wouldn’t you think?” “Let’s wait,” Finn suggested. So, the two of you got back to watching eight grown men bicker like small children.

“This was never her idea!” “Wasn’t Finn’s either, he doesn’t even know how to spell his own name, isn’t that right, Arthur!” “She’s nineteen! She’s just a child!” “She might be your sister, but she’s a grown woman.” “Okay, why the fuck are we talking about Y/N? Heis responsible and he is going to marry her.” “I agree,” Tommy suddenly said. So, Finn decided this was the best time to try again, “Actually, if you’d all listen for a second…” “I think you’ve done enough, mate,” one of your loudest brothers interrupted quickly. “But, me and Y/N…” Then Arthur was the one to push his little brother back in his seat, “Shut up Finn and let us handle this. Full of frustration, the youngest Shelby sat back down, only to stand back up again. He picked up another bottle of whiskey and started pacing the room a little. “Stay off the whiskey, Finn!” one of his brothers scolded, “Here, eat this,” and he handed him an apple. With eyes wide, he stared at the sudden piece of fruit in his hand and exclaimed, “I’m not a fucking child anymore, John.” But his brother just winked and said, “Apparently,” and went back to arguing. So Finn walked and bit his nails and paced and pondered and decided there was nothing left to do, but eat the apple and jump in the Cut.And you couldn’t help yourself. A small giggle escaped you mouth and soon after you could no longer contain yourself and burst out laughing. “What’s the matter with you?” Finn hissed. “Don’t know…” you hiccupped, “but by the time they’ve finished I’ve already given birth probably!” And out of nowhere, all the brothers fell silent. Tommy, as always, took the word, “Right, this is how we’ve decided to do it…” “You’vedecided?” you repeated angrily. “Shut up, Y/N, you’re in enough trouble as it is,” one of your brothers bit.

But the great Thomas Shelby held up a hand and silenced the room with a gesture, “We’ve decided that the two of you are getting married. Now, you might hardly now each other, but the damage is done, eh?” “Actually…” “Finn, shut up, I’m still talking. Now, don’t worry Y/N, Finn will take good care of you. And Finn, you do the deed, you pay the consequences. The marriage is in a fortnight. Congratulations.” The room went quiet again and all eyes were on the two of you. You could now actually taste blood and realised you’d been biting your lip to keep from laughing a little too hard. Finn looked like he was either going to explode or just disappear. Almost inaudible, he muttered, “In a fortnight…” “Yes,” his brother confirmed, “Gives you a chance to get to know your bride.” “I’VE KNOWN HER FOR FOUR FUCKING YEARS, TOM”

So he did explode. “EVER SINCE SHE WAS FOURTEEN AND I WAS THIRTEEN, WE’VE BEEN TOGETHER.” “Finn, babe,” you put a hand on his arm, “Calm down.” He turned to you, his eyes still hilariously wide, “Why the fuck do they never listen? Pinch me or something… can you even see me? Am I real? Am I a ghost?” So you did as any woman would and slapped him in the face, “Stop the dramatics. You’re here.” “Ask her,” one of his brothers urged him, “Ask her properly.” Finn sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair, “I did ask her ABOUT FOUR YEARS AGO.” You nodded wisely, “He did.” “Well, what did she say?”

“That we were too young?” ‘Too fucking right!” one of your brothers shouted out. Within seconds, eight men were once again yelling without listening to each other, and the Garrison became chaos for a second time.

“Okay, wait!” you held up both hands and much to your surprise, everyone stopped talking. Guess there really was power in being pregnant, “This is good news, right? We both want to get married! Yay?” And then they all started again! New subjects for arguments were found in the fact that you’d been sneaking out, that they let their brother be with you, where the wedding would be and who with, and there seemed to be no end to it. So, Finn put the apple in his pocket and with a sudden certainty to it, grabbed you by the hand and marched you out the door of the Garrison. There, in the filthy streets of Small Heath, he kissed you long and deep. “How about it then?” he asked. You smiled back at this wonderful boy and said, “No, let me do it. You already got to do it when we were kids.” “Okay,” he agreed at once. “Finn, if you could do anything, what would you do?” “I’d marry you in a fortnight!” he almost shouted out. And you deeply into his eyes, wondering how you’d even managed to find such a soft, sweet and still strong man, and finally said, “Will you marry me?” “Yes,” he said almost before you could finish the question. After another long, long kiss he got this sudden twinkle in his eyes and suggested, “Let’s go home.” “Home?” you laughed.   “Yeah,” he pointed to the Garrison, “They’re all busy in there, right? The house is empty…” You looked down at your bulging stomach and joked, “Damage’s already done.”

Hand in hand you walked through the streets, feeling like the king and queen of Birmingham.

“Mexico then?” a small smile was tugging at his mouth now too. You nodded, feeling more in love than ever, “Mexico.”

*** Masterlist

#finn shelby #finn shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #harry kirton #john shelby #arthur shelby #shelby sister #peaky blinder fanfiction #small heath #finnshelby #the shelby clan #peaky blinders fanfiction #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #cillian murphy #peaky blinders head canon #peaky blinders fluff

[arvinsescape]

Nightmares

A/N: I love mob Tom! Probably gonna start writing more.

Summary: Reader is plagued with nightmares of an attack and Tom can’t let it go.

Warnings: Couple of swear words, one mention of guns.

W/C: 1.9K

You jolted awake, sweat covering your forehead and tears covering your cheeks. This was the third time this week. The same haunting nightmare that had started last week. Being with someone like Tom had always come with risks, but you’d not felt those risks until last week. You’d been attending some event or other when everything went south. You swear you could still hear the gunshots as clear as day. Although you and Tom had managed to get out completely unscathed, it didn’t stop the nightmares.

Every single one was the same. You seemingly weren’t going to make it out. You knew this was a slim possibility for you, Tom was extraordinarily protective of you and he’d give his life before he let anything happen to you. They felt so real though. Tom had been there most nights to coax you out of your sleeping state and comfort you until you fell asleep again, but he hadn’t found his way to bed yet.

You looked at the time on the bedside clock; 1.17am. You sighed as you rubbed your tear stained face. You didn’t normally bother Tom when he was working, you knew how hard he worked and only really entered his office when he asked you to. He always told you it was ridiculous, that his office was just as much yours as it was his but you’d decided you’d only bother him if he asked or if it was important.

You found it hard to free your mind of the images and you couldn’t rid yourself of the horrible feeling that would always follow a nightmare. You pulled the covers back and made your way down the corridor. He had men all over the place now, he was still shook up about the position he said he’d put you in and upped the amount of his men that guarded your home. You slightly pulled down your sleep shorts, feeling self-conscious under their stares.

You were stood outside his office now as you raised your fist to knock. He was in there with other people, you could hear them talking and you suddenly felt nervous but by this point your knuckles had already connected with the wood.

“Come in.” Came a gruff and annoyed response. Shit, had you disturbed something important?

You swallowed down your nerves and opened the door hesitantly. Tom hadn’t looked up from the paper he was currently writing on.

“What?” He asked in that same tone. It was a tone you were unfamiliar with being used your way. He was much softer spoken when it came to you.

“Hey Y/N/N.” Harrison said as he gave you a small wave which you returned. You looked at the two men that were with him and your panic died down. Harrison and Harry. Tom’s eyes shot up in your direction and a small smile took over his features.

“Hi darling.” He said, tone much softer, almost the opposite of moments prior. He took in your appearance and furrowed his brows. He knew that look; he’d seen it often over the last two weeks. “Another one?” He spoke quietly and you nodded in response. “Come here.” He spoke as he moved himself back from the desk.

You made your way over as he opened his arms and you placed yourself on his lap. Feeling his warmth and smelling his scent brought a great comfort to you and you wanted to be closer. You moved yourself so you were straddling him and buried your face into his shoulder as his arms tightened around your back.

“I just need to finish up here and then I’m all yours. That okay?” He murmured into your ear, placing a small kiss there.

“Yeah, can I stay here?” You asked hesitantly.

“Of course you can my love.” He said as he kissed your temple. He went back to talking with the two men and you tuned out what they were saying getting lost in his scent. Your arms were around his shoulders and you played with his hair, bringing comfort to yourself as his large hands rubbed your back.

“Do you want to pick this back up tomorrow?” Harry asked as you slowly tuned back in.

“Yeah mate it’s late and I’m sure having a sleep on it will make it easier to think.” Harrison added.

“Fair point. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Tom said and you pulled your head from his shoulder to say goodbye to them. They left and it was just you and Tom left. Your face had found its way back into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you.” You said into the quiet air.

“Darling you could never. I’ve told you a million times that you make meetings far less boring.” He said as he coaxed your head from his shoulder so he could look at you.

“Yeah but I don’t like appearing unannounced.” You said as he cupped your cheek with one hand, slowly rubbing his thumb over your cheek as you melted into his touch.

“I do.” He said as you leant your forehead against his. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“It’s okay, you’re here now.” You said as you kissed his cheek. He grinned at you and it was such a boyish grin you almost forgot that he was the big scary mob boss.

“You know I’d never let anything happen to you don’t you?” He said returning the kiss to your own cheek.

“I know. I love you.”

“I love you.” He said as he kissed your lips softly. You buried your face into his neck and you suddenly grew more tired. He placed kisses on your shoulder as he continued to rub your back.

“Tired?” He mumbled and you slowly nodded against his shoulder.

“Okay, give me a minute.” He said as he leant forward slightly presumably to finish something up on his desk. You moved again as you twisted round in his lap, face now looking at his desk. He continued to place kisses to your shoulder as he straightened out his papers. You took a glance at one of them on his desk. You recognised the last name on there.

You couldn’t help yourself as you picked up the paper, Tom went to grab it from you but you were stood now. You stood at the other side of the desk. “Darling, it’s not nice to pry.” He said carefully as he stood.

“I thought we didn’t have secrets.” You mumbled as you continued to scan the paper.

“We don’t but-“ He said as you interrupted. Brows furrowed in confusion.

“This is what you’ve been working on all week?” You asked, tone unreadable.

“Give it back.” He said as he leant over the desk trying to pry the paper from your hands. You pulled back, eyes still scanning the page and he huffed. He moved around the desk but you moved to the other side, effectively switching places.

“You can’t do this Tom. It’s dangerous.” You said as you threw the paper at him after finishing reading it.

“I can and I will.” He stated firmly.

“Tom! It’s dangerous.” You said again.

“Nearly everything I do is dangerous.” He reasoned, arms crossing over his chest.

“Yeah but this isn’t necessary. You seriously want to plan an attack on him?” You almost shouted at him.

“He planned one on me. Or have you forgotten? Wait no, I’ll answer that. You haven’t.” He snapped at you. He wasn’t a fan of people challenging his plans and although he liked the challenging streak you held with him at times, this wasn’t one of them.

“Tom, the nightmares will stop.” You tried.

“You shouldn’t be having them in the first place.”

“We’ve been together for four years Tom, something like this was bound to happen.” You shouted at him desperately.

“Doesn’t mean I’m okay with it. I promised I’d protect you and I meant it. Him and his men will never be a threat to you again when I’m done with him.” He was being firm; he wasn’t going to back down.

“So you’re going to put yourself in the firing line? I get what you do! But Tom, nothing happened to me, I’m okay and I’m here. It’s not like you to plan revenge like this. You’re not thinking straight.” You were shouting now.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. Just because you’re okay physically doesn’t mean you are mentally. I’m doing this and there’s nothing you can say that will stop me. Of course I’m being led by emotion on this one. You could have died! Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?” He raised his voice at you.

“Strangely enough Tom, I do. Why can’t you just let it go?”

“Because I can’t!” He was shouting now. “I will do anything and everything to keep you safe. He could’ve killed you. I put you in danger.” His voice cracked at the end and you saw the tears gathering. He wasn’t one for crying, this must have shaken him up more than you originally thought.

“Tom, I knew what I was getting myself into.” You said carefully as you made your way around the desk to stand in front of him. “You made sure I was safe, you made sure I was the first to get to safety. Tom I’m safe as long as you’re there.” You said as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

“What if one day I’m not there?” He asked quietly as he wrapped his arms around your frame and buried his face in your hair.

“You always make sure I’m safe when you’re not.” He did. He didn’t let you go out alone without someone he deeply trusted if he couldn’t escort you personally.

“It scared me Y/N/N. I could’ve lost you that night and listening to what it’s done to you breaks my heart. You have to understand that I can’t let him get away with it.”

“I’m not going to talk you out of this am I?” You sighed.

“No baby you’re not. I promise I’ll be safe but he can’t get away with it. I won’t allow it.” He was firm but soft. He picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you through the corridors and back to your room.

He placed you back in bed and stripped down to his boxers. He joined you in bed and pulled you into his chest before kissing your head. “I know you don’t like it baby, but I have to do it. For you, I hate what that night has done to you and I need to make it right in my own way. I love you so much.” He mumbled into your hair.

You didn’t say anything, you just nuzzled further into his chest as you let sleep take over. He’d always promised to protect you and you realised you had to let him do it in his own way, whether you agreed with that or not.

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland x y/n #mob!tom

[doorsclosingslowly]

There’s someone waiting out there with a mouthful of surprises

The Jedi recovered the bisected Sith apprentice from Naboo and imprisoned him underneath the Jedi Temple. A young Anakin finds the way down to his cell.

Anakin is twelve when he declines one of Chancellor Palpatine’s invitations for the first time. The resulting devastation looks wrong on his kindly old face, and Anakin wants to take it back—besides, it’s just an opera and a glass of bubbly, where could be the harm?—but he remembers golden eyes pleading up at him and then a skull-patterned face scrunched up into a splotch with how hard it’s trying to hide utter desperation, and he repeats his invented excuse.

It doesn’t matter that this one-sided rivalry for Anakin’s attention that has developed between the mutilated imprisoned murderer Sith (slave) he has befriended and the Chancellor of the Republic is honestly deeply stupid, from Anakin’s point of view. It’s not like he couldn’t spent time with them both: his missions with Master Obi-Wan have increased in number recently, but still, he’s been talking to Palpatine once a month and he’s also managed to fit in the regular trips down below to the high security carcer. It’s ridiculous.

But Anakin understands loneliness—and fear and attachment and jealousy and all the other disturbances of the peace he shouldn’t feel—he didn’t have friends for years in the Temple, after all, and it makes sense, at least a little, that Maul is scared he’ll be forgotten down there when Anakin has any other option. Not a lot of sense, because really what he’s saying is that he thinks Anakin so disloyal he’ll just ditch the only real friend he made on Coruscant, and Anakin would get back at him for the insult if it wasn’t for an energy gate perpetually between them and the fact that it’s a just a little bit unfair to tussle with a guy crawling on the floor because he doesn’t have legs… The jealousy is still kriffing stupid, but if anyone knows stupid fears it’s Anakin.

So he declines, and he keeps declining, and two years later the invitations stop.

.

Anakin is eleven when he starts smuggling droid parts down into the top security oubliette underneath the oldest parts of the Jedi Temple. The first time is, in retrospect, a terrifying accident. He’s built a tiny moving starfighter that Master Obi-Wan just glanced at and said, “Well done,” nothing more, like Anakin didn’t need to use pincers to weld the tiniest engine parts together, like he didn’t cast the alloy all by himself. He sulks in his room, the ship buzzing at his head, and then remembers that there’s at least two more people who might like to see. Palpatine is probably busy, and that leaves…

The Sith prisoner is a far more appreciative audience than Anakin’s Master. His eyes glint and widen when he sees the presence next to Anakin’s head, and he even pulls himself off his berth: pulls himself off the edge and tumbles down head-first, and then panting and with his nails dug into the duracrete he drags his torso over to the energy trellis that separates him from Anakin.

He looks up at the droid in childlike wonder.

There’s a tenderness to his questions that he hasn’t shown Anakin up until now, and it’s not just the hoarse panting of exertion that takes away the last dregs of his usual intimidating mien. He wants to know everything, from the full-size model of the ship it was based on to the assembly process to details of every single one of Anakin’s new projects.

“I can—I could feel the movement of the droids I built, in the force,” the prisoner whispers reverently. “They were a constant presence when I was young.”

“Right? Right?” Anakin is excited. The Jedi have been trying to tell him that droids don’t have force presences, and he’s almost believed them by now, but if he’s not alone in feeling it then he was right. Master Obi-Wan was wrong. He knew it.

He brings down the next droid he builds—yes, two days after the first trip he did realize he brought something easily used as a weapon to the dangerous Sith prisoner, but all he did was talk mechanics with Anakin so clearly it’s harmless—and the next and next. He watches the prisoner drag himself across the floor. He sees the abrasions covering the prisoner head to abdomen—covering him on every inch of the body he still possesses—the injuries that he must be sustaining from his only mode of movement. He feels the shame radiate out from the prisoner down on the floor, painful, cloying. He watches him try to play it all down.

One day, Anakin brings down a ship that he designed himself to meet the exact dimensions and functionality of a short humanoid’s prosthetic thigh. He pushes it against the barrier. It moves through.

.

Anakin is almost ten years old, and he knows that down in the bowels of the Jedi Temple there lives a monster. The Sith is caged so deep below that no-one can hear his growls and mutters, his whimpers, his pleas, or so Master Obi-Wan promised Anakin yesterday when he’d worked up the courage to ask about the sounds he keeps hearing whenever he closes his eyes. He’s locked down so deep that the shivering of his despair and the gall of his hatred must be a hallucination. He’s been caged for months, first interrogated daily, then found useless and forgotten. But not by Anakin.

(He saw the monstrous enemy of the Jedi for the first time when he’d just turned nine. It pulled its black hood off its bright head and panicked Master Qui-Gon and Master Obi-Wan, and Anakin was sent away for safety that quickly turned into cosmic warfare. Before that moment, he knows, on Tatooine it tried to run Anakin over with its bike. After that moment, he’d seen the monster—or what remained of it—being carried out of the Naboo palace on Master Obi-Wan’s back, moaning and delirious with pain, but dangerous nonetheless. It had bitten Obi-Wan so hard he’d flung it reflexively to the ground.

Down there, it had begged. “Honor,” it had rasped. “Give me honor. Give me death.”

Master Obi-Wan had picked it up by its arm, and it had whimpered in protest, “I fought with honor!”

Obi-Wan had ignored it. Anakin would have, too; this thing had killed Master Qui-Gon, and whether it had done so with honor or not didn’t matter when Master Qui-Gon was dead. It had killed the Jedi who’d won him, who chose to train Anakin, who was the only guarantor of his future safety, and he didn’t know what would happen now, and he hated it.

It had grown more frantic then, terrified. “Kill me, Jedi, please, when my Master—”

And Anakin had swallowed a cry of shocked recognition.)

Anakin will be ten in two months, and today he’s gonna see the monster again. It’s not the force that calls him down staircase after staircase to the oubliette below the oldest parts of the Jedi Temple. He’d be able to explain if it was the force, if he got caught, he thinks, but that’s not what’s going on. It’s just homesickness, and loneliness, and it is that word.

The way he said it.

Anakin has met more Masters in the last year of his life than ever before, has uttered the word more often than on Tatooine, and he’s doing pretty well, he thinks. He doesn’t flinch with his body when he says it and not with his face either, and even the highest Masters—there it is again—they can’t feel the acid in his force presence anymore.

He greets Master Obi-Wan in the morning and he bows to Grandmaster Yoda whenever they meet.

He doesn’t talk about his childhood. He doesn’t talk much, nowadays, to anyone but Master Obi-Wan or his teachers. He knows he’s weird. He wasn’t on Tatooine, but here… He doesn’t know the things the other padawans do, and his reflexive associations, his interests, his memories shock them. There’s no point, Anakin has learned, in expecting people who can say Master without galling—who don’t need to pretend enjoy it—to listen to him. They’ll never wake up in cold sweat and feel for the bomb that was cut out of their neck, that was injected into it while they were awake and their mother cried, that had so often almost gone off. They don’t cry for their Mom. They’ll only shush him when he talks of his past.

When he talks of his fears.

Of himself.

They’ll never understand him. No-one will. No-one will let him be the Anakin he really is, without fussing over him and muttering and looking like he should know better by now. No-one wants anything beyond the parts of himself he can salvage that are untainted by his past. The parts that don’t remember his mother.

The only person who listens to all of him is Palpatine, and even he often doesn’t know what to say.

No-one will understand, possibly, but…

The monster that lives down below the Jedi Temple had forced out Master like the word tastes of fire and dread.

Like it heralds pain.

The monster is a fellow slave, Anakin is sure. He’s the only being on Coruscant who might understand; the only person who will let him be whole. He’s killed Master Qui-Gon, yes, but he didn’t have a choice, just like Anakin wasn’t allowed to disobey his Master and neither was Mom or Kitster or Beru or anybody else back home.

It was so obvious, the moment he said it.

The monster’s a slave.

Point: Anakin is so tired of having to pretend he never was a slave.

Point also: He just found a map of all the layers of the temple in a garbage chute, wedged in a decommissioned droid’s dataslit. A map that shows the oubliette for ancient evils.

Point also also: Master Obi-Wan’s fast asleep, and Anakin can’t get his thoughts to stop racing.

The monster’s a fellow slave.

Ergo: it’s time to sneak down and make a friend.

What must be hundreds of meters below the current Jedi Temple, at the bottom of the bottom-most staircase, smells faintly of sweat and boredom and despair. The only illumination Anakin can make out is a set of force trellises, and if the schematics he found were right then that’s exactly the spot that he’s looking for.

Pulling his hood down deeper just because it’s chilly and definitely not because he’s nervous and needs something to fidget, he sneaks closer.

Victory!

The Sith’s inside the cell. He looks just like the attacker Anakin remembers, with a red-and-black face and some horns and a scowl. He looks completely different, too: he’s naked, or at least his torso is. The lower half of his body is just missing. Did the Jedi—but no, Anakin can dimly remember Master Obi-Wan mention the way he beat him. That he’s still without prosthetics, even though his scars are well-healed… Anakin knew a woman who’d survived a bomb blowing off her leg, on Tatooine. She lived off of fellow slaves’ charity, for a few months. Her head wasn’t all there anymore from the pain, Mom told Anakin, and her Master had just let her leave. Why invest in a prosthetic when you’re not getting any use from its recipient?

The Sith is doing better than her, at least, even if he’s missing way more flesh. He’s doing pull-ups off the head piece of his callow berth. His yellow eyes gleam in the soft light of the force trellis when he looks over. When he notices Anakin. For a long moment, he looks stunned, and only then he remembers to snarl.

“Hi,” Anakin says.

The prisoner puffs up his defined arm muscles, as well as he can when he’s still hanging off the frame of his bed. He must have decided that dropping down onto his torso—and probably his face—would be even less dignified, though, because he stays put, sweaty and glowering out at Anakin from under his armpit, like he’s desperately trying to look threatening and tough in an unfamiliar situation where the other person has all the power.

It’s a scene Anakin has known intimately for most of his life.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Anakin says.

A beat.

Right.

“The Jedi didn’t send me,” because in his situation that’s what Anakin would most like to know. The Jedi are not this guy’s slave masters, but they do have all the power over him right now.

“I was a slave too, before they took me here. You can trust me,” and at least that gets a reaction: the prisoner looks absolutely apoplectic and even opens his mouth. Finally! He’s angry, which isn’t ideal—Anakin should have remembered that some slaves don’t want to admit they are—but they’re talking!

But the Sith just closes his mouth again.

He keeps his sullen silence for what feels like hours while Anakin tries one conversational gambit after the other. He just can’t have blown his one chance at talking to someone whose mouth makes the right shape for Master. Anakin refuses to accept that.

But it grows later and later, and Master Obi-Wan will wake up at some point, and he doesn’t have to concede defeat for forever, after all, but maybe for today…

“Fine.” Anakin puffs out his chest. He should say something soothing that’ll buy him a foot in the door next time, but he’s been pleading and pleading, and it hurts. “I don’t even care if you don’t want to talk. I’ve got plenty of friends. Chancellor Palpatine asked me to come over for tea just yesterday!”

The voice is so threadbare that he almost misses it, but it’s there. The Sith clears his throat. He sounds more sure and velvety when he repeats his plea to Anakin. His golden eyes are so wide it looks painful.

“Wait! Repeat what you just said!”

.

Anakin is nineteen when he climbs down into the bowels of the Temple for the last time. He hasn’t slept for two days, barely even closed his eyes, because on the insides of his lids is his mother, writhing, pleading.

No-one up in the Temple can give him any help. All they have to offer is platitudes about Uncertain the future is and Let go of attachment you must, but it’s his Mom, and she’s being tortured! She’s dying! She can’t be dying! She’s Anakin’s Mom!

He’s pleaded to be sent to Tatooine on a mission, but Senator Amidala’s protection detail is more important Master Obi-Wan said, and he can’t just go against the will of his… He can’t go. His Mom’s dying every moment he closes his eyes and he can’t go.

Maul is his last hope.

No-one will even notice that Maul’s gone. He’s been locked up for a decade now, and only the meal droids and Anakin still climb down to his level. Anakin’s friends with the meal droids, too, and he can definitely talk them into keeping silent about the Sith prisoner’s disappearance.

Maul’s a fighter, and he was able to find them on Tatooine and follow them to Naboo so he must be able to find Anakin’s Mom, too, wherever she’s been dragged off to. He’ll be able to save her.

He’ll—

Anakin has already sliced the force trellis control panel and turned it off when the fear grabs him. He’s spilled all his nightmares of his mother’s death, has shared the only plan for her survival. He’s received the assent he was sure to get. Now, he’s helping Maul put on the smuggled prosthetics that have been hidden in the stuffing of Maul’s prison berth, kneeling down before him.

And suddenly, all he tastes in the air is raw hatred.

He flinches. The trellis must have functioned as a shield from Maul’s presence before, keeping Anakin from realizing the true depth of Maul’s anger, the extent of his strength.

He could kill Anakin right now. He could attack the temple, and it would all be Anakin’s fault.

The frailty and humiliations of the prisoner’s mutilated body have lulled Anakin into reacting with kindness. He’s seen a man who is weak, helpless, and of course he offered help.

The cadence of Maul’s voice has made him sound like a friend.

But he’s the Sith who slaughtered Master Qui-Gon.

He’s filled to the brim with hatred and jealousy and pain, the force around them screams, will never release them to meditation like Anakin has tried and tried to do; he’s everything the Jedi Council saw in Anakin that day a decade ago and that he’s tried so hard to bury. He’s a Sith.

He’s warm.

It’s not just the hand he rests on Anakin’s shoulder but the very air he expels. Anakin expected the dark side of the force to be frigid, the way his own loathing and terror have kept him shivering and cold, but this is a hearth: protection, purification, an almost magnetic pull. It wraps around them. He shudders again.

“Do not be afraid,” Maul says, and from the soft look in his eyes he has misunderstood completely. “I shall find your mother, apprentice. You will do admirably while I’m gone. Just remember everything I taught you.”

And then, the darkness curls around Anakin again, hot and possessive. “While I’m gone, don’t talk to Palpatine.”

.

Anakin is twenty-three when he decides to brutally murder the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. His wife is laying in the delivery room, holding the boy twin—holding their baby boy!—while he strokes her hair reverently, and there is his Mom beside him, holding the girl twin—holding their baby girl!—and next to the door, scowling, stands Maul.

“Do you want to hold her?” Mom asks Maul gently. She knows him best now, and if she decides Maul’s standoffishness towards the twins—his twins!—is shyness rather than dislike, then Anakin will forgive him for not cooing over the babies—his kids! His and Padmé’s kids!—like any rational person would.

“Even His patience runs out one day,” Maul whispers.

Anakin’s hairs curl in shocked recognition, and he doesn’t even need to hear the word, but—

“I told you, Shmi, he started talking to Anakin as soon as he arrived. Somehow I managed to keep them apart, to interfere with the attempts at molding him, but the very fact He showed interest must warn us… As soon as he learns of this birth, and His spies are everywhere…” Maul turns back towards the door, palms laid across it as if he could keep the gate shut. The force burns with shielding hatred. “My Master will come for your children. Soon. Palpatine likes them young.”

#anakin skywalker #darth maul #dimtraces makes things

[s11e17]

popping in to say i'm sorry to hear that and also your writing is so, so good. i get chills every time i read your work. got any excerpts or tidbits you'd like to share? anything you're especially proud of in past or current works?

wahh thank you so much anon! <3 <3

right now i'm kind of pleased over this little bit in the big bang fic - dean can't say "i love you" to cas, so instead, he asks him if he's ever been to the grand canyon.

Cas’s mouth tilts up sleepily, would be a smile if half of it wasn’t squashed against the pillow. He’d say it now, if he could, the thing that Cas deserves to hear, the thing Dean has never told anybody in his adult life.

Instead, he asks, “Have you ever been to the Grand Canyon?”

also i started writing this like 15k pwp (the plot is basically that dean and cas keep having sex in dreams, aka put up your dukes but not as good) but i feel like it'll be ages before i actually finish it so here are the first two scenes (mostly under the cut bc its like 1600 words lmao):

The few times Castiel has been put under by a djinn, he hasn’t felt particularly disturbed by it. Dean flinches when djinn are mentioned. Sam is deeply distressed when the possibility of unreality is discussed. But Castiel is not so committed to this distinction as the Winchesters are.

Yes, undoubtedly, there are things that are real, and things that are, well, unreal. He likes the prefix un-. It implies a sense of reversal; undoing. Something is real, and then made fiction. Fiction, of the Latin fingo: to make. To invent. To create.

Things are, or they are not. If they are not, then they’re nothing — unless they’re something, in which case, they are. So on and so forth. This is to say, a djinn dream must be as real as Dean’s smile: both created and natural at once. Nature, creation, it is. I am that I am. We are.

This must surely be why Castiel is satisfied with being, when it comes to his love for Dean. Isn’t it enough to create? To speak, and to therefore move from nothing to something? From unformed feeling to articulated truth, Castiel has heaved himself down to Earth from out of the sun more times than he can remember. Dean is his lodestone, and Castiel dreams of him often. It is enough.

Sam’s the one to ask him, in the end. Castiel supposes that makes sense. Dean’s always aimed his comfort at Castiel’s shoulders and his stomach, offering back pats and warm meals, as if even his hands can’t meet Castiel’s gaze.

Sam invites Castiel out to the roof of the bunker to look at the sunset, while Dean is out buying supplies for his tune-ups from the 24 hour mechanic shop he likes to visit when the usual customers aren’t around. Castiel knows this because Dean once told him, once said that he liked to go when the guys were just “shootin’ the shit,” so to speak, liked to roll up with Baby and have them look her over and tell him he’s done a good job. Castiel knows he likes the camaraderie of it, likes having men touch his shoulders and slap his ass the way men do, the way Castiel does not.

So Castiel and Sam are on the roof. “It’s beautiful,” Castiel says.

“It’s real,” Sam says, as if in reply.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees. “It’s that, too.”

Sam sighs. His cheek twitches, and he looks at Castiel. His body is so big— that’s what Castiel thinks, whenever he looks at Sam Winchester. So much goodness, in that broad and wiry body— how could anyone beat him down? Castiel’s heart clenches with love for his brother, because that’s what Sam is to him. “You know— you know this is real, right?” Sam asks. “You know it’s not— you’re not— you’re not in the djinn— in the dream anymore.”

“I know.” Perhaps it’s some angelic power, which makes Castiel so certain of his place. “I know where I am.”

“Good. That’s good.” Sam sits back in his chair, then. “Do you— do you wanna talk about what you saw?”

It’s kind of Sam to phrase it that way. Dean would’ve asked him directly. He would’ve said, What did you see? And Castiel would’ve had to tell him.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t ask. In any case, Castiel says, “I’m happy to tell you if you’re curious.”

Sam huffs out a laugh. “Damn,” he says, “you’re well-adjusted.”

Castiel smiles, too. “I don’t have much to hide from you, Sam,” he says. And he thinks of Dean, who surely must know— who must feel the weight of Castiel’s desire every day. Dean sees how careful Castiel is. He sees Castiel’s hesitance to touch him, sees Castiel’s eyes shining when Dean makes dinner for him, and knows the depth of Castiel’s feeling. The depth of Castiel’s feeling drives Dean to the 24 hour mechanic shop whose men can give Dean what Castiel can’t.

But Dean comes home to Castiel, too.

“Okay,” Sam says, “sure. If you’re really okay with it, then yeah, I’d— I’d love to know what an angel dreams about.”

Castiel wonders how to say it. “We had a house,” Castiel starts, “me and Dean.”

It was a small house. Castiel remembers that vividly. It was tall enough to feel comfortable, but with only a single floor. Two bedrooms— their room, and a guest room. Roof access. It was the kind of house where you could bump shoulders with someone in the kitchen easily, the kind of house that built intimacy. Castiel remembers Dean standing in the back door with his coffee, face turned up to the sun, as he did every morning. He was so beautiful. He’d had a smile on his face, an easy and gentle smile. He’d taken a sip of his coffee, and said, glad we started shellin’ out for the good stuff, Cas, because he knew Castiel was behind him. After so long together, Dean could trust that Castiel would always want to watch him in the morning sunlight, freckles coming in across the bridge of his nose. Some days, Castiel would kiss his shoulder, and say, You are who I cherish most in my life. Do you know that? and every time, Dean would say, Yes, sweetheart. I know.

“We were so happy,” Castiel whispers. It’s all he can think to say. He looks at the sunset. Dean will come home in an hour with new parts for the ‘58 in the garage and a spring in his step, and Castiel will say, Welcome home, Dean, and Dean will say, Thanks, man. They will sleep in separate rooms. Dean has no need for the kind of love Castiel dreams of. Dean is already as happy as he will ever be. In his own way, in the way Dean has outlined with his words and his body, Dean has delineated what it is that he wants and what it is he finds unnecessary. Castiel is honored to fit almost entirely into what Dean wants. The only thing he wishes is that he could jettison the remains.

“Did you— did you know you were in a dream?”

“The whole time.”

“And you—” Sam cuts himself off. “Jesus. That’s— wow. Did it, uh… I mean, what did you feel?”

Castiel considers the question. “I think a better way to phrase it is that I knew it… I knew it wasn’t material. That what I was experiencing was a construction. But it’s not… that distinction isn’t meaningful to me, the way it likely is to humans.”

“No shit,” Sam barks, too aggressive to be a laugh. Castiel looks at him. He’s hunched over, knee wiggling. “It’s— it’s important to me to— to— to know what’s real. That means something to me. Being certain about what the truth is.”

“I understand.”

“But I can’t know,” Sam says, and he looks at Castiel. Half-chuckling still, he says, “I think about it every day, but I can’t know. And you do know, but you don’t care. How fucked is that?”

Castiel’s mouth twitches, but he isn’t happy. He knows Sam isn’t either. “I wish I could give you my certainty,” he says, and Sam looks away. “All I can say is that you are real. I see you. I sense you, in all ways.”

Sam nods. He breathes, deeply, and asks, “Do you miss it?”

Castiel doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. Does he miss his house with Dean, the warm sunlight through the bay windows, the way Dean’s hands would slide over Castiel’s thighs in the front of the Impala? “No,” he says, because he thinks also of Dean’s bunker kitchen chili, and his unfettered delight at cowboy movies. “No, I don’t think so. Once — you remember, with God — once Dean asked me what about all this was real.”

“Yeah. I had the same question.”

“I told him we are.”

Sam exhales. “Oh.”

“Maybe that’s why it doesn’t matter to me,” Castiel realizes. “I know that Dean and I are real, that our friendship is— is a truth which has shaped our paths, in all ways. Whether it’s a djinn dream or a material place, I know the truth.”

Sam nods, considers it. Eventually, he asks, “What made you wake up?”

“I tried the moment I first realized,” Castiel says. “And again, a few— what I perceived as a few weeks later. That was when you found me. The first time I was too weak to escape on my own, and the djinn captured me again.”

“Shit, Cas,” Sam breathes. “You— you— you did it twice?”

“I’ve killed more often for less,” Castiel says. “Killing myself was easy.”

Sam doesn’t ask. Perhaps they’ve all tallied each other’s body counts. Castiel wonders if Sam keeps a list of all the people Castiel has killed.

Instead, Sam says, “Well. Here’s a— okay. The distinction between dreams and real life doesn’t matter to you. I get that. My question is, is it right to say that the material world has— that it’s primary, I guess?”

It’s interesting, to attempt to apply dialectical materialism to an angel. But perhaps faithful to God’s original purpose. “You’ve seen Heaven,” Castiel says, working it out as he says it. “It’s nothing but memories. Consciousness. You’ve seen Hell, too.”

“Yeah.”

“The only way to describe these places is through metaphor. A hallway. A cage. Ripping, tearing. I think that tells us that Earth is where true creation happens. No matter what Chuck says or does, you create your own destiny. Here.”

“Shit.” Sam shakes his head. The sun has gone down; now, Sam and Castiel are accompanied by twilight mosquitoes, by stars coming in up above. “We make our own choices, huh.”

“We have to.” That’s perhaps what was wrong with the djinn dream, the reason why Castiel couldn’t stay there. It had nothing to do with whether it was real or not. It was about choice. That Dean in that back doorway of that sunlit house must have had no choice — because this Dean, his Dean, would’ve chosen otherwise.

#asks #anon #suicide tw #(fictional suicide to get out of a djinn dream) #agoodsoldier fic

[generallypo]

in all sincerity, kim dokja makes me happy and he deserves to be so too :^(

incoherent yelling and sobbing under the cut. these fEELINGS will not be contained aaauuunnghhh. 

------

anyway i binge-read all 500+ chapters of ORV this week and i honest to god feel bad for this -- completely! fictional! aghhhh -- guy. in case you haven’t figured it out, the following is some spoilerly shit

i went in expecting a fun, brainless power trip fantasy for dudes with an isekai addiction. instead, it turns out ORV is actually a gigantic, self-deprecating prank on the entire genre itself. kdj plays more into the sad -- if high-functioning-- clown trope than the sexy, edgy, chuuni bastard type i was prepared to laugh at. there were -- gasp! -- female characters with personalities! parents (aka ADULTS who act like ADULTS) who actually survive and feature prominently! adorable children! a real sexy, edgy bastard! a power trio with amazing fashion! sexual tension and bickering! friendship! life and death bonding! 

*breathes in deeply* fouND FAMILYYYYYYY.

like, yeah, the plot around the first few arcs seems a little aimless, but the buildup is worth. the world-building is pretty decent. there’s discernible effort put into the fight scenes, and i can appreciate that. but -- but! what i stayed for were the characters -- namely, the fantastic OT3 of KDJ, HSY, and YJH -- who come together despite their initial rivalries and end up saving each other’s asses, like, every other day. granted, the other characters don’t get as much focus, and they do fall into certain character tropes.. 

but a trope done well is nothing i would gripe about. every significant character in ORV has a coherent, and more importantly, respectful take on their respective trope. maybe it’s because sing-shong is actually a married couple, but all the interactions between even minor characters are a convincing blend of awkward rambling, suggestive humor, sharp remarks, and casual banter. in other words, this cast of mostly working adults (plus a teen and two kids) talks like working adults. the relationships built throughout the story are, frankly, some of most realistic of its genre. sing-shong has managed to craft a dynamic that undoubtedly brims with fluffy fondness all around, but also drips with sarcastic tension, with unspoken urgency, with a wariness that softens into sincerity over the course of many, many chapters. it’s the kind of progression that makes even stock characters read like more than just the 2-bit villain or comrade or love interest. here, we have relationships both straightforward and not, strained or otherwise, romantically-oriented as well as decidedly the opposite -- and then numerous others scattered along the spectrum with the freedom to shift either way. 

it’s also an interesting point of note that our MC kdj actually does not end up with a stated romantic partner, much less a conventional heteroromantic harem. he gets teased about that fact from time to time, but it’s with less of the sleazy shonen locker room humor one would expect and more of the good-natured ribbing you’d find among friends or that one especially nosy auntie at the yearly family reunion. kdj is a grown ass man. in the background, i applaud his maturity, and he handles all the prodding like a champ. 

so instead of finding and fulfilling his horny, he builds himself a wealth of loving family. yeah, there are beautiful men and women around him. yeah, they unequivocally adore him. but they’re also adults, and they have priorities, too -- which are not so much finding a way to bang kdj’s brains out and more so simply keeping the damn guy alive. this is truly not ‘oblivious mc with his thirsty, sex kitten harem’. it just so happens that a guy proves himself to be unflinchingly gentle and capable in an apocalyptic setting despite his broken self-esteem, and lots of people find that attractive, romantically and platonically. 

it.. kinda makes sense? he’s a hard worker, thoughtful, and good with kids. kdj is the kind of guy you know would make a reliable partner, and anybody with eyes can plainly see and appreciate that. 

and it’s not that our MC’s a total brick wall. in fact, it’s likely the opposite, and he’s just too darned repressed to admit it. from what has been implied, kdj does indeed recognize and accept love, or at least a primitive concept of it. i like to imagine that the kind of love that he ends up seeking out simply manifests itself more easily as acceptance and safety, as warmth and a home of people to return to every day. even better, the people who surround him know this, and they give him exactly that. it’s refreshing, and honestly, really sweet.

(as a side note, i really, really do appreciate the cosmic bi energy radiating off of kdj, who canonically earns the title of being loved by all and is all but in name married to yjh and hsy. he also respects women and small children and honestly anyone who isn’t total scum to him or his family. i respect that.)

but the happy stuff aside, you know it it just ain’t ORV without the generous screaming dollop of angst. admittedly, there’s self-sacrifice, injury, lonesome wandering, more sacrifice, some epic fighting, reunion and confrontation. all of it is a lot to digest, sure, but never does it feel entirely hopeless, or truly, truly heart-clenching. ORV, up until the final act, is a mostly light read. you relax in your chair, thinking that nothing beyond this point can disturb you. 

yeah fucking right.

------

and then the beginning of the end arrives. when the squad finally break through to their ‘ending’, the scene that kind of breaks me is the reveal of the Most Ancient Dream. it ties so much thematically into the little tidbits that we get of kdj’s past, and it though it feels like almost a joke that the source of the goddamn apocalypse is a kid with bruises smeared across his skinny ass body -- it’s such a pathetic picture that it’s kinda poetic, actually. you’re left mystified but somewhat convinced, like a math problem explained halfway through. this.. child.. is a villain somehow, isn’t he?

and then 999th turn uriel speaks up, and she. just. hugs him. 

[[You are this universe’s most powerless existence, aren’t you.]] 

that. that gets me. kdj’s reaction immediately upon this revelation? absolute murder. seeing him essentially self-destruct upon realizing that all these people he’s surrounded himself with -- some who continuously proclaim their loyalty and affection for him throughout their journey, some who suffered eons of war and loss and trauma because of his existence -- not only forgive his younger self but smother him with unconditional acceptance and love is stifling, is too vulnerable and exposed and he simply can’t cope -- it’s so telling of his true mentality, of his crippling insecurity and crumpled sense of self-worth. kim dokja is a liar, through and through, so much that he fails, or perhaps refuses, to comprehend the veracity of others’ kindness and love towards himself. 

by some miracle, the events at the end of the world somehow resolve.. or so it seems. there is a departing train, a liberated team of ex-gods, and a child rousing from his slumber. in the aftermath, i am left shaking. somehow, despite the ending having been (happily?) reached, there’s still another chapter ahead. what is this witchcraft?

------

and then ah, yes -- the epilogue arc. i teetered on the edge of being critical for a little bit there -- is that display of deus ex machina, of sad, self-sacrificing nobility a bit too egregious to be acceptable? is this some wild last let-me-yank-this-outta-my-ass plot twist to drag out the chapter count? i sincerely thought that the arc before it would have been the finale. i was wrong. thank god.

anyways, as an answer to the above: no, and no. i stake my firm claim on the belief that the epilogue arc was meticulously planned out well in advance of its release, confusing and time-warpy as it is. i liked it. tremendously. even if it entirely invalidates all of kdj’s supposed development (”haha lol yeah sure i won’t sacrifice myself or anything anymore guys don’t worry about me” -- KDJ, at some point because he’s a lying rat bastard). actually, our beloved MC disappears for a large chunk of this arc, and i think it’s great. in his absence, the other characters not only go absolutely fucking nuts, but they have to figure out this new problem on their own, even if the lure of peaceful complacency in the newly saved Korea might convince them otherwise. 

and then the whole time paradox thing comes around. yjh goes to space, hsy saves the only life she can, and kdj grows up. the crew waits, holding onto their hope even if it bleeds them dry. sing-shong does a damn good job of illustrating their fraying calm, their lurking madness, the unseen but pervasive depression that seeps in from kdj’s absence. the kids lose their father, lhs and jhw lose their reliable leader figure, ysa loses a best friend and confidant, lsk -- as distant as she pretends to be from her son -- loses her only child. and then there’s hsy and yjh , who are essentially bereft of the other half of their existences. their pain is palpable, is grounded in the hopeless, gnawing frustration of an utterly meaningless victory. emotionally, ORV hits all the right -- if agonizing -- beats.

however, a story can’t sustain itself just through its pathos. i’m happy to say that ORV doesn’t drop the ball after the first milestone, and after all the hurt, the characters do leap straight back into action. even better, the plot holes actually do get patches, and the poetic cycle of writer, protagonist, and reader comes full circle by making use of all those supposedly throwaway characters from the myriad world lines. 

at the end of the road, there is a distinct sense of unity, of a delicate but undeniable cohesion to the world lines and their origins. sing-shong lets us guess a little here at the finish, but there’s just enough information to feel hopeful. maybe there never had been a definite start -- or finish -- to the story of kdj company, and... that’s okay. everybody ends up where they were meant to be, where they fought and struggled to reach. it’s.. almost like a happily ever after, if we’re allowed to dream of that.

------

now, i realize, this was all an orchestrated maneuver.

i’ll take it.

to me, all of this work sounds like someone put some serious thought into this behemoth of a plot. it cements the entire original premise of the story. it suggests -- but never explicitly confirms! -- the possibility that breaking free of the cycle is possible through the exact same system that sustains it. it’s terribly interesting -- and inspirational! with all the dramatic revelations and life-threatening scenarios  and the cast’s resigned acceptance of them that essentially make up ORV’s entire mood, there’s still that last hint of rebellious and righteous anger that lights up the whole damn nebula. it’s like the kdj company blasting away at the heavens just to yell into the nether: we’re not looking for the happy end, but the free one. stay alive.

it’s subtle, and yet it’s such an emotional gut punch. i came away with the most ruinous, frustrating, bittersweet sense of longing in ages. i pined. for these fictional darlings. god, i am weak.

so. yeah. ORV is pretty good. flawed, but ambitious and impressively thought out.  i’m stoked that the webtoon is making pretty good progress, even if it’ll take an eternity and a half to meet that monstrous chapter count. i’m still gonna follow it. hell yeah. 

------

(by the way the idea that secretive plotter and co are literally gonna take care of and raise baby kdj and spoil him and be the best friggin family a kid could ever want does things to me. protect him. he’s suffered too much. let at least one worldline’s version of him know happiness. and actually, aLL OF THEM DESERVE DOMESTIC BLISS TOGETHER IN A BIG OL MANSION WITH SUN AND FRESH AIR AND TENDER FAMILY MOMENTS UGH)

------

and there you have it, folks. you made it to the end. in the far, far distance, i’m cheering you on and crying my eyes out in gratitude. thanks for tuning in!

#omniscient reader #orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #kim dokja #fanart #kdj happiness rights! #protect him! #let! him! have his big house! with everyone! he loves! #please! #long ass emotional screeching #look i can't do him justice with drawing but hell can i yell out my love for him :'^DD

[metvmorqhoses]

Hey there! I'd like to hear your thoughts about this. Jkr never put a lot of thought into voldemort as a character did she? The fact that his villainy is oversimplified to be "conceived under a love potion and hence can't love" although there are instances where he has loved. The narrative that is put forth is that every child who was conceived through unhealthy relationships, abandoning parents and difficult circumstances is destined to be incapable of love. (There are problems/issues because of these circumstances but it's not a doomed-to-be-unloved situation)

The abuse he faced or the trauma was never explained and neither was his nature which can be either perceived as arrogance or as self-preservation in his formative years..

I love your blog and analyses btw!🖤

i couldn’t agree more. i don’t know if you are familiar with what i usually write about voldemort as a villain and as an all-around character, but what you are talking about is not only something i always mention when i discuss him in a more complex, adult manner, but much more importantly is deeply linked to what i think about the hp series in general and to the one, major issue i have with it in particular. this is something i consider very important and, honestly, a topic that is never stressed enough: jkr wrote an overly black and white children book, where oversimplification is the fundamental fabric of everything and i find it all very problematic, to say the least.

i understand the series started as a children book and that characterizing so generically and so stereotypically serves as a great advantage to sell copies, since virtually everyone can draw their own conclusions about pretty much every single character of the series and therefore identify, but hp more often than not proudly poses as a moral compass, as a good-vs-evil lecture, aiming to accompany children into adulthood hand in hand (both the books and the movies literally grow in tone, length, targeted audience and themes with the children who are consuming them), so it’s not unfair of me to be concerned about what exactly these morals have been teaching children and then teens (myself included) for more than twenty years about reality, even as a fantasy series.

i often say the characterizations of its heroes is the thing that scares me the most about the hp series. the entirely of the “good guys” in these books lack basic normal human reactions. they all went through hell one way or another, harry constantly witnessing every last one of his family relations dying/growing up abused and hated/discovering he was raised literally to be slaughtered by the man he looked up to the most, ginny being possessed/forced to kill/almost murdered in tender age by the literal devil and whose trauma is never mentioned again, hermione having to erase the memories of her parents - you know, the list goes on and on. the one thing that all of them have in common tho, is their non-consequence to horror. and that’s wildly unhuman. aside from a little sadness, some stubborn dementors chasing bad memories and sporadic plot-serving nightmares, none of the heroes is really effected or damaged by what happens to them. when normal people would have spiritual crisis, ptsd, depression, manic episodes, you name it, jkr is feeding us the idea that really good, brave, strong, valuable people remain unaffected by trauma and that only the weak, wrong, damaged and therefore evil ones are. and i find it beyond disturbing.

paradoxically enough, voldemort is the only prominent example (probably along with snape and draco, but in a very different way) of “normal” human behavior when a child is exposed that much to trauma and abuse in tender age. jkr never really explains voldermort beyond her rhetorical “he’s wickedness personified” motto, yet the little characterization she gave him is entirely built around trauma - a trauma that she openly equates to evil. voldemort is a child born out of rape (there’s a metaphorical love potion and therefore he’s unable to love - leaving aside the idiocy of it, how sick is that? as if a child should carry the faults of his parents, as if all children born from rape were emotionally disabled or soon to be psychopaths! what exactly she wanted to prove with this point will forever be beyond me), a child abandoned to abuse and poverty in the middle of ww2, a child i’m sure shunned for his magical powers if not worse, a child without a single resource on the planet but himself, a child to whom no one, ever, not even later in the wizarding world, ever gave a helping hand or genuine affection (he was literally sent back to a world war because “no one can live in the school in the summer”, i mean!). of course he had to react to survive, of course all that left him scarred, because it didn’t leave him annihiliated! tom and harry share the condition of the orphan, but while harry was loved by his dead parents, glorified and rich and adored, voldemort was unwanted, discriminated against, bullied, poor and ignored. had dumbledore treated tom as he had treated harry (not that he treated harry that well if we really analyze it, but still), had his mother not abandoned him and died, jkr herself said lord voldemort would have probably never existed.

is this a correct way to stereotype human nature? is this a good message to give children? the only plausible human in there is the psychopathic super villain who is physically unable to love?

i like to think voldermort differently. i do think he could, of couse he could, actually love - as we all can if we allow ourselves to. he’s too complex, too intelligent, too whole as a character to lack anything, both for the good and for the bad. i like to think that maybe amortentia (aka the entirety of his early life experiences) left him dissociated and unable to *understand* his feelings in general and love in particular. maybe he didn’t dare to love anyone. maybe he dared once.

i like to think this way because the way jkr characterizes is nothing short of a disgrace.

the question people ask me the most is precisely this, if i think i’m giving voldemort much more depth than the author actually intended in the first place. my answer is always the same - yes, of course i do. voldemort is beautiful the way i imagine him, as a real plausible person, as a deeply flawed and multifaceted and scarred human being who turned to darkness in search for a home and a reason and that had ultimately found one, as terrible as it was. he certainly deserved more, from a literary point of view. yet i understand it was convenient and safe for jkr to only ever play with his godly, evil, black and white facade.

#lord voldemort #hp #tom marvolo riddle #bellamort #asks/replies #anon #one and one thousand stories lis told #thank you dear <3

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Queen of Underland: Izzy

CW: Panic attack, child of recovering adult whumpee, anger as trauma response, referenced noncon kissing and touching (nonsexual), childhood bullying, referenced past domestic and child abuse, some gendered and ableist insults (kid to kid and nothing too intense - just fair warning)

Izzy, at nine years old, has been free with her family for almost five years now, and her mother has been in prison on a life sentence for two. With attention, affection, and therapy, she has blossomed into a quiet kid who nearly always has her nose in a book.

When two classmates try to put her in the center of a storm, Izzy finds something inside herself that she has pushed down for so long she had nearly forgotten she ever had it.

Izzy finds her father’s anger.

Jax Gallagher belongs to @comfy-whumpee and is used with permission.

---

Izzy sits at her desk, perfectly still, reading a book while the teacher’s out of the room speaking with another teacher in low voices, just in the hallway. The sun shines in the windows that line the wall, lighting the pages of her book, and one of Izzy’s hands rubs repeatedly over the seam down the side of her uniform skirt, the only movement she makes beyond her eyes.

Around her, the others are whispering, passing notes and giggling (except for Noah, who has his own book open, and Jack, who is drawing his story about giant killer robots in a notebook, and Sarah, Jack’s twin sister who is trying to build a tower of pencils and paper), but Izzy barely notices them.

When the teacher comes back in, Izzy will not be whispering, or giggling, or doing anything that might bother her. When the teacher comes back, Izzy will be quiet, and good, and put her book back into her desk and look up with her hands in her lap. She’s the quietest kid in class, she heard the teacher say so.

At home, she’s not always quiet anymore, but at school she still holds a balance, protecting herself and keeping herself safe in the best and truest way she knows - by simply being exactly what the adults need her to be, and keeping all her real feelings and thoughts inside her head.

Still, while the teacher’s out of the room, she takes a few minutes to read while she has the chance. Her heart beats cold and heavy in her chest as she scans over the words on the page, biting down on her lower lip, worrying at a bit of chapped skin. Her left hand settles over the soft texture of pages nearly yellowed with time spent in the school library being held by hundreds of small hands. The fingers on her right hand feel over the seam of her skirt, right along the outside of her leg, again and again.

Fierce anxiety, and a little fear, swirl inside her for the characters that exist only in ink and her imagination.

Two Earthmen entered, but instead of advancing into the room, they placed themselves one on each side of the door, and bowed deeply. They were followed immediately by the last person whom anyone had expected or wished to see: the Lady of the Green Kirtle, the Queen of Underland. She stood dead still in the doorway, and they could see her eyes moving as she took in the whole situation—the three strangers, the silver chair destroyed, and the Prince free, with his sword in his hand.

“I think I like Karissa,” Henry Fitzgerald, who sits at her left, says to his best friend Kevin Magden - not to be confused with Kevin Michaelson, and didn’t the teacher sigh over that sometimes. He has to speak over and around Izzy’s head. 

“Like, like like her?” Kevin Magden asks, sounding half-horrified, half-fascinated. Izzy fights not to roll her eyes, and tries to focus back on her book, on the entrance of the Queen, on the Prince freed but faced with great danger.

The Queen of the Underland, the lady who held the Prince in the dark for ten whole years, that’s older than Izzy even is. Coming into the room to find the children and the Prince, and her having no control any longer. 

She turned very white; but Jill thought it was the sort of whiteness that comes over some people's faces not when they are frightened but when they are angry. For a moment the Witch fixed her eyes on the Prince, and there was murder in them. Then she seemed to change her mind.

“Run,” Izzy whispers, to the children, to Puddleglum the strange marsh creature, to the freed Prince. “Don’t talk to her, just run. Don’t listen to whatever she says, don’t.”

“What are you even saying, Izzy?” Kevin Magden says.

“She’s all in her book like always,” Henry Fitzgerald says, shrugging. He makes some sort of gesture - Izzy doesn’t look up to see it - and the two of them laugh. She doesn’t care about that. The story is far, far more important than they are anyway. “Anyway, Kev, I like-... yeah, I think I like like her. I’m gonna tell her at break.”

“Gross,” Kevin says, but he sounds fascinated. “What if she says she doesn’t like-like you back?”

Henry shrugs again - Izzy can see the movement from the corner of her eye. “Dunno. Maybe kiss her.”

“Gross,” Kevin repeats, much more emphatically. 

Izzy tries to keep her mind on the page, but shifts uncomfortably in her chair. She closes her eyes briefly, thinking of the Queen of the Underland, standing in the doorway. She imagines her with very white skin and dark, long fingernails, wearing a long dress that brushes the earthen floor, making a soft swish-swish sound as she walks. In her mind, the Queen of the Underland has very bright blue eyes and lots of curly, dark brown hair that is threaded with silver down her back, wild and uncontrolled, like it can reach out and grab you and drag you into the dark with her.

She feels like the Queen is not a stranger to her, and not hard to picture at all. Try as she might, she can’t make the Queen in her imagination look like the description of the Queen in the book. She only ever looks one way - beautiful and wicked, deceptively soft, eyes brilliant and shining too bright when the Prince is in pain.

Will she hurt him, while the children have to stand and watch and can’t save him at all?

"Leave us," she said to the two Earthmen. "And let none disturb us till I call, on pain of death." The gnomes padded away obediently, and the Witch-queen shut and locked the door.

"How now, my lord Prince," she said. "Has your nightly fit not yet come upon you, or is it over so soon? Why stand you here unbound? Who are these aliens? And is it they who have destroyed the chair which was your only safety?"

Izzy can hear the Queen’s voice, musical lilt, simpering sweet and dangerous. Why are you leaving me? How dare you. Come back here, Jax, you can’t leave, you’re mine. 

Kevin and Henry are still talking, but Izzy doesn’t hear them any longer. She’s lost in the panic rising inside of her. Run, she thinks, in a scream, a shout in her mind. It isn’t that she doesn’t understand it’s just a book, but that she is still scared, frightened for the prince whose father had grown older while he was gone, whose family must have missed him so much. She is frightened for the children who do not understand the witch or how to fight her. She’s frightened even for Puddleglum, who only wants to help, to do the right thing. Don’t talk to her, don’t give her the chance, just run. She’ll make you hers again. She swallows - it feels like her heart beats itself right up into her throat, like she is swallowing around it - and keeps reading.

Prince Rilian shivered as she spoke to him. And no wonder: it is not easy to throw off in half an hour an enchantment which has made one a slave for ten years. Then, speaking with a great effort, he said:

“I’ll kiss her even if she doesn’t like me back, anyway.”

Izzy’s breath catches, and she blinks, feeling like she has been pulled out of a spell herself. She looks up, glancing sidelong at Henry, who isn’t looking at her at all, just talking to Kevin. “Hen-... Henry-... what did you say?”

“None of your business,” Henry replies, voice harsh and loud enough to get some of the others to look over at them, and Izzy’s shoulders creep up towards her chin, face burning red. She hates when everyone looks at her, hates it more than anything. Henry looks back at Kevin. “At break, I will. I’ll tell her, and I’ll kiss her, whether she wants to or not.”

Izzy looks back down, but the words on the page run together, she can’t see them any longer, they’re just squiggles, meaningless little lines. What I want just matters more, whispers a nightmare she can never quite feel woken up from. She tries, she really does, to focus again on the book but she sees secondly, she took out a musical instrument- 

Izzy slams the little paperback shut, sticks it back in her desk, and says in a thin voice, “You can’t do that if someone doesn’t want you to, it’s wrong.”

“It’s not a big deal, Izzy, geez.” Kevin on her other side speaks up now, and between them she feels like she’s being battered, tossed on a sea, shoved down, locked in the dark. Izzy stares down at her desk, then, letting her eyes lose focus on the wavy colors in the polished wood. Light brown, almost auburn, and darker brown, almost a chocolate color, very like the hair on Izzy’s own head, clipped short and spiky.

Very very like the wavy, thick curls that ran down her mother’s back, that smothered Izzy in the smell of her shampoo and perfume. 

“It is a big deal,” Izzy whispers. “It’s wrong, to make someone kiss you. It’s wrong. It-... it hurts them. It matters what they want, too.”

“Ugh. It's just a kiss. You’re bonkers, you know that?" Henry leans over, almost in her space, and Izzy sits back as far as she can until she presses her back hard into her chair, enough to hurt. “Absolutely mad.” 

“No, I’m not,” Izzy mumbles, but panic twists even worse inside her. Is she? Her mom is. Isn’t she? Don’t you have to be, to be evil? Dr. Marty says no, that those two things are totally separate and people are just bad at understanding that people can be really, really, really bad and still be sane - that bad people almost always are - and Dr. Marty knows everything about crazy and not-crazy, that’s his whole job, and she’s not like her mother anyway, she’s not. 

“Are so,” Henry taunts, falling easily into the familiar cadence of mockery, and Izzy’s face burns brighter and hotter as the room begins to fall quiet, other conversations falling away as the others realize there might be some entertainment now. Her breath comes faster, and she closes her hands into fists at her side, fighting to control the way the fear and a new rise of anger start to twist around inside her stomach, making it flip, making her feel sick. “You’re bonkers for sure, Izzy Gallagher.”

“I-I’m not. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not! It’s not right to kiss people who you don’t know if they want to or not! It’s not!”

The room feels suddenly too small, and too big - she can’t escape Henry’s bean-breath and she can’t run far enough to get to the door, she can’t run at all. Some small voice inside her demands she stay still, shut her mouth, never talk again. She should have just finished her book, seen how the Prince would escape the Queen of the Underland, seen if the children help him or just weigh him down, one more bit of stone tying him to Underland and maybe he wishes he could just leave them behind, if they bother him, if they’re no good-

“Ewwwww, who would want to kiss Izzy?” A girl near her wrinkles her nose - Lindsey Smith, Izzy’s brain supplies, in an airless dizzy spin of details that aren’t important but she can’t stop circling around. “She looks like a boy.”

“Hey, back off.” Izzy, surprised, glances over her shoulder to find Noah Hawkins looking up from his own book, eyes narrowed. “Izzy’s hair is cool, and it’s cooler than yours anyway, Lindsey-kins. You just wish you looked as good as she does.”

“Shut up! You just say that because you’re a boy, of course you think boy hair looks cool.” Lindsey sticks her tongue out, crossing her arms in front of herself. She has big poofy hair like Izzy’s would be if she didn’t have her dad cut it so short, held back with a clip. Hers is red, though.

“There’s no such thing,” Sarah says from over by the window. “As boy or girl hair, I mean. There’s no such thing. It’s all just hair. Izzy’s hair does look cool. You all should leave it alone, Mrs. Brent is going to be back inside any second and we’ll all get in trouble if there’s fighting.”

“Yeah, Izzy,” Henry hisses at her, leaning in close. Too close. She forgets how to breathe. “Stop causing trouble, Izzy.”

“I’m not,” Izzy whispers. Her face feels like it might light on fire. Her fingernails dig into her palms, until she feels flashes of pain, creating crescents that could take hours to fully fade if she did it hard enough. “I was-... I was just-”

“Just butting in where you don’t belong,” Henry finishes for her. “It’s not your business.”

“It’s-... but, but I just-” Her voice is fading fast, airy and breathless, barely a whisper. Quiet little Izzy Gallagher, who never stands up for herself, who lets everyone talk to her like this, who never says a word she isn’t asked to say. Her fear batters her with wings inside her chest, but beneath it is something else entirely, trying to rise up and take over her mind and mouth. Anger. She and Dr. Marty had talked about it, about how it was a normal feeling to feel, but every swell of it within her was met by the rising tide of fear in response.

She never lets herself be angry. That would make her like her mother, who was angry so much, and she’s not like that, she’s not. 

She doesn’t think, in the moment, that her mother isn’t the only parent who knows how to be angry.

The thoughts are not conscious. They aren’t driven by any kind of logic, they loop and swirl around each other. They flash bright like light in the back of her mind. She thinks about the story, the book inside her desk, the way the Prince fell upon the silver chair, how he swung his sword in dim light. 

She thinks about the prince walking out the hotel doors with a baby in one arm and a little girl on his hip, a backpack heavy against his back, into the sunlight outside. She can remember the way he breathed quick and shallow against her hair, the racing of his heart as he asked her to be very quiet, and very brave. She didn’t know he was scared, he didn’t say it, he was just the Prince, shining in the sunlight, asking for directions to the train station and going in a suit to court later and the silver gave way before the sword’s edge like string, and in a moment a few twisted fragments, shining on the floor, were all that was left of the chair. 

“But-but-but-but, I just-” Henry is still going, and Izzy’s eyes burn as hot as her face, lips pulling back from her teeth in a grimace like a snarl. “Just shut up, Izzy Gallagher, nobody cares what you think.”

“Don’t be a dick, I care,” Noah says, from the back of the room, his voice getting louder, now. Other students whoop and go ooooh, Noah likes Izzy, but Noah ignores them, and he doesn’t turn even a little bit red. “Izzy hasn’t done anything wrong to you.” She barely knows Noah, he’s in her class but they don’t talk or anything. This is the first time he’s done more than help her with a math problem, this is the first time she’s heard him even talk in class without the teacher calling on him.

But it feels good to have somebody else stand up for her. 

“She’s butting in!” Henry protests, hands up like he’s the innocent one. “Kevin and I were just talking-”

“About kissing Karissa Bellweather!” Izzy half-shouts. “From the other class! You were talking about kissing someone even if she doesn’t want to! You said you would even if she said no! That’s not right!”

“Ew,” Someone says, Izzy doesn’t know who. Her blood is rushing in her ears almost too loud to hear. “Do you like-like Karissa Bellweather, Henry?”

“No! I don’t!” Henry looks stricken. He hadn’t expected her to just say it out loud like that to everybody. “Gallagher’s lying! She’s a liar!”

“I’m not! I’m not a fucking liar!” Her voice is too loud and she claps her hands over her mouth. Don’t cry, she thinks to herself, and her own thought-voice twists into her mother’s sharper edges. Her palms ache and she wonders if her nails have broken skin, but the wonder is faint, and faded. She feels a hand pressed against the back of her neck, the Queen of the Underland’s voice beside her ear. Don’t cry, Bella. You’re so ugly when you cry. Jax, get her out of my sight. 

“Fuck off,” Izzy says, voice trembling. She isn’t really talking to Henry, not anymore. “Leave-... leave me alone.”

“Oooh, what’re you gonna do, huh? Gonna throw some punches?” Kevin is too close on the other side, now. They’re both too close. Izzy’s heart beats all out of time, and when she goes to breathe, it… it doesn’t work. Her breath is stuck in her throat, halfway down. The air just… sits there, and she can’t hitch it in or exhale it. It feels like her throat is closing up, she’ll choke on nothing, black out and fall down. “Bonkers Izzy Gallagher, gonna fight us, are you?”

“I-I could-” Her voice is a whimper, and Izzy closes her eyes. 

“Could not,” Henry mocks, from his side of her. “You’re weak as a puppy. What are you gonna do?”

“Stop-... stop you from talking anymore,” Izzy says, and pushes her chair back with a loud scrape, getting to her feet. She should tell Dr. Marty about the book, she thinks, about the Queen of the Underland. She should tell her father about the Prince tied to the chair, and how he chopped the chair to bits, and she should tell them all about it, nice and safe and quiet at home, and not do what she’s afraid she’s going to do instead.

“How, gonna use something you learned from your mam in prison?” Henry asks, and Izzy remembers, all at once, how to breathe - but it’s all poison. She gulps in air, fear sparking up, her nerves feel like a hundred thousand tiny lightning strikes. She wants to run but she’s at school and there isn’t anywhere to go. 

“Wh-what?”

“My dad says your mam’s famous in the States for being in prison,” Henry says, leaping on this new tactic as the blood drains from Izzy’s face. He’s like animals on the nature shows that James likes to watch at home with their snack, circling a calf all alone. She’s a wounded baby calf, she’s weighing the herd down, she’s not strong or brave enough, she never was. “Did she teach you how to prison-fight? Ooooh, did she show you how to make a-” He jabs at the air, fist closed empty around an imaginary knife. “A prison-blade?”

“Shiv,” Kevin supplies helpfully.

“Right, that. Did your mam show you how to shank someone?”

“I don’t-... I don’t talk to my mom,” Izzy says, half-strangled by her own words. Her head is spinning. Her backpack is so far away. “We don’t-... we don’t have contact-... she doesn’t talk to me, isn’t allowed-”

“Oh, ew.” Henry sits back, and his face lights up with the simple cruelty of wounding someone who looks unable to fight back, of regaining his own stability and distracting everyone from his embarrassment by bringing up Izzy’s shame instead. “Are you so awful even your mam doesn’t want to talk to you?”

No. She doesn’t. Izzy’s lip trembles. She can’t bring herself to try and respond. She doesn’t, she doesn’t want to know anything about me at all. The last thing my mom ever said to me was yelling at me not to look so scared all the time and Dad said she never asked about me when he talked to her during the trial she never asked she never-

“Hey, Henry,” Someone says. “This is super gross stuff to say, isn’t it?” Izzy can’t see anything but Henry’s face, everything else is white noise and his words ringing through her, settling too deeply inside, meeting her own thoughts that match them, sometimes, on hard days. She never asked about me, she doesn’t even care that I hate her. Your mam is supposed to care if you hate her. You’re so awful your mom doesn’t even care about you. Your mam is supposed to-

“Yeah, Henry. That’s too far, that’s really mean.”

“She can’t help who her mam is, Hen.”

“Yeah, it’s not like she went to the mam shop and picked a rubbish one.”

“My dad was away for a while, Iz, I get it. My mam says it doesn’t say anything about us. People make bad choices is all.”

“I haven’t even seen my dad since I was five, Izzy, it’s okay, don’t be sad.”

“Yeah, it’s okay, Izzy, don’t be sad, Henry’s just being awful.”

“Hey, she was awful first!”

“Go run up a pole, Henry. I like you, Izzy,” Sarah says, from the window, and moves in her direction. “Henry’s being a jerk, don’t listen to him. Don’t be sad. It’s okay.”

“I like you, too, you’re fun at break, you always have good ideas for games.” That’s Amira, using that certain kind of tone you use when you are trying to comfort an upset person, and Izzy feels some of the ice closing around her heart starting to warm up, to melt, to crack apart. 

Even Lindsey says, almost grudging, “Don’t be sad because of Henry, Izzy. He’s really mean sometimes.”

“I think you’re really cool,” Noah says, in a quieter voice. “Please don’t be sad. Want to play monsters at break?”

They don’t all hate her, they don’t. Someone puts a hand at her back, and she flinches, and they pull the hand away, but they don’t hate her for pulling away, they don’t hate her voice or her hair and they don’t hate her for speaking up, they don’t. 

Henry hasn’t given up, not yet. “Your mam’s in prison for being a shit to your dad, isn’t she?” 

Izzy doesn’t look at him, leaning down to pull the book out of her desk, trying to think. She can pull her backpack out and go the nurse, say she’s feeling sick, and maybe her dad will come get her and take her home. They can call Dr. Marty and she can tell him what happened and Dr. Marty will know what to tell her and her dad to work on for the next time. She can tell him that there were good things, too, like that Noah said he thinks she’s cool, and Amira likes her game ideas, and not everybody hates her because she has the wrong mom, and it’s going to be okay. 

It’s going to be okay.

“Henry, stop it,” She says, in a half-whisper. “Please stop.”

She can go to the nurse. Say she’s sick, it’s not a lie, her stomach is all twisted up in knots. It’ll be true, she’s not going to feel better. She has sweat on her forehead drying cold, making her shiver a little. It’s not a lie, being scared makes her sick, it’s a real sick, it’s not a lie. She gets sick a lot from being scared, Dr. Marty says it’s normal for kids who have anxiety, she has exercises to do, she can picture all her hurting thoughts and move them away, and… 

“That’s what my dad said.” Henry’s voice cuts in. “He said your mam’s a piece of fucking work and probably made your dad one, too-”

“Don’t talk about my dad!” She rounds on him, then, book clutched to her chest. “Don’t you dare, you don’t-... you don’t have any right! You don’t know what happened, you don’t know us, you don’t know anything! My dad is better than yours ever could be! And, and stronger, and braver, too!”

Izzy Gallagher, quiet as a mouse, teacher’s pet from sheer terrified inaction, who always sits still and listens carefully and takes direction so well and is just an absolute pleasure to have in class, Mr. Gallagher, an absolute pleasure, is shouting and doesn’t realize it until the words have left her mouth. 

She should stop, some part of her brain begs her to stop, but the anger is suddenly larger than the fear and she is a little girl with a sword. Where they came from, and what she and her father and her little brother have survived, is a silver chair she will hack to bits until all that’s left shines like jewelry when held up to the light.

Henry’s eyes widen, they are big saucers, and they are very bright and very blue.

“My dad is amazing.” She can’t stop shouting. She’s not even trying to stop any longer. “He lived through really bad stuff and he still got us away from it! Even though it would have been easier to go by himself and leave us, he didn’t, and my mom is evil, and I’m not, because you don’t have to be what your mom is and I’m not ever going to be like that, but you are evil, Henry Fitzgerald, and you don’t even have an excuse! You’re-... you’re mean for no reason, and I hope Karissa spits in your face and kicks you between your legs as hard as she fucking can! You are an asshole, Henry Fitzgerald, and you can go fuck yourself all the way home!”

“Isabella Gallagher!” Mrs. Brent’s voice is shocked, and the words die in Izzy’s throat, as she slowly turns to see the teacher standing in the doorway, staring at her like she’d grown three heads and all of them have fangs. 

Izzy feels like she has fangs, too. And claws, like she is a monster herself. She should be scared, or sad, or ashamed of herself, but all she feels is anger burning bright and hot and good in her veins, louder than fear. Angry feels safer than scared. She feels proud of herself, a feeling so unfamiliar it seems like it must be someone else’s. Sarah, close to her now, whispers, go Izzy, in a soft impressed voice, and Izzy feels her eyes burn again, more than before, but for a different reason. 

They don’t hate her, and Henry isn’t saying bad things about her dad any longer, because of her. They don’t hate her.

“You might be even cooler now,” Amira says, and the teacher shushes all of them and points Izzy out, telling her to go see the Head Teacher. Any other Izzy would slink out with her shoulders hunched, full of fear, but this Izzy feels the buzz of standing up for herself running through her and warming all the cold, chasing the heavy hand on her neck away. This Izzy walks with her chin up and her shoulders back.

Some of the warm feeling goes away when the Head Teacher calls her dad to come get her, and says in her stern hard voice that Izzy was yelling and cursing at another student. The Head Teacher doesn’t say that she had a reason, and makes it sound like Izzy just stood up and started cursing for no reason at all. That’s… that’s not fair. Grown-ups always do that, make it seem like kids just go off for no reason, and Izzy can’t hear what her dad says back to the Head Teacher, but a lot of the warm feeling goes away, then. Her heart feels cold and scared again.

What if he’s mad at her?

What if she can’t be sorry enough to fix it?

Izzy sits in a hard wooden chair that is shaped all wrong for kids and makes her legs hurt after a while, waiting for him to come get her with a racing heart, her book open in her lap. 

There’s some brown-y red smeared on the cover, drying. She made her palms bleed when she was scared and didn’t even notice. She’ll ask her dad to buy the school library a new one. She wants to keep this one for herself.

"I have come," said a deep voice behind them. They turned and saw the Lion himself, so bright and real and strong that everything else began at once to look pale and shadowy compared with him. And in less time than it takes to breathe Jill forgot about the dead King of Narnia and remembered only how she had made Eustace fall over the cliff, and how she had helped to muff nearly all the signs, and about all the snappings and quarrellings. And she wanted to say "I'm sorry" but she could not speak. Then the Lion drew them towards him with his eyes, and bent down and touched their pale faces with his tongue, and said:

"Think of that no more. I will not always be scolding. You have done the work for which I sent you into Narnia."

"Please, Aslan," said Jill, "may we go home now?"

"Yes. I have come to bring you Home," said Aslan.

A flash of gray, worn jeans in her vision brings her slowly into awareness of the world around her, but it’s the voice that breaks her completely from the story’s spell. 

“Talk to me, kiddo.”

Izzy looks up to meet her father’s eyes, surprised - she hadn’t even heard him come up. But they’re quiet movers, the Gallaghers - except for Jamie, who never had to learn to move so quiet she couldn’t hear him, who never had to push down all his sounds so deep inside himself he could go whole days without making any at all. 

Her dad drops into a crouch in front of her, and his knees crack a little, but if it bothers him he doesn’t show it. He looks up at her, from this angle, and he doesn’t look mad.

He almost never looks mad at her.

“I got a call that you were fighting in class.” He looks like he’s trying not to twitch a smile at the corner of his mouth. “And using some pretty creative language.”

“Can’t imagine where I learned to curse,” Izzy says gravely, and there - that was definitely a smile on his face that he has to hide as fast as it shows. She lives for her father’s smile. Still, she closes her book, and folds her hands on top of the stain on the cover so he won’t see it. “I only yelled a little. Henry Fitzgerald was mean to me, and he was going to-... he was going to kiss a girl who didn’t want him to kiss her, even if she didn’t want him to. He said it didn’t matter if she wanted to or not.”

“Ah.” It’s all he says, at first. His face doesn’t show much, now. Her nervous heart starts to beat fast again.

“It’s, that was, um, that was before he got mean. He got mean when I told him that it’s wrong to do that and… I kind of… told everybody in class he was going to.”

Her father’s eyebrows raise, a little. “You did, did you?”

“Yes. Then he said his dad told him my mom’s in prison and that-” She stops herself, closing her hands tightly over the book, before her voice can start to shake again. She takes deep breaths, strong ones, fills her whole lungs up. Her dad waits for her, he always waits for Izzy when she needs him to. “He said, it was just, it was a stupid thing, but it made me really angry.”

Her dad’s face hasn’t changed, but Izzy knows when emotions change in a room, even without anyone’s face moving at all. She can feel that something has shifted inside him, something he’s not showing her. “What did he say?” 

“That I must be awful if my mom doesn’t even want to talk to me.” She says it flat, like it doesn’t bother her at all to hear it. No big deal, it’s normal to have a mother who hates you for stealing your father even though it didn’t happen that way. “Then he said mean stuff about you, and… I was already upset, so… I kind of went off on him. I’m sorry you got called and had to come get me.”

“But you’re not sorry you did it,” He says, and it’s not a question.

She presses her lips tightly together, and shakes her head. “I’m… I’m not. He needed to be yelled at. I’m not sorry, Dad. I mean, I am sorry that you have to do anything, but, I’m not-... sorry for calling him all those names and I will put my money from my birthday in the swear jar if you want, I’ll skip tea for a week and put all my chocolates in there, but I still won’t be sorry for yelling when he was mean about you.”

He huffs a sound like quiet laughter and offers her his hands. “Izzy… I don’t care what a year three kid - or his dad - says about me. But clearly it was important to you. Let me go in there and talk to the Head Teacher about it, and we’ll talk out what happens next on our way home. Okay?”

No anger, or threatening punishments, no mention of discipline ever leaves his slightly smiling lips. Izzy is never taught through making her afraid, not anymore. But he waits, seriously, for her to acknowledge what he’s said. 

“Okay, Dad. We’ll talk about what I need to do. And-... can we call Dr. Marty when we get home? I-... want to talk to Dr. Marty about what happened.”

He looks surprised, but not unhappy about it, and nods. “Yeah, kiddo. Good plan. I’ll be back out in just a bit.” When he turns to walk into the Head Teacher’s office, she thinks that even with everything, he looks very like a grown-up prince, and the rings in his ears look like shredded silver. 

She lifts a hand to touch the shell of her own ear, on her left side. 

Izzy opens her book, to the murmur of their voices as they talk about her. She decides to finish it later, and instead she flips back to read again the bit where the prince takes his sword to the chair that kept him under the spell and tells the evil Queen of Underland that he isn’t hers any longer. 

He will go home, to his family, to be freed of her entirely, even if she still shows up in bad dreams… bad dreams are the only place she can come to, now. He’ll wake up and someone will tell him that she’s gone and she can’t come back, and it will be true. They’ll tell him, again and again, until he believes it. 

Izzy will tell her dad, until he believes it.

Jax will tell her, until she believes it, too.

But first… 

Prince Rilian shivered as she spoke to him. And no wonder: it is not easy to throw off in half an hour an enchantment which has made one a slave for ten years. Then, speaking with a great effort, he said:

"Madam, there will be no more need of that chair. And you, who have told me a hundred times how deeply you pitied me for the sorceries by which I was bound, will doubtless hear with joy that they are now ended for ever. There was, it seems, some small error in your Ladyship's way of treating them. These, my true friends, have delivered me. I am now in my right mind, and there are two things I will say to you…”

“Go fuck yourself,” Izzy whispers with a smile on her face and the thrill of forbidden words up her spine. She isn’t talking to Henry Fitzgerald this time, either. She never really was. “And I’m not sorry you’re not Queen anymore at all.”

---

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @wildfaewhump @whump-tr0pes @moose-teeth @orchidscript @sableflynn @pretty-face-breaker @raigash @vickytokio @eatyourdamnpears

#and here we have #izzy fucking gallagher #bullying tw #childhood bullying tw #panic attack tw #ableist insult #gendered insult #referenced noncon kissing #it's kids talking about it #class roundly rejects it #crowning moment of badass #trauma response #child ptsd tw #anger as trauma response #child of whumpee #whump #the catharsis of writing this out was immense #I've used that tag a few times for Izzy but it's so true #writing someone taking on their childhood bullies is like going into the attic #and shaking something out until all the dust that grew there was gone #there is a reason izzy took me over in january #referenced past child abuse