#(it hasn’t happened in this fandom but other fandoms i’ve been in have been vicious when i said i don’t enjoy shipping! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mottlemoth · 2 years ago

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So I’ve been hiding a lot. I’m really sorry. Being back on Tumblr makes me feel like it’s fine to share some of this - I’m sorry if it’s weird to hear - I’m just having a tough time and I need to be honest.

Various things are happening to me in real life at the moment. It’s been one thing after another, and there’s more to come. Usually I turn to fandom for a support structure and an escape from stress, but I’m realising that sense of comfort has been missing from my life for a few weeks now.

I came to OFMD from a small rarepair with a very close and very supportive community. I absolutely wasn’t prepared for the kind of things I’ve experienced in the last few months on Twitter. The OFMD community there has a lot of problems right now, one of the most worrying being a lethal lack of awareness that fan writers are fans. We’re writing for fun, sharing our work for free. But we’re being ripped apart by people who’ve had years of practice at criticising showrunners for creative decisions they don’t approve of. The abuse is largely motivated by jealousy - any author who picks up too much kudos or appears on too many rec lists becomes the next target, and it’s usually cloaked under a false banner of social justice. It’s happening over and over again. It’s transparent and it’s exhausting, and the things being used to justify the abuse are so tenuous that I often can’t believe what my actual eyes are reading. I’ve been accused of misogyny for writing Edward ‘Shoot-The-People-Who-Teased-Me’ Teach as reacting emotionally, therefore “female-coding” him, therefore sexism. I don’t know how to cope in this kind of environment.

I’ve been through endless rounds of coaxing myself to try to relax - to forget about the paranoia and the toxicity, and shut up and get on with writing because I have a duty to finish this fic and everyone’s waiting for the next chapter and if I don’t hurry up and post it then I’ll get Tumblr messages saying “when can we expect the next chapter” and - suddenly I realise, wait. I’m not actually obliged to do any of this.

This is my hobby.

I am 100% allowed to stop doing this at any point I want to.

“But you have a duty to the people who’ve--”

Look, I get that this isn’t something anyone wants to hear, but... no. I don’t. I’m an exhausted thirty-something sitting in her pyjamas after work, having a cry because my hobby somehow turned into a full-time job on top of my already miserable full-time job. AO3 writers don’t have a duty to do what they’re doing. Fanworks are literally a gift of time and energy from a complete stranger. I’d love to be able to ignore the people being abusive towards writers, but I can’t. And, again - this is my hobby. I’m not obliged to ignore the abuse and just get on with the task. If I’m upset, I’m allowed to stop. (Let’s say I joined a knitting club. Let’s say some of the members were routinely vicious and awful to anyone who got “too good” at knitting, and none of the other members ever hit them with any consequences for their behaviour. I don’t have a duty to stick around at Toxic Knitting Club, even if I never finished that pair of socks I started. If the club cares about its own survival, then it needs to make the environment feel safe and welcoming. It can’t just expect people to ignore the nastiness.)

OP, I blanked your name and pfp from this message because I don’t want you to get grief. But I’ve searched for your username in my email inbox, and found that this is the first time you’ve ever spoken to me. You’ve never reached out to chat or be kind or make friends, but you’ve reached out to prod me when you think that I’m being tardy with delivery of your content. Chapters 1 to 43 appeared at least once a week, sometimes twice or even three times a week. Did it cross your mind that maybe there’s a reason why chapter 44 hasn’t dropped yet? Did you think, something must be wrong, maybe I should ask if they’re okay? No, you just came to bang on the vending machine. I’m sorry if this is an uncomfortable lesson to learn, but the writers in your fandom aren’t staff. We’re guests. Tonight, when I get home from work, I have the option to run a long bath, have a cry and play The Sims until I fall asleep, or the option to sit down at my desk and write something for you, even though I might get harassed and bullied for it. You haven’t tipped the scales in the direction you meant to.

I don’t know how to even begin concluding this post.

I’ve been struggling ever since I was dogpiled back in September. I feel very lonely and very tired. Twitter is an awful bloody website and it’s structured around division and argument. I’ve been feeling better since I came back to Tumblr. My breaks at work are now spent scrolling through pretty GIFs or cool meta or funny things about Izzy, rather than drama, and it’s helping. So... I don’t know, OP. Don’t start being like this here. I’m fighting so hard to find reasons to stay in OFMD. Life is rough at the minute, and I want to spend my free time feeling happy and safe with people who see me as a friend, not a vending machine. I’m doing everything a professional writer does, but for no pay, with no protection or support from a publisher, and I’m fitting it around a full-time job. That’s... well, that’s the situation. That’s the situation all your fan writers are in, however well they seem to be handling it. It’d be great if you could reflect on that.

TLDR; this is my hobby, and I work on my hobby when it feels fun.

#personal

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hamliet · 3 years ago

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Bird Guy and Bird Stans and Twice Over

Thoughts on Spoilers, how Hawks is actually one of my faves, and more below.

So, I’m not actually that bothered by Lady Nagant’s possible/probable death--it bothers me on a principles level (the misogyny is real), but not so much in a character sense, since any character introduced this late, as I said previously, is almost certainly a plot device and not a character.

What bothers me most is Hawks being able to sweep in and save her. I also don’t mind this in principle, but I mind it from a character perspective.

Hawks did not save Twice, and he blatantly, textually, did not try everything he could to save him. Not only is Hawks framed as the villain in Twice’s death, but Horikoshi put such emphasis on Twice’s death as a turning point that he drew an entire volume cover for it. Lady Nagant’s backstory calls Hawks out on this, on killing victims on the basis of what they might do. So you’d think Twice’s death would matter.

Honestly, what is the point of Twice dying then? To show us war sucks? What was Midnight’s death for, then, if not that, and her death kind of works much better because she was a symbol of security for the kids more than a character?

To show us moral complexity and impossible choices in impossible situations? When has BNHA ever really shown us true moral grayness, gritty difficult choices? It hasn’t. No one thinks it has. Thus, this answer doesn’t fit, unless you think the ending will be Deku, Shouto, and Uraraka putting down Shigaraki, Dabi, and Toga. While I’m sure there will be moments where they fear they have to do precisely this, Hawks’ answer is not supposed to be the right one, or else why isn’t he the main character? and why did he do this in the middle of the story? To say that Hawks showed great compassion in trying to “save” Twice in a way that would probably have killed the rest of the people Hawks considered family is textually unsupported, unless you also think this is what Deku, Shouto, and Ochaco will do, and even then, you have to answer why it happened in the middle of the story.

