#real signs that someone really found value or safety or usefulness in a setting. places can be well-loved just like stuffed animals

[thequietmanno1]

Thelreads, Vigilantes 76, Replies Part 1

1) “But I am excited to see how he`s gonna solve that problem, so, let`s get started with Chapter 76: Deadly Weapon.

Oh we finally gonna give Koichi an actual gun?”- Koichi: I am the Gun! Hell, If I learn how to refine this trick, I’ll be the whole damn arsenal! 2) “No Koichi, that is what we like to call “The Knuckle Cave”, it has been a considerable time since we last saw it to be honest. I do hope Knuckles left the fun toys around, we definitely need to let someone like Soga have a gun, right?”- Sadly, Soga being the ostensible leader and ‘planner’ of this group means that he has the functioning braincell, and is thus conscious of a little something called ‘gun safety’. Rap and Muyo though, those guys have even odds of an accident during this training montage, or whenever they try to actually use these guns in the field. 3) “Okay, now where`s the locker with the fun toys? Koichi may have a built-in gun but his is too weak, we need to give him a shotgun and let him go wild.”- Turns out, it’s only weak because he’s been intentionally setting his bullets to ‘stun’ this whole time. The amount of times you realise Koichi could have blown holes in his opponents like a human drive-by shooting… 4) “Now, you know, he could`ve said that in the letter to be honest. What else did he “say” that wasn’t included in that? His bank account? His Netflix account? The name of that hero that was his friend? So many things we still don`t know.”- I wouldn’t put it past him to have a few secret accounts with stashed funds should things go haywire down the line, and apparently, he left Soga with the master key access to it all. Like it or lump it, Soga is now Koichi’s ‘guy in the chair’ with all the support gear and awareness of where the necessary essentials for vigilantism come from. 5) “Yeah, our old papa was in on some serious shit, wasn’t he? Funny, because you figuring out how much deep into hunting for his daughter he was, how much he kept from you guys even though you trusted him above all else, it would be the perfect place to have a broken pedestal.”- Well, it’s not like Koichi was unaware that Knuckle had a shit-ton of secrets he kept from him – he even got to see a little bit of it with his ‘civilian identity’ trick for his mom. It’s just that, unlike Izuku and his issues with All Might hiding the past of OFA and All For One until he found out some other way, Koichi never really cared about that stuff. He knew Knuckle had some stuff he wanted to handle himself, and he valued the lessons that he did leave him with. Just because he’s finding out that Knuckle had a lot more behind his seemingly-brash actions doesn’t meant that Knuckle didn’t leave him with some valuable lessons he wouldn’t have picked up from somebody else. (Vigilantes ch 3)

6) “And the database of active drug users that Knuckleduster Sr. and knuckleduster Jr. are setting up is starting to grow, they need the info, they need to make the connections. I’m hoping for a board with pictures and strings at some point.”-Wish Granted.

7) “He was keeping tabs on his actions as well, he needed to be sure when something was his fault or if it could be signs of a trigger-user going rampage. I`m surprised that he never came back to take down this, after Tamao was safe, or at least to give the keys to Koichi.

Like, for real, he didn’t knew that the Queen was still out there, he thought he killed the parasite, why did he handed it to Soga? “- The queen was just a pawn, and he wanted to try and stop the masters moving her around the chessboard, or at least figure out enough of what the game was to upset it. But the things about AFO’s machinations is that they’re labyrinthine. Even if he’s not directly involved with this trigger experimentation himself, and it’s just a sub-set of his overall Machiavellian schemes, he’s still set events up so that they’re able to escape scrutiny unless ones knows what to look for, and in the unlikely event that this particular game is exposed, he can just drop the whole thing and escape with the benefits of the research, leaving the overseers to bear the brunt of the heroes’ assault. Maybe he planned to get enough info out of Nomura to follow the clues to figure out enough of a picture of what AFO’s goals were, but in any case, he knew taking the Queen and his twisted counterpart down wouldn’t really inconvenience the real target of his hunt. And given AFO’s implied spy network and ability to know things he shouldn’t, leaving the keys to his operation to a 2-bit hoodlum he barely has a relationship with rather than his direct successor limits the chances of somebody coming along and trashing this small base and resources before Koichi has need of them. That said, I was impressed by Koichi’s insight here. It’s not to Izuku’s level, and mainly aided by his insight into his master, but he dissects this wall of information and what it means quite quickly, including down to when Knuckle stopped updating it. Taking his hero antics more seriously seems to have increased Koichi’s intelligence. We can only hope one day he gets close to Knuckle’s level, aided by his Quirk’s true capabilities as a fallback option for when his own planning falls short. 8) “That`s good to know, we are well-aware that Pop was a very important member of the team, both with reconnaissance and directing civilians out of harm`s way, but I like to see that knuckles knew of her importance.”-Having lost his original power, Knuckle had to make full use of every available resource and tactic available to him, even the ones that didn’t directly allow him to put his fist into evil’s face. “9) Now, I do wonder how you came to that conclusion Koichi. The part about jumping could be sort of inferred from the drawings, but how are you sure they aren’t faster?”- It seems that his insight into Knuckles is allowing him to pick up on subtle clues in the drawings that we can’t see, or it could be that Knuckles secretly educated him somewhat on his preferred tactics and mentality through on-field experience, meaning he’s understanding the drawings because he knows how Knuckles would usually react to a target, and what would force him to alter his strategy accordingly. Soga might be the one running this show at the moment, but when Koichi gets the confidence to start making his own plan of attack, he might surprise himself by how good he’ll be at it.

10) “Alright, Anti-Air artillery it is then. I`m sure Knuckle has a Flak gun laying around here somewhere.”- Wouldn’t you know it, we have a guy with both flight and blasting capability right here, who doesn’t even need to be encumbered by a heavy weapon to fulfil the same function.

11) “Alright, I`m just being an ass now, we`ve not even got to see what the plan is actually going to be, those are just the main components of said plan.”- Like building a house, you build a plan of attack by sketching out the solid foundations to make it feasible, then add on realistic details and costs involved until it becomes a possibility in reality

12) “ Also, what you mean by tests? Koichi knows how to shot a gun, he already killed before, unfortunately it was off-screen during the timeskip, what a shame we skipped it, but then again, it wasn`t even important anyway”- Yeah, he does know how to shoot to kill, but thanks to Pop getting it into his head that was not the preferred tactic to deal with criminals, he’s gotta brush up on his beginner’s skill with that, then rapidly improve that to a passable level for a life-or-death shootout.

13) “Anyway, are we going to go over his powers again, in case someone forgot what they were due to the timeskip? That`s good, it might give a general idea of how much he improved during

the two years we haven`t seen him being a vigilante

and all that”- That, and also to help Koichi face the self-limitations he’d unconsciously placed on himself, Just like his mom making him forget he could fly, Koichi’s actual true potential is vastly more flexible and powerful that he put into practice, and with these guys pushing him further beyond than he’s gone before, we’re finally at a point where we can see what Koichi would be like as a hero in a life-or-death situation.

14) “Huh. That seems considerably faster than he was before we jumped ahead. Sure, he was already a human bullet, but I think he surpassed the likes of Tensei by a considerable margin.”- Kinda? It’s a bit unclear, but Tensei would likely have the edge in a short-range sprint down a straight line, with faster base acceleration and longer running times that Koichi can keep up, But Koichi has tigher handling of his power and has gradually been improving the speed he can move himself at for longer periods- and that’s not even counting his jumping and climbing abilities for vertical movements as well. @thelreads

#bnha #bnha vigilantes #my hero academia #thelreads #chapter replies #vigilantes 76

[andypantsx3]

statistically significant | 1 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

Last year

You had been ferreting snacks out of the Hero Awards when he found you.

In retrospect, the whole idea of attending the Hero Awards had been a bad one from the get go. You’d just been so thrilled by the image of it in your head--getting to see all your favorite pros gathered in one place, dressed to the nines, celebrating their rankings, their wins, their saves, their successes. You’d pictured yourself flitting between heroes, collecting autographs and taking selfies, sitting down at a table with big names like Uravity and Froppy, making fast friends over the complimentary champagne.

But then you’d seen what really went into preparing for and attending an event like this, and the shine had quickly rubbed off.

When your boss at the Commission had extended you the invite, she’d told you that you would be representing the organization, and had advised you to contract a makeup artist and find someone willing to dress you. Her tone had strongly implied that this was more of an order than a suggestion. So you’d done it, but nobody had told you exactly how many hours went into getting your makeup tested, getting fitted and refitted for a dress, and fielding questions on cut, colors, fabrics, and fit.

By the time the Awards rolled around, you’d lost upwards of forty excruciating hours of your life to preparations, and had developed some kind of anxiety-induced Pavlovian response to the modiste’s name on your phone screen, where you immediately wanted to leap into the nearest storage closet and hide. And none of this was even counting the five full hours you spent on the day of the awards getting primped and polished within an inch of your life, then stuffed into some ridiculous scrap of fabric that threatened to fall off of you if you so much as breathed wrong.

By the time the stylists and makeup artist had finished with you, you were starved, cranky, and nursing a small migraine from how enthusiastic the hairdresser had been with you. You’d thought, though, that you would finally be able to enjoy yourself now that the worst was over. All there was left was to attend the ceremony, and get to see all your favorite heroes.

And for an hour or two, the Hero Awards had been just as cool as expected. You lingered on the fringes of the red carpet, gawking as pros like Chargebolt and Pinky swanned their way down the walkway, looking even cooler in real life than they looked on TV. Everyone had clearly gone all out, and they looked unbelievably good, either inhumanly beautiful or inhumanly intimidating. You had been utterly transfixed, as evidenced by the inordinate amount of time you spent accidentally staring at Todoroki Shouto as he gave an interview to the side of the walkway, looking absolutely unreal as he leaned over to speak to the reporter.

When you’d finally managed to snap out of your trance, you’d remembered to cut a beeline for the snack table, and had set about stuffing as many snacks into your dress as you could manage. And that’s where the trouble really started.

The invite to the Awards had come with the option for a very fancy multi-course dinner that you could have chosen. Instead, you’d taken one look at the price and laughed yourself sick, before resolving to sneak a bunch of the free snacks into your dress to keep you occupied during the ceremony. The problem was, the scrap of fabric the modiste had insisted was a dress was so obnoxiously flimsy and could only hold so many snacks.

If your dress had been able to hold a reasonable number of snacks, you wouldn’t have needed to sneak back out to the snack table during the presentation, and he would have never had a chance to catch you on your own. But the dress was lacking snack utility, and so you had gone back out for more.

You kept low in the aisle as you crept out of the darkened theater, keeping a hand over your chest so you didn’t spill out of the thin fabric of your dress, and emerged into the reception hall, where you were almost blinded by the harsh light. You stood for a minute, blinking the spots out of your vision, and touched a hand to your eyes, careful not to smear any of your eyeliner.

And that’s when he struck.

Almost as soon as you raised your hand, a rough hand seized your wrist, wrenching your arm down. A heavy arm went around you quickly, trapping both your arms to your sides, and you barely had time to let out a squeak before a calloused hand clapped over your mouth. Your feet left the floor, and then you were being dragged through a side door into the stairwell.

You twisted wildly, kicking out, trying to catch the wall or the railing to push off of and throw your assailant off balance, but he was strong, and clearly well-versed in combat, as he kept you well away from anything you could use to your advantage. He hauled you out into the stairwell, but instead of heading down the stairs, he moved towards the corner. To your surprise, he tossed you unceremoniously against the wall, letting you go.

You caught yourself on the rough stone and whirled around, only to reel back in shock when you caught sight of your assailant.

Bakugou Katsuki, perhaps better known as pro hero Ground Zero, leaned over you, trapping you against the wall with an arm on either side of you. He, like all the other heroes you’d caught sight of today, looked almost unreal in person, but in stark contrast to all the others, his handsome face was twisted up in unmistakeable fury, blood-red eyes bright with violence and white teeth bared in a silent snarl. Even under the thick fabric of his suit, you could see the hard lines of his body were taught with aggression, and it was all you could do to not shrink back against the cold stone of the wall.

“So,” he snarled, leaning in to put his face close to yours, “you’re the fucking statistics nerd.”

You gaped at him, mouth falling open. Your professional title was data scientist, but statistics nerd was a close enough descriptor that you could tell he knew who you were. Your brows went up, wondering why in the world Ground Zero knew you.

“E-excuse me?” you managed. Your brain rapidly kicked into high gear, running through possible reasons why he would know you, what he could possibly want with you.

Bakugou snarled. “What the fuck is your problem with me?”

You stared at him. Problem with him? Other than the fact that he’d just seized you with no warning and dragged you into a stairwell, you had no problem with him. You’d never even met him--what the hell was he talking about?

“Uh, do you maybe have me confused with someone else?” you asked, trying to shift out from under his arm. Maybe there was another data scientist milling around in the crowds that he’d meant to get his hands on instead.

Bakugou’s red eyes narrowed, and he put a hand to your abdomen to press you firmly back to the wall. “Oh no. You’re not getting out of this, you little brat. Fucking fix it.”

You eyed him warily, checking him for signs of a head injury, wandering over his shock of blonde hair and noting the size of his pupils. Maybe Bakugou had been out on assignment just before the Awards, and hadn’t stopped to get his injuries checked out before coming here. A blow to the head would explain why he was behaving so strangely, and asking for weird stuff.

“Fix what?” you asked, frowning when you couldn’t spot the signs of a concussion on him. His gaze seemed all too focused, all too intent. It was nerve-wracking, actually. You’d heard of his reputation for intensity before, but it was one thing to hear it and another entirely to have all that intensity trained on you.

Bakugou bared his teeth and leaned closer. “Your fucking nerd-ass model. Fix it.”

You froze.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh, this was about the model. You knew his bone to pick with the model.

The entire reason you’d received an invite to the Hero Awards in the first place was because of your work on the model that calculated the hero rankings. The model had existed for years before you had come along, but this year it was different.

You’d been hired a couple months ago by the Public Safety Hero Commission after you’d contacted them with an idea on how to finally calculate the value of field assists. You’d had a rough prototype of a neural network that you’d trained on video of multi-hero operations, tracking the movements of all the heroes on screen, and had developed an algorithm capable of assigning point values to moves that contributed to but did not directly result in a win or a rescue.

The Commission couldn’t get their hands on your work fast enough, and after only a few months refining your neural net, it was hooked into the rankings model, and it had informed not only the choices for Rescue of the Year and Most Valuable Hero this year, but had entirely changed the hero rankings overall.

And Bakugou’s ranking had been very much affected.

Bakugou Katsuki was a hero very unlike the world had ever seen. Anyone could see from his stats alone that he was incredibly driven, supremely powerful, and almost unmatched by any other hero out there. A few years out from UA, he’d already entered the top ten and had been mere breaths away from the top three -- that is, until your model results had been released.

The thing about Bakugou was that he had a higher percentage of fight wins than any hero in recorded history. He came out on top of almost any situation he entered into, and had one of the highest villain capture stats and the highest villain kill stat as compared to any other hero at this point in their career. The problem was, the new model also now took into account assists, as well as applied slightly heavier weights to rescues, and as good as Bakugou was at winning fights, he was almost equally as terrible at helping others.

So when your model had been worked into the Hero Commission’s official ranking calculations, Bakugou had backslid to sit unhappily at rank number eight.

And apparently, he thought this meant you had a personal grudge.

“Okay, I understand you’re upset, but the results are the results,” you said, watching him carefully. “It’s got nothing to do with you personally.”

His expression darkened thunderously, and the hand on your abdomen grew notably hotter, a scent like gunpowder and burnt sugar rising in the stairwell. “Like hell it doesn’t. Fucking fix it.”

Your brow furrowed. How did regular people think models worked? “There’s no ‘fixing it’, Bakugou. That’s just how math works. If you have a problem with how assists and rescues are weighted then you can take it up with the Commission. I just trained the model with their recommendations, and the results are what they are.”

Bakugou apparently registered none of what you were saying. Rough fingers slid to your jaw, tipping your face up to him. “What is it that you wanted, you damn brat? Did you want to see me humiliated? Or maybe you wanted my attention?” His fingers dug into your jaw. “Well now you have it, you fucking harpy, so show me what you wanted with it.”

You gaped at him, unable to help the way your mouth hung open like a fish. Did he think you were blackmailing him? With a fucking statistical model? It was a matter of public record that Bakugou was smart--he was purportedly one of the brightest minds that had ever graced the profession of hero, with strategic skill and combat sense that was utterly unparalleled--so then why the hell was he being so dumb about this? Was he really so self-absorbed that he thought this whole thing was about him?

Your temper flared, rising like the slow heat that was building under his hands. “I know this might be news to you,” you said slowly, “but not everything is about you. The model I trained takes in video as its input, and calculates rankings based on recommended weighting criteria that the Hero Commission gave me themselves. There is no place for me to input my own biases or change the results, so if the output is something that you’re ashamed of, then maybe you should do better.”

Bakugou’s eyes brightened, narrowing on you with an intensity that made you want to curl into the wall. “Say that again, you little fuck.”

You held your ground, ignoring the dangerous way the scent of hot smoke sharpened, leaning forward to bare your own teeth. “Maybe you should do better, you self-centered asshole.”

You were close enough that you could see his pupils dilate with the challenge, like a predator catching sight of its prey. An unsettling grin made its way across his mouth. “I am going to make you wish you’d never even seen a calculator, you smug fucking nerd,” he said, leaning into you.

The scent of gunpowder burned in the back of your throat, and the hands on you flared alarmingly hot, before the door to the hall burst open, and a whirlwind of red and yellow tore into the stairwell.

“Heya Blasty,” a voice chirped, echoing on the stairs, “Found ya.”

The shock of golden yellow resolved itself into the lean figure of Kaminari Denki, aka pro hero Chargebolt. He quickly made his way to Bakugou’s side, seizing an elbow.

“I’m busy, fuckstick. Fuck off,” Bakugou growled.

A large hand reached over Bakugou’s other shoulder to pull him off you, a head of gelled red spikes materializing behind his back, and you blinked up at Kirishima Eijirou, also known as Red Riot.

“Sorry about him,” Kirishima smiled down at you warmly, in direct contrast to the way his fingers dug into Bakugou’s shoulder. His teeth looked incredibly sharp in person, but this fact somehow failed to detract from the warmth of his friendly expression. You blinked, stunned that you were being addressed by Red Riot.

“He’s been a little worked up since the results were released, but he’s harmless,” Kirishima explained, grunting a little as he jerked Bakugou away from you. Bakugou snarled and turned to his friend, a small volley of sparks lighting off of his palm.

“I said fuck off,” he growled.

You let out a choked laugh at the idea of Bakugou Katsuki being called harmless. Just this week he’d perfected a technique where he melted clean through concrete, and you’d seen the replay of him liquifying the side of a skyscraper on the news this morning as you’d been getting your makeup done.

“Harmless, right. Definitely felt that way,” you uttered as Kirishima struggled to get a grip on Bakugou.

“I’ll fucking show you harmless,” Bakugou spat, turning back to you, sparks crackling louder in his palm. Kirishima seized his chance quickly, getting a bulky arm around Bakugou’s chest and lifting him straight off the ground. Bakugou snarled and gripped Kirishima’s forearm, letting off an explosion that would have blown anyone else’s arm clean off, but Kirishima just laughed, ignoring that the sleeve of his suit had caught fire, and hauled Bakugou back through the door.

A litany of swears filtered back through the door before it swung shut again.

Kaminari turned to face you, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry about that. We didn’t realize he was gonna come after you like that, though I don’t think he would have actually done anything. He’s pretty much all talk.”

You waved a hand, still stunned that Chargebolt was speaking to you.

“Uh, it’s okay,” you said. “I just...didn’t expect that kind of a reaction.”

Kaminari chuckled. “He’s usually a little more chill these days--I think he’s just pissed he’s losing to Midoriya now.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “I gotta say, though, he was even more worked up than I expected when we got here. What did you say to him?”

You grimaced, thinking back on the tense conversation. “That if he was ashamed of his ranking, he should do better.”

Kaminari choked. “Oh fuck, he must have been pissed,” he managed, before dissolving into peals of laughter. “Do better. No wonder he looked like he was gonna give himself a hernia. Mina’s gonna wet herself when I tell her.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “He thinks I altered the results to get his attention.”

Kaminari’s chuckles tapered off as he set a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Oh, he’s just saying that. He knows he’s shit at assists. He’s just salty he’s actually gotta do something about it if he wants to be number one.”

You thought back to the feeling of that hard body pressing you up against the wall, the disdain that had twisted his handsome face, the burning heat that had built up under his palms. A shiver went down your spine. It had seemed like he was a little more than salty, but if that’s how his friend wanted to put it, then fine.

“Well, thanks for the save anyway,” you said, giving Kaminari a little smile. “I’d definitely give you and Kirishima Rescue of the Year if I was pre-determining my results.”

Kaminari laughed, turning back to the door that Kirishima had dragged Bakugou through. As if on cue, a small boom sent the door swinging open a little. “Speaking of which, I’d better get back to make sure I don’t have to rescue the rescuer.”

He gave you a casual wave, then crossed to the door quickly. He hesitated at the threshold, then peeked back over his shoulder at you.

“By the way,” he said. “You might want to take a look at your dress. I, um, think Bakugou may have gotten a little carried away.”

He disappeared before you could ask what he meant, but a quick glance down clarified soon enough. Right on your abdomen, where Bakugou had pinned you against the wall, lay a scorched cut out, exactly in the shape of one large hand.

Your mouth dropped open in horror.

That fucking dick.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia #bnha #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #tw threats #tw gendered violence

[sloppy-butcher]

Waitin’ On a Superman -  Chapter 3 : Like Pulling Teeth

(The Hillbilly (Max Thompson Jr.) x female!reader)

notes: i just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and enjoy what i have managed to produce so far <3 its really helps me with my confidence and such

also i have made a spotify playlist of songs that i personally listen to when getting in the mood of the story. i would like to share it but only if yall would like to hear it ahaha  er anyway, thank you again <3 

Previous ; Next 

Pulling your head free from the grasp of the hay straws felt like something akin to being born. All at once you were alive again, breathing in the cool barn air having just awoken from the land of musky earth. It was refreshing; cleansing; jarring. The dream world fell away and noise and smell bombarded you, crashing in like unforgiving waves against a wayward boat. You were confused by your surroundings, head turning around frantic for clues, until your eyes landed upon familiar yellow and you remembered everything.

You remember walking. You remember the dog. And you remember him. 

It was brighter now, your mind more inclined to function as intended without fog or muck to slow production. You remember his voice, the sound of his heavy footsteps, the way in which he spoke and how he had helped you. Kindness, even small as his was, was such a rare oddity here, strangers only being associated with unforgivable violence and cruelty. But he was kind, offered you rest and protection where others would simply chase you out. It surprised you, more now than it did when it had occurred. How strange, how very strange indeed.

As you stood up from your make-shift bed, dusting stray straws off your jeans and t-shirt, a part of you started to construct a way of saying thank you to the man. Though you had nothing to give, nothing of material value, you somehow felt obligated to present to him your utmost appreciation for his generosity. It was an ingrained and practiced habit that consumed you until you started to focus more on the man himself.

You remember feeling oddly familiar with him - something about his voice perhaps? Or the way in which he walked and presented himself? Whatever it was, it triggered something from you, a deep, visceral response that made your stomach grow heavy with lead and your palms begin to sweat. And the more you tried to identify the specifics of your sudden upheaval, bringing it to the forefront of your attention, the heavier the response became and the more panicked you began to feel. Dread crept up your back and nestled into your shoulder whenever you thought about him. Something about trying to remember him made you feel … terrified. There was simply no other word to describe it. He terrified you. You just couldn’t understand why.

You were stuck at a crossroads. A part of you wanted to find the man and personally thank him for everything, to pay forward his kindness using gestures of companionship and see how far one could push this unique experience. The other part of you never wanted to meet the man ever again, demanding you flee at once and never looked back. Each road pulled at you, neither one able to one-up the other in strength and appeal thus leaving you at an uncomfortable, pointed balance. You rub your face with your hands, sighing as you tried to sway yourself to make a decision. You wished you were back asleep.

Nothing offered itself as assistance to your plea as you paced the barn and with no other option, you relented your fruitless battle and walked out into the night. Whatever will happen, will happen - whether that be you see him again or you finally manage to escape the corn-maze, you were going to meet it head-on regardless. 

You stood on the border of the clearing between the barn safety and the yellow ocean, gazing into the sweet abyss that had been devouring you for so long. You wanted to stay at the barn, at the only sign of land where you could not drown. But you remembered his warning and with a heavy sigh you set off. Without looking back you stepped out into the field, casting yourself once more off to sea, letting go of the red barn and allowing the wind to swallow you whole and carry you to wherever it wished. However, you had only been walking for a few minutes before you heard the heavy panting of the dog behind you. So this is what has been decided. No fighting it, no running.

“Hello again.” You stopped and breathed in, gathering your confidence in the face of the beast, willing yourself not to give in to the unjustified fear.  You had no reason to be so afraid, he had done nothing to you. Not yet. “I was hoping I’d find you again.” Your voice was calmer, collecting itself in idle conversation. You slowly, careful of quick movement so as not to frighten him or yourself, roll your head around your position, trying to spot any sign of the man hiding away. “I wanted to thank you for your generosity.”

“Did you sleep?” The man answered almost immediately, somewhat throwing you off balance. From how reserved and mild he was during the previous encounter you were sure you’d have to sweet talk him a little more to get him to open up. But his eagerness was not unwelcomed and you gave yourself over to talking.

“I did. On the hay pile in the barn. It was…” You paused from a moment, all cylinders in your brain firing in an attempt to find the appropriate word to describe your rest, “...great, I suppose.” At this he paused, probably to take in your response and work out a retort. In the silence something stirred, curling itself into your already weak stomach. You shooed it away and willed him to speak.

“Donny always liked the hay. It makes a good bed.” He said finally, drawing your mind away from the coldness in your palms and to his voice. You tilt your head at his mention of ‘Donny’. Was he referring to the same pig from the other night? Or in some weird way was he calling you ‘Donny’? For now you let the confusion slide and instead pushed on with the discussion.

“Do you not sleep?” You asked, your head continuing to timidly scan your surroundings. If he was opposed to your efforts to locate him, the man did not show it and without him actively stopping you, you endured without complaint. You practically heard the man shrug.

“Don’t try to.” He mumbled halfheartedly. 

“It's because you’re stuck, like me. Right?” His perplexed quiet was enough of an indicator for you to example yourself. “I mean, you’re stuck here in this corn field. Just like me. I may not know exactly how long I have been here but I know it’s been a while.” You look down at your hands, fingernails dirty from stains you could not remember getting. “I’ve been walking through this field forever and yet I never reach a fence. Or a house. Or anything.” Speaking your fears into life was somewhat cathartic for you, reaching out to this strange person with a hand trembling and unsure made you hope beyond reason that he could sympathize with your plea. To be human and experience and understand the toils of another as if they were your own. You lifted your eyes to the corn and towards the position where you guessed him to be. You smiled, lips chapped and cracking from the stretch but persevering regardless. It hurt you to grin, a gesture you had not partaken in for so long that you had almost forgotten how to even do it. You hoped that it at least looked more sincere than it felt.

“You are stuck.” The man replied in his ever gruff and rocky voice, like stones crashing around in an engine. “I am stuck sometimes. The corn is like mud. It sinks.” 

“Sometimes?” You inquire, an eyebrow lifting as your interest peaked. He grunted, sounding as if nodding with force.

“I can leave only when Boy is called. Called by the spider in the sky.” Suddenly, you jumped and gasped loudly.

“You know about that thing!?” You twirl on your feet, spinning around the corn looking for any hint of the man. Your eyes were ablaze with glory, ironic relief washing over your body at his words. Here you found another lost soul. Another person who could feel the sky pulsing and eating. Someone who knew that there was more to this world than just psycho killers wielding axes. “I thought I was the only one who could sense it! No one else at the campfire believed me when I said there was something up there.” Your victory waned at the mention of the campfire. Your smiling dwindled and your movement stopped, eyes clouded and downcast. The campfire? The others. When was the last time you had seen them? The last time you had seen anyone for the fact? You could barely remember their faces. They were all a blur like mist on a foggy bathroom mirror, there were faces but no details. Names but no meaning. You suddenly felt very lonely and longed to go back to that horrible campfire with those equally horrible people. 

A most nasty habit that people had - the want to flock together like sheep. Though to be with people irked you, riding up with an ill-fitting pair of jeans on tender skin, there was no denying that your heart ached when it realized it was alone. You always said you liked being alone but you always hated being lonely.

“Will you walk with me?” Your voice was distant as your thoughts drifted back to the people waiting at the campfire, your tongue moving before your mind would react. “Will you walk with me to the fence?” In your stupor, the man’s reaction to your request went unnoticed. He was shocked, gawking at you with wide, disbelieving eyes and his mouth agape. He examined you from head to toe, tearing you apart with suspicious eyes, trying to uncover if you were attempting to hurt him or not. Was this some kind of joke? Were you going to laugh at him? You knew that there was no real fence, no true boundary to this place, and yet you wanted to exhaust yourself trying to find it? He was baffled by your ignorant persistence and resorted to studying you harder for any cracks in your outward appearance. Where he expected to find half-hidden malice, he only saw sadness. You were sad, he knew what it looked like on people. And it wasn’t fake sadness either, not the kind that people on the T.V wore when something bad happened. Yours was real, he could smell it. 

“I will walk with you. To the fence.” The man replied softly, speaking at a volume that was tentative and hesitant, a part of him still remaining apprehensive to your next actions. You raise your head at his confirmation, a glimmer of your former smile returning to your lips.

“Thank you.” You lowered your head in a meager bow and after a moment debating whether to let him lead or you, you walked off in a direction you presumed to be forward with the man setting off behind you.

All through the walk you racked your brain from conversation topics; lovely weather we are having? What do you think someone would do with all this corn? There were so many different options to choose from yet each fell flat when pitted against possibility. Try as you might, you just could not think of anything to say. It also did not help that that horrible, foreboding feeling had followed you out there, trailing you like a dark cloud. With the man so close your familiar fear kicked itself into overdrive. There was just something so recognizable about him, something dreadful and vile. But what? What about him had spooked you to this extent? Sure, his voice was raspy and congested and his breathing was that of a sleeping beast, but his words and the soft tones he used were all of that of a boy. A simple youth who bled this pure form of compassion and slowness. Such a contradicting feeling he gave off, to be the reason you wanted to flee yet drawing you in with a need to know more about him. You yearned for the talking of frivolous topics to distract you from the gnawing panic that resided in your stomach but the rivers ran dry of inspiration and you were left to walk in pitiful, heavy silence.   

In one last, desperate grab at distraction, you started to pay attention to his footsteps, a task made easier in the barren landscape of only corn and wind. His pace was loud and large, landing with each step in a heavy stomp. He must be very tall, you supposed. Or very big. The weight of the sound, after being taken into consideration, was not deemed as important to focus on when you noticed the odd rhythm he had. Instead of a consistent 1-2 pace that most people would have, the man had a rather jolted one. The space between thumps were uneven and gave you the impression that he had some kind of limp or poor leg. In a strange sense it almost sounded like a heartbeat.

Something flickered at your revelation. It was such a unique walk pattern that it triggered a memory in you, a vision of running and hiding away and the sound of a chainsaw. The fear flexed itself in your stomach. It did not help when the breeze shifted and you managed to catch a whiff of that previously undisclosed smell. His smell. The coppery smell of fresh blood. The coldness spread further, you mind reeling as the fingers of your panic threatened to grab you. You remember that walk. You remember that breathing. You remember that heartbeat.

You squeeze your eyes shut, mentally willing your body to calm down and stop racing to conclusions. Stop thinking about him. Stop thinking about the dog. Stop- 

You come to a sudden stop when you realize that he was not behind you anymore. Snapping your eyes open you were greeted by the sight of the dilapidated red barn and its open doors. Disappointment mingled with your fluttering chest, terror mixing well with despair in a deadly concoction.

“I really am stuck here.” You mumbled to yourself, hands falling from your arms to hang useless at your sides. “There really is no way out.”

“Not unless Donny is called.” The man, oblivious to your dawning anguish, muttered from somewhere to your right. Though you knew that ultimately that you were never going to find a way out of the fields and that even thinking about it would only cause misery, that moment when your feeble hope died you were sure your heart had stopped altogether. This was your eternity now, to barely be alive when drowned in yellow. Nothing to run for, nothing to fight towards. Listlessly you feel your body regain itself, standing tall at the edge of everything. If this was all there is, then what are you scared for?

“Donny can stay at the barn again. Boy will be here soon. Stay. Sleep and I will come back.” You heard the man shuffle to leave and before you could even think you shouted at him.

“Wait!” The world shook in the wake of your outburst, such volumes never being reached in this sea of feigned tranquility. “Wait please.” You exhale, finally feeling the full weight of the fear you had tried so fiercely to run away from, settle mercilessly upon your chest. “I know you.” With your eyes looking at the ground, you turn your head over your shoulder towards the man. “I know you so there is no need to hide anymore. If I am to be stuck here with you, I want to see your face. And know your name.” He did not respond right away, a part of you suspecting that he had simply left before you had even asked your question, unaware of everything. But you could still hear his breathing, coming now in hollow gasps. 

“No one likes my face.” He answered, voice surprisingly dangerous and bitter. You did not shy away from him however, did not give into the rising uneasiness of the mood. 

“But I already know you. And I don't remember not liking it.” That was a blatant lie and you wished that he could not see through it. There was a growl.

“No! No! No one likes my face!” He was shouting, angry words springing forth from the same person who was so soft spoken just moments before. You turn more of your attention to him, your eyes still lowered allowing yourself one last opportunity to back down. You did not. There was nothing for you to go to if you backed off now.

“Please.” You knew he could not resist your request when you presented it in such a placid manner. There was a shout, an explosion of noise and violence and you jumped at its severity. You heard the rush of footsteps leap out from the field as a shadow loomed itself over you.

“Look! Look Donny! Look at Max and laugh at him!” He was right behind you, his hot breath bursting against your neck in towering waves. Without giving yourself the chance to consider anything, you spun around and came face to face with the fuming dog, his teeth bared.

At the sight of him, your knees went weak and the floor beneath you fell away. You wanted to scream, to run away, to give in to horror and fear and go hysterical and wild. He was hideous, truly monstrous and hardly even a man at all. It was flesh at war, torrents of skin fighting itself as it connected head to neck and neck to torso. Beneath that storm was a face pushing through, with a mouth wide, teeth crooked and eyes like fiery pinpricks in the dark. He was awful to look at yet your eyes could not be torn away. He stole from you your sanity with nothing but the mere look of his being alone. 

Though your mind clouded with uncontrollable panic and fear, you could still recognize the man, his face unforgettable. It was him alright, no more denying it, no more pushing it away. You had known it was him from that very first encounter yet foolishly you had rejected everything, ignoring every piece of awful evidence that had sat itself right in front of your nose, all in favor of self desires. You wanted him to be someone else. You needed this strange man to be a good person whom you could hold on to, you could reach out for. But as the cruelest twist of fate, he was the complete opposite.

It was the Hillbilly - the monster who hunted you and the others with that wicked chainsaw of his. Nothing but a beast made of only the poorly defined form of man, a shape with no purpose other than to kill. You knew it was him from the moment you heard him behind you, breathing like that roaring engine he always did. You never forget the sound of the dog trying to kill you. You had been weak, allowing him to get close enough to you to practically have his bloody hands wrapped around your throat. 

You wanted to run, to flee and try to live just that little bit longer - give your body and soul over to inherent prey instinct. But as you looked into those blazing, hateful eyes framed by grotesque threads of dirty skin, you found that all you could do was wait. It was like facing off against an oncoming train, reckless and unstoppable coming at you at full-speed fuming with noxious smoke. You had seen this movie before and knew how the story ended - he would kill you and leave your body for the rats. 

Every fiber of your being screamed at you to leap out of its path but something stronger and more persistent held you tightly in place. He was not moving so why should you? He was not attacking so why should you run? He was talking so why should you not listen? Once again you clung to the belief that if this man was able to talk and reason then there was something human inside him, something that could be grasped and felt. Regardless of all logic and reason you sought that something and waited for him to offer you another chance to try to dig it out of him. If this was the end, then you would not die with your back turned.

“Hello Max.” You said, your voice a quiet light in the gloomy atmosphere. You saw him visibly retract at your calmness, his eyes darting around your whole body in search of something, anything that would indicate malcontent. “It's nice to meet you.” His stupor lasted only a second longer before he roared and lunged forward, hand twitching around the handle of his chainsaw.

“Donny always laughs! Donny is always scared!” He reeled his head back violently, stretching up into his full, powerful height. You sank into his shadow but did not waver in your stance. Come rain or ruin, you could not find the effort to move your feet even an inch. “Everyone is meant to be laughing at Max! Everyone is meant to be scared!” He brought his attention back down to you and you shuddered under his glare, trying beyond anything not to flinch in his presence. “Donny is always scared!” 

You waited a moment, allowing for his fuming words to cool and settle in the night air before answering with yours. “Donny is scared. They are terrified.” Max tilted his chin inwards to his chest, looking as if preparing to attack, a deep gnarl resonating forth from somewhere in that twisted body. “But not of you, Max. Donny is scared of your anger. Of your…” Your eyes drift to the chainsaw clenched tightly in his hand. Max’s own attention followed yours and for an instant you saw him relent his hold on the weapon. He shot his head back to you, had he had eyebrows they would have been furrowed with muddled anger. 

“Donny lies! You lie! You laugh!”

“But Donny is not.” You retorted, your tone never raising above a mellow reassurance. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the blackness offer you strength as your confidence crumbled. You opened them again and, with a slow, soothing exhale, let your lips extend into the faintest of smiles. You gave him everything in that moment, putting forward all compassion and comfort you could muster into your eyes and smile for him to consume and judge. “I am not lying. And I am not laughing at you Max.” This earned a slack-jawed, wide-eyed expression from the man, his emotions, though messy under his tangled flesh, portraying clearly on his face. He was completely and utterly astonished. 

You watched as he took in your coolness, sucking from you all the serene and hushed energy you had given. He shuts his eyes, slamming his jaw closed and shaking his head vigorously as if trying to shake something loose. He roared again, a most horrible sound that carried for miles in every direction across the field, making the corn around you shake from the sheer magnitude of his power. He raised his empty hand and started pounding his fist into his ear, screaming louder and harder with each contact. You were startled by his reaction and by the way he jumped so quickly from seeking your comfort to out-right rage. Without thinking you step closer to him, a hesitant hand lifting to reach for him. 

Suddenly he jumped forward at you, coming so close that you can feel the heat of his anger eminent off his heaving chest. He stands over you, his fist, with knuckles gone white from stress, moves dangerously closer to your face and hovers there as if debating whether to choke you or not. You subconsciously gulp and take in your final breath, sure that this was the last moments of your pitiful life. You look up at him, his eyes bursting with something between uncontrollable hatefulness and a desperate pity. He tightens his fist and it shakes from the sheer force.

“Donny stays in the barn. Stays in the pen. Until Boy is gone.” His words were more rough, coming from behind gritted teeth. You nod up at him.

“Of course.” Max runs his eyes once more over you body, scanning every corner of your face for anything that he could use to call your bluff but finds nothing. With one final snarl he pulled himself away and disappeared into the corn, leaving behind no reminisce of himself to prove that all that happened was real. In the silence that filled the gap he had left you felt the universe cave in. Conflicting voices erupted in your head, your trembling legs buckling under your body weight. You felt cold and despondent, eyes lingering on the spot where he departed. While your mind wanted to stay and think, to mull over everything until you had worked yourself into a vile panic attack, exhaustion beckoned and you submissively and gratefully followed. Walking inside the barn you find your hay pile and within minutes you were floating away to the safe land of earth and nature. 

#dbd imagines #dbd fic #dbd the hillbilly #dbd the hillbilly x reader #dbd max thompson jr #dbd max thompson jr x reader #dbd x reader #long post #waiting for a superman

[squibbles94]

Requiem for a Tower

Also on AO3

Fandom: MCU

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark (NOT STARKER)

Rated T for language

Warnings: None

Square Filled: Home Invasion

Peter sat in the chair in his room, staring at the TV. He knew he wasn't supposed to be up, but he just couldn't go to sleep. There was a new video game that came out the week before, and he was almost done with it. Every now and again, Peter would look around his room and smile. There was a familiarity that sank into him when he caught sight of the rough blanket at the end of his bed. It was the same one that his parents bought him when he was young and one that he couldn't see himself parting with. It was something that soothed him as a kid, and he was surprised when he walked into the room and saw it. May must have mentioned it to Mr. Stark and set it up where it would be with him at the Tower. She knew he would miss home and would need something to tether him to the Parkers. 

The day he got his room at the Tower was something he would never forget. Peter was sure that his aunt was going to make him stop seeing Mr. Stark all together after everything that happened with the Vulture. To his surprise, all it took was a swift conversation and a tentative agreement about Peter's safety to make May agree to let him continue. There was an expectation that Mr. Stark take a more active role in Peter's life, which he was okay with.

So, when Mr. Stark let him see his room in the Tower for the first time, he almost lost his mind. While he loved it, he couldn't stop the embarrassment flooding through his cheeks over the amount of technology in his room. He knew there was nothing he could do to make Mr. Stark stop spending money on him, but usually, he tried to make it a point to at least refuse the gifts. One time, Mr. Stark wanted to buy him a needlessly expensive water bottle when his red one broke. Peter almost agreed until he saw the $100 price tag. Even though he refused, it was neatly placed on his desk with a note that said it was nonrefundable. Eventually, Peter realized it was how Mr. Stark showed him that he cared.  

It was strange how everything worked between Mr. Stark and Peter after the incident with the Vulture. Suddenly it was like Peter had value, and he thought it was because he proved himself to Mr. Stark. It was like the man saw that Peter really just wanted to make a difference and that the boy could actually take care of himself. Mr. Stark started inviting him to the Tower once a week to work on his suit, which turned into twice a week. Eventually, Peter found himself over at the Tower more often than he was home.

Peter even started spending some weeknights at the Tower when May was working late. It got to the point where the press started speculating about Peter and how he fit into Mr. Stark's life. Thankfully, Pepper put out a statement the week before announcing Peter as Mr. Stark's personal intern. That seemed to pacify the media, much to Peter's relief. 

"Peter, it is nearing three in the morning. I suggest heading to bed soon," F.R.I.D.A.Y reminded him. 

"I'm almost done, Fri. Please don't tell Mr. Stark that I'm still awake. I promise I'll go to bed after this level," Peter begged.

"Very well. I will not intentionally tell Boss, but if he asks, I will report the truth."

"Thanks, Fri. You're the best. Where is Mr. Stark, anyway?"

"He is in his lab. He is currently working on the same phone you were helping him with before he sent you to bed. Would you like me to get him for you?"

"Nope. No. I was just wondering," Peter said quickly.

There were times that Peter forgot that F.R.I.D.A.Y was nothing more than an A.I. It seemed strange that she had more personality than some people he met, but she didn't have any real emotions. It was a true testament of Mr. Stark's genius that he could code her to be almost human. 

He was just about to reach his final checkpoint of the level when the T.V. flickered, and Peter found himself in darkness. Peter groaned at the loss of his progress, but that only lasted a few seconds before he realized the power was out in his bedroom. 

"F.R.I.D.A.Y?" Peter asked. 

There was no response. 

Even if the power went out, F.R.I.D.A.Y was programmed to work on a backup system that was not powered by the building. Peter jolted to his feet as the back of his neck prickled. Something was wrong.

He paused to grab his phone from his bedside table. When he looked at the screen, he knew what he saw couldn't be right. There was no signal. No internet. No way to contact anyone. Still, he tried to dial Mr. Stark's number, hoping it would go through. When it didn't, he cursed softly, knowing there was only one option left to him.

Peter grabbed for his web-shooters, but stopped when he remembered they were still in the lab. They were going to update the fluid cartridges the next day, so he left them down there. Sighing lightly, he made his way to his door. He cracked it slightly open and strained his ears, trying to hear anything that could give him an idea of what was happening. When he heard nothing but his own shallow breaths, he slipped out of his room and set off towards the lab. He made sure he stuck to the side of the wall just in case there was someone that wasn't friendly in the building. Though how anyone would get in, he didn't know.

It was almost dark enough that Peter had to strain his eyes to make out a clear view of the hallway in front of him. Other than the quiet, the most unnerving thing was the shadows that seemed much more profound than they should be. Peter tried to make a quick inventory of who was supposed to be at the Tower and felt his stomach drop to realize that it was just Mr. Stark and him. 

Colonel Rhodes was in D.C. on an assignment, Pepper was in Japan on a business trip, and Happy was at his own apartment. Vision was in and out of the Tower, and this was one of the times he was away on a "special assignment". 

Peter made his way through the living area only to stop when he heard footsteps coming from the stairwell. He could make out ragged breaths and a heart that struggled somewhat to beat, but that didn't tell him who was coming down the stairs. So, Peter flattened himself against the wall just outside the doorway and waited to make his move. 

Only waiting a second, Peter lunged as soon as the door opened. The person tumbled to the ground with Peter pinning them down. He raised his fist to strike, but stopped when familiar brown eyes stared back at him. 

"Mr. Stark?" Peter asked, horror filling his voice. He knocked him down. Mr. Stark had a heart condition, and he was getting older, and Peter knocked him to the ground. 

"Not that this isn't fun, but can you hop off there, bud?" Mr. Stark asked. 

Peter could feel the blush that rose to his cheeks as he clambered off of his mentor and helped the man to his feet. "Sorry, Mr. Stark. I didn't mean- the lights- and F.R.I.D.A.Y-and I'm so so sorry," Peter babbled. 

Mr. Stark dug his hands into his lower back and stretched a bit before taking stock of Peter's appearance. "Were you already awake? Why aren't you in bed?" The man shook his head slightly. "Nevermind. We can talk about that later. Did you see anyone up here or anything?"

Confused, Peter said, "no. I was play-going to the bathroom when the lights went out. My senses went off, so I came to find you."

"Okay, let's get up to the lab. Just keep your eyes open and stay with me until we figure out what's happening. If you see someone, I want you to run. They might not know about... the other guy. So, don't do anything stupid. We can't risk anyone finding out about your powers. No arguments."

"But-"

"No. Arguments," Mr. Stark emphasized. 

"Okay," Peter agreed. He only felt slightly bad that he didn't know if he was going to keep the promise. He was going to try to listen. He knew Mr. Stark had good reasons for asking Peter to keep his powers a secret, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

Peter followed Mr. Stark toward the lab, making sure to stay close to the man. They made it to the floor above when Peter's Spider-Sense went crazy. Before he could mention anything, six men were surrounding them. Each one carried a gun, and Peter could see at least two of them had knives strapped to their sides. They each carried a flashlight. As they shined them toward Peter, he felt his muscles tense with anticipation. 

They all had masks on that made it hard for Peter to see what they looked like. Peter took this as a good sign. He found that if they cared about showing their faces, they probably had something to lose. Most of the time, it meant they weren't planning on killing anyone, so he counted that as a win. 

Still, the feeling of panic overrode him when he felt himself being pushed back by Mr. Stark. The man had stepped firmly in front of him and guided Peter towards a wall, effectively boxing him in. Peter wanted to protest the move, but Mr. Stark's look was enough for him to remember his promise. 

There were too many of them for Peter to take on by himself. He was sure that Mr. Stark had something he could do, but he also knew if he revealed himself as Spider-Man, there was nothing he could do to keep May safe. So, Peter stayed where he was, at least until he found an opening to take the men down. 

The man in the center of the group took a step forward. "Good evening Mr. Stark. I see that you found your friend for us." The man gestured to Peter. 

Mr. Stark took a half step back, making Peter's back hit the wall. Peter could feel the brush of Mr. Stark's shirt as he breathed. He could also hear the man's heart skip a beat at the knowledge that the men in front of them were interested in Peter. 

"What the hell do you want?" Mr. Stark growled.

The man in charge smiled, his ice-blue eyes crinkling slightly. "We are going to be working together for a bit, so you can call me Mr. Trager," the man said. "As for what I want, well, that will come in due time. What you need to understand right now, Mr. Stark, is that I have the authority to get my job done however I need. I can use any force deemed necessary. You should also know that I have never failed at my job, so it would be best if you complied."

"Yeah, that didn't really answer my question," Mr. Stark said.

Peter glanced at the other men around the room and saw that they were tense. They were scared. But the question was, were they scared of Peter and Mr. Stark, or were they scared of their leader? There was a big enough space between them where he couldn't tell for sure, but they kept throwing glances at Trager.

"Let me make this easy," Trager said. "You are going to step away from the boy, Peter, isn't it?"

Peter felt himself startle at that. How did they know his name? 

"I will admit that I was surprised to see him here. Don't interns usually go home at the end of the workday?" Trager said. "Unless...oh, Mr. Stark, you wouldn't be hiding a secret child, would you?"

Peter could feel Mr. Stark stiffen in front of him, and he couldn't stop himself from swallowing loudly. 

"It doesn't matter who he is. You're here for me. So, I'll ask again. What do you want?" Mr. Stark snapped. 

"At the risk of sounding cliche, I want something only you can give me. You are going to give me access to your A.I. I believe you call her F.R.I.D.A.Y, correct?" 

Mr. Stark let out a biting laugh. "Yeah, I don't think so."

"That wasn't a request." Trager snapped his fingers, and the other five men started towards Peter and Mr. Stark. 

Peter's Spider-Sense flared as two of the men reached for Mr. Stark, who was yelling at them. The smaller of the other three people grabbed Peter's arm. The boy shoved at him with a little more force than he probably should have, which sent the man tumbling to the ground. Without missing a beat, the other two men grabbed Peter by the arms. He fought against them, remembering to only use a fraction of his strength. 

"Get your hands off me!" Peter yelled as he twisted his body around.

The man on his left shifted slightly, releasing his arm. Before Peter could move away, there was a tight pinching on his back, and then he was on the ground writhing in pain. It felt like he couldn't control his body as his arms and legs twitched. Looking up, Peter saw the wires that led to a stun gun that the man was holding. 

"Stupid boy," the man said before yanking out the wires.

Peter felt his skin tear on his back, where the barbs were wrenched from him. He couldn't help the scream that flew from his mouth. 

"You fucking asshole," Mr. Stark yelled. "He's just a kid!"

The leader spoke to the man with the taser with a reproachful tone, "Marks, that was unnecessary." Then, he knelt down by Peter and ran his fingers through the boy's hair. 

Peter flinched at the touch and tried to turn away, but the man's grip tightened in his hair. Peter's head was wrenched back, so he was looking at Trager. 

"That was stupid of you to fight, Peter. I don't want to hurt you, but I will. So, don't do anything stupid, yeah?" Trager told him. 

"Yeah, that makes me... feel better. Nothing like a...few volts of...electricity to get me to be compliant," Peter panted. He could still feel the after-effects of the stun gun jolting through his muscles, causing his limbs to twitch. 

Trager hummed and then turned to Mr. Stark. "Alright. I know you have a lab in this Tower, so let's move there. And Stark, don't try anything, or the kid won't live to see his next birthday."

As if to make a point, someone grabbed Peter by his arm and yanked him to a standing position. Peter almost fought with the person until he felt something cold touch his throat. He realized, belatedly, that it was a knife. Peter locked eyes with Mr. Stark and felt the pure fear radiating from the man. 

Peter raised his eyebrow. Should I try to get out of this?

Mr. Stark shook his head almost imperceptibly. No. It's too dangerous.

Peter was pushed along the hallway behind Mr. Stark, who was walking between two of the men. Trager led the procession, and there were two men at the tail end, effectively boxing them in. 

They made it to the lab with minimal curse words flying from Mr. Stark, just a lot of dark glowers at their captors and worried glances towards Peter. Something that didn't sit right with Peter was how they got into the building and deactivated F.R.I.D.A.Y in the first place. They had to have been somewhat intelligent to take down the Tower's defenses. Had Mr. Stark been able to send out a signal for help to come? Was anyone aware that they were in trouble?

These thoughts came to a halt when he was pushed into a chair by the main desk. Mr. Stark was deposited in a chair across from him, where he could clearly see Peter. The relief that Peter felt about not being separated from Mr. Stark only lasted a few moments. 

"Okay, I want you to transfer all controls of F.R.I.D.A.Y to myself," Trager said. The man positioned himself just behind Peter and stood close enough to place a threatening hand on his shoulder. It was a silent warning that made Mr. Stark clench his jaw. 

"Gee, I would love to, but seeing as there's no power, you're gonna have to come back later," Mr. Stark said. 

Trager's hand tightened on Peter's shoulder, eliciting a small gasp from the boy. It was nothing that Peter couldn't handle, but he knew he was going to have a bruise later. Mr. Stark's gaze shifted to Peter before going back to Trager. 

"Like I said," Trager crooned, "I don't want to hurt the kid. But I will."

"You're not going to hurt a single hair on his head," Mr. Stark snapped. 

"That depends on you. Now, I know you have a way to grant access to a new manager without power running through the Tower. Even you aren't stupid enough to leave yourself without a way to transfer ownership. Let's face it: you almost die every day and need a backup plan in case you do."

Mr. Stark smirked at the man. "Who's to say I don't have a protocol in place already that transfers ownership in the case of my death? Why would I need to transfer it again?"

"Okay," Trager said. 

"Okay?" Mr. Stark questioned. "That's it? I expected more from you, really."

Trager snapped his fingers, and Peter's Spider-Sense blared at him. It told him to move, move, move. Peter leaned forward in the chair a bit, but didn't get far before the knife was returned to his throat. He felt the biting sting of the blade as it punctured his skin. Peter tried to get as far away from the knife as he could, but his head collided with the man behind him. He felt the blade dig a bit deeper into his skin, causing him to whimper. Peter didn't mean to let the sound slip, but the feeling of blood running down his neck frightened him. 

"Stop!" Mr. Stark shouted. He moved as if to stand, but the two men who flanked him pushed him back into his chair. 

Trager nodded to the man behind Peter, and the blade was tilted away from Peter's neck. The boy let out a sigh of relief. 

"Reconsidering already?" Trager asked. 

Mr. Stark swallowed hard and refused to look away from Peter. His eyes darted from the boy's neck to his eyes, trying to make a decision. Eventually, Mr. Stark's shoulders slumped as he drew in a ragged breath. 

"Fine. I need my glasses," Mr. Stark said. 

"No, Mr. Stark! Don't-" Peter was cut off by a blow to his stomach. He lurched forward, making his neck dig into the knife again. 

"Hey!" Mr. Stark warned. "I said I would do it. But before I do, let him go." 

Trager laughed. "That's not the deal, Stark. You're gonna do it, and then we will let him go. If you take too long, I know Rubio would love to have a private minute with such a lovely boy. Not gonna lie, I don't like his methods, but he is one hell of a motivator." 

"The square glasses over on the table near the back of the lab. Would you like me to get them, or do you want to send one of your lackeys?" Mr. Stark asked. 

Trager motioned for one of the men to find the glasses. "So, this is how it's going to work. You are going to transfer controls to me. Then you and the kid are going to be tied up somewhere while we do our job. After that, you can go back to your whore and your billions. Easy."

"After this is over, I'm gonna make sure you don't have the use of your legs," Mr. Stark growled. 

Trager simply smiled. The man returned with the glasses and handed them to Mr. Stark. Before he could put them on, Trager spoke up. 

"Try anything that doesn't involve my instructions, and well, you know."

"Yeah, got it," Mr. Stark said as he put on the glasses. "Alright, girl. I need you to do your magic. Have you heard everything going on so far?"

The men around the room looked slightly confused when Mr. Stark started talking to himself. Peter knew that the earpiece connected to the glasses let F.R.I.D.A.Y communicate with Mr. Stark without anyone hearing her side. Though, he wasn’t sure how Mr. Stark was communicating with F.R.I.D.A.Y. if she was disabled, he figured the man knew what he was doing. Maybe there was a backup backup system that Peter didn’t know about.

"Hey, kid," the guy behind him said. "What's he doing?"

"I honestly don't think your brain could comprehend what he's doing," Peter said without thinking. He knew he should have kept his mouth shut, but there was only so much he could take. He was trying to respect Mr. Stark's wishes that he not do anything, but Peter's Spider-Sense told him that, even if Mr. Stark did what they wanted, they weren't going to let them go. When Trager said they would let them go, there was something about the man's tone that made Peter shiver. 

"That mouth is going to get you in trouble one of these days," the man said. "I might just ask the boss if I can keep you after this."

"Alright, Fri. You ready?" Mr. Stark asked after a few minutes. 

"Mr. Stark! Stop! Don't do it!" Peter yelled, ignoring the man behind him. 

"It's okay, Pete," Mr. Stark assured him. Then he turned to Trager. "All I have to do is give the confirmation code, and it's yours. Now, I want the kid over here in my arms before I do that."

Trager started to shake his head.

"I'll throw in ten million dollars for you. No strings. Just let me have the kid," Mr. Stark pressed. 

"Trager. That might not be a bad deal," the man next to the door said.

Trager appraised Mr. Stark and then brought his attention to Peter. The seconds crawled as Trager thought through his options, and Peter could feel the tension rolling in the room. "Rubio," he said. 

Peter heard the man behind him sigh mournfully, then he pushed Peter out of the chair. Stumbling a bit, Peter hesitated where he stood as he eyed Trager. He had to pass by the man to get to Mr. Stark. 

"Well?" Trager asked. "Get over there."

Peter's movements were slow and methodical as he inched past Trager. When he was about to pass him, the man took a half step towards Peter, making him flinch. Trager let out a chuckle but didn't move farther. 

Once Peter was close to Mr. Stark, he hurried towards the man's open arms. Mr. Stark grabbed his shoulders and shifted them, so Peter was as far from danger as possible. 

"You okay, kid?" Mr. Stark asked as he tilted Peter's chin up and brushed his finger under the deep laceration that was still seeping. 

"Yeah. I'm fine. Mr. Stark," Peter lowered his voice, "you don't have to do this. I can help. Just let me-"

"Stop. You gotta trust me here, Pete. Can you do that for me? Trust that I got this?" Mr. Stark pleaded, his eyes boring into Peter's. 

Peter hadn't trusted anyone more than he trusted Mr. Stark, except May and Ben. He knew that Mr. Stark had gotten out of worse things than this, and there was no way he would let someone use his inventions for their own gain. 

Peter nodded, trying to project all the trust he had in his mentor. 

"Okay, kid. Just...stay behind me." Then, Mr. Stark whispered something so low that their captors didn't catch it. "When I say, get on the ground and cover your head."

Mr. Stark turned around, making sure Peter was out of sight before regarding their captors. "Alright. When I give the signal, my glasses are going to scan you. Don't shoot me or anything. It just needs your impression before granting you access."

Trager nodded but kept his gun in his hand. It was almost as if he was daring Peter or Mr. Stark to make a move that he didn't approve of. 

"F.R.I.D.A.Y, execute Protocol Goldilocks."

There was a deep blue beam that filtered through the room, passing over the men in masks. There was a low whining sound that came from the glasses that made Peter's senses twinge. The tone shifted slightly before the overhead lights pierced through the darkness. After being in the dark for so long, the brightness overwhelmed Peter's senses, sending stabbing pain through his skull. His eyes snapped shut as he heard Mr. Stark yell at him. 

"Now, kid!" 

Thankfully, Peter's heightened reflexes took over. He slammed into the floor, narrowly avoiding smacking his chin on the hard concrete. He was vaguely aware of the sounds of men screaming around him and the pressure of Mr. Stark holding him to the ground. The man's hands were wrapped securely over Peter's ears. He could feel the breaths coming from Mr. Stark as the man lay over him protectively. 

As quickly as the chaos erupted, the room descended into an eerie silence. 

Peter lifted his head slightly and peeked around the room. He saw the men in masks in heaps on the ground. They weren't moving. 

"Mr.-Mr. Stark? What did you-what?" he stammered. 

Mr. Stark was already on his feet and offered a hand to Peter. "Just a prototype I've been working on. Don't worry, they're still alive, unfortunately."

The men's arms and legs were stuck at odd angles, almost as if they were frozen in place. One of them had his arm slightly raised, his hand bent at an unnatural angle. Trager was lying prone on the ground, his fingers still wrapped around the gun. Peter noticed they were still looking around the room, their eyes shining with unadulterated fear. 

"What did you do to them?" Peter asked, being sure to stay away from the frozen figures. 

"Remember when I was telling you about how I helped develop a paralyzing device years ago?"

Peter nodded. 

"Well, I figured it needed an upgrade. It was too dangerous to be used in massive areas, so I made some modifications. It takes an imprint of the targets and uses a mix of radio waves and strobing effects to confuse the neurons in the brain. It adapts it to each person's genetic makeup. I wasn't really sure how it would affect you, so I made sure your eyes and ears were covered. So, that's a win, I guess."

Peter didn't know how he felt about that. "I thought you didn't make weapons anymore."

Mr. Stark turned to him. "They'll be fine. It will wear off in a few hours, and their hearts won't stop beating or anything. Perfectly non-lethal."

There was a soft humming noise as the lab started whirring to life. Then, F.R.I.D.A.Y called from the ceiling. "Boss, most functions have been restored. The virus uploaded to my servers has been quarantined in a file for you to view later. Also, the code that inhibited cell service has been deactivated. Might I remind you that I told you this could happen." 

"Seriously? We've been through a trauma, and you're gonna sit there and say 'I told you so'?" Mr. Stark snapped. 

"Factually, that is correct. I also feel the need to remind you that Ms. Potts is on her way home."

"Yeah, thanks. Do me a favor and see where Rhodey's at, would you?" 

Before F.R.I.D.A.Y could reply, the window shattered behind them, revealing the War Machine armor. It landed with a metallic thud that reverberated through the room. The suit was poised to attack, the arms held up in a sweeping gesture. 

A snort came from behind Peter. "Yep. A little late for the rescue, there Rhodey," Tony said. 

Lifting his faceplate, Rhodey looked around the room, baffled. "What the hell did you do to them? I thought you guys were in trouble."

"I had it covered."

"Tony, I left a meeting because F.R.I.D.A.Y said you were about to die."

"She said what?"

F.R.I.D.A.Y decided to interject, "I implied that you were in over your head."

"Thanks for the confidence."

"I'll ask again, what the hell happened to them?" Rhodey sounded impatient. He regarded the men for a moment. "Tony...you didn't."

"They were threatening the kid. Look at his neck. I couldn't let that slide, Honeybear," Tony said. "Now, are you going to just stand there, or are you going to call in someone to come get these assholes?"

Rhodey turned to Peter. "You okay, kid?"

"Yeah, thanks, Mr. Rhodes." 

Mr. Stark called to Peter from the doorway. "Pete, come on. Let's go clean that cut up and get you out of here."

Peter gingerly stepped around the limp bodies, making sure not to get too close just in case they could move. When he reached Mr. Stark, the man put his arm around Peter's shoulders and guided him downstairs. 

As they walked, Peter couldn't help his rambling. "Mr. Stark, what happened up there? How did you get F.R.I.D.A.Y to start working again? How did they hack her in the first place? How did they get in? Why couldn't I just knock them out as Spider-Man? How did Rhodey know that we were in trouble? When-"

"Jeez, Pete, take a breath," Mr. Stark said, guiding Peter towards the couch. He gently pushed Peter into the cushions and went to retrieve the first aid kit. As he was walking out, Peter heard him say, “Fri, talk to me, girl.”

While Peter waited, he took an inventory of himself. He could feel the drying blood on his neck that pulled uncomfortably on his skin when he moved. He could also feel the bruises that formed on his stomach from the punch. All in all, they were minor injuries that he wasn't worried about. Thankfully, Mr. Stark didn't have any injuries that Peter saw. 

 "Alright, kid. Let me clean you up," Mr. Stark said as he perched on the coffee table in front of Peter. 

"It's fine, Mr. Stark. It'll heal in a few minutes. It's not that bad."

"It still needs to be clean. Just...let me do this." Mr. Stark's eyes pleaded with Peter's. There was a vulnerability that only showed itself when Mr. Stark was too tired to be as guarded as he usually was or when Peter was hurt.

"Mr. Stark," Peter murmured. "I'm okay. They didn't hurt me that bad."

Mr. Stark took a large breath. "They...they put a fucking knife to your throat, Pete. It doesn't matter if you're enhanced. If that man decided to, he could have...you could have died. And it would have been my fault. So, do me a favor and sit there while I clean you up a bit."

Peter grabbed Mr. Stark's wrist as he was about to wipe the blood off his neck. "It wasn't your fault, Mr. Stark. You didn't know. If anything, I should have Spider-Manned my way out."

"No. You were right to listen to me about that. I had F.R.I.D.A.Y do some digging while she was bringing everything back online from the emergency server. Trager works for a specialized group that hunts down enhanced individuals. They were poking around in the files where I keep notes on potential assets to the team when they were trying to hack her last week before she shut them out. I didn't think they'd try again, and I had F.R.I.D.A.Y searching for them. Hell, the only reason I know it was the same people was their signature written in the code."

"I should have done more," Peter insisted. "I would have been fine."

"If you did, they would have killed you," Mr. Stark snapped. "They would have killed you before I could have stopped them." 

Peter looked at Mr. Stark's hands and saw that they were shaking. He knew the man was scared, but he didn't realize how terrified he was. Without thinking about it, Peter lunged forward and wrapped his arms around his mentor's waist. He hid his face in the man's chest, relishing the way he could hear his heartbeat. 

"I'm okay, Mr. Stark. It's okay," Peter whispered. 

Mr. Stark wrapped his arms around the boy, gripping him impossibly close. Peter could feel the man bury his face in his hair as he tried to slow his breathing. 

"I'm okay," Peter insisted again.

"I'll do better, kid. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you," Mr. Stark promised. 

"I know." 

And he did. He knew that Mr. Stark would put five more protocols in place for sending out emergency signals if there was even a blip in the power grid. He knew Mr. Stark was thinking up ideas for his Spider-Man suit. Something that would do scans of pedestrians as Peter swung past, just to make sure they weren't a danger to him. Peter knew the man would hoover in his bedroom as he slept to make sure he was okay. He knew Mr. Stark would deny falling asleep in the desk chair because he was too afraid to leave Peter alone.

He knew that he was lucky to have Mr. Stark in his life. 

He knew he was loved. 

And Peter could live with that. 

#bad things happen bingo #home invasion #MCU fanfiction #IRON DAD AND SPIDER SON #Peter Parker Needs A Hug #Tony Stark acting as Peter Parkers parental figure

[lassluna]

Swan’s Hourglass (3/?)

Emma Swan had a mission. Find a place to start New Hyrule, her kingdom apparently. It was her mission as Princess or Savior or whatever. It’s going terribly if she’s honest. No one ever gave her Princess or Savior lessons growing up. She really has no idea how to be a Savior. She doesn’t even really want to in the first place.

But when the Demon Ship kidnaps her son and she gets stranded on a strange island with only an old woman and peppy fairy for help, Emma will have to do what she has to do to rescue her son, even if that means putting a certain self-proclaimed pirate captain in his place.

AN: Thank you everyone so much for the wonderful support! I appreciate it so much! Thank you @spartanguard​ for beta reading this, and @eastwesthomeisbest​ for your WONDERFUL art as well as @cssns​ for putting everything together!

FFN AO3

Chapter 2: Hook

The next room inside is longer but far less creepy than the one prior; there was this light purple light emulating from the ground that felt strangely comforting.

“What is this place?” Tink says, amazed as they proceed. Emma doesn’t know. It doesn’t feel evil per se. “And who’s that?”

Emma blinks, looking over to the other end of the room to see a large cage with a man, sitting on the ground.

“Hello?” Tink calls, bounds over towards him. Emma curses her recklessness as Tink rushes ahead and out of the purple light. The moment Emma follows, she feels it in her soul. It feels like she was punched in the gut. “Emma?” Tink asks, looking completely unaffected. Emma shakes her head and grins.

“I’m fine,” she assures her, following slower. The feeling doesn’t go away.

“Better get back to safety, sweetheart,” the figure says from his slumped position. “This place’ll kill you,” he assures her.

“Are you alright, mister?” Tink asks, leaning towards the bars, seemingly unfazed. The man chuckles; leaning further from the bars. “How did you get stuck in there?” she asks.

“I’ll be fine,” he assures her in a cool voice. “But it’s best you leave before going any further,” he insists. “It’s far too dangerous in here.” Emma rolls her eyes. 

“Shouldn’t you be more concerned that if we leave you’ll most likely die in there?” she asks.

“I’ll find my way out,” he assures. “A better question: what are the pair of you doing in here?”

“We’re looking for Captain Hook,” Tink supplies; Emma glares at her sharply, but it does nothing to dissuade her. “Have you seen him?”

The man chuckles. “He’s already long gone from here,” he assures them. “If you want to catch him before he sets sail, you better leave now.” Emma frowns. He’s lying. 

“Do you know him?” Tink asks. He nods.

“We came in here together; he ran off with the loot, leaving me here.” Another lie. 

Emma looks around, seeing passageways before her. It seems to her that this guy just wants them out.

“We need to find the Demon Ship,” Emma says slowly. It seems to catch his attention as she gets closer to the bars. “Do you know anything about it?”

He too responds slowly, meeting her eyes carefully. She hadn’t noticed how blue they were.

“I don’t know a thing about it,” he confirms. A third lie.

“I don’t believe you,” she says, turning the corner into one of the purple passage ways.

“What are you doing?” he demands, but she pays him no attention, noticing a small indent in the wall. 

Anywhere with traps has something of value.

 She presses against the indent and a wall on the opposite side lifts as if by magic. It causes Tink to jolt in surprise. The man’s eyes were wide.

 “There’s a chest!” Tink exclaims walking over and opening a large ornate box. “There’s a map!”

The man moves quickly, hands wrapped around the bars craning his neck to see Tink. “You found it,” he breathes in amazement.

“What…is it?” Tink asks, shaking it. Emma can see the dust falling off of it, but it doesn’t have her attention. The man does.

“Let me out!” he exclaims. “I know what it is. I-I can help you,” he insists. More lies, everything that comes out of his mouth are lies. Emma knows better than to associate herself with a liar.

“I thought only Captain Hook could help us?” Emma calls back sarcastically. “I thought he already got all the ‘loot’?” He turns back at her in surprise seemingly a bit dumbfounded by her words, yet he recovers quickly.

“It appears he may have missed something. Perhaps I can be of service on your quest to find the Demon Ship?” he asks with a helpful smile.

“Not interested.”

“But—“

“He’s lying to us, Tink. I don’t need a liar helping me.”

He looks shocked by Emma’s claim. “I’m not lying to you.” She shakes her head in disagreement.

“Then who exactly are you?” she asks sarcastically, then nodding at the hook curled around the bar. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed the hand or lack thereof,” she points out. “Anyway, everyone said that Captain Hook was a good for nothing pirate, so why should we bother trusting you after you lied to me three times?”

“I’m the only one who’s ever survived the Demon Ship! You need me. If you want to find the treasure, you must let me help you,” he insists.

Emma shakes her head. “You’re not the only one,” she says softly then turns to Tink. “Let’s go.”

She plans to leave him here, truly she does. She could just take this treasure and trade it to whoever can take her to the Demon Ship first. Someone should be brave enough with a little extra incentive.

She doesn’t need this egotistical pirate who is just lying to her. She doesn’t need any more liars who don’t believe in her.

“Wait!” he shouts. She doesn’t. She has no reason to. Helping him would just get in the way of rescuing Henry. “You need me alive!” he adds with conviction. 

It makes her stop and turn towards him. She turns to see his eyes burning into hers, the swagger and couldn’t-care-less attitude is gone.

“You came in here looking for Captain Hook, right? Well, that’s me, and if you think anyone else can get you a shot at the Demon Ship, you’d be wrong,” he adds.

This time, he’s telling the truth. But she’s not sure; she’s not sure she can trust him. So despite the dangers, she gets close, real close right up against the bars of the trap.

“And why should I believe you?” she asks. “Give me one good reason to help you.”

He smirks at her. “Because I want the same thing you want, revenge, after all.” He pauses and shifts his wrist, letting the hook catch the light and draw her attention.

“I don’t want revenge,” she insists.

“Oh, don’t you? No one ever goes to seek the Demon Ship unless they’re stupid, which you are certainly not, or it took something from them.” Emma grinds her teeth, not wanting to give anything away to the man. “And if someone takes something from you, you long to take it back and then make them pay for what they stole,” he sneers. 

Emma rolls her eyes. “I’m not interested in revenge,” she insists.

“Call it what you will, but I can see it in your eyes,” he counters. “And I’m your only chance at getting it.” Emma looks him over briefly. She didn’t want to dwell on his words; she didn’t have the mental energy for it. She could feel this place sapping at her strength.

“And what exactly are you getting revenge for?” she asks. “Stealing some of your treasure?” she says with an eye roll. He doesn’t respond until her eyes return to his.

 “How do you think I lost my hand?”

He says it with a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, all Emma sees is anger.

“Do you believe him?” says the small voice of Tink; quite frankly, Emma had forgotten all about her. “He already lied to us; do you think he’s doing it again?” She also didn’t realize what she was signing up for when she agreed to the ‘us’ thing. She’s not sure.

She watches him. This ‘Captain Hook’ hasn’t moved; he’s just staring her down, waiting for her to make her decision.

“I bet people only lie to you once, Swan,” he says after a beat, smirk returning, and the tenseness between them easing a bit.

“Swan?” she counters with a raised brow.

“Your shield, it has a swan on it,” he points out. “It’s pretty fitting if you ask me,” he says with a grin. “Swans are ferocious, much like yourself.”

Somehow that makes her smile. “Damn right I am,” she agrees, going over to a switch she sees on the opposite wall and hits it with her sword. The bars locking Hook away disappear. “Now come on; this place is giving me the creeps.”

//

They don’t really speak on the way back to the dock. Emma is busy studying her super-secret treasure, but it looks like an ordinary map to her and Tink is busy watching the pirate. 

And the pirate? Well, Emma can sense his eyes on her the entire way.

“See something you like, love?” he says as they return. Emma looks back and is thankful that his words are not directed at her. It makes Tink recoil sharply.

“First of all, not your love,” Tink responds. 

“Nor could you be darling.” He replies with ease. “Too bloody noisy.” He glances back at Emma. “I much prefer a spit fire, not a firecracker.” Emma just rolls her eyes. But his comment seems to have just infuriated Tink more.

“And secondly,.” sShe says more forcefully,. “I don’t trust you. Come on, Emma, are you really sure he can take you to the Demon Ship?” she asks, glaring at the pirate. Emma can sense she’s been holding onto these thoughts the entire way here.

Emma shrugs. It seems like her best course of action.

“I mean he’s rude and arrogant and he lies,” Tink lists. “Plus, how do you even know he knows anything about the Demon ship?” she asks.

Emma glances his way, raising a brow. “That’s a good question,” she notes, looking back at him.

Hook glares at Tink. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk a lot?” he comments. “And that high pitched voice...” 

“See what I mean? Just plain rude,” Tink responds, crossing her arms.

“Also, I’ve been hunting that bloody ship for a little over 2 years,” he tells them. “But it’s pretty difficult when it never leaves any survivors; the most I ever have to go on is the general area where ships were scheduled to be when they never made it to their destination.”

Emma hesitates.

“But I survived,” she says.

“That you did, love; maybe it’s fate,” he says with a wink. He’s staring at her again, and she can feel the weight of those blue eyes again. She looks away.

“And if there are no leads, how exactly are we supposed to find this ship?” she questions.

He smirks. “And that’s where this comes in,” Hook says, pointing at the map in her hands. She looks down at it and back to him. “May I?” 

She hands over the treasure. “What does an old map have to do with anything?”

Hook holds the map carefully, eyes darting over it, face poised in concentration.

“A majority of the ships that disappeared had something in common; they had relics of the Ocean Queen,” he explains. “So I have a theory that either the Demon Ship is obsessed with the Ocean Queen, or there is a connection between the two.”

“But I thought the Ocean Queen was just a fable?” Emma asks. That’s what Wendy had said, but then again she said the same thing about The Demon Ship...

“Oh I assure you, The Ocean Queen is very much real.” Hook says solemnly.  “She’s just been asleep for as long as anyone can remember. The temple is supposed to keep the most valuable and powerful of her treasures safe; perfect bait if you ask me,” Hook insists. “And this seems to say that there’s an even better treasure here,” he says, pointing to an insignia on one of the islands. It seemed to glow purple briefly. 

“Wait, hold on, you’re going to bait the Demon Ship?” Tink asks. “That’s suicide!” she exclaims.

“That’s what you said about the Ocean Temple,” Emma reminds her.

“I know, but this is more suicide,” she insists. “You really can’t think this is a good idea, Emma.” She doesn’t, not really, but it’s the best plan she’s heard and if it gets her a chance at saving Henry, she is on board.

“Perhaps if you had a weapon to fight the Demon Ship, your plan would have a chance at working,” a voice says. Emma turns around and sees none other than Granny standing before them at the edge of the dock. 

“Granny!” Tink exclaims running over to her. “Please help me talk Emma out of this; it’s a horrible plan.”

Granny nods. “I agree, unless you have a way to fight the Demon Ship.” Emma narrows her gaze, not understanding.

“The Demon Ship is not natural, it has dark powerful magic,” Granny continues. “Now, if you had magic of your own to fight it with...”

Magic?  Emma shudders at the thought. She doesn’t want to think about magic; she’s done her best these last 10 years to not think at all about magic.

“And how exactly do you know this, Granny,” Hook asks suspiciously. “When I came to visit you, you said that the Demon Ship was nothing but a couple of pirates.” The old woman shrugs.

“Perhaps I was waiting to see how driven you are on your quest Captain,” she says casually. It makes Hook bristle next to her. “Besides, this is about a child,” she throws a pointed glance towards Emma. “And the only way you’re going to fight magic is with a bit of your own.”

Magic always comes with a price.

“And where exactly are we going to get magic?” Hook asks. “It doesn’t exactly grow on trees.”

But Emma knows; she looks at the map in Hook’s grasp, sees how carefully it’s drawn with a crest and everything.

“This treasure isn’t just treasure, isn’t it?” Emma asks. “It’s magic.”

Granny nods. “There used to be stories of a seer that lived in Ember Isle before the Ocean Queen fell. If anyone knows about the secret treasure hidden in Ember Isle, it would be her.”

It seemed like a better plan. “How long before we can leave, Hook?” Emma asks in confirmation.

He throws another suspicious glance at Granny before turning to her with confidence. “Within the hour, Swan.” And he disappears into the ship.

“I guess this is it,” Emma says to the younger blonde.

Her eyes go wide. “You’re leaving the island,” Tink realizes. It looks to her that she didn’t even fathom not going with her. “I-Are you sure you can trust Hook?” Tink asks one last time. “I’d hate to think of what trouble he could cause you.” Emma just grins.

“I can take care of myself,” she assures her. “Good luck with your missing memories,” she says. Tink gives a sad smile.

“Thanks,” she says half-heartedly. “You’ll come see me, right? After you rescue Henry, before you leave the region?” she asks.

Emma nods. “Of course, Tink. I owe you so much for helping me.” She doesn’t know what would have happened had she woken up alone on the beach with no idea how to find Henry. Emma would have lost her mind.

“Tink, why don’t you join her?” Granny says gently. 

“Join her?” Tink repeats. “I couldn’t leave you, Granny; who would take care of the Cucckoos?” Granny waves her off.

“Tink, you’ve spent months here and are no closer to recovering your memories,” she reminds her. “I think it’s time for you to see the world, find your missing past. Who knows— perhaps they’ll find you.” Emma swears she sees tears in the blonde’s eyes as she hugs the older woman. “Just promise me Tink, that you’ll be brave. Promise me you’ll have courage no matter where you go.”

Tink nods vigorously. “I promise,” she says and gives Granny another hug.

Then after a moment, she turns towards Emma. “You do want me along right? I mean we’ve gotten this far together, I just thought—“ she says, trailing off in a bit of a panic.

“I’d hate to endanger you in this mess,” Emma says, moving towards the ship and onto it. “But if you want to come, you’re welcome to.” Tink’s expression brightens as she races after her.

“I promised to have courage, right? I promise, Emma, I’ll help you rescue your son in any way I can,” she insists. Her eyes go wide admiring every inch of the ship and Emma has to admit, it is a beautiful ship.

“Swan, we’re almost ready to depart; are you—“ He stops, looking between them both. “Bloody hell,” he curses.

“Is there something wrong?” Emma asks.

“I thought we were free of the insufferable girl,” he says, eyeing Tink. She crosses her arms stubbornly. 

“Nope!”

#Captain Swan #CSSNS 2020 #Swan's Hourglass #cs au ff #Legend of Zelda AU

[idgaf-what-you-call-me]

This is the first time, outside of therapy, that I am opening up fully my past, I ask that you remain respectful.

Trigger warnings: Suicide, torture, neglect, alcoholism, … a lot listen you’ve got to be well resourced before you read this. 

I know Dean, because I was Dean. I was raised to be “perfect”, I am so much like my dad, I didn’t have a childhood, I was tortured, I have lost time (dissociation not possession by an arc angel), I am fairly closeted, and I’m finally starting to get better. 

Ever since a very young child, I was raised to be perfect. To look at a 99 and learn what I got wrong before I brought the grade home, otherwise, I was sent to study. I was raised to not be heard and taught to stay in my room. I was raised to not show emotion because anything more than stoic meant that I was an inconvenience. I had “fend for yourself nights” where I had to sort out what I would eat for dinner, and at inexcusably young ages, 5-6 years old. I learned to shoot at 8, and was taken fishing anytime my dad went. I was brought to the construction sites, learned how to use power tools, and eventually had my own set at home. While I wasn’t trained to hunt demons or other things that go bump in the night, I was molded to be just like my dad. My mom wasn’t around much when I was a kid, so I idolized my father. He was like a god to me. As I got older (legal), I even would drink things that my dad approved of like scotch and I smoked cigars. Often praised, “that’s my girl! Look guys, my daughter drinking scotch and smoking a cigar! Where are your kids?” The validation was like a high to me. I was desperate for his approval. Just like Dean. Talked like his dad, walked like his dad, drank like his dad, I get it. 

I was blatantly ignored including being told that I was invisible by siblings. They would hold up a remote to me and say, “you’re invisible” and ignore me. I could leave the house and they would not come look for me. With my mom and dad often gone (usually working or partying we were quite poor), I didn’t have anyone looking after me since I was 4 so when my dad was around, much like Dean, all I wanted to do was make him happy and proud of me.

I was a closeted bisexual, who made so many gay jokes towards my cishet brother that I feel quite a bit of shame as an adult. I repressed every facet of desire I had for the opposite gender because being bisexual really meant that I must be gay. At least that is what Will and Grace told me, and I did not want to be gay. Things were bad enough, I didn’t need to add to my shit pile. By the time I was 12, I had no idea how to feel emotions and I had no idea how to love myself. Most days, now at 29, I still don’t know how to love myself. I am not out to everyone in my family. I don’t feel safe with everyone. All the gay jokes between the brothers, all the Dean is bi subtext, I lived a lot of it.

Torture can take the shape of many different forms but they fall under two umbrellas: physical and psychological. I was subjected to sound torture and sleep deprivation forms of physical torture that have lasting psychological effects. When you live through something like that, you don’t “rebound” in the traditional sense, and I would dissociate. My consciousness would retreat back into itself until it was safe enough to come back.

I dreaded Thursday nights as that is when it would begin. My father would bring home several cases of Michelob Ultra, from the store, and then he would start drinking. My dad didn’t measure his consumption in beers, instead he measured by the case. A form of extreme binge drinking that to this day I still don’t completely understand. While he would drink, his music would get progressively louder and louder until the whole house vibrated with noise. 

There are some songs and artists that I cannot listen to anymore. They’re not songs by Metallica or Black Sabbath, instead they’re by Credence Clearwater Revival, Bob Dylan, Van Morrison and the like. Songs that people dance to at their weddings, sing at funerals, and enjoy on a road trip with the entire family. They are generally described as lively yet not heavy, yet this music was the conduit of 5 years of actual torture for me. I used to say that these were my favorite songs, but it was a way to cope with hearing them at home, and then hearing them play in the car on the way to school the next morning. In my house, the music was played so loudly that walls and floors shook and overwhelmed my senses and ability to sleep, think, do anything but have a heartbeat and breathe. It would last all night. I never learned to “fall asleep” I would pass out. To this day, I can be desperately tired, and able to drive for several hours without being a dangerous driver. Like my body learned to ignore fatigue. “I just need like 4 hours every couple of days,” yeah Deano, I’ve been there.

I would freeze mentally. Almost like a zone out but on steroids. Then I’d look around and things wouldn’t feel real to me. I would look in the mirror and see a stranger. Now I understand that I had developed dpdr as a way to cope. I don’t wish it on anyone.

My mother? She would leave the house and go clubbing. My siblings were 8 years older than me and lived on their own a great distance from where I lived. Besides, I had school to go to on Fridays. So I cooked, I monitored myself, I had to become an adult. I didn’t get to be a kid. My catharsis was angsty and fluffy Harry Potter fan fiction. You can find it on FF.net, RandHrFan I no longer post with that handle. Dean’s were movies, movies that my dad, and I’d wager his dad watched. I also love westerns just like my dad and my grandfather, there is something about them.

When Dean cries and opens up to Sam about his hell experiences, I get it. I’m so proud of him for telling Sam. To some it seems like he’s closed off but he’s not. He’s opening up as much as he mentally can. And Sam listens. Just like my sister eventually did. When Dean gets mad and yells at John and Mary, I’m proud of him, because he is fighting for himself. He knew he deserved better and he didn’t let it go. Just like I have done in my not so distant past.

All the while my parent’s marriage was fracturing and I was mentally declining. My mom began sleeping in my room and in my bed, and I was basically left to sleep on the couch. On days when my dad would drink, and my mom would go out, I could get to be in my room again. I could be on the computer (laptops weren’t a thing yet) which lived in my room. I could connect with the two other friends on AIM, but the reality of my situation I couldn’t escape. I was isolated, didn’t trust my family and I didn’t know how to ask for help.

One day I attempted to take my life. I saw no value in it. What was I doing with my life. I was a broken human who didn’t deserve love, who didn’t deserve safety, who didn’t deserve well anything. So I downed a bottle of pills. I had an iron clad stomach, I wasn’t too worried about not being successful. Except, I sent a goodbye message to a friend, and that friend saved my life. He got a hold of my sister who got to me in enough time to make me throw up. (She was a champ at that, having suffered from bulimia and taught to throw up from no other than my dad.)

I didn’t receive help afterwards. I signed a paper saying that I wouldn’t attempt again and was taken home. (I hope this isn’t how hospitals roll anymore.) I left my house, I went to school out of state and found stability, created stability for myself. But my past still haunted me whenever I went home. So when Dean has a death wish, and gets discharged from hospitals before he’s stable, I get it.

My parents eventually divorced, and I came home to a place where I couldn’t live anymore for a solid couple of months, I couch surfed, and again my mental health took a nosedive, but nevertheless, I persisted. I got my head back in the game, and finished my degree. Chemistry. I couldn’t go back home, because if I did I’d be working for my dad. I couldn’t do that, it was too painful. So I went to grad school. I got my Ph.D. I began to chart my own path. But there was a rage in me that I couldn’t escape. I lashed out at anyone and everyone to hide the pain that I felt all the time. People were afraid of me. I was great at what I did but I couldn’t make lasting connections with others.

When I was 27 suicidal ideations became dangerous, and I got about as dark. I tried to harm myself, and wanted my world to burn. It didn’t matter that I was married, with pets, and owned a home. Nothing mattered. I finally had to decide between life and death, I couldn’t continue in that state. I can say confidently that I would be dead if I didn’t get help that day. I wish Dean had this chance. He gets close to this in moments with Cas when he is honest about his feelings and experiences, he cries, he gets angry, lashes out, but Cas is there for him. From someone like Dean, I’ll tell you Cas being present holds more weight than gold for Dean.

I have been in intense therapy for a year. By intense I do mean more than once a week, regular check ins with her, and the occasional group session. She sends me articles to read, homework, and we do EMDR work, emotional integration therapy, mindfulness, etc. 

It was then that I began to learn that all the rage that I had built inside me was hiding intense fear, loss, and disappointment. The rage gave way to tears, and the tears gave way to a new anger that I could make peace with. That anger comes from the person I am today. The person who fights for herself. Who doesn’t take shit from anyone. The person who says, humans don’t break, vases break, and I am a human. I see a lot of that in late season Dean. He is a fighter. 

But I am still the person who receives a compliment and shuts down, there is still a side of me that doesn’t believe that I deserve nice things, good things to happen to me, but that person is getting smaller. My therapist likes to hit me with compliments when I am vulnerable as I am more likely to believe them. I still react like a dead fish when she says them, and then after the session sob for hours over it. One day my head and my heart will believe the same things about myself. I would have reacted the same way as Dean to that confession. 

When the cards fall, I still know that I can depend on myself before anyone else because I had to. My life as an impoverished, unstable, depressed, neglected, and abused kid says I should be dead or amounting to nothing, but hear I am. I’ve now closely mentored about 20 undergraduate students, a handful of graduate students, and have helped them find their paths in life. I have taught nearly 1000 students. I made a difference with the life that I tried to throw away. 

I have come to a place where I can love my dad. He is sober again, and yes, my love for him does depend on his sobriety. When he is drinking he is not the same person. I wouldn’t call him an A+ dad by a long shot, and hell I am so much like him that at times it makes me sick, but I do love him. I have been able to forgive him. Forgive in the sense that I can make peace with what happened. It doesn’t change what happened or how much it affected me, and I certainly don’t forget, but that isn’t what forgiveness is. I don’t hold the rage anymore. The fact that Dean is able to is personal for Dean, as it is for me, and it isn’t some “family that is what you do” type reason.

I do experience flashbacks when there are fireworks, I can’t go to a movie theatre because of the volume, when people play really loud music in their cars I typically have to peel off into a parking lot and meditate for 20 minutes to be able to drive again. There are some stores that I don’t shop at because their music triggers me. So when Dean experiences those flashbacks, I get it.

There is a belief in the psychology that monster shows help us become comfortable with our dark sides. My dark side saved me over and over again. My dark side told me to be better than them. My dark side told me to fight for me, to adopt a survivor mindset. (If you can’t tell I am a green veined Slytherin and have never been sorted into any other house even by random house generators.) The things I delight in are a bit off color. I cultivate a poison garden, consume way too much true crime, to gore I say give me s’more and so on. Dean gets to experience his dark side, and he has to make peace with it. He makes inappropriate jokes, laughs at it, but he also does talk about it. 

This is the hard part: Just like Dean, I am also light. I love people (vomit), seriously though, they are more precious to me than any earthly possession. Plants bring me serenity. Animals are a comfort and companion in the worst of times. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do to protect living things. My motivations come from a place of love and a need to protect others from what I have been through. I know I can survive, but I don’t know if that is true for everyone else.

I know Dean. I was Dean. I see that every episode. Moments when he yells and screams for himself, I cheer him on. Moments where he tries to waste his life away, I understand, and am crying right with him. The purgatory apology guts me, I’ve had to make that apology more than once. The dead fish reaction, hell that is me at the end of a therapy session. I am here to say: Dean is not broken. Dean is strong. Dean is resilient. Dean doesn’t just fight for himself, he fights for the whole of creation. Dean is not a vase. He is a human. 

Oh and John’s taste in beer, much like my fathers, is crap. Don’t drink shitty beer. Also, I don’t drink scotch anymore. I'm a gin girl and I drink *okay* beer. 

I’m the same blogger who does drunk blogging regarding Supernatural on Saturdays. It is a lovely bit of comfort and joy for me and I won’t be stopping any time soon. We will get back to the lovely and light “Dean is Bi he he” commentary this weekend. 

#dean winchester #john winchester #castiel #survivor #people are not broken #dean is not broken #dean is probably bi #trauma #daddy issues #mommy issues #neglect #alcoholism #adult child of an alcoholic #i relate to dean #i really wish dean could have had a chance to recover #potentially triggering #torture #dpdr #therapy #opening up #supernatural #other perspective #can we have an official hug dean day where we post photos and gifs of dean getting hugged? I feel like it would be healthy #in my secret good version of supernatural dean is in therapy and healing #childhood trauma #trigger warning #i hope i got all the tags to keep people safe who need to avoid this #this was incredibly cathartic

[zommari-suggestions]

...

I... Can explain....

Yesterday, I made a few.... Interesting and uncharacteristic posts... I would really like to apologize for them as they were very improper and I would like to explain a bit more of what lead me to making them.

As you all know, I DO NOT drink! I am not an alcoholic and while I will enjoy alcohol occasinally, I would NEVER overdrink as I am a person who values moderacy and balance, as evident by my zodiac sign (Libra)

Yesterday however, an incident occurred which, while inexcusable, was definitely explainable; I found in a cabinet in my palace, a (1)(ONE)(sole) bottle of alcohol beverage. It was NOT my intention to drink, however I was afraid that is would spoil, so I took it upon myself to finish it. After I did, I discovered more bottles of similar drinks which were most definitely NOT mine and which I have no idea how they ended up in my room. It seemed that they would go bad and I considered, being a very balanced person, that drinking further would not hurt me as I have the internal balance to support it. Offering such liquids to other Hollows would simply render them severely intoxicated, a responsibility I could not bare.

It seems, however, that even for me, the achohol intake was too large and that lead me to saying certain things and making decisions which, as of now, deeply regret. The content, the essence of what I said, is and will remain true, as a testament of my genuinity as a person, but the manner in which those things were said was inappropriate.

I was feeling rather famished as well so I made the, in retrospect, idiotic decision to travel to the human world and see if I could find some humans to eat. I feel like I need to clarify here that I will only eat humans who seem like they are in a bad place and NOT anyone, as some have claimed, in an attempt to slander me and call me a hypocrite.

In the human world my inebriated self encountered... Unforseeable circumstances...

Apparently, the "disease" that was mentioned by someone here is real and is something humans are currently dealing with. Also, it appears there has been a "quarantine" to prevent said disease from spreading. The authorities (not Soul Reapers) operating there saw me as an apparent threat to public safety (apparently being intoxicated in a "public area" is a crime) as well as a danger to public health (as I was "not respecting" the "protective" measure taken against the "virus") and attempted to apprehend me. I tried to explain to them CALMY that I am a HOLLOW and I mearly wanted to eat, but they would not understand me. They asked for my name and identification, of which I had none OBVIOUSLY and when I told them so they ARRESTED ME!!!!!

Personally I find the situation unacceptable so I decided to act on my own accord and demonstrate my powers, which lead to... The tragic deaths of innocent bystanders who had nothing to do with the situation.

I feel immense guilt for everything that transpired, because of the terrible example I set for others as well as killing humans who I had no intent of eating and will subsequently be wasted.

I feel like the insident has taught me a lot about me, the world I am surounded by as well as the human world and I believe there is always something positive to be found in any bad place. As such, I have decided to feed the diseased humans to the Hollows of Hueco Mundo and make sure no alcoholic beverages in my vicinity will near going bad again

Thank you, my friends, for listening and understanding, and I hope we can move on AND FORGET THIS INCIDENT EVER HAPPENED and use this incident as a learning experience

Thank you,

Zommari Rureaux, 7th Espada

#bleach suggestions #appology #i seriously do not understand how this happened i have a much bigger tolerance of alcohol than that!!

[givingitary]

A Real Knight

Ship: Fairytale!Tom Holland x Male reader (William)

Word count: 3448

A/N: I haven’t written anything in a long time, so sorry for this being shitty. Also just so you know english isn’t my first language. Anyway hope you like it. It’s written in a fairytale world

Once Upon a time there was a kingdom. The kingdom was known for its people who were more sorrowful than any other. They had experience pain and sorrow so deeply it was buried through generations. There was a curse upon the Kingdom, worse than any dragon or wyvern. Grieve was set to befall on every family, all having to bear the burden of knowing; that one day their sons would die on the battlefield of blood. The Kingdom had been at war with a neighboring Kingdom for centuries, but the neighbors were far more cruel and evil than any witch or beast. To serve in the army was the greatest honor that could ever be bestowed on a person. Family suffered losses every day, everyone had lost someone to the war. When someone went to serve, you knew that you would never see them again.

William Jackson had only ever seen the Kingdom from afar. He lived a day outside the castle's walls. When he was little, he dreamed of getting the medal of honor. His dad had served the Kingdom in the war and lost his life in the process. As soon as William turned 18, he was ready to serve the royal army, but his mother did not want him to. She was scared of losing him, just like she had lost her husband. When Will was little; he looked up to his dad. He was his hero but after he died and everyone in the village called him a coward; Will never saw his father the same way again. His mother would never talk about him, the pain was just too much for her.

He asked his mother for permission to leave. His mother said, “Fighting is stupid, being right here with me and your sisters is important”. The words were not enough to put his dreams to slumber. William was not going to be a failure, like his father. He knew his family would understand, someday, so he left. To make them proud, and to fill the hole in his heart.

The road to the castle was long but he took his horse and gathered supplies in a backpack he could carry around the satchel; and so, he went on. To look for happiness and adventure.

After a while William started getting tired, it was hard having to ride for that long. He had heard many stories about travelers but being one even if it was just for a day, was completely different. A headache grew and pain in his legs followed. The horse was getting tired too, but there was no time to stop. To get to the castle would take a lot of ambition and willpower. His eyes started to drift away, and he could feel his eyelids getting heavy trying to close in on him. He thought to himself, closing your eyes for just a few seconds will be OK, but he soon went into a small slumber. It did not take long for the rest to be over, because the horse came to her rough stop. William screamed out of surprise, and so did an old lady. He had almost hit her with the horse, but he was fast to act. The old lady had fell to the ground, and William immediately jumped off his horse to help an innocent. “Are you OK?” he asked with deep concern. He noticed her weird clothes; she was wearing something that looked like a cloak and her hair was as red as fire. Her nose big and eyes small; her skin was full of wrinkles and scars. “I'm fine, my dear; don't you worry about an old lady like me” her voice scratchy and abrasive. he tried not to look and her with a weird eye, she was just a nice old lady “I'm Zelda, and who are you? Young man” she looked him directly in the eye - she was not scared. “Ehh, I am William. I am truly sorry.” he was not hesitant to answer, but his mother always taught him to be nice and well adjusted. William looked at the ground trying to avoid her green eyes out of shame from his actions, that is when he saw it, a neckless. He picked it up, and written across the silver stood, “Savior's heart”. “Ma'am, I think you dropped this”, as soon as he rose; the old lady was gone. He placed it in his belt holder, not really thinking more about it. He did not have time to ask questions, because of this little run day view, he would not have time for a break later. Right now, the most important thing was getting to the castle.

Coming into the village, William kept his head high trying to avoid any glances from any villager. After the tournament he would be a part of the royal army, and his name would receive glory. Finding his way through the village was not hard, there were signs everywhere showing people where to go. He followed the other travelers as they all seemed to be heading to a big field. The field was full of tents in all kinds of sizes. Before he could get in, he had to assign. There were many tables on the field. People came from all over the kingdom, to participate in the tournament.  

He raised down from his horse and delivered it to one of the many caretakers provided by the king service. “Hey, you, do you have a number yet?” a young man sitting at one of the tables asked William, taking him out of his thoughts. William took a while before he spoke “Um, no sir. I have not received a number yet” he did his best to straighten his back. There were strong men in a mile of sight, everyone had big muscles and had trained for this since they were small. His eyes wandered around, almost forgetting the conversation, he was having. “God, get your life in check, mate. If you want to be a knight, you can not just stand there looking like an idiot. Okay?”, with the last word, the young man smashed his hand into Williams chest giving him a with the number, 136. To think that they were already that many competitors, made William stomach turn.

He knew that competitors had to share tents. Williams sleeping mates would be number 53 and 17, as assigned on the tents. He stood outside of the tent, not knowing what to expect. He slid through the fabric and walked in hearing two people talking.

“You know I could beat you in a duel any day of the week”, one said to the other mockingly. “Yeah, right, I have always been a better swordsman than you, and you know it”, he commented back. They stopped their conversation as William stands came to a hold. “Hello, I am William Jackson and I am excited to share this journey with the both of you”, William did not notice the confused expression across the two young mens faces as he talked. “Mate, relax, is not like you will be here tomorrow”, the raven-haired boy said in a bitter tone. “Hey James, do not scare him. Do not think about him, he is just a prick”, the young man slammed his hand over the raven-haired boys head.

The blonde man stood up and walked across the tent making his way to William. “I am Thomas”, he said taking his hand out of his pocket for William to greet. “William”, his voice was shaking as they connected their hands, he felled a cold chill run down his spine. He brushed the feeling off, thinking it was just intimidation. Thomas was a Noble man; you could see it on his clothes. He was wearing assessments of a higher caliber. Metals at William had never seen before. He had never seen anyone look as ravishing and elegant. His own appearance now seemed humiliating. “You already said that, mate”, his voice was soft and sympathetic, William felt embarrassed. William looked down trying to avoid eye contact. He made his way over to what was clearly the spare bed.

Conversation was shared about the upcoming tournament, William did not like James that much. He seemed entitled and immature, talking about the girls that would die to marry him after he had won. William would admit James was handsome, but not like Thomas. Thomas had golden curly locks, and eyes as brown as chocolate, his scent was as delightful as roses. He had brood shoulders and a gentle smile. No one in Williams village looked like that. He knew that even though they could act like friends today, tomorrow would be totally different, they would turn on him.

The competition was hard, and there were legends about the blood spilled on that field, but honor came with a great price and William was ready to pay it. He hated the thought of hurting an innocent. The way James talked, made him sick. He could not think that people enjoyed others in pain. It was clear that Thomas did not agree with James values.

As conversation dialed down in the tent, Will found himself thinking about his mom. His mom was not a woman of honor. To her safety was the most important thing – or at least that was what Will thought. She would be proud and admit her wrongs when he came home with a medal. He was going to be everything his dad could not; a real soldier and hero.

He went outside to clear his head all the thinking was giving him a headache so hard it burned. Men were gathered around bonfires laughing and drinking. Will needed to find a quiet place. Today had been too much for him to handle. When he woke up this morning, he could only imagine what being here was actually like. His dad used to talk about the castle like it was a magical land, where everything was possible. As much as he hated his dad, he was right about that.

After walking for a couple of minutes he finally came to an opening, it was a training station. There was a sign saying, “Closed till tomorrow”. William knew then many came a week before the tournament; just to train. He took up his sword from his belt and stood in position ready to fight. Everything he had ever learned about swordsmanship came from his dad. For a man who died in battle, he had some great skills. He started to practice. He tried all the different moves he could remember. His blood started to rise as well as his heartbeat. He was angry, at James, his dad, his mother, but most of all himself. One hit after another in the air and anger filled his bones. He had to succeed. Sweat dripping down from his forehead, as his muscles started getting sore. He did not notice the time passing, but at some point, he cracked and threw the sword directly into a tree. So, Will went to pull it out, but half of the sword was stuck. He could hear a group of guards coming; getting in trouble was the last thing he wanted. No one was allowed to be there after hours, so he ran. He had to give up on the sword anyway, it was scum. He did not talk when he came into the tent, he just laid down on this bed and closed his eyes trying to drift away.

-       “I hate you. You are so much like your father. You are a real disappointment to this family. And I do not ever want to see you step your foot inside my house again.”.

-       “You are at least just as bad as me. I saw you try to practice but you will never be a great warrior with those little girl moves.”.

The next day came as fast as the other ended, and with the sun they all rose. Thomas kept looking at Will, he felt the pair of eyes on him. For Will this was only going to be the day, where his life really started. Will had not brought any food with him. James on the other hand had a whole crew of people bring him food, he did not even want. Thomas chose to share his plate with Will. “Why are you doing this?” Will asked. “Because it is the right thing to do. Come on, I can not let my teammate starve” he smiled back. Thomas handed him a piece of bread; their fingers glanced each other briefly. They all ate in silence, Will and Thomas sitting on one bed and James on his own.

Nightmares were normal for William, being a disappointment was normal for William. That is why bringing honor to his family meant so much to him. He had to be worth something, he could not just be a good for nothing man. His dad died a coward, and that was his biggest fear, being a coward.

Soon they all left the comfort of the tent and went out to fight for honor. As James took out all his weapons, William started to feel lost. Without a weapon he could not compete, no weapon no honor. James left, and Thomas was just about to follow but stopped when he saw the look on Williams face. “You know if you need anything you can just ask” as soft as Thomas voice was, it did not help with Will lose his distress. “Thanks, but I am fine”. Thomas just nodded and proceeded walking out. There was something off about Thomas, but William could not put the finger on it. Brushing the feeling off he rose from his seat.

William had spent 20 minutes getting ready, trying to get all his armor and gear on by himself. There was not long until his third match of the day. When he had showed up to his first battle a random man came and handed him a sword. The sword looked brand new and expensive, but William did not have time to question it. He won easily, gaining back some of the confidence, he had lost overnight. After the third match, there would be a break. So, the rich could gossip and feast. The king was supposed to give an inspiring speech, and everyone had to listen.

William had not hurt anyone yet, and he was not planning to. People came to serve not to die. William was not a killer, he just wanted to help stop the war. He was a fighter. William knew that he would leave a changed person.

Then a man came into the tent he was standing in. Before turning around William thought it was just one of the helpers, but it was not. There standing before him, was Thomas. Even though that just seen each other this morning. He looked a lot different with all his armor, he had a small cut on the higher cheekbone. “Hey” he said. “Ehh, hi”, what was he doing here William thought. “I just wanted to make sure you got the sword”, so he was the one that sent it. “Yeah thanks, how did you know I needed a sword?”, the question came out sounding more defensive than intended. “I saw you last night at the training station. You were quite impressive if I might say so myself.”, he saw me. William grew embarrassed, no one had ever called him impressive. Not even his sisters, who was his biggest fans. “I have not seen you fight but I can only imagine the kind of swordsmanship someone like you would carry.” William walked a step closer to Thomas. “Someone like me?” Thomas took a step as well. “I mean you are already perfect”. “I am not, at least my dad do not think I am. To him I am a disgrace to our family” he had a sad tone over his voice. “My dad was awful too. “If that helps”. Try not to sound so inconsiderate you idiot, Will thought after he spoke. “Was?”, the question hit hard. “He died in the war”, talking about it made Will feel vulnerable. “I am so sorry for your loss”, Thomas said sincerely. “It is OK, like I said; he was awful.”, just thinking about his dad, made his skin crawl. “Still a loss is a loss”, spoken like someone who had felt it. “My big brother died too” he talked again after a small pause. With all the talking William had not noticed just how close they were. Only a couple of inches from each other. William could see Thomas eyes starting to water, he was trying not to cry. “Sometimes I miss him, even though I do not want to” Will said trying to break the silence. Thomas now letting a small huff out moved closer to Will. William did not know what to think, as Thomas wrapped his arms around his torso. First in shock, he did not do anything, but soon he reciprocated the hug. It was nice being so close to someone, to feel safe. Will started to feel his own eyes watering. they both snuff their noses at the same time and a chuckled escaped from both of their lips. They pulled out slowly from the hug, so they were standing face to face. William felt something he had never felt before. He felt happy in this moment.

“Prince Tom, your father needs to see you right now!”, a man interrupted their conversation. Prince, who is a prince. Wait he said Tom - as in Thomas? William almost lost his mind; Thomas was the prince? “Good luck out there. Will I see you later?” Thomas asked calmly, he sounded like he thought William already knew. “Yes”, Williams thoughts were at war. Thomas smiled and left.

Even though William had just won his fight, all he could think about was Thomas. The fact that he was the prince. He should have been happy about all his victories, but now he did not know what to feel. Everything seemed different. He enjoyed fighting - but maybe he wanted more from life. He started walking around waiting for the king's speech, Thomas father's speech. A man carrying mail, went around handing it out. “Are you William Jackson?”, the man asked. “Yes, I am.”, who would have sent me a letter. “Take this” he handed him a beige envelope. He could see his mom handwriting cross the paper. He turned the envelope around and used his fingernails to open the letter. The letter read:

My dear William.

Hope you get this soon. I miss you and I am sorry. I should have been a better mother, but everything got so hard after your dad died. I know that I do not talk about him a lot, but I really miss him. I know that I should have defended him, when the people in town called him a coward, because he was not. He was good hearted, just like you. He cared more about saving a life, then killing. He never got to tell me what happened, but I talked to one of his friends the day of the funeral. He said that your dad had seen a man crying out for help on the battlefield. He was specifically supposed to stay on duty, but he could not watch a helpless man die. He fought his way towards the man and saved him. When he was not on his post people thought he chickened out and ran. He was brave running onto that battlefield saving a man's life. His friend said that when your dad came back with the man, they took him back to the camp. Your dad got hurt along the way, and with the paramedics being occupied saving the man’s life, your dad died form an unknown wound. People started calling him a coward and have never stopped. His friend tried to stand up for him and tell the truth, but no one believed him. That the reason why I have been so hard on you. I know you and your dad share the same heart and helping people is what you do. You have a savior’s heart. So even though it is hard and losing your dad almost killed me, I will support you.

I love you and I hope to see you soon.  

-       Mom

He reached into his belt holder and took out the silver neckless, “Savior’s heart”. He knew what he had to do. He knew what to fight for.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom x reader #prince tom #gay imagine #gay fanfiction #fanfic #imagine

[emilx311]

As a dragon Tobirama was used to being hated and feared and chased away from the children he only wanted to teach. When he is discovered with his latest batch of students he is prepared for the same thing to happen. Madara however, has different plans. 

Written for MadaTobi week Fantasy and Creatures. I may end up coming back to play around in this universe more as I had a few ideas that didn't make it into this fic. 

If you enjoy my work please consider supporting it by buying me a coffee

Tobirama has lived a long life. In that time, he has seen and learned many things. It would be hard not to as he had made it his mission to learn as much as he possibly can. He has also passed that knowledge on to as many as he can. As much as he values the things he has learned, he values the chance to pass the, on more, much to the irritation of many. He really did not see what the other races found so objectional about his habit of teaching, but their reactions were extremely irritating. He had to work hard to bury his instincts every time the adults dragged his students away and banned them from ever seeing him again. Separating a dragon from its hoard was always dangerous after all, though given his nature, Tobirama knew he would always have to be different. As much as he wanted to, he knew that he couldn’t just kidnap his students. They needed their homes and families and other things he just could not provide to them in order to thrive. Because of this he had forced himself to develop an almost unheard-of amount of control over himself.  

Everyone knew that dragons had a hoard that they guarded with deadly force. Everyone knew that to touch a dragon’s hoard was tantamount to suicide. This was, on the whole, true. What was not true was the perception other species had that all dragons hoarded things like gold and precious gems which they hid in caverns. What was not true was the assumption that if you saw a dragon you were close to its hoard and in extreme danger of being attacked. It was the rise of these ideas that had his kin hiding further and further away from the world with every passing year.

The reality of it was that, like with other species, each dragon was different-in hoard and in temperament.  Once they hit puberty, young dragons would begin to feel the urge to hoard, what they then began to collect was unique to each dragon. Something in them would tell them what they needed to collect, and once they had enough of it, dragons would move out of their parent’s dens to create their own. There was no real way to tell what a dragon would be driven to hoard when they reached this stage, though sometimes an educated guess could be made.

His elder brother Hashirama, for example, had always been drawn to the forest. Their parents always had to fight to get Hashirama to return to their mountain den at night. So, it had surprised no one when he began collecting and growing saplings. He was now the proud owner of a huge forest filled with all sorts of plants and animals in addition to his trees. The first ones he’d collected were all planted around the meadow he and his mate slept in, near the very center of the forest.

Mito, Hashirama’s mate, was a water dragon. She hoarded seals, and books on sealing (she also had lots of ink, brushes, and paper, but that was more for practicalities sake than instinct). These she hid in a cave hidden by a small spring near his brother’s meadow. Tobirama had never seen her full collection, though they would occasionally do trades.

His cousin, Touka, had ended up the opposite of his brother when it came to her hoard. Everyone had assumed she would hoard naginatas, or at least weaponry, given her love of them. Instead she had begun hoarding calendars, though she claimed they hadn’t felt quite right, they were the best she could find to appease her instincts. This was solved a few years ago when she had noticed other species with boards and calendars which read X days since Y. Something had clicked, and soon her walls were covered with these. In typical Touka fashion she had proceeded to use them to mock the rest of them by filling them with captions such as “Since Hashirama apologized to a twig”, or “Since Tobirama’s lab blew up”. The worst apart was that she made sure to keep them accurate and up-to-date (Tobirama suspected Mito may have made her some seals to help with that).

His own hoarding of knowledge was not a surprise to his family, though his hoarding of students was. He had, for a time, tried simply seeking out knowledge, but it had quickly become clear that this was not enough for his instincts. Some inner part of him screamed that his knowledge needed to be shared. Screamed as it saw children of all species left unable to so much as spell their own names. Intelligent children who could do so much with the things he knew. Tobirama was unable to do anything but give in to that voice. And so, no matter how often it ended in anger and pain, he continued to seek out students to teach over and over again. He couldn’t bring himself to regret doing so even as the pattern seemed set to continue to repeating itself.

He certainly couldn’t bring himself to regret his current set of students, spread out around him. Six children from the village down the hill from their current location or the surrounding clans. Hiruzen was a skinchanger from a clan of them. His alternate form was a monkey, and he loved to swing through the trees no matter which form he was in. Torifu was part giant. Though he was still small, Tobirama was sure he would grow as tall and strong as the rest of his clan. Homura, Koharu, and Danzo were all human and Tobirama refused to tolerate anyone calling them lesser for it. Humans were just as important to the world as any other species and deserved as much respect and consideration as any other. Finally, the last member of the group was Kagami, a young phoenix from the Uchiha clan. He was a hyper and happy youngster, always hoping around and ready with a joke and a laugh. Quite different from his solemn and reserved clansmen who Tobirama had observed on occasion over the years.

No, he could not regret taking the chance to teach these six.  Could not regret answering their questions. Could not regret telling them tales from lands far away. Could not regret teaching them about the forests, about the trees and plants that could heal and hurt. Could not regret the practical and survival tips he had given them. Could not regret encouraging their curiosity and drive. Could not regret the chance to impart a bit of his precious knowledge to others who could use it. He wishes, as he always does, that he could have had longer with them, that he could have taught them more, but he cannot-does not-regret choosing to teach them in the first place. Does not regret it even as he meets wide black eyes with red flames hidden within from across the clearing. Does not regret even as he stares at the one who will take these six away and cause him so much pain.

He knew, of course, that the adult phoenix would be able to tell what he was at a glance. Even in his humanoid form the telltale signs of his species were impossible to ignore. The long, curled horns poking up through his hair, his eyes with elongated pupils which he knew practically glowed with all the intensity of a dragon’s love for their hoard, not to mention his distinct markings. Though most of those were hidden under the simple long-sleeved shirt and pants he wore but the three on his face stood out starkly against his pale skin. There was nothing he could do about them. Just as the Uchiha could not hide or smother the flames that burned within them dragons were unable to disguise the marks of their nature. If you knew what to look for, and most did, it was always obvious when a dragon was about. Which, of course, did nothing to help their persecution and isolation.

Tobirama breathed deeply and prepared himself for the inevitable pain and separation that was to come. He pushed down his instincts, the part of him that growled to change forms and take his students away to his den where he would be free to protect and teach them without interruptions. He firmly repeated to himself all the reasons why that was a bad idea as he waited for the explosion that always followed an adult’s discovery of his teaching, but it never came. The Uchiha seemed stunned. All he did was stand silently and stare at him. Tobirama was rather disconcerted by it (and also slightly concerned honestly). The silence stretched on lone enough for the children to notice the arrival of the second adult.

“Madara-shishou?” Kagami asked in confusion after he had turned to see what his teacher was looking at. He tilted his head in a silent question, what was his mentor and clan head doing all the way out here?

“Brat”, Madara managed to shake himself out of his shock, “you’re supposed to tell someone where you’re going when you leave the compound”. He gave his younger clansmen a stern look with that reminder, it was for his own safety after all. The boy did at least look slightly abashed at that.

“But I was with my friends! And Tobirama-sensei, who’s an adult, was here the whole time to watch us so it was safe!” Kagami protested. Madara rolled his eyes.

“Perhaps so, but we didn’t know that did we?” He pressed the younger.

“Oh…I’m sorry for worrying you shishou!” Kagami declared, sounding honestly contrite about it. He was not a bad child, Madara knew, he just got overexcited.

“It’s alright, but do try to remember in the future. Now, why don’t you introduce me to this teacher of yours, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him around before” Madara commented, his eyes once again seeking Tobirama out.

“Right! Madara-shishou this is Tobirama-sensei. He’s been teaching us a whole bunch of cool stuff! Sensei, this is Madara-shishou, he’s the head of my clan!” Kagami was practically vibrating with happiness about being able to introduce two of his favourite people. Tobirama hated to think of how disappointed the boy was going to be when this meeting ended with him never being allowed to see Tobirama again.

“Thank you Kagami” he said, giving the boy a gentle smile and ruffling his curly hair. “Now, it’s almost dinner time so you and your friends should be heading home while Uchiha-sama and I have a quick chat”. He made sure to keep the smile on his face as he shoed his students back towards the village ignoring the familiar pang of pain the separation brought him.

“Madara” the man next to him spoke up. He turned to the phoenix in surprise and confusion, only to see a light blush spread out over his cheeks. “Please, there’s no need for the formality, just call me Madara”.

“Madara” Tobirama agrees, noting the small shiver the other gives when he does. He feels wrong-footed and more than a little confused. Being civil when the children were around made sense, he wouldn’t have wanted to alarm them after all. But they were gone now, so where was the yelling? The demands for him to leave the children alone? The threats of what would be done to him if he ever dared come near them? Those were what he was expecting, what he had always been faced with in the past, so he has no idea how to react when Madara just smiles at him.

“You have a beautiful voice” comes out of his mouth and Madara is horrified. He’d meant to say something cool and intelligent, something befitting his position as Uchiha clan head, but his brain seemed to have decided to desert him. This was not what he’d been expecting when he’d followed Kagami to find out where the brat had been sneaking away to lately. His first glimpse of the man had taken his breath away, even though the other had been facing away from him. Wanting some time to compose himself and also to observe what was going on. Even with his immediate attraction he was very aware that the being was a strange adult who was along with a bunch of children including one from his clan. No matter how beautiful his figure lithe figure may be, Madara wouldn’t hesitate to kill the other if he had done anything to harm any of the children.  

It became quickly apparent that this was not at all the case. All six of the children visibly adored him, talking over each other to tell “sensei” what had been happening lately. The other man had laughed, a sound that seemed to reverberate straight through Madara’s core, and had kindly scolded them to take turns. He sat them down in a circle, a change in position which revealed his face to the phoenix for the first time. Madara is fairly sure his heart honestly stopped for a few moments at the sight of it. The horns had told him that the other was not human from the start, but now he could tell that the other was, of all things, a dragon! (Could share his lifespan, wouldn’t loose him, a voice deep inside him whispered.) He was also the most beautiful creature Madara had ever laid eyes on, and he could only imagine how much more amazing the other’s true form must be.

Gleaming curved ivory horns stuck out of soft looking silver hair that almost matched them in shade. A narrow, delicate face with full pink lips and sharp silver brows lay under that, the features only enhanced by the three deep red lines painted on them. Lines the same colour as the dragon’s eyes. Deep ruby orbs that shone with all the passion his species were known for, but which were also soft with affection and pride for the children in front of him as he praised their accomplishments and patiently answered their questions.

Madara was honestly not sure how long he’d been watching them for before his body decided on its own to step out into the clearing. His inner flame had been twisting inside of him, trying to reach out, to claim this beautiful perfect creature he had found. And then, those eyes he’d been admiring had met his and it had been all he could do to hold onto his form. All he could do to stop the flames inside him from rushing up to consume him and renew him to his true form of air and fire, to soar out of those flames and scream his find and his claim for all to hear. Even now he could still feel the flame in him flickering at his skin in an attempt to escape.

“Er, thank you?” Tobirama replied, not really sure what else he could have said to that. He really was feeling very wrong-footed at the moment. He had expected yelling and threats; he was used to yelling and threats. He was not used to receiving compliments, especially not from adults of other species. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time a non-dragon adult had had a peaceful conversation with him! (There were a few exceptions, griffins for example got along well with dragons but few other species did.) Deciding he would really rather get this over and done with so he could go safely let his irritation, anger, and pain out before licking his metaphorical wounds, he tried to prompt the other back on track. “You want to talk about Kagami and the others I assume?” This, thankfully, did seem to shake the phoenix out of his trance…at least mostly.

“Oh, um, Kagami? Kagami, yes!” He stutters out before clearing his throat and trying again for something more cohesive (how was he supposed to focus on words with his fire licking his limbs with delicious warmth as they reached out for the other?). “I mean, yes, if you have a minute, I would very much appreciate that” he amended, pleased with himself for actually making sense. Tobirama nodded slowly. That was, again, not what he was expecting-which seemed to be becoming a theme with the phoenix.

“Of course,” he responded, tilting his head towards the other and silently urging him to get on with it.

“Oh um, well, Tobirama-may I call you Tobirama?” Madara paused long enough for the dragon to nod. “Tobirama” he repeated, just to taste the feel of it on his lips, “Tobirama I would very much appreciate it if you could give me a quick summary of what you have been teaching Kagami and the others. And, if possible, we could try to make some of it align more closely with what he is being taught by others. Also, it would be good to find a permanent time for you to meet, and perhaps arrange for a meeting place a bit closer to the village? You can continue meeting here if you’re more comfortable with that, but it would be nice to have the children closer in case anything happens. Oh, and um, the elders will likely want another adult to sit in on your lessons for awhile, just to be sure everything is okay. Because they’re paranoid and don’t really know you, not because you’re doing anything wrong or because you’re untrustworthy! Because you seem very kind and good with them and…” Madara trailed off, his blush returning full force. He’d started off so well, but he didn’t want Tobirama to think that Madara thought he was doing anything wrong! He flicked a glance at the dragon and found him looking shocked, as though Madara had struck him, not just asked him about some logistical matters.

“Are you, um, are you okay? If something I said would cause a problem, we can likely work something else out” he tried to reassure the other, reaching out but stopping short of actually touching. Tobirama, meanwhile, blinked wide red eyes and wondered if he was dreaming.

“You-you’re not telling me to never come near them again? You want to let me keep teaching them? You do know what I am don’t you? You can’t have missed it!” Tobirama’s words were barely above a whisper and were coloured with old pain and suppressed hope. Madara felt his own heart ache in sympathy while his flames flared again, this time accompanied by the urge to hunt down anyone who had ever hurt the other and drown them in fire. ‘Later’ he promised himself, for now he had to reassure Tobirama that he would not be another to hurt him.

“No, I’m not. I watched you with the children today”, he refused to be ashamed of protecting his clan, and especially Kagami. Somehow, he knew that Tobirama would understand. “And they clearly all but worshiped you. It was also clear how much you cared for them in turn. You were kind and patient and encouraged them to learn and question. You push them, but do not get angry if they fall, and instead you help them to stand again even more strongly. I saw nothing to make me think that you would ever harm them. Instead, I saw many things that showed how much of a positive influence you are on them. Why would I separate Kagami from someone who both encourages him and actively helps him to be better? As I said, the elders will probably want another adult to observe for a time to be absolutely sure, but I wouldn’t just cut you off without cause!” Madara harrumphed and crossed his arms at the end of his impassioned speech. Tobirama was looking at him with awe and growing hope, but there was one thing the phoenix had not mentioned which still made him warry of trusting Madara’s words.

“Most would consider my species cause enough to chase me away” he forced himself to say, watching the other’s reaction closely. Madara’s eyes flashed red visibly with fire and made a noise of contempt.

“Most people are idiots. Dragons are only dangerous if you provoke them first. The chance to learn from a creature as old and wise as you is an opportunity few could ever dream of and ought to be treasured as such!” The phoenix grumbled. Most species could be dangerous, could cause harm if they really wanted to! Dragons could certainly be very dangerous, but they were still sentient beings and deserved the respect other species took for granted!

Tobirama stared at the huffing phoenix before him, angry not at him but on his behalf, and felt something shift within him. The other male was beautiful, he noticed distantly under the waves of relief crashing through him. He was tall and broad with clear muscles defining his body. His pale skin was off-set by his dark eyes (which, as Tobirama had noticed earlier, glowed with his inner flames) and his absolute main of black hair which hung long and wild down his back. He had already shown he had all the passion and fire his kind were known for, and protective instincts that would do any dragon proud. He cared for his family, but was not rash, as shown by how he’d observed and gotten a feel for what was happening before revealing himself to Tobirama. And, most important to his draconic instincts, the phoenix had been close to his hoard but had not taken from it, had in fact found a way to help Tobirama keep it!

‘Helped use keep what is ours’ his instincts whispered to him. ‘Helped protect our hoard. Trustworthy, smart, strong, a good mate’ they insisted. ‘Claim, mate, keep’ they urged him, insisting the other had already shown his willingness by protecting their hoard. Tobirama was thankful for his practice and control since he was well aware that the other had no idea what he’d just down and how significant it was to his kind. He couldn’t simply lunge over and bite his claim unto the phoenix, no matter how much he may want to. His instincts were right that the other would make a wonderful mate.

“Thank you” he said, reaching out to grab and squeeze Madara’s hand. He made sure to meet the other’s eyes so that the phoenix would be able to see his sincerity. “Really, thank you. I do not know that there are words able to express the true depth of what you have just done for me. You have shown me kindness where no other ever has, and no matter how long the years of my life I will not forget it. I am happy to agree to your conditions; I only hid my lessons because I believed that I would be driven away. The only thing I would request is that you be the one to accompany the children to their lessons. You have proven yourself to be fair in judgement and not inclined to rashness. Also, it is selfish, but I would very much like the chance to get to know you more, and if you would permit it, to court you.” Tobirama knew he was blushing terribly by the time he was done, but he had always believed it better to be honest and straight forward about things.

Madara stared at him, at this beautiful creature that care so for a member of his clan, and who was thanking him for the chance to continue to do so. Who had apparently been driven away from others he had cared for so often he felt he had to hide. At the dragon that made his flames sing as no one ever had. At the man who had easily agreed to all his conditions in order to keep teaching his charges. At the one his soul desired who wished to spend more time with him. Who trusted him over others! Who had just asked for the chance to court him. Triumph and glee flared through him. He knew that his form was wavering slightly and that the bottom of his hair was starting to smoke, but he could not care less. His grin widened even more as he took the hand holding his and weaved their fingers together.

“I would love nothing more than to get to know you, but there is no need for you to court me. My flame and my soul have burned for you since I first saw you with the children earlier. If you would have me, they will burn for you until the flame is no more” he swore to Tobirama. The dragon would not recognize the traditional phoenix vow meant to be given to the mate their instincts chose, but he could clearly understand the weight the words carried. Tobirama took Madara’s other hand in his and made his own vow.

“You have protected what is precious to me without greed or incentive. You have proven yourself more than worthy of being my mate. I would have you and mark you as mine to possess and protect as fiercely as I do my hoard. I would give you everything I have and am, and take all you have and are as mine in return until my heart no longer beats to love it and my body cannot move to defend it”. As with Tobirama, Madara did not recognize the words themselves, but could tell from the power and gravity of them what they were.

Magic and fire flashed from their combined hands once Tobirama finished speaking, marking the moment their vows were burned into their very souls. A moment later Tobirama was lunging forward and sinking his fangs into the phoenix’s neck, leaving his permanent mark and claim on the man that was now his mate. He stepped back just as Madara finally lost the battle he’d been waging with his flames. They burst out of him, erupting everywhere and burning anything close to him to ash except for Tobirama. The dragon was now tied to Madara and his flames could and would never do him any harm. He emerged from the flames in bird form and used the moment from the explosion to push him higher as he screamed. He screamed out his victory and his triumph to the skies before swooping back down to swirl around his mate, trailing flames which did no more than tickle the dragon as he went. Tobirama laughed in elation at the display before copying his new mate and transforming. He let loose a roar to match Madara’s as he launched himself into the air to join the phoenix in the skies.

#madatobiweek2019 #MadaTobi #Madara #Tobirama #Fantasy and Creatures #Hashirama #Mito #Kagami #Touka #Hiruzen #Danzo #Koharu #Homura #Torifu #Dragon Tobirama #Phoenix Uchiha

[skeletorific]

UF Sans with and anxious S/O who suffers from chronic depression and doesn't think they're good enough for him, but won't give up! They try so hard to be normal for him and act like everything's okay, but one night they just break down crying and admit they don't feel good enough. They love him so much but some days she just doesn't feel any emotions at all(sadhappyetc)She knows its not her fault its the depression, but she thinks he deserves better than a broken girl like her(+UT/US/SF if okay)

UT!Sans: So first off, obviously he has no idea why  you’d view yourself as not good enough for him. After all, he’s got the same set of issues going on. Why would he resent it in other people.  The struggle with being around Sans is that he’s gonna provide a temptation to swing too hard in the other direction. Its really hard for Sans not to accept his own brokenness as his default. He’s been like this for so long that he sometimes has a hard time remembering that its like....normal for people to not feel like shit. His problem isn’t trying too hard. His problem is not trying at all, and just letting himself lapse into a perpetual state of numbness. He knows the right things to say: that you shouldn’t beat yourself up, that he wouldn’t be with you if he didn’t want you, that your mental health issues aren’t you being “broken”......but in the end he’s still in the thick of this himself, and if he had a sign path out he would have taken it a long time ago. Ultimately though his biggest strength as a partner is he never wants you to force emotion for him. He’d rather have you be honest and numb than try to fake a smile when there’s nothing behind the eyes. thats his job . You’re in this together, and he would never want you to feel like you had to lie to keep him.

UF!Sans: Red’s mental health problems tend to swing him the other way, in that he projects numbness while deep down being an unending maelstrom of emotions. Part of that is a safety mechanism. Expressing outward emotion was not only considered dangerous back home, but often seen as highly suspect. If someone was acting too expressive, it meant that they were almost certainly trying to lead you on. It had its drawbacks, but it gave him a pretty acute bullshit detector, and chances are he called you out on it before you had the chance to breakdown in front of him. Still, when you start to insinuate that you don’t deserve him.....tears him up inside. And he hates the word “broken”. He’s seen it slapped on too many people he cares about as a way to dismiss them. Write them off as a waste. People can’t be broken. “Broken” implies that they’re failing at something or for someone. And you can’t reduce a person to the functions they can or can’t perform. People can only operate in ways that are more or less beneficial to them. And that’s something he had to learn fast down there: you can’t operate if you think of yourself as “broken”. You have to work with the tools you have, to perform on site repairs if you need to. And.....if you can find someone you trust enough...let them help.

Fortunately he’s always been ready to serve as your handyman. 

He doesn’t want you to lie to him. And he doesn’t want you to force out a performance that will just create more mental grief for you. He wants you to feel like you can come to him on the low days, that you trust him enough to let him know what days you’re operating with lower batteries than normal. He doesn’t have a solution to this, he doesn’t have a way to take this out of your head. But he’ll do his damnedest to keep you going.

US!Sans: He’s a bit more empathetic with the need to perform even when the outside doesn’t match the inside. Its how he’s been hiding pretty severe anxiety for the past few years from everyone in his life. Chances are your breakdown triggers one of his own. How could he not have seen, he should’ve been there for you, and if.....if you, being so wonderful, think you’re not good enough for this....what would happen if you found out the truth about him? If you found out how broken HE is, would the tables turn, and suddenly you’d leave him behind? All told its not a good scene that night, for either of you. Once he calms himself a little his priority is getting you to a good place. Of course he still wants you around! He fell in love with all of you, not just the most presentable version. But there are conversations that are going to need to happen in the future between the two of you about honesty, and willingness to be vulnerable

SF!Sans: The instinctive response is immense guilt. Rasp isn’t the best at making the people in his life feel valued. He tends towards being on the hypercritical side. Part of that is the performance required of him by the tough conditions of his world. The other part is...that’s how he talks to himself. He is just as critical of himself as he is of others, if not more so. The first victim of his perfectionism is always him. However, this fact doesn’t make it any easier to deal with for other people, and he knows this. So his first instinct when you break down, confessing that you don’t feel good enough, is to think I did this. I cultivated this feeling. I went too far. Again.

So, he’ll do what he always does when he’s gone too far, spit out every compliment he can think of and then spend weeks showering you in gifts in his usual gruff attempts to convey how much he feels for you. Its sweet and well-intentioned but it doesn’t really get to the heart of your issues. Don’t let that discourage you, he legitimately wants to help. It may be best to loop in his brother on these conversations, who has a little more experience with this particular brand of self-loathing, but Rasp is gonna be trying his best to make you feel safer expressing your real feelings to him. Being vulnerable with you about how he felt when you first started dating was the highest expression of regard he’s every paid anyone. And more than anything he wants you to be able to return the favor in kind

#undertale #underfell #underswap #swapfell #sans #uf!sans #us!sans #sf!sans #chronic depression s/o #headcanon #Anonymous

[ojello]

The “Incident” With Gakushu |Yandere Karma Akabane x Reader|Pt.1|

Quick Disclaimer+Trigger Warning: This story is meant for the purposes of entertainment and is in no way meant to romanticize violent behaviour or mental illnesses. This story also contains mentions of suicide so if that or any of the themes mentioned makes you uncomfortable I strongly suggest reading something else. Minor note: [Rea] = “Reader” which is you~ 

When most people wake up in the morning, there are certain things they expect and certain things they don’t. Normally, sitting across from a handsome, albeit rugged looking detective falls under the latter category.

But ever since what every other adult in [Rea]’s life refers to as “the incident with Gakushu”, normal lost its place in [Rea]’s life.

The detective sits across from [Rea], helps himself to some tea her mother set out. The look in his eye is stern and empty. Like he’s seen incidents like the one with Gakushu and others incidents far worse.

He speaks kindly to [Rea]. He tells her she’s not in trouble.

[Rea] knew that. She’s doesn’t do bad things—Nothing bad enough to warrant a visit from the police that is.

He also tells her what happened wasn’t her fault. He’s not the first one to tell her that. Even if he was that wouldn’t change the fact that it was [Rea]’s fault. Partly. Most of the blame, most of the blood is on certain red-headed devil hands.

And with any luck, [Rea] will make the detective see that too. After all, his entire occupation revolves around reading between the lines, and refusing to take things at face value. If anyone would believe the truth of what happened, it was him.

“What was your relationship with Gakushu?” The detective asks. He sets his cup down.

“He was my boyfriend.” She answers.

“So you two were...” he pauses as if searching for the right word.

“Close,” he finishes.

[Rea] nods.

“Did you notice any changes him his behaviour? Anything that Mae you think he might...”

“Kill himself?” [Rea] asks.

The detective nods. He grimaces

“No. Because Gakushu didn’t kill himself. He murdered him.”

[Rea] has expects the detective to spout the same crap she’s heard the best past few days.

Now, it can be hard for people to come to terms with this, but the healthy thing for you to do is accept it.

But he dosesn’t. In fact he’s wiped away his grimace and a look of intrigue takes its place.

“Who’s he?” He asks.

“Karma Akabane.” [Rea} shutters just saying his name leaves her with a foul taste in her mouth.

The detective takes another sip of tea.

“And Karma is?”

“A friend... or he used to be.”

“And this Karma broke into Gakushu’s home. Killed him and wrote a fake suicide note in Gakushu’s handwriting.”

“Far fetched. I know, but there’s no doubt in my mind. That’s what happened.”

“And what was Karma’s motive for killing Gakushu?”

{Rea} took a sip of her tea.

“For you to understand. I’ll have to start from the beginning.”

[Rea] and Karma. Best friends. Partners in Crime as one might say. They loved getting into all sorts of trouble together. Although, [Rea] noticed Karma’s violence streak. There were times an innocent prank turned into a bloody brawl at the drop of a hat. More over he seemed to enjoy inflecting pain on others. His lips twisted into a cruel smile and the glint in his eyes matched that of a rabid dog.

[Rea] found this disturbing but Karma never beat anyone up that bad and he always stooped his assault when [Rea] told him to.

Still, [Rea] knew his bloodlust would get him into trouble one day... and it did.

A nasty fight with anther student earned Karma a month long suspension and a one-way ticket to E-class.

This meant Karma and [Rea] couldn’t spend time together at school anymore. What with being in different classes and the unspoken rule: treat students of E-class like dirt.

[Rea] do that though. She never acted rude or snobby towards E-class students. Granted, she didn’t treat them nicely either. She adopted a “if I don’t bother them, they won’t bother me” attitude with that class and its students.

She planned on treating Karma the same way. Just at school though. They could still hang out and get into trouble outside of school just like they used to.

And that’s what they did when Karma’s suspension was up. Everything return to to its normal rhythm. Until one day when they were walking home [Rea] asked:

“Why did you beat that guy up? I mean you always beat people up, but you really did a number on him this time. What did he do?”

Karma looked back at her and smiled.

“I heard he had a crush on you. Can’t have that. You belong to me.” He said.

[Rea] felt a cold beat of sweat drip down her back, but she shook it off. Karma wasn’t a stranger to dark humour.

“Haha. Hilarious. Now tell me the real reason.”

Karma stopped walking and turned around.

“That was the real reason. I love you, [Rea]. The thought of you with anyone besides me drives me crazy—no it is crazy. Why would you be with some random loser when you’re meant to be with me and only me. After all unlike them, I’d do anything for you... anything to keep you by my side. Where you belong.”

Everything about the confession… from the dark look in Karma’s eye to the words he used to express his feelings made [Rea]’s blood run cold. She found it hard to want to still be Karma’s friend let alone date him.

“Karma...” she started.

“I’m sorry. I like someone else and... I’m sure he likes me to so...”

That wasn’t a lie. [Rea] always had eyes for the star of the school, Gakushu Asano. To say she was overjoyed when she overheard girls say that he might like her would be a gross understatement.

She never told Karma since she didn’t think he’d want to talk about girly things like crushes.

“Who...” Karma asked in a voice [Rea] never heard him use. Low, loud, and angry.

“Um...”

“Who’s the bastard trying to take you away from me!? Tell me so I can put him in his place!”

[Rea] stepped back.

“I just remembered... my mom wanted me to pick up a few things.” [Rea] lied. She stuttered and tripped on her own words. She barely understood herself.

“Oh... I’ll go with—”

“That’s okay.... you can go on ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow though.”

But tomorrow never came. For the next few months [Rea] avoided Karma like gang green. All his calls became voice mails she didn’t listen to. The walls of texts he sent went unanswered, and [Rea] took a later train home to avoid running into Karma.

She didn’t want to distance herself from him. For the longest time Karma was a person [Rea] felt safest around. Physically and emotionally. She showed of her brash, somewhat unappealing side without fear of judgment, and he’d have her back when they got into trouble. A knight in red armour.

But... after hearing what Karma would hurt someone, not in self-defence but over petty hearsay, rumours, hallway gossip. [Rea] didn’t feel safe around someone who could snap so easily.

She had to left him go... and that hurt him but it hurt her too.

It wasn’t all bad though. She had Gakushu.

He didn’t make [Rea] forget Karma, or replace him—no one could—but he soothed the aching loneliness in her heart. That was enough.

Intelligent, debonair, and a perfectionist Gakushu drove [Rea] to become the best version of herself. Focusing on herself helped [Rea] move on. Plus he had a secret sweet side he only showed around her. [Rea] loved that about him the most.

Everything seemed fine—not great but fine. That was enough for [Rea]... until the incident that is.

They found Gakushu dead in his room a few days before mid terms. A pool of his own blood surrounded him, and his hand a note addressed to all the important people in his life.

Cause of death: suicide.

“At least that’s what everyone thinks.” [Rea] says, finishing her story.

The detective nods

“Makes sense. Son of the principal of an elite private school... top of his class... maybe the pressure got to him and he scrambled for peace—a way out. And to him the only way out was...”

“Death.” [Rea] finished.

“Yes.”

The detective the rest of his tea and sets the cup down.

“But... I’m not convinced that’s true.” He says.

[Rea]’s eyes light up.

“You’re not?”

“Yes. Something about Gakushu’s death doesn’t set right with me. There’s also Karma’s history violent behaviour...Can I ask you a few more questions?”

[Rea] nods ready to tell him anything.

“I have a few more questions.”

“So, Karma disappeared and ceased all contact with you around the time Gauku dead, right”

[Rea] shakes her head.

“It’s true he’s  disappeared, but he still contacts me...with letters.”

“What kind of letters?”

[Rea] hugs her shoulders as a her stomach twists in knots and her mouth goes dry.

“Sick letters.”

“I’ve taken them to the police, but without a return address they can’t figure out who sent them...that and they seem to think it’s a harmless prank.”

“Can I see them?”

[Rea] nods and goes off to her room to retrieve the few letters she didn’t throw away or burn. She wanted to get rid of them all, but she figured she keep a few for evidence.

The detective reads through the letters one by one. They’re short and violent. Phrases like: I’m going to smother you. I’ll cut anyone if it makes you love me. You love me. Keep popping up.

None of them are signed off with a name, but they all end with: I’m coming for you.

The detective grimaces. He holds his stomach like he’s about to throw up.

“These are sick...but they’ll help.”

“Thank you so much.” [Rea] says.

The detective rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Thank me when the case is solved.I’ll do what I can to keep you safe, cub.”

[Rea] tilts her head.

“Sorry...that’s what I call my daughter. You remind me of he

The detective stood up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card.

“If you notice anything that makes you uneasy or you see Karma anywhere call this number and I’ll send help right away.”

[Rea] thanked the detective, and he went on his way.

Knowing that there was someone who not only believed her, but was taking inactive to find Karma and make him pay for what he did gave [Rea] that same sense of safety she once had with Karma.

A short obituary. Next to the text a picture of the detective working on [Rea]’s case. Someone found him in his office with a hole in his head and brain matter splattered on the window behind him.

Cause of death: suicide.

Not surprising. His wife left him and took everything and his children refused to speak with him. That’s enough to make most mean look for comfort in the barrel of a gun.

[Rea] thinks the same thing at first, but her body temperature drops when she realized it might be Karma.

He kills himself a few days after he said he’d help me... this isn’t a tragic coincidence not it’s him.

[Rea] decides she’ll leave home that night. It’s not safe in town anymore. She has to go somewhere anywhere where he can’t find her.

She’s only finished packing her bag when she sees a piece of paper on her desk. [Rea]’s blood went cold as she reads it out loud.

“I’m not sure if I can forgive you for betraying me twice. Although, I might if you beg harder enough, but no promises. I’m coming for you be a good girl and wait for me.”

And that’s when it hit her.

He’s coming for me. Doesn’t matter who I go to for help or how far I try to run away... he’s coming for me. It’s only a matter of when... and all I can do hope he doesn’t kill me when he does.

A/N:Tbh I kind of feel like I copped out with the ending and I’m sorry I just didn’t have anymore creative energy to end it better. Too all you Gakushu lovers, sorry that he dies in this fic. But in my defence: nine times out of ten, if it involves a yandere there will be death.

#fanfic #karma akabane #x reader #reader is female #readerinsert #yandere #light gore #assassination classroom #anime #anime fanfiction #assassination classroom fanfiction #yandere fanfiction #yandere x reader #yandere x you

[fadinginfluencerblaze]

Fallen Dreams

 Disclaimer~ Art is devised by me and all editorial work is a solo operation. “Fallen,” will be my last publication before my vacation: https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/news/post/1057611 If you would like commissions or requests for art work done please visit my patreon  account   https://www.patreon.com/AdventVoice  https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/news/post/1057550      https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/news/post/1057522

From several authorities of art and creativity, I’ve heard something after completing “Loving My Dragon,” something I’ve not heard since I was sixteen. My ability in the arts is worth more than a few hearts, likes and the endorsements of a few passerbys. It is better than what people have been forced to digest in the past twenty four years. Could be longer really. Depends on your tolerance for main stream media.

Forced to settle, due to never being exposed to minds similar to my own. Which there are a lot of us. I’ve realized as I dig deeper into the internet, blogs, and journals of other dreamers.

There was a study, a social experiment really, given by Facebook and other online platforms, seeking to gauge how to rate worker performance by emoji. Wanting to reward creative minds who earn the most accolades and applause of the people. It can become rather addictive and I find I may be falling into that same trend. Advertising more or less for the approbation of people and not so much for pay.

I explained this to a few supporters and they were shocked. Believing me to be worth far more than the few seconds of increased impressions on twitter and the level of dinner table conversation I can influence with a few well directed bards and illustrations of the latest trending topic.

Now if only I could find a paying sponsor that believes the same thing. Then me and the Dream Weaver would really go places. Here’s the thing about me, that is different from your average ambitious and dedicated creator. I don’t want to go anywhere my friends won’t be invited to reap the benefits.    

I’ve seen too much in this life to believe I can do anything on my own and be a success at it. You know I remember a time when people could have 500+ Facebook friends and no one spend a dollar with or on each other. On anything that could turn a profit. Nearly a thousand people talking, interacting, mingling and no money is made on the effort. Oh there is a lot of sexy talk, a lot of people locked up cause the girl is underage and the guy is enthralled with her pictures. Oh there was a lot of room fo shows like “Cheaters,” to corner a market in tracking people via location recognition devices on the broadband signatures, but for nearly ten years, no one was making any real money that would put them on the Forbes list as the best entrepreneur, besides those buying out all of the larger retail stores and Disney. Could be why I spend so much money on everyone else and not on myself. Makes me feel like I am saving the small business owners world, one click at a time.

The loss of Tina-Raze  on the                                         internet and access to her work has really made me appreciate the gift of visibility attributed to my own work. Sure I desire a physical gallery, but that cost money and you need dedicated staff. An online gallery is a one man show that will last as long as I have material, drive and an interactive audience. But when outside forces wage against one’s output and you are forced to erase everything and the years put into a showcase are no longer accessible; there is something daunting in the realization that everyday I have a chance to present anything, it should not be wasted on the trivial.

That is a sharp word because I highly doubt any of us have the authoritative right to define what is relevant or trivial to a creator. We can choose to interact with a product of not but we can’t say what someone was seeking to share has no value and thus erase them from existence. Not if we have any respect for the sanctity of the culture of art and the freedom in which we universally share this gift.      

~ I can never say enough of how much I appreciate the time we shared and I hope you return to the creative scene soon Tina-Raze.~

 I was reviewing “The Action Bible,” published by David Cook and illustrated by Sergio Cariello. It is an extensive publication that sought to illustrate the entire Bible, without the mistakes seen in previous renditions. It really took that whole group a while to find the best method to bring the Bible to life for young and old readers. I enjoyed their expressive illustrative skills and dedication to keeping to as much as can be had with a book as fantastic as the Bible.

What surprised me was the decision to eliminate the wings of angels and go with the ‘golden locks,’ signature.  For years the wings of angels and demons played a big part in aiding people in separating the two worlds. Without the wings, we are no more than disembodied spirits, ghosts of our formers selves and have a long journey yet to that pinnacle of glory that awaits the faithful. So it was taught to me at least.

There were a lot of ideas shared with me as boy that I spend little time contemplating now, because I am a man and more than assured of where I will be regardless of the mistakes in this life.

Others may doubt. Others may seek to clip my wings as I ascend. Others may project their insecurities and through bitter imaginations suggest that because of the curse of Ham, and Nimrod, the black race will never have a place in heaven. Some may build a whole world of fantastical proportions and place compartments, as zookeepers, locks and doors upon the gates, with signs that say, “If you never drank yourself into oblivion while on earth, you go here, you never loved anyone but God you go here, if you never where tempted to fuck a woman in the ass, though she begged for it, you go here.”

Another sign reads, “Collect your white wings for perfect attendance on the earth, to every Sunday meeting.” In this corner of heaven, you should have received a notice in your casket upon death, we were sure to send Gabriel, who after years of working for God, never got his golden winged promotion.

All who have been the black sheep of the family and have been to prison more than once in their life time be sure to collect your “black wings,” down isle five. Five is the number for grace and that is the only reason you’re hear, so don’t be cute and try to steal the ‘white wings,’ from your betters, who happen to shine a little sharper in hue and have more gold flakes in their hair.  

Those who were on earth and always fought for a righteous cause but failed to achieve any victory and remain angry behind the loss, you will receive your ‘red wings,’ in the dust falcons chamber. Some of you were clumsy on earth. Always bumping into things. Could never walk in heels or win a fashion show. Never turned the heads of men or appealed to women. Had a haunch in you back from never learning poise and posturing. Be sure to pick up your set of ‘spotted owl,’ wings, found in the east gate.

God is a god of order and angles never complain about their lot in heaven. There in whatever state they are in, there, they are to be content. There is a hint of a karmic code in association with the hue and colors of heaven and I was never one to believe in eastern influences when it comes to what my place in heaven would be like. I bend so far on earth, doing what I am told, I will go to heaven with white skin, white wings and all curse will be lifted from my body upon death and the curse of the previous life that marred me and made me black, while I was alive.  

I don’t think so. No, I’ve believed for a long time now that even black angles deserve to fly.   https://avproductionsblog.wordpress.com/2017/11/03/even-black-angels-deserve-to-fly/   https://avproductionsblog.wordpress.com/2017/03/18/you-read-it-here-first-black-amethyst/

I know I am not one to be denied.

Those of you that know how to twirl and twerk and shake your tail feathers, to win the Twerk Team Auditions https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rba9Z0CcWwQ&list=PLxwfHzPeMrG0N0E5Q3hBI_vRjXl-BqJAR or hang out with DJ UNK https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TeLdCPINh6M and earn 15 minutes of fame for being a video vixen with a phat ass, you can gather your eagle wings in the North tower. You should notice the Notorious BIG Smalls in the butlers uniform, set to serve and assist you wonderful ladies in fitting for your wings. He was always so good at zipping up Faith Evans dresses, we thought he’d like doing that for eternity.

Just stand there and zip wings.

He was way too dark and ugly so he never earned his own, but Puff Daddy sand and danced enough to ensure he’d make it in.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0LHyvFryW2M

What a joke, eh that might have been a cheap shot to bring Puff Daddy and Biggie into this conversation, it’s just, I am so sick of color being a barrier for people I guess. But as long as there are people, it will play a part in the minds of men and women that hold their minds hostage and will build politics and kingdoms centered around it. We will split God into figures of hued stone that resembles us in some fashion and suggest if he looks like me, then he is the one that created me. Odd considering how I can create characters of different races, backgrounds and love each with as much joy as the next. Why would I doubt God would love me less because my hair is not wavy or red and ruddy and my skin is not peached or pinked, but bronzed and red? Why is my tolerance for people and the curves, shapes and hues greater than that of a god and I am a mere man?

King Solomon, black but comely: I am glad I’ve never heard it taught, due to Solomon’s hue of skin the temple came down. Why are we so caught up with color that we would actually base our safety on it, risk our lives for it? When in the middle of turmoil, pain, upheaval, or simply in a moment of benign joy during an annual parade in the city, color should be the last thing discussed.

Ever since I was a boy, I’ve held a rigid position on color talk. I had to be set because all of my friends where white. My first love was a gothic princess, that used to put a cat collar and a leash around my neck. I lived in New Jersey and traveled to upstate New York and Ohio all the time and had so much fun playing video games, poker or reading comics with white people. Lived in Kansas where they tried to make me where a confederate uniform for the JROTC program. I did not know if it was a joke of if they really felt I would be honoring someone’s death by wearing that uniform.

I sought to be above the barriers poised by classification and color because I am an artist.  Because I am a storyteller and find relevance in people and can’t deny anyone based on my insecurities. I would not want someone to look at me and deny me access to anything. A communicable discussion, a forum, anything political, or my own comfort and what I believe to be good for me because of my color, because  their preconceived beliefs  denotes I should be marginalized.

I laughed myself into stitches, when during my junior year of highschool I realized all of the black children expected me to eat my lunch on the wall and away from the ‘preppy-white,’ children because they decided to self-segregate. Because they felt they did not have a life style or come from a family that could afford to play golf at the local country club. That they would not and were not admitted to be  apart of a society setting our grandparents and great grandparents were conditionally denied. I was infuriated by the idea of having to defend my home and right to existence, from people of my own color, if I ever married an Asian, white, Indian, Arab, anything besides a black woman. Especially to look at me, you’d never out right believe I was of African decent until I grew out my hair, which I would wear proudly, long and wild.

Fredrick Douglas had nothing on me in my desire to topple the walls the youth of my generation would build around themselves for the sake of traditions that should have been long dead. I would have loved to ignore this conversation, but it is all over the conservative radio, it is misdirected or used callously on liberal stations and it’s become too easy to degrade someone you might disagree with on a benign social discussion, as a racist.

It is too easy to believe I don’t attribute credibility in the claim when you call me an Uncle Tom because I speak well and try very hard not to curse when it would be so much more convenient to do so.          

https://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view/730095

Honestly in the world of art this should never be a discussion and if life truly imitated art in this dynamic the world would be a better place. At least confrontation and schisms would not be as prevalent as it is today. To me it is like we begin the topic of hues and what is beautiful or seen in heaven, because we don’t have anything else to talk about.

I illustrated “Fallen,” as a response to how ridiculous of an idea of not being accepted by God or anyone would feel that way, because they are black. That someone would use the Bible to teach that and we would stop illustrating wings when talking about angels, in order to unify the spectrum of colors that make up our world into the kingdom of Zion.

Hard to imagine; in some aspects we still can’t agree on a marketable environment that unites black, white, Asian, and Indian dreamers.      

[paganchristian]

Here are the two clovers that I found back whenever, several years ago.  I realized in this picture it’s a little hard to see the fourth leaf on one of them, but oh well.  I saved this one in my draft folder and I like it because of the imagery, in which one clover overlaps the light switch, and the other one overlays the door.  It makes me think, continuing on the whole idea of omens and good luck and beliefs, which have an ability to create good luck,... It brings me a few thoughts on those things.  

Ok first of all let me also say that I don’t actually think that clovers are lucky, but you know, it’s just for fun, and as for what charms I think are lucky, well, I think that they are something imbued with spiritual or psychic energy, so it’s not so much the object but the message it gives or the person who give it to you or the message God is trying to lead you to, or the path that the symbol represents, that you are being led towards, be it a spiritual path or maybe just some other blessed path for you.  In itself, I’m not a believer in a good luck charm that just has inherent worth as an object with some mystical power.  Not that I say it can’t ever be, because I’m not totally sure.  The world is mysterious.  But I have experienced the luck of things that have real spiritual value because they are good messages from beyond, from higher, from God, I think.  Then again I think that sometimes they can mislead, and be bad omens. False signs and wonders.  I have experienced things of this nature too, that I thought were good until gradually, subtly it was revealed to me to be harmful.  Enough good that I thought it was only good, but a subtle yet powerful bad effect was worse, though unseen.  

Anyway, I think that even among good beliefs, sometimes they can be good only situationally.  Just like a good, strong, solid, consistent, simple and clear story, it is good if it works for you, but it seems to me like not only does it have to be a simple, clear, strong basic story.  It even has to be predictable, relatable, not too far outside what you are used to doing and feeling and thinking.  Ask people to reach too far outside themselves and they will overlook the message.  It goes back again to how children’s stories and folktales and fairytales can often contain what cultural sophisticated, high art, religious, and philosophical type stories omit,...  

It’s as if there is something that more modernized mindsets lose touch with and children and people who have been less modernized are more likely to see these things, even when they have to veil the messages in hints, symbols and characters very indirectly, animals and fools and such that are silly enough to just laugh at, not too close for comfort, not too similar to the real problems they are hinting at or the deep truths many would laugh or deny or hide because it gets too real, too radical, too challenging, too brave, too good, for the mediocrity of average existence to accept or embrace, too hard, too fine a line to balance.   

It seems that people have to oversimplify and they have to consolidate power in a few official people in power, within modernized, simplified, streamlined, organized, complex cultures and societies.  Complexity and organization ends up helping in some ways and cutting corners and fitting us into a box that fits the overall system in other ways. I think that people in general want someone to help make life simpler, and in that process they seek the authority figures, the ones in power to simplify it all down to something they can say is the answer, the final answer, and if they have an authority who makes it all simple and lines it all out that relieves the uncertainty.  This particular facet isn’t just for modernized societies.  We have always been trying to appease the gods who have certain rules, in all cultures, through time, and we make rules and superstitions we are supposed to follow in order to seek the peace and harmony safe from the chaos that life rains down on us.  

Anyway, there often is a certain order, sequence, hierarchy and so on in all these rules and rhythms and practices too, oftentimes.  It’s the problem I have now.  They say, do one thing before you can do another, but sometimes, maybe too often, I think, the order is arbitrary and false, harmful.  

But anyway, people want an order to follow step by step, but I can see now its wrong for me,...  Right now, in my case, I am dealing with this in my life with some of the religious beliefs in the path I’m considering.  Again and again they say you have to do this before you do that, and I just cannot for my sanity.  

So I can see these orders and sequences are sometimes just once more a problem of artificial, arbitrary order, to relieve the huge uncertainty and fear and sadness and pain and guilt because of all the mistakes we make when we are left to our own devices so we seek this outer authority to tell us exactly how, when, where, what and in what order we must do things, but sometimes they get the details wrong.  But if we feel secure in our system we can feel like we are safe when we follow the proscribed plan and judge those who don’t and advise them and appease our conscience when others fail- it must be just a lesson from God for not following some rule, seen or unseen.  But since there is so much we can’t know about others’ inner lives we can’t really truly judge (they say), but still many people do judge and you can see in how they act, many signs give it away that many do judge.  It’s hard to have so complex a system of rules which are supposed to give all kinds of rewards, when followed well enough, eventually,... It’s hard to have such a set of rules without judging those who don't’ follow or who seem to endlessly suffer too badly.  Then logic seems to suggest maybe they are not following the rules well enough and judgment follows. 

Anyway though, the light switch, the door, in the picture, makes me think of things.  Signs and beliefs can turn on the light, to a new idea, like a lightbulb, wake us up, make us pay attention, focus, remember the idea, try to do something instead of just thinking about it, take it more seriously.  Then there is the door, the door to the actual new path, the new place, the new experience.  Sometimes signs or beliefs just make the light come on, and sometimes they actually open the door to a new way.  Some ideas do one thing, and other ideas do the other thing, some are lights, some are doors, some can be both or either.  But a light doesn’t have to be perfect, it can be dimly lit, it can be a lamp that has a shape, a color, a form, that seems to be one way, but it shows us something else, when we see with the light that emits from the lamp.  The door, the actual path, too, can lead from one path to another.  But it’s more important for the door to lead at least in the general direction.  Lights can be suggestions, possibilities, sparks of thought that lead from one to another to another idea.  But real world action is more challenging and engaging, effortful and slow, oftentimes, and so that is when we really must be going the right way at least a little bit.  

Or, maybe sometimes not, I guess, it depends.  Because thoughts aren’t so free, so easy, a light that lights the way by making us think and figure it out and explore... Yes on the one hand thoughts can speed much more rapidly than real life actions can plod forward, but for the same reason they can delude us.  Sometimes we will avoid nonsense by thinking so much and questioning and contemplating before diving into the action of life.  Sometimes by using our minds and hearts, we can reach God and love and goodness and meaning without ever taking much “real world action”, and then the energy of our hearts and prayers reaches others even if we never leave our home.  So many spiritual paths say, this path I’m considering, and Buddhist and Hindu, among other paths I’ve heard of.  But thoughts can be very dangerous, quickly leading us blindly astray when we thought we were going somewhere good,...  Keeping us trapped years on end, or decades, spinning in chaos.  As I know, living through this for many horrible years of my life.  Thoughts definitely can get us so lost, entangled, running faster and faster, unable to rest, restless, anxious, sad, confused, deluded.  So there’s no rule I guess.  Thoughts have to be at least somewhat good too or they’ll lead you way off track.  You can’t always see for your own self what is good, true, makes sense, even if you’re smart, raised with good values, good enough, pretty good values (good as average, or I think in many ways much better than average, the values I was raised with).  I should know because I was so lost that way in my mind.  I think my desire to be a good person (figure out how and just what that really means in a world where so many opposing ideas of what is right and good and what is not and my own personality and physical and mental health problems were not at all fitting in with what almost anyone accepted to be “good”), all that made me lost, truly.  And my desire to seek God and my deep thinking wrapped me even more in confusion than a simpler person who doesn’t try as hard to be as good, to reach as high, to find God, to make sense of the mysteries of the universe.  Someone like my husband, as he was after he abandoned his spiritual interests, he was thenafter happy to abuse others (me), content in a simple life, apparently happy for all the world to see, strong and well he has been and continues to be.

And sometimes real action when misguided still teaches us very well what to do instead, in clear obvious ways.  Sometimes real action is learning what mere ideas cannot teach.  Sometimes real life is down to earth and full of observable, experienced facts that keep you in the realm of safety and goodness.  And real actions can often include meaningful, human interactions that keep you in the fabric of life and what really matters.  But other times even real experiences and interactions just seems meaningless, forgettable, trivial and numbing, a rushing around, an artificial appearance and the praise and admiration of others, all for nothing, or their scorn, and advice, but again, misguiding, all for nothing.  I don’t know.  

More roundabout thoughts, circular but I feel they’re leading somewhere that matters, to help me sort out why religion keeps tangling me up rather than resolving into clarity, oftentimes. 

[ignissa]

On the links between Toffee and Eclipsa

I have a bit of a theory on what is going on between Toffee and Eclipsa, and would love to hear what others think - if they know of anything in canon that goes against it.

The Septarians (like Toffee and Rasticore) seem to be the only confirmed “immortals” in the series. Both known Septarians are related to Eclipsa (in Rasticore’s case, via Meteora) in some way, and yet Eclipsa was quite happy to give Moon the “darkest spell”, knowing that she was going to use it against one of them. I can think a few possibilities:

A) Eclipsa is the type of person who is willing to sacrifice an ally in order to secure her freedom. I think this is the least likely option personally, since the series seems to be pushing for a morally ambiguous tone for Eclipsa rather than outright villainy.

B) The “darkest spell” is not actually lethal; a few people have suggested that the spell simply transports the victim into the wand.

If B is true, then a few things could also be true.

We know, for example, that the wand is directly linked to the Realm of Magic, given the fact that the whispering spell allows Toffee to speak to Ludo directly through the wand’s crystal. Could a victim of the “darkest spell” also corrupt magic? In a similar way to how Star went and brought Toffee’s finger out of the wand, could Eclipsa’s plan have been to overpower young Queen Moon and to bring Toffee back after his “sacrifice” allowed her to break free from Rhombulus’ crystal?

Unless things like destiny and prophecy are gonna start playing a larger role (which may very well be the case given the emphasis placed on the cards suits and the imagery in St Olga’s), there’s no way Eclipsa could have predicted the exact circumstances that would lead to Moon going to her for help (and then actually accepting her help), so I think it’s likely that this wasn’t her original original plan. Indeed she doesn’t seem phased at all that this plan was set back a few decades due to Moon changing her aim, so I doubt she didn’t have a backup plan.

If Toffee’s actions are anything to go by, I think Eclipsa’s original plan may have been something like this:

- Find a particularly vulnerable wand-user (perhaps someone who has lost her mother at a young age, or who is living unguarded in a different dimension with some weakness you can exploit).

- Get them to say the whispering spell, giving an ally access to the Realm of Magic.

- Cause a magical fritz, which weakens Rhombulus’ crystals to the point where they break and you are freed - it is suggested in Crystal Clear that this was beginning to happen when Rhombulus comments that his crystals are now only as hard as rock candy.

- Profit???

Perhaps Eclipsa is even able to use the corrupted magic, given the fact that she’s the only royal to have experimented with such things?

Now, compared to what actually happened, the bare bones of the plan are pretty fair in moral terms - no-one is in harm’s way at least.

I have to wonder though exactly how closely Toffee followed the script? After all, if he and Ludo had just stayed out of Star’s way he probably would have succeeded, and yet he felt the need to push Ludo towards stealing Star’s knowledge, then the spell book, and finally the castle itself. Was killing one of Eclipsa’s great-great-great-(etc)-grandchildren part of her plan? What about then stranding an innocent princess in the Realm of Magic, drowning her in corrupted magic, and allowing her mother (the daughter of the previously murdered grandchild...) to think that she was dead? If we take what Eclipsa says at face value, then she lost her mother at a young age and also had to leave her own daughter(s) behind when they were young, is she really the type of person who would be willing to force that upon another family member for seemingly no reason?

I personally think that was all on Toffee. I think he raised a rebellion against his fellow monsters when it seemed like the “Monster King” (the guy we see in Moon the Undaunted) was getting too chummy with Queen Comet, Moon’s mother. He killed Comet and was preparing to take the castle for revenge’s sake. In the flashback the “Monster King” seems absolutely horrified about what happened to Comet, as well as the idea of Moon facing Toffee, so I think it’s a safe bet that Comet was actually pretty sympathetic to the monsters’ plight - she was about to sign a peace treaty after all... To be fair we don’t know exactly how balanced the treaty would have been, but it almost certainly would have been better than Moon “[hunting] down the remains of the monster army and [scattering] them without country or leadership”.

When Moon demonstrates that actually the Septarians aren’t invulnerable to Mewman magic it loses him his army, his position of power and respect, and his own sense of personal safety all in one fell swoop; as Marco says “the easiest way to depose a ruler is to destroy his credibility”. Everything beyond that point technically fits into Eclipsa’s plan (if we assume of course that this is her plan), but is motivated by a desire for revenge against Moon and Mewmans as a whole rather than loyalty towards Eclipsa.

He deliberately targets Moon’s daughter. In Fortune Cookies he learns that she is naturally powerful but that kindness is her weakness. This is something he takes advantage of in Storm the Castle. We also see him studying the wand in the background during Mewnipendence Day, so it’s likely that he knew a great deal about the way the wand works. During the same episode, we see him significantly more upset about the “Great Monster Massacre” than anyone else; a few people have suggested that he may have been directly involved in and affected by the massacre, due to his immortality. We then see him mistreating a fellow monster, Buff Frog, to further his own cause. At this point it is clear that his motivations are deeply personal, and that he is not above harming other monsters to get what he wants. This is made even more clear in the season 1 finale where his friendly facade towards Ludo and his minions is immediatelly dropped as soon as he has what he wants.

He calls Ludo to the cleaved half of the wand by taking advantage of his weakness - namely his obsession with Star and the wand. As previously mentioned, instead of laying low and corrupting magic to the point where Eclipsa could break free, he encourages Ludo to find a way to access Eclipsa’s magic, first by trying to kidnap Star, and then by taking the book. This then allows him to take physical control over Ludo’s body; however the only time he uses this ability is to harm, tease and mentally torture Moon and her allies:

- In The Hard Way he teases Glossaryck that he’ll never get Ludo on his side.

- In Starcrushed he pretty much attempts to kill Moon and the High Commission, succeeding in killing Lekmet. He then teases Moon that he is coming after Star next.

- In Book Be Gone he teases Glossaryck as he is “dying”

- Finally in Toffee he uses Star as a hostage to get his finger back from Moon

He also influences Ludo to take over the Butterfly castle while everyone but Ludo and Star are incapable of using magic. He uses his influence over Ludo to mistreat the Mewman population - most notably Ms. Bucket and the Mewni Youth Choir - and keep Star alive as a bargaining chip.

After he regains his body, he simply pushes Moon into the ground, trapping her next to the broken remains of half of the wand. A lot of people thought it was anti-climatic that he just lets her go after all of that, but when you look at it from the view of “he wanted revenge against Moon” it makes a lot more sense:

Toffee has literally taken everything from Moon.

- He killed her mother

- He “killed” her daughter

- Her husband is nowhere to be found

- He has destroyed Glossaryck, the Book, the Magic High Commission and half of the wand

- He has corrupted magic to the point where Moon couldn’t use the “darkest spell” to beat him, even with the other half of the wand

- He has broken Moon to the point where she is willing to actually use dark magic, regardless of the consequences

- He has thrown her kingdom into chaos

- He has trapped her in a pit in the destroyed remains of one of her castle towers, right next to a reminder of the fact that her daughter is gone and she is powerless - the broken wand

- She now has to live with this knowledge while the person responsible for it all simply walks away

I found this scene (and the one afterwards where Moon tries to fix the wand) really powerful, just for the level of utter hopelessness that permeated it all; it was a really bold move for a show in general, not to mention a kids’ cartoon. It’s pretty telling that Toffee would have won 100% without the intervention of Glossaryck, who manipulates Ludo into “killing” him so he and his little toasted pudding ball can be in the right place for Star to bring magic back. Needless to say, Glossy is the real MVP.

Honestly, I think the show is setting Toffee up to be the only truly evil character; even if he originally had noble intentions, they were tainted and he ended up so blinded by revenge that he trampled on monsters and mewmans alike. Only time will tell how Eclipsa will react to Toffee’s actions - what will she think of the deaths of Comet and Lekmet, for example? I also have to wonder exactly how much she is aware of what happened; certainly she doesn’t seem surprised by the fact that Glossaryck is acting the way he is, so she probably knows that the book has been destroyed (or mostly destroyed).

Edited for spelling lol

#svtfoe #svtfoe analysis #eclipsa #toffee #star vs the forces of evil

[woodworkingpastor]

A plan for giving--1 Corinthians 16:1-4--Sunday, October 11, 2020

We are continuing our sermon series Come build a church this morning, and today we finally get to the love offering that serves as the inspiration for this series on how we can faithfully follow Jesus in today’s world. The Apostle Paul encouraged the churches he planted throughout Asia Minor to collect an offering for Christians in Jerusalem who were struggling because of a famine.  It’s taken us a few weeks of sermons to get to the actual offering because the offering that Paul is collecting is about so much more than money—it’s about building a church where people are shaping their lives around the confession that Jesus is Lord.  Paul spends so much time in his letters encouraging and admonishing believers to live and act and think and love and serve like Jesus, even as they were surrounded by other options and ideologies to shape their living. Paul told the Christians in the church at Philippi to “work out your salvation with fear and trembling.” That’s what we see happening here.

We Brethren really understand the desire put Jesus’ words into action. Part of me wishes I could have preached this morning in front of the sign in our foyer, the place where visitors walk into to our church and one of the first things they see are the words Continuing the Work of Jesus: Peacefully, Simply, Together.  

When I think about that phrase, I really appreciate how the word peacefully describes our faith—how we work for peace in our interior lives, in our relationships within the congregation, and in the world.  I also appreciate the ways we work at together, especially here in our congregation through the ways we live our lives.  I know that much of the work I’ve done on the denominational level over the last almost 20 years has been working at together.

But I do wonder sometimes about simply.  I might argue that it’s the word where we have the most room for growth.  I know that some people really dislike sermons on money—maybe because it feels so personal, or maybe because it feels political. But for Christians, the idea of living simply, including the way this impacts our money, is ultimately a faith issue.  Simply put, is the way we view money and people impacted more by the gospel or more by consumerism?  Is Jesus Lord of our wallet and credit cards?

We live in an age of unparalleled consumerism.  One writer I read on the subject compared the lifestyle of the average North American household to that of the average household in New Testament times, commenting that

The average North American household has so many devices and such a variety of food and clothing that to produce the same lifestyle in Roman times would have required six thousand slaves—cooks, maids, minstrels, ice-house keepers, woodcutters…and many more (Confessions of an Eco-Sinner, 3).

The twin challenges of planned and perceived obsolescence

I grew up in the years when shopping malls were really becoming a thing.  When I was in middle and high school, one of my favorite things to do on a Friday evening was to go to the Valley Mall in Harrisonburg with my friend Shawn.  We would play video games at the arcade (Pac-Man and Galaga were two of our favorites); then we would walk down to the toy store for the latest Dungeons and Dragons books and adventures and dice; we’d visit the bookstore and check out the latest science fiction titles (I still have my copies of The Two Towers and The Return of the King I bought in the early 80’s); finally we’d head back up to the food court for some greasy mall pizza and Coke.  These were good times! Shopping malls aren’t what they once were, but for a while you could say that they were the real temples of our American culture. Relationships and entertainment were centered around consumerism.  

Part of the problem with consumerism is keeping people buying things. How do you do that?  

One way is planned obsolescence, what some people define as “designed for the dump.”  It refers to products that are either designed to fail prematurely or become out of date due to a needed upgrade.  We invest a lot of money in products that are designed to not last as long as they could. It’s really frustrating when something breaks and you realize that it’s cheaper to replace it than to fix it.  Look around your house this afternoon and see if you can identify these things.

It’s always easier to blame someone else for our frustrations, but product manufacturers aren’t the only ones to blame here, because we also fall victim to perceived obsolescence. Sometimes we throw out things that are still perfectly useful because we want either the latest fashion or the latest features—or both. I don’t think there’s a parent in the world that hasn’t said at some point, “Why do you need a new one?  The old one still works perfectly well.”  But the fact is, adults do this too.  You might spend some time looking around your house for things that fall into this category, too.

Our relationship with money and things and one another always has a context.  I hinted at this in the earlier quotation about the differences between an American household and a Roman household; but what they do have in common is the pull money has on our lives.  That’s true in every culture.

The better choice of planned generosity and perceived value

That brings us to Paul’s first set of instructions about the love offering he is collecting.  This passage really feels like Paul is describing something they are already aware of, much like you anticipate that at some point this month you’ll get a pledge card. Paul steps into this conversation rather causally as he begins wrapping up the letter. Much of Paul’s letter to Corinth is his responses to questions they’ve asked, and it feels like this is too.

He simply tells them to set aside a bit of money every Sabbath.  It’s an excellent instruction for people who almost certainly were paid daily in cash.  You have your money in your hand and you know your expenses; set aside a bit for this special offering.  In a world where we encounter planned obsolescence all the time, Paul guides them into planned generosity.  Instead of investing in things that wear out, he asks them to be intentionally generous.

When the Corinthians responded to the Gospel, they got more than the forgiveness of sins, a Savior, and eternal life; they inherited a family!  Some of them might have actually been kicked out of their own families of origin—or certainly lost friends—because of their new-found faith. What a blessing a family can be! But how would they be in relationship with this family?  One way would be to support one another’s burdens.  This is the safety net we talked about last week when we learned about the famines in this era of history.  The church became a network of relationships that protected and supported people in times of trouble.  A commitment to live with planned generosity asks us to consider if we really are putting Christ and the church first in our giving, contributing to the safety net of the congregation, or if we are making our spending decisions without thinking of God and one another enough.

But a wrinkle in this offering is the same wrinkle in many of our efforts like this: Paul is encouraging an investment in people they will likely never meet. Maybe a travelling preacher or evangelist will pass through at some point and give them an update—or maybe not.  They will simply give their money to Paul and he will head on to Jerusalem with it.  What this invites us to do is think about the perceived value the people in these ministries represent. Paul asks them to invest in people they would never know; trusting in the faithfulness of Jesus who has saved us and continues to work in the world reconciling all things—even things we will never see.

He asks us to see perceive the values of others as well.  Our sharing provides meals for people we will never meet; it builds beds we will never sleep in; it offers salvation for generations of people we will never know.  When you receive your pledge card this week it will come with a brief description of some of these ministries in our congregation and a report of our outreach giving for 2020, which has been so generous.  We really do believe in both planned generosity in our giving and in recognizing the perceived value of people we will never meet.

Some challenges

That’s not to say there isn’t challenge here.  Younger people balance rent or mortgage payments along with college debt; trying to negotiate their expenses while beginning to plan for retirement.  In the midst of this comes God’s call to planned generosity and perceived value.

Older persons live on fixed incomes while encountering rising costs of living but are often able—along with their regular giving—to remember the church in their wills and estate planning.  Talk about planned generosity and recognizing the perceived value of something.  Having members whose giving literally outlives them is a blessing that benefits many congregations, including our own.

Sometimes we wonder about the value of pledge cards—I spoke to that in the video I prepared this past Wednesday.  I hope you that when you receive your pledge card this week you really will take it to heart—and the ministries it represents—as you consider your giving for 2021.  Maybe “put[ting] aside and sav[ing] whatever extra you earn,” “on the first day of the week” isn’t the most logical plan for you.  But what is?  Bi-weekly? Monthly?  Tithely?

Let us continue to honor God and show our love to one another through our financial sharing.

[natalie-m-davis]

Filling Vacant Shelves

Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 1,284 Warning: Heartbreak

A/N: So this is the intro to a BTS fanfic I have started writing. Bear with me as I dive back off into this life I once had a preteen with a lot of time on her hands; my life currently is not like that. From reading this, please please please give me feedback on whether I should continue on with this fanfic or not waste my time and stop before I get ahead of myself. And after reading before you ask “Ok, where is BTS sis?” they will definitely be added in the next part. Enjoy!

[Part 1] Prologue.

he isn’t coming back whispered my head he has to sobbed my heart

- Rupi Kaur

A week. He was gone for a week. No calls. No texts. No emails. No letters in the mail to let me know where he was or if he was fine. Hell, he didn’t even write a note explaining why he left for that matter. His side of the bed continued to get cold, the space in our California loft seemed to have gotten smaller days after he left— making me shrink physically and mentally. Emotionally I was ill.

Some say you should never get too dependent on someone else for your every need— your need to love, your need to laugh, your need to live, your need to be of some value or have a purpose. But it was too late for me, the past seven years I’ve spent with him that’s all I’ve yearned…all I’ve learned to do.

This past week I’ve been putting on the fakest smile to give to the world. Knowing my emotions were suffocating the life out of me. Nothing but being apprehensive about his whereabouts and safety that I was so close to leaving myself, only to partake in a complex scavenger hunt. I had no idea of where to look, where to go.

Today is Friday. Last day of classes for the semester at University; meaning all of my final exams have been taken. Ready to go on my three and a half months-long summer break and dwell on the fact that it has now been two weeks, and there is still no sign of my love. I stopped by the Starbucks on campus first before heading home— to get my schedule together since I’ll be able to bet more hours over the summer plus I had a taste for some caffeine.

Making my way up to our apartment door, I was starting to have this uneasy feeling in my stomach. The nauseating feeling I always get when my emotions become hectic and I’m confused on what to feel about a situation. I brushed it off though, blaming it on the coffee. I unlocked the door, stepping in, then turning on the lights. I was greeted by the semi-emptiness of our living room.

I sat the cup of coffee down on the closest table next to me, slowly making my way closer to the area of the room. I saw that his t.v and gaming system had been unplugged and taken. I thought we had been robbed, but no robber would leave the place looking like it was barely touched. It would be a wreck, right? My attention averted over to the wall. His high school diploma that hung next to mine had been removed. Photos of when he was young no longer hung in our shared wall of nostalgic memories. Traces of the life we share, rather shared, slowly being erased.

I made my way down a hall to our shared art studio. I hadn’t been in here since he left and I was ever so anxious as to what I would find. Walking in, I found his graphic designs had been stripped from his wall in the room, portfolios taken off the bookshelf we shared, and the kicker— his computer and LED work lamp was taken off of his desk. Looking over at my work area, I saw that it was left the way it was before. Nothing was moved or rearranged— camera, UV ring light, and microphone still set up in front of the last backdrop I used. Daily planner, writing journal, pens, highlighters, and sticky notes still scattered along my desk. Books still arranged by color on its shelves, only collecting dust. I was stuck. My thoughts, my feelings running wild trying to process what all of this may mean.

I gradually found myself in our bedroom, wanting to fall asleep and wake up only to realize that this is all a horrific nightmare. But it was real as reality could get. Closet left open to show that all of his clothing and shoes were missing. His personal items gathered up and taken as well. I laid down on his side of the bed, my favorite sent of him on it being the only thing left, stating that he was once here. His existence being left behind. Rolling over I saw a piece of paper tucked under my pillow. A note. I sat up, unfolding it as my eyes started to scan across the lines, the note reading…

Camila,

I know I have not been present the past two weeks, it’s because of reasons I wish not to disclose right now. I just want you to know that I am moving on from our relationship. Yes, we have shared seven blissful yet rocky years together. We’ve been through it all. And I’m ever so grateful to have you as my first true love. But one thing I can say is that recently we’ve grown apart. We’ve been so wrapped up in other things that I’m not sure that there is an “us” any longer. I hope that we’d eventually be able to talk things out because I need to give my reasons and I will need to make sure that you’ll be ok in the end. I know I vowed that I’d never leave you by choice, that it would have to be the universe to take me away from you. But times have changed. When I say this I mean it— I will forever love you wholeheartedly; but it’s best we let each other go for the betterment of ourselves. When you’re ready to talk I’ll make myself available. As for now, please take care of your self. And know that there will come a day where you find someone to love you again.

Apologetically, Kahlil

Everything in me became broken. Blurry vision, runny nose, heavy breathing, heart completely shattered. I laid back on the bed in pain. After reading that note, it felt as if my heart had been snatched from my chest— squeezed it numbing me, until it stopped beating with nothing left but a lifeless corpse.

I laid on the bed for what seemed like hours, heart and mind racing. Finding myself coming back to the world, I made my way towards the bathroom to clean my face free from tear and snot stains. Glancing at myself in the mirror— I saw that a girl who was once so madly in love for years had had her heart broken, not once but twice. So many promises that were made, broken. We weren’t married just yet, but we vowed to one another that no matter how much shit we go through, it would be us in the end forever. Like it always had been. Back in the bedroom, I fished around in my bad for my phone.

Dad: “Hey sweetie. Guessing exams are all done and you’re ready for your break to start? I can’t wait to see you. You are still coming home to spend the summer with Vera right  or are you…”

I cut him off with only saying—

Me: “He’s really gone, Dad. All of his things…he’s gone.” Was all I could manage to say before breaking down once more. I heard my dad say he was coming to get me before the line went dead.

There are people that say life is like a game of chess and you either play or get played. In this case, I wasn’t the player, I was a piece being played with. I have so many questions, that I may never get answers to. He left without hesitation. When he promised…

#fanfiction #writer #fangirl #bts #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #bts fanfic #prologue #rupi kaur #reader #booklr #on the shelf #filling vacant shelves