Even if moral grayness was intended to be the case, you have to address it. You can’t just have it handwaved away. What is the point of the moral grayness, then? We have to see how Hawks got from “I need to put him down” to “I want to become like Twice” if we’re supposed to take it at face value. Again, last chapter, with Lady Nagant’s backstory, would suggest we aren’t supposed to. This chapter suggests we are. I’m reminded of the Enji whiplash days in that I wish Horikoshi would just commit to one point of view so I can either handwave Hawks’ writing away or anticipate it again. Stop trying to satisfy everyone and just tell the story. (Next chapter might clear things up, but you can still criticize writing as is in a weekly manga, and I can and will.)

The thing is? I actually realllly like Hawks. He’s the character I relate to most in the manga. It’s not like I was brought up in a system wherein I was trained to do whatever they said regardless of how I felt about it morally because oh wait, yes I was (I grew up in a religious fundamentalist cult-like place, trained to be a good soldier of Christ). I empathize with Hawks a tremendous amount, with his dissociative idolizing of people he hurts even.

In some ways the fandom’s response vs. my own feelings are eerily reminiscent of the response to “Kaneki” in the last quarter of Tokyo Ghoul:re, which culminated in me getting death threats for years afterwards. Kaneki was the character I related most to, but once the narrative stopped calling him out, stopped challenging him to grow and started handing breaks to him that it never gave the other characters, I was far more critical of his writing (even if I related most to him, never hated him, and pretty much constantly predicted a happy ending for him). However, fans deluged me with hate and bullying for months to years after the manga ended. It was actually traumatizing. I had frequent panic attacks.

The vicious, vitriolic responses to any criticism of Hawks’ writing and the rabid way his fans defend him makes me fear for my wellbeing online. But it’s almost impossible for me to talk about the story and not talk about Hawks, because he’s been one of the most compelling characters up until recently, and he is still the character I see myself in the most. I stand by the idea that Hawks should fall, but I’ve also never once thought Hawks would die in any way other than heroically, if he dies at all.

Unlike with TGre, though, I don’t have uber-high expectations of the writing quality, and my main investment is still the villains being saved, which I’m 0% worried about. I also think BNHA will hit its final theme (“heroes save”), so I don’t see myself disliking the overall story. I just wish it was better, because the theme is even stronger if y’know, you reinforce that Twice’s life matters, and Hawks’ character is better if you pay off the foreshadowing.

#bnha spoilers #mha 315 #bnha 315 #i am not sure if i can tag this because i might get skewered #twice #jin bubaigawara #personal

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beneaththemasks · 3 years ago

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Analyzing Atsushi and Akutagawa pt.1 (I have a lot to say so there's gonna be a part 2)

CW: Dazai hate

first of all I want to clarify that I don’t think any of this is going to happen but it’d be really nice if it did... however, since BSD is a fiction story and my analysis is based on what would be ideal in the real life I don’t think it’s too likely for this to happen.

I think Atsushi should leave the ADA and Akutagawa should leave the Port Mafia.

To begin with, I’d like to tell you how I came up with this idea;

The thing is that in the BSD fandom there’s this (sadly too popular) discussion about Atsushi being a good, strong and entertaining main character or not. Many times I’ve seen people discussing this as if it was simply and wholy a matter of yes or no and the more the discussion grows the more angry I get (but i get angry too easily so don’t mind me).

In my opinion Atsushi is not weak, I actually don’t think any character in BSD is tbh (I mean they’d beat the shit out of me even if they don’t know how to fight because all ever do with my life is sit on my tiny piano and play my silly little mozart). But leaving the physical strenght aside, I still don’t think he’s a weak/strong or boring/entretaining character. I think the charm of Atsushi as a MC lies elsewhere.

Yes he’s pretty, he’s kind, he has an e-boy haircut and I’d let him step on me with those worn-out dirty boots.

But he’s also a common person living among prodigies and demons.

(Really, I feel like standing up and appaluding Asagiri for choosing Atsushi as the mc and writing him the way he did because there’s nothing that could make my shitty life better than knowing that the protagonist of my favourite story in the world is someone I can relate so much to that I actually ended up learning more about myself through him.)

And yes, we’ve seen this happen many times in countless stories (yes yes haikyuu for example) where the plot worked as good as any other even though the MC took longer than the rest to get to where they were but managed to do so in the end (unlike the typical shonen mc that levels-up overnight) plus what people mostly criticize about Atsushi as a MC are his constant war flashbacks and how much he self-doubts himself.

So I came to the conclusion that it's not really Atsushi and his journey as a MC but his unresolved trauma what seems to annoy the audience instead.

And that’s how I came up with a fiction-breaking answer to your problems; If you want Atsushi to stop suffering over and over again for the same things, he has to leave the ADA and get some real therapy.

(Don’t misunderstand me, even if I accept him and love him as he’s now, I’d still love it if this were the real final for him bc it hurts me to see him suffer all the time.)

Think about it, Atsushi is just a poor boy, abandoned by hell itself and thrown into the street in the worst conditions a human being could be just to end up running into a maniac manipulator with a good heart that offers him a roof over his head on the condition he accepts a job that Atsushi himself says doesn’t want and is too afraid to be a part of and that he tried to leave once but failed to do so and then felt too guilty to try again because he eats guilt and remorse with milk for breakfast so now he has no choice but risk his life, face his archenemy physical pain to beat his enemies and constantly fear that he might not be doing what’s right or being good enough while having a huge responsibility on his bare shoulders.

As it stands, his situation can only be explained by that famous saying “it’s not that you don’t want to grow/heal, it’s that the environment is not apt for you to do it”. Yeah, no wonder he hasn’t made any progress overnight and feels so hopeless at times.

I love everyone in the ADA (not you Dazai) and their found family made out of scraps and angsty love is all I ever whish for, but just because he’s finally found people to rely on that care about him doesn’t mean it’s enough to heal so much damage (suprise suprise your family and love won’t always be enough to heal trauma). Atsushi won’t overcome his fears by facing them head-on nor will he become more independent by fighting on his own (actually we all know he hates fighting alone and that’s because he’s not in a place where he can trust in himself yet) instead, it’s very likely he’ll end up pushing himself to the limit to get “stronger” faster and end up loosing sight of himself.

And here's where Akutagawa enters.

The reason why I also mention him is because Akutagawa for me is the perfect example of why Atsushi has to stop now before it’s too late.

Akutagawa has been past the point of no return for a long time now, he’s fought so hard to get "better" faster for the sake of being recognised by Dazai that he stopped recognising what’s real and what’s not. Akutagawa is already strong enough and has everything he needs but can’t recognise it because he works in a place where the more and faster you kill the better you are, so even though he’s the most feared member of the PM he doesn’t believe it because he hasn’t heard Dazai saying it.

To me it makes perfect sense that Dazai insists so much on making them face each other, I mean, Atsushi has everything Akutagawa wants and Akutagawa has everything Atsushi wants and as long each they stay blinded by their own unrealistic expectations they’ll keep risking their lives for something they will never accomplish under those circumstances, it turns into a vicious cycle where Dazai seems to be the only one benefiting from this since he now has two UltraRare awakened subordinates to fight for the sake of his book or whatever he wants. (but don’t let me get too excited about this topic ‘cause I could talk about Dazai for 3 days)

Yes I know I know, it was a very good thing that Asagiri decided to break that toxic vicious cycle and made one of them think for both to finally make Atsushi challenge Akutagawa to stop killing for six months as a condition to fight with him (that's called GROWTH, breaking out of the cage, abandoning the nest, etc).

But unlike Atsushi, Akutagawa doesn’t have many people to rely on when the time all of his enemies show up -after mori has beaten the fuck out of him for not showing results and lowers his rank to the same Oda had- to make him pay (let’s be honest the mafia couldn’t care less about the errand boy).

Basically, Aku has to leave the Port Mafia in order to stay safe, gain perspective and find a reason to live of his own rather than sit and wait for dazai to approve of his every move (the same goes for Sushi, he has to stop throwing himself off of high buildings to save people and stopping bullets with his mouth to be validated by his peers).

But yeah, Akutagawa is probably not going to leave the PM and Atsushi is probably not going to leave the ADA but as someone who really wants to see them doing some real growth and barely stands this “just forget your trauma and fight” thing that’s going on I had to say it.

I mean, look at Dazai, it was no untill Oda told him he clearly wasn’t going to find a purpose to live that he decided that mayyyyybe the PM was not a good place to try spiritual healing.

What’s more, I’d say almost every single character in BSD is too fucked up to be able to heal in the kind of environmet they work at and that they must have let the pain sink or whatever bc they jsut don’t want to change their lives but idk man that’s fine if it makes them happy.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd manga #bsd akutagawa #bsd atsushi #sskk #analysis time

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cherryplasmids · 4 years ago

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☆ just one date, marko ☆

pairing: marko x college student!reader

fandom: the lost boys—not directly linked to story

prompt: you finally agree to go on a date with marko

notes: is this any good??

—check out my other works; masterlist

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Santa Carla's heat, mixed in with the hot air blasting from the broken air conditioner, causes sweat beads to drip down the back of your neck. The stifling air makes it hard to concentrate on your homework assignment. You're surprised sweat hasn't rained down on the fragile sheet of paper. You lean away from the equations littering the page and wipe a hand over your forehead. Statistics can wait until tonight.

The cook assigned for afternoons passes you freshly packaged food before moving back to start on another order. You call out to the man sitting in the small waiting area. He easily towers over you as he approaches the counter, but the height difference doesn't intimidate you in the slightest. After all, he's wearing a sherpa-lined leather jacket in 80-degree weather. Just the sight causes a fresh wave of sweat to trickle down your neck.

He gives you a predatory smirk, one that makes your insides twist. His Ashley lip piercing pops up and he smoothes it down with his tongue. Again, you internally gag. He continues by saying something sexual to you, but you don't hear. It feels like sweat flooded your eardrums. The only sound penetrating through the flood is the air conditioner. It's about to completely break down.

"That'll be $12.95."

"I only bought fried rice and chicken wings. How is that $13."

You sigh and place your pencil down. Your fingers ache with relief. "You have at least 5 cans of Coke stuffed in your jeans."

The man, if you can call him that, puffs out his chest. "You accusing me of stealing?"

"It won't be stealing if you pay for it."

"You better shut your pretty mouth before I stuff it." He grabs his groin for emphasis.

No amount of money in the world could ever entice you enough to sleep with such a loser, especially not the measly $3.35 minimum wage you earn. "Sir, I don't think your pencil dick could even make me gag."

His mouth contorts into a snarl while he steps forward. Immediately, you step back, ready to run in case he jumps over the counter. Just as soon as his mouth opens to spew out more bullshit, the bell above the door alerts you of an incoming customer.

Leather-clad hands grab one arm of the aggressive stranger, pulling him away from the counter. The force sends the stranger stumbling back to his original seat. You exhale deeply. The pounding of your heart calms down a bit. You've never been happier to see Marko's curled mullet before.

"Fuck off, pencil dick." As soon as Marko speaks, the man's eyes comically widen before he bolts out of the restaurant. The door slams shut behind him.

"Really, Marko?" The mischievous boy turns to you, his signature sly grin in place already. "He didn't even pay."

Marko lifts up his hand to show you a studded wallet with a faded anarchy symbol on the front. "Take as much as you want." He tosses it to you. Your eyes widen as you flip through the contents. In that short confrontation, Marko managed to swipe the stranger's wallet. You take the $13 from the wallet and toss it back to Marko.

He leans over the counter, the jewels on his heavy leather jacket clattering against the cheap material. You were quick to hate on the other man for wearing a leather jacket but can't do the same for Marko. For some reason, you could never complain about any of Marko's unusual clothing or behaviors.

"How many times are you going to eat Chinese food in a month, Marko? How do you even have the funds to buy so much? I've never seen you work a day in your life."

He drums his fingers on the fake marble. "My dashing knight in shining armor has come to save me from vicious creatures of the night. How could I ever repay you." His voice is high-pitched, his version of mocking you. Every time he does it, it's either too high or deep. It never fails to make you roll your eyes at him.

"Thanks, Marko." You pass him the food the other man left behind. "Here's your compensation."

Grinning widely, he checks the contents before pushing it aside. "I actually came for you."

"For me? What for?" Marko just looks at you, waiting for you to get the hint. "Absolutely not."

"Just one date."

You shake your head. "A date with you is surely just me signing my life away. I've been on your bike before. You nearly killed me."

"Nearly." Marko smiles at you. A part of you hopes it's genuine.

His lips form into a pout after he realizes you won't budge. It's been four months of his constant attention. You're not used to the consistency. Usually, guys would give up after a week or two. The furthest someone had doted on you was about a month. Definitely not four consecutive months. And definitely not a guy as cute or funny as Marko. Also, you felt sort of safe around him. For some reason, he's always been there to protect you from various situations. He walks you home every night after you confessed to being afraid because of the numerous disappearances happening lately. He makes sure predatory men stay away. He even carried you after you sprained your ankle crossing the road.

You pray he's sincere.

"I don't want the others to be there."

Marko shoots up, shakes his head, and crosses his heart. "Scouts honor."

"Okay."

The grin on his face explodes into the largest you've ever seen. He curls his hand into a fist and punches it into the air—hollering in excitement. It causes you to laugh, the same feeling of giddiness filling your heart.

He leaves after that, leaving a trail of promises of what's to come. Staring out the glass door, you lean on the counter with a dumb smile on your face. As long as he's not a murderer, you think you'll be just fine.

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

word count: 1,005 published: october 3, 2020 edited: n/a

#the lost boys #The Lost Boys (1987)#The Lost Boys 1987 #the lost boys david #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys fanfiction #marko x reader #marko #marko imagine #the lost boys marko #the lost boys marko x reader #marko fanfiction #x reader #imagines #fanfiction

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slashingdisneypasta · 4 years ago

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Horror / Six: The Musical AU (X Reader) || Headcanons

Explanation: So all the songs are being sun by different readers with different Henry’s (The Horror Villains of course) instead of one Henry. I think its pretty straight forward apart from that! I hope to make a second part to this where the readers actually meet up and complain about their times with their respective horror villains. This is fun XD Had the idea a couple months back and I posted it and one blog commented saying Six is their favourite musical, so this is basically for me and them haha XD

Character Included: Michael Myers, Chucky / Charles Lee Ray (And Tiffany Valentine), Bubba Sawyer, Norman Bates, Mayor Buckman (And Harper Alexandre) and Jason Voorhees.

Warnings: Murder of the readers (By respective Horror Villains and a non-explicit difficult birth in Bubba’s), birth / pregnancy, toxic / abusive relationships, sexual harrassment / maybe rape (All You Wanna Do- Buckmans), language, suggested mother / son grossness (Norman and Norma of course).

I laugh in the face of those who would subdue my mad ideas.

‘No Way’ (Reader as Catherine of Aragon): Michael Myers as Henry

My name's Catherine of Aragon Was married 24 years I'm a paragon of royalty, my loyalty is to the Vatican So if you try to dump me You won't try that again

You were in a, of course, very unequal relationship with the shape of Haddonfield. He saw you one day, was completely taken by you, and decided to let you live. He would come by and use you however he liked, kill the people you loved when they got your attention over him, etc. Like any other Michael Myers x Reader.

And, years and years later (Because it’s not like Michael finds someone every day that he gives even a bit of a shit about like he does - did, - you) he comes upon a new person. Someone he, like he was you, is drawn to.

And he tries to drop you like a hot potato.

And this infuriates you. You are not about to let go! He has ruined your life! You have no friends, no family, no life, because of him! All you have, is (regrettably) him and you are going to be his for the rest of your life. That’s what he wanted, that’s what the bastard’s going to get.

(Many, many years with him has caused your courage against him to grow spectacularly. You can say nearly anything to him)

|- ‘You must agree that, baby, in all the time I been by your side

I've never lost control’

‘I've put up with your sh- like every single day’ -|

You give him one more chance- if he can tell you one thing that you have done to him to legitimately hurt him… then you’ll leave willingly.

…

But he has nothing. And he doesn’t care.

|- ‘You got me down on my knees

Please tell me what you think I've done wrong

Been humble, been loyal, I've tried to swallow my pride all along

If you can just explain a single thing

I've done to cause you pain, I'll go

No?’ -|

|- ‘You wanna replace me? Baby, there's

N-n-n-n-n-n-no way

You made me a wife, so I'll be queen 'til the end of my life’ -|

He ends up strangling you to death when you won’t shut up.

‘Don’t Lose Your Head’ (Reader as Anne Boleyn): Chucky / Charles Lee Ray as Henry (And Tiffany as Catherine of Aragon)

I'm that Boleyn girl and I'm up next See I broke England from the church Yeah, I'm that sexy Why did I lose my head? Well, my sleeves may be green but my lipstick's red

Chucky and his filthy ass catches sight of you. Young, French and vivacious and he’s got heart eyes on the spot. He wants you, but he also doesn’t really want to lose Tiffany.

So... yeah, you end up living with them both for a while and its very awkward and a very hostile situation.

|- ‘Here we go

(You sent him kisses)

I didn't know I would move in with his misses

(What?)

Get a life

(You're living with his wife?)

Like, what was I meant to do?’ -|

You don’t like it. No one likes this. Chucky! Make up your mind!

|- ‘Three in the bed and the little one said

If you wanna be wed, make up your mind

Her or me, chum

Don't wanna be some

Girl in a threesome

Are you blind?’ -|

Tiffany is of course Catherine, and the fandom (The people of Britain for the sake of this AU) loves her (As we all know), so when you come along and insult her because Chucky is now your man (Supposedly.) and of course you two aren’t getting along with each other in the first place because of him … you get a bad name.

|- ‘Ooh, why hasn't it hit her?

He doesn't want to bang you

Somebody hang you

(Wow Anne, way to make the country hate you)

Mate, what was I meant to do?’ -|

When eventually Chucky is able to grow the balls to boot Tiffany out (My heart hurts writing this, trust me), he pulls a ‘Once a cheater, always a cheater’ kind of shit and has no loyalty to you or respect for the sanctity of your relationship, and starts having one night stands here, there and everywhere. He tries vaguely to tell you you’re being silly and that’s not true- but he has lipstick on his shirt collars and perfume smell all over him.

Its not a nice living condition.

So you, still very much being the vivacious bitch that he ‘fell in love with’, go and flirt with some other guys. Just to make him a teensy bit jealous! I mean, its not like he’ll really care, right? You just wanna spark the fire again!

|- ‘Henry's out every night on the town

Just sleeping around, like what the hell?

If that's how it's gonna be

Maybe I'll flirt with a guy or three

Just to make him jell’ -|

But he finds out as planned… and is p i s s e d. He threatens that if you do that again, he’ll fucking kill you.

You, not going to let him talk to you like that, flirt with one more man. Just to be disobedient.

|- ‘Henry finds out and he goes mental

He screams and shouts

Like so judgemental

You damn that witch

Mate, just shut up

I wouldn't be such a b-

If you could get it up’ -|

And you find out that he very much meant it when he said he would kill you.

|- ‘And now he's going 'round like off with her head (No)

(No)

Yeah, I'm pretty sure he means it’ -|

‘Heart of Stone’ (Reader as Jane Seymour): Bubba Sawyer as Henry

Jane Seymour the only one he truly loved (Rude) When my son was newly born, I died But I'm not what I seem or am I? Stick around and you'll suddenly see more

You were an intended victim of the Sawyers, but like with Stretch, Bubba crushes on you instead. The difference here, is that you see the gentleness to him compared to his brothers, and how scared he is when one of them yells at him, and all the other little signs that he’s not as vicious or evil as his first impressions might convey. You have a big, brave heart, and you realise right there that its death and cannibalisation or understanding and caring for this man and you choose to love.

|- ‘You came my way, and I knew a storm could come too.’-|

|- ‘You've got a good heart

But I know it changes

A restless tide, untameable’ -|

So you take his hands in yours, all shaky and meaty as they are, and promise him that you will never leave him. You’ll protect him. You’ll take any mess he and his family can throw at you- you’ll always be with him. Your promise.

|- ‘But I took your hand, promised I'd withstand

Any blaze you blew my way

'Cause something inside, it solidified

And I knew I'd always stay’ -|

And he believes you, of course. Its so nice to be looked at so softly, especially by someone as pretty as you.

I- ‘You can build me up, you can tear me down

You can try but I'm unbreakable

You can do your best, but I'll stand the test

You'll find that I'm unshakeable

When the fire's burnt

When the wind has blown

When the water's dried, you'll still find stone

My heart of stone’ -|

And you prove yourself. You prove over and over again that no matter what he, or the twins, or Drayton, or even Grandpa throws at you- you’ll survive and you’ll stay, and you’ll never stop looking at him in that lovely soft way.

|- ‘You say we're perfect

A perfect family’ -|

You get pregnant of course because everyone in the Sawyers / Hewitts family has a breeding kink and you can’t tell me otherwise, and the birth is of course very difficult because Drayton isn’t about to pay for hospital bills. So you’re in their home, in all the mess and the dirt and with no sort of aesthetic, and…

|- ‘Soon I'll have to go

I'll never see him grow’ -|

You don’t make it. Your babies born fine and healthy, and you bring another strong Sawyer boy to the family, but you’re gone.

‘Get Down’ (Reader as Anne of Cleves): Norman Bates as Henry

Ich bin Anne of Cleves Ja! When he saw my portrait, he was like Ja! But I didn't look as good as good as I did in my pic Funny how we all discuss that but never Henry's little-

So, one day, Norman decides its time to properly settle down (Long after his mother… ah… ‘dies’) and get a partner, and because there isn’t really anyone around where he lives to date or, even, who wouldn’t get creeped out by him and his taxidermy, he turns to online dating.

He meets you there. You own and run your own hotel in the next state over, you don’t mind his taxidermy at all, and your profile picture looks… hauntingly familiar (If you look nothing like Vera Farmiga go by the original movie- she was but a skeleton there so she really could be anyone).

|- ‘Sittin' here all alone

On a throne

In a palace that I happen to own

I'm not fake 'cause I've got acres and acres

Paid for with my own riches’ -|

And you two get along great over messages! You online date for a good year before Norman proposes you elope and come to live with him! You think you’ve known him long enough, and you trust him!

So you fly right over, and he meets you at the airport, and…

He’s disappointed.

Like, ‘sorry, nah, you don’t look enough like mama so this isn’t gonna work’. In a more fidgety, quiet, subdued kind of way though. He’s so awkward with communication that he even suggests that you doctored your profile picture.

I- ‘You, you said that I tricked ya

'Cause I, I didn't look like my profile picture’ -|

And, understandably, you’re p i s s e d, and disgusted! But ya’ll already got married over the internet, so theirs no stopping that! This is your husband. You realise you’ve made a huge mistake and go right back to your home and your hotel to get divorce papers drawn up.

You’re the queen of your own fucking castle, who needs him?

|- ‘I'm the queen of the castle

Get down, you dirty rascal

'Cause I'm the queen of the castle’ -|

You are understandably, very very mad. And you say some things to Norman about he and his mother, that… may be true… but that he certainly doesn’t appreciate.

When you finally get the papers, and you’ve been separated long enough for it to be legal, you go back to the Bates Motel to get Norman to sign them and stay over a night. You’ve calmed down enough that you’re able to have a pleasant conversation with him, and you decide that you’re too tired to take the plane back home right away so you take up Normans offer to stay in one of vacant rooms (*Cough* So you basically have the run of the place. Or they do. *Cough).

Norman is also pretty calm about the whole thing as well, like you! But… Norma, is still seething.

You don’t wake up the next morning.

‘All You Wanna Do’ (Reader as Kathrine Howard): Mayor Buckman as Henry (And Harper as Thomas)

Prick up your ears, I'm the Catherine who lost her head (Beheaded) For my promiscuity outside of wed Lock up your husbands Lock up your sons K. Howard is here and the fun's begun

Right, so, you haven’t had good luck in love throughout your life, so you decide to give up on boys entirely.

|- ‘So I decided to have a break from boys

And you'll never guess who I met’ -|

… And meet a man, not much later. A man in power; A mayor. A man who’s been married before and has a beard (So you know; He’s a man. XD No little boy.). This is of course Buckman. He calls you love, and you get a job in Pleasant Valley that keeps you comfortably busy. You feel like, finally, you’re where you belong. You feel fulfilled- no committed relationships are necessary.

|- ‘Globally revered

Although you wouldn't know it from the look of that beard

Made me a lady in waiting

Hurled me and my family up in the world

Gave me duties in court and he swears it's true

That without me, he doesn't know what he'd do

He cares so much, he calls me love’ -|

But then Buckman tells you that he cares about you. You have a connection. He doesn’t feel just ‘friendly’ feelings towards you- he wants more. And, though you are a little disappointed that your solitude didn’t last, you decide that he’s decent enough (’He is rather kind to me, and he does makes me smile a fair bit’, you try to reason with yourself that this is a good idea) and so you start to go out. Its not long before you’re married.

|- ‘So we got married Woo…’

Woo…’ -|

But being married to him isn’t easy. Not at all. You’re not use to politics; There are so many rules now, and he’s always too busy to help. And the rest for Pleasant Valley are a bit… odd. And you just don’t fit in. And this is wear Harper (Thomas) comes in.

|- ‘With Henry, it isn't easy

His temper's short, and his mates are sleazy

Except for this one courtier

He's a really nice guy, just so sincere

The royal life isn't what I planned

But Thomas is there to lend a helping hand

So sweet, makes sure that I'm okay

And we hang out loads when the King's away’ -|

And he’s so lovely and caring towards you (Never more then when Buckman leaves for business in other towns), helping you through the transition from your old life to this one. He’s a good friend, to you. And that is most definitely all he is, on your side of it. A friend. You don’t feel attractions towards him at all apart from that, and he doesn’t try to make any moves. Its wonderful!

|- ‘This guy, finally

Is what I want, the friend I need

Just mates, no chemistry

I get him and he gets me’ -|

… Until one day when Buckman has been away for a month, he tells you he cares about you. You have a connection. He doesn’t feel just ‘friendly’ feelings towards you- he wants more.

|- ‘He says we have a connection

I thought this time was different

Why did I think he'd be different?

But it's never, ever different’ -|

Lets just say one things leads to another, despite you at first turning him away and saying no. He’s so insistent, and a little scary, and you’re lonely because your husbands’ has been away so long, and… something happens that you regret and feel gross about.

|- ‘Squeeze me, don't care if you don't please me

Bite my lip and pull my hair

As you tell me, I'm the fairest of the fair

Playtime's over.’ -|

You tell Buckman when he gets home, and you watch as every bit of warmth and love in his eye disappears, just like that.

Its not long after that that his jealousy and betrayed rage takes over… and… you die with a rope around your neck and your feet swaying above the ground.

|- ‘Playtime’s over’ -|

(Alternatively, Sheriff Hoyt as Henry and Thomas as Thomas)

‘I Don’t Need Your Love’ (Reader as Catherine Parr): Jason Voorhees as Henry (Your last love was Jason when he was alive)

Five down, I'm the final wife I saw him to the end of his life I'm the survivor Catherine Parr I bet you wanna know how I got this far I said I bet you wanna know how we got this far Do you wanna know how we got this far then?

So, you’re like the leader of the ‘Slashers Ex Squad’ because you, unlike the others, survived your time with Jason. This is because Jason did, truly, love you (To an extent- not enough to let you go and live your life without him or be free). None of the others really did. Not like he did.

|- ‘Became the one who survived’ -|

Your story:

You and Jason had an adorable little 11-year-old puppy love relationship when he was alive. You were his only friend, and he had it bad for you because of it. Pamela loved you, too.

When he died you were of course devastated, and years later when you were 30 (Making him also thirty- not that you know that. You still think he’s dead at this point) you’re taken by the need to go back to Camp Crystal Lake and pay your respects to your childhood love / friend. Its just one of those nostalgic days.

When you go, and you set flowers down by the lake, Jason catches sight of you. He thinks about killing you… but then your features start to make sense to him. He recognises you, and for the first time since his mother was killed, he feels his heartbeat speed up and swell with hope.

Jason of course kidnaps you then, and keeps you hostage for himself. He missed you. He doesn’t want to survive anymore time without you. You’re all he has left!

… After you realise that this is Jason Voorhees, you quickly learn that this Jason is, of course, not the boy that you cared, and care, so deeply about. He’s done horrible things, and he is never going to stop; And frankly, deep inside… he scares you.

But its not like you can leave him! He would never let you, he’s made that clear. You are all he has, and now, he is all that you have.

|- ‘I don't have a choice

If Henry says "it's you", then it's you

No matter how I feel

It's what I have to do’ -|

So you write a letter to the old Jason (And your old life), saying goodbye, in admittance to the fact that you’ll never be able to get away from this new Jason. This is you letting go of your freedom and any preconceptions that anything will every be the same- with Jason, or otherwise.

|- ‘It's true I'll never be over you 'Cause I have built a future in my mind with you And now the hope is gone There's nothing left for me to do’

'Cause I have built a future in my mind with you

And now the hope is gone

There's nothing left for me to do’ -|

You never stop hating him for how he’s changed (How he’s taken your Jason away, and wont even attempt to go back) and how he’s stolen away your freedom.

|- ‘I'd say "Henry, yeah it's true

I'll never belong to you

'Cause I am not your toy, to enjoy till there's something new

As if I'm gonna give up my boy, my work, my dreams

To care for you"

"Ha, darling, get a clue”

But I can't say that

Not to the king’ -|

You eventually die of natural causes at, like, 60.

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charmspoint · 4 years ago

Note

Top 5 characters that live in your head rent free 🤔

For this ask meme

Oh god ONLY five??? GOOD QUESTION. This is gonna be hard to both decide on and rank fairly uhoh lets see, this ranking his shifty as hell depending on what I’m into atm obvs

5. Tsurugi Kamiya from Servamp

Does he look like a knock off Izaya? Yes. Is he? Very much no.

Tsurugi is like my no 1 reason for getting back into Servamp, I left right in the middle of his arc and I ;-; IS HE OKAY??? DID HE GET AWAY FROM TOUMA??? DID HE BECOME WRATHS EVE??? NOBODY TELL ME I’LL FIND OUT ON MY OWN.

Servamp was one of those shows where I didn’t really have a fav main character for a good while until this guy showed up. This guy is an absolute crazy little monster I can’t overemphasize on this, his coat is used as a fucking straight jacket I’m not even kiddin

You get introduced to him and he’s scary and terrifying because he’s so strong, like he’s one of those strongest in the series characters and since he and the heroes are on semi opposing sides he is a serious threat. So you get introduced to this guy who seems borderline crazy and feral and then...you get to see him goofing off with his two boyfriends and their kid and it’s just

The domesticity!!!!Look at it!!!! It’s so fucking cute aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, they are so cute together OT3 of C3 ftw, MY SON. Like Tsurugi had a horribly abusive childhood and was basically raised like an attack dog and his previous partner :) well he do be trying to seriously kill him don’t he. But look! He found his own little family he can be semi normal in!! Until is torn apart by his abusive adoptive father figure :D!!! I ABANDONED HIM IN THE MIDDLE OF THAT ARC AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

im sorry this got so long on this particular character none of the others will be so long i just miss him TSURUGI ILL CATCH UP FOR YOU!!!! Maybe he should have been no 1 hbjhbjh fucking sleeper agents am i right

4. Izaya Orihara from Durarara

Ah yes, the og queen bitch. Has my taste for villains ever recovered from Izaya? No. If your villain isn’t at least a bit like Izaya I’m not interested. Durarara was one of my first serious fandoms and Izaya was the first character I ever wrote for and I think you can explain me as a person if you consider Izaya was my all time fav at 13. I can’t really say anything about Izaya that hasn’t been said thousands of times before, I love how goofy and overperformative he can be, I love how there’s so much in him once you crack him open, I love how good of a villain he is for a messy story such as DRRR, puppeteer villains are really a league of their own. We need more puppeteering twinks, maybe then I’d be more into villains yaknow.

3. Hawks from Boku no Hero Academia

To no ones surprise!Him! I’ve been drifting off from BNHA recently what from catching bad case of JJK what from just reading n watching more other stuff and honestly that’s probably good because I’ve been into BNHA for a couple of years now as my main fandom and I really could have used a break. Not to say I don’t like BNHA anymore tbh I think right now BNHA is the best it’s ever been just ya know, drifting. That being said my love for Hawks will never die, god what a good boy and we got his backstory too aaa ;-;. BNHA was just like Servamp, something I liked but didn’t really have a fav character in until this random support character strolled in and won my heart. God I love how much we got on Hawks. He’s completely different from his initial impression and his unrelenting strive to do good despite being thrown from one horrible situation to the next is just ;-; HES SUCH A GOOD BOY. He’s selfless to a fault, literally putting everyone before himself and putting himself down for not being able to achieve more than is humanly possible I’m just ;-; I WANT HIM TO BE HAPPY. He just makes my heart happy, he’s good and warm and hardworking and in a manga where trauma plays such a major role in so many characters it’s so good to see Hawks there, having been through three different types of hell and still coming out unnerving in his goodness. All I want for him is to have a good life and to one day be able to smile for real.

2. Gojo Satoru from Jujutsu Kaisen

Again no surprise since I’ve been so into jjk lately. Satoru is p high up rn cuz I’m mainly into JJK now but god knows where he will actually settle. He’s not even really my favorite character in the show, that goes to Inumaki, but this is a list of who I think about the most (tho all of these characters are either no 1 or no 2 for their shows) and boy my brother and foxy can tell you I’m constantly thinking about this bitch. I didn’t really care about him that much at the start but then I got to Hidden Inventory and OH BOY MUCH TO THINK ABOUT. Satoru is such a wonderfully complex character whos evolution you can clearly follow through the years. He’s under so much pressure as the strongest sorcerer to deal with everything and he has to operate in that system trying to change it for the better while at the same time trying to make sure his students arent sacrificed in the name of that change. He has a very goofy disposition but along side with Nanamin who’s a lot more explicit about it, it’s clear he cares about mental state of his students a whole lot. He knows this world is terrible and that the will come out of it with scars and that he can’t protect them from all of it, but he balances protecting and letting them grow as much as he can. They need to grow so jujutsu society can change after all, but they also need to be protected so they don’t fuckin die before that can happen. This is without all the many many opinions I have on Hidden Inventory and SatoSugu as a whole, how they influenced each other, how differently they reacted to their shared trauma (Funny how everyone on this list is fuckin traumatized) and what resulted from it. How their fucking love story is dramatic enough to be a Shakespeare play. Also I like it when he’s long and goofy ahahah

1. Chuuya Nakahara from Bungou Stray Dogs

Not to objectify men on main but I couldn’t choose a picture

If there is ever a day when I don’t go feral over Chuuya I’ll probably be dead. He not only lives in my head rent free he owns the place.

HES SO UNDERUSED.

BSD has such a great setup with Chuuya, like he’s ex partners with the mentor of the main character who got betrayed and abandoned when the mentor left shared evil organization. Sounds like grounds for drama right? YOUD THINK SO. Like Chuuya and Dazai have such a great and interesting dynamic and you can feel how strained it is from the distance and betrayal and they bicker and fight as their defining relationship trait BUT there is such a strong underlying trust to all the fighting. These two trust each other with their whole lives and that hasn’t changed despite everything, despite how much time has passed and how much that trust had been tested. So you’d think he’d be an important character :) HES STUCK IN SUPPORT HONESTLY HES STUCK IN BACKGROUND UNLESS HES NEEDED TO DO SOMETHING COOL AAAAAA. Chuuya is literally one of a kind, I’ve never seen a character with such a good design and such an cool power and such an interesting relationship to one of the main characters and such a love and support from the fandom BE SO UTERLLY AND COMPLETLY WASTED. Even when we get Chuuya scraps they rarely build on relationship he has in canon but just throw in new random ones at him (tho that’s a broader problem of Kafka throwing new characters at the plot instead of developing the one he already has really). We get a hint of a cool fight with him? Completely cut out, More often then not it just feels like he is benched because he’s so damn strong there would just be no plot tension if he went in and broke some heads (which is also a problem with Satoru, guys stop writing op characters if you’ll just put em on the bus aaa). Anyway he’s completly and utterly wasted by the plot.

And it’s such a waste because he’s such a good character. Like he’s a member if the villain organization and is obviously by that very vicious and violent but also so empathetic and kind to people he considers his friends. He and Dazai have the brawn and brain thing going on and stg Chuuya is like the only brawn I can think of that is classier then their brain. Look at how this guy dressed, he’s high class gay, hat, choker, coat, gloves, he is bringing in the looks. I love how he can actually be completely calm and rational and put together but then put him with Dazai and it’s back to ‘we are 15 and we will scream out heads off at each other’, they are so childish.

Anyway I love Chuuya he deserves to be treated better and I will never stop screaming about Chuuya ever

#anon #lucy rants #ask game #this one was the most fun so far aaa i like to geek out #sorry it took so long anon but i had lots of fun with it <3

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queen-of-deans-booty · 4 years ago

Text

Maybe, Just Maybe

Characters: Jo Harvelle x Winchester!Reader, Sam and Dean Winchester, Meredith Grey, Mark Sloan, Jackson Avery, Owen Hunt

Word Count: 1,150

Warnings: supernatural/grey’s anatomy crossover, all angst, end of season 5 spoilers

Summary: Jo is someone that shouldn’t be hunting in the first place, but after you have a fight, you come to learn bad news that just shatters your world.

Squares Filled: No pain no gain for @as-the-saying-goes-bingo // surgery in @hc-bingo // last times/farewells in @ladiesbingo // broken bone in @spngenrebingo // homesickness in @badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Supernatural/Grey’s Anatomy

Beta: she wants to remain anonymous

Author’s Note: If you have any requests, please send them in!

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

Not every relationship is going to be perfect. There are big obstacles and small ones, and only if both parties are willing, then they can get through anything. Your relationship, however, may be suffering too much to fix it. You said something you shouldn't have, even though you believe it to be true. Your girlfriend, however, didn't like hearing it.

You've been hunting ever since you could walk. Your mother died a year after you were born, so your dad took you into his family. He was also on his own with two boys, and as much as he did not want you to, you got into his lifestyle. How could you not when he came home bloodied and bruised, or when he hid weapons and other supernatural items all over every motel you stayed in.

Yes, your dad was John Winchester, but your mom wasn't Mary. You're the youngest of the Winchesters, and your half-brothers are very protective of you. They tried everything to keep you away from the scary stuff, but there came a time when you had to learn to protect yourself. John hated bringing you into this life, but in his mind, it was better than being put into the foster system. So, Sam and Dean helped you be the best hunter there ever was.

And you were until you met Jo Harvelle.

It's not that she made you a bad hunter, it's that she made you a cautious one. While that should be a good thing, it's actually the complete opposite. Sam, Dean, and even your father taught you to shoot first and ask questions later. Jo always loved to ask questions first. She was so eager to hunt with you that she threw all caution into the wind. It was your duty to look after her. She's unknowingly caused so many injuries and accidents.

You can't blame her. Her mother is a hunter, and so was her dad. She so badly wants to be one, that she skips over steps. She's inexperienced, but she refuses to see it. You've told her this many times in the nicest way possible, but it won't stick into her head. You're about the same age as her, and because of that, she thinks she can do whatever you can do.

You grew up with experience... she didn't.

The last conversation you had with her was you trying to explain to her why she couldn't come with you to Seattle on a werewolf hunt. You tried to be nice about it, but you ended up screaming in her face about how bad of a hunter she was. You might have said some other things involving her dad that you can't take back. The look on her face tore your heart into two. Instead of helping her become a better hunter, you just pushed her away.

Classic Winchester.

She knew she was inexperienced, but all she wanted to be is like her parents. A part of you never wanted her to become involved in the first place. She's smart, young, adventurous, brave, full of life, and very beautiful. Monsters eat people like her for breakfast. You were just scared of losing the person you loved dearly. You've seen what it did to your dad, Sam, and Dean. It sucks the life out of people. You didn't want to see that happen to her.

You regret everything you said to her. You love her. Hunting means nothing if she isn't by your side. You left over a month ago and wouldn't take anyone’s calls, not even your brothers. You wanted to prove that you can still hunt alone.

You can't.

You proved that when you thought it was a good idea to go after a werewolf nest without any backup. Yes, werewolves have nests, and they are fucking vicious when threatened. You didn't know if you would even make it out alive. Maybe you didn't. Maybe what you're looking at isn't a dark sky with a bunch of twinkling stars. Maybe you didn't get your insides ripped apart like it was a Christmas present. Maybe you didn’t break almost every bone in your body, trying to fight them off. Maybe you're not lying on the grass, fighting for every breath. Maybe you're not wishing Jo, Sam and Dean were with you.

Maybe, just maybe, you're not currently dying.

Because if all of the above is true, then maybe you're not going to make it home after all.

What happened? Where are you? Why do you feel so numb? The last thing you remember is fighting that werewolf—or actually losing against the werewolf. You were looking up at the stars, wondering if you'd been too harsh with Jo. Jo! Shit! You need to get to her!

You yank yourself up from your bed, but two things stop you: pain burns up your abdomen, and a bunch of wires keeps you locked on the bed. Oh, you're in a hospital. Your legs are in casts. How did you get here? Who found you so close to a werewolf's nest? Are they okay? How many bones did you break?

"Oh good, you're up,” a female doctor says by the beeping machines.

How did you not notice her or the nurse there before?

"Page Dr. Sloan and Dr. Hunt, please," she asks of the nurse.

"Right away, Doctor,” the nurse nods and leaves.

"Can you understand what I'm saying?” she asks, and you just nod. "Do you know where you are?” Nod. "My name is Meredith Grey. Can you try speaking for me?"

"Water, please,” you try saying, but it comes out all raspy.

"Of course," she nods and leaves.

As soon as she leaves, three more doctors enter. All men, all with smiles on their faces. One is the tallest with grayish hair, the other is a black man with gorgeous green eyes, and the last one is a redhead. Why are they here? Meredith comes back with some water, and you down it graciously.

"Can you tell me your name?” Dr. Grey asks.

"Y/N."

"Y/N, they are Dr. Mark Sloan, Dr. Jackson Avery, and Dr. Owen Hunt," she introduces the trio respectfully.

"You have really pretty eyes," you say to Jackson.

"Thank you," he blushes.

"Can you tell me how you got your injury?"

"My injury?" you ask before remembering the werewolf.

"Your abdomen was badly damaged. Dr. Avery and I were able to repair some of it with skin grafts, but we had to pull sections from your thighs and butt," Dr. Sloan explains.

"I've never seen trauma that bad. What happened?" Dr. Hunt asks.

Dr. Avery's eyes remind you of someone. They are bright green with a hint of blue, though, you're not concerning yourself with the blue.

"I have to call my girlfriend. She'll worry," you say when you remember your brother and the whole reason you're in this mess.

"I'm sure she will be alright. Is there any family we can call?" Dr. Grey asks.

"My brothers. Please, let me have my phone. I need to talk to them."

You beg with your eyes, and the doctors realize they won't be getting anything out of you unless they give you what you want. The doctors shuffle out of the room after giving you your phone. You haven't spoken to anyone in a good month, so you hope you can get them to come to you.

Dean hasn't said a word since he and Sam have arrived. He's been standing by the door with a sour look on his face. Sam is talking to Dr. Grey, but you don't know about what. As soon as he's finished, he walks into your room and locks the door.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean explodes.

"You could have gotten yourself killed,” Sam adds.

"Not calling or texting in a month? Because of Cas' stupid rib branding thing, we couldn't find you," Dean glares.

"I'm sorry,” you sigh.

"What happened?" Sam wonders.

"Werewolf nest. I couldn't get out in time. I thought I was dead."

"You will be because l am going to kill you!" Dean shouts.

"Before you do that, could one of you tell me why Jo isn't calling me back? We had a huge fight before I left, and I need to tell her that she was right. I shouldn't have said what I said, and I really hurt her feelings. Is she ignoring me?"

Dean's anger and Sam's concern completely wash away at your girlfriend’s name. Something happened, you can read it on their faces. Did she get hurt? Worse? You haven't been home in a month, so how bad can things actually get?

"What happened? Tell me she's alright,” you whisper.

Sam takes a seat on the edge of your hospital bed. If Sam is the one talking, then you know you're going to hear bad news. He's the brother that always gets that job.

"Don't say it," you get tears.

"We were being chased by hellhounds, and one of them got to her before we could."

"Tell me she's okay," you cry.

"She didn't make it. Ellen either. I'm so sorry,” he sighs.

You're already crying at the thought Jo is no longer with you, but Ellen too? You left things off with Jo by yelling at her and telling her she sucks at hunting? Now she's gone? You didn't even tell her how sorry you are. You're never going to hear her voice again, stare into her beautiful eyes, run your fingers through her blonde locks, kiss her plump lips, and so many other things.

You're never going to tell her how much you love her, and it's all your fault. Maybe if you had never left, you might have been able to save her. All you can do now is to cry for the loss of a family who never deserved any of this.

Maybe, just maybe, things would have been different if you stayed.

Wanna get tagged? Add yourself to this document! If your tag doesn’t work, find out why!

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#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #jo harvelle #jo harvelle x reader #jo harvelle fanfiction #jo harvelle fic #jo harvelle fiction #jo harvelle fan fiction #jo harvelle fanfic #jo harvelle fan fic #jo harvelle angst #supernatural fic #supernatural fiction #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fan fic #supernatural angst

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theonceoverthinker · 5 years ago

Text

A Winter’s Snowball (CS Role Reversal)

Summary: It’s unusual for love to be in the air just outside of a ball meant to inspire it, but that’s how the Charming family has always worked, hasn’t it?

AO3 Fanfiction.net

A/N: Hello, OUAT fandom! It’s great to be back, and just in time for the @csrolereversal!

What? Did you think you’d get rid of me so easily? As if!

AND LOOK AT THE AMAZING ARTWORK THAT INSPIRED THIS, YA’AL!!! ALL of the props in the world to my super awesome artist, @clockadile. Clockykins, what can I even say? I love this artwork. It’s an incredible mix of the classic Captain Swan aesthetics as well something so new and fun! The watercolors are gorgeous, and give off this amazing fairy tale feeling that works so well with all things OUAT! It really helped me to make this piece the quirky thing that it is.

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If there was one thing that Snow White was more certain of than anything in regards to her daughter, it was that she did things her own way. It’s what Snow loved about Emma the most -- Emma was hardly the ambiguous type, always upfront with her feelings and at-the-ready to follow her gut and her heart.

David joked that it was something the two of them had in common, and Snow wholeheartedly and unashamedly agreed with the sentiment, proud of all that it entailed, especially because in so many respects, they truly were different in so many other things.

For instance, they had different approaches to their kingdom’s grandest of celebrations.

Balls were fun for Snow and David -- remarkable events with elegant dances, decadent food, and encounters from all over the kingdoms of the world that brought with them memories the attendants would have for life. Rooms came alive as conversation, lights, and music beamed all throughout their castle. Snow was positively invigorated by everything about them, from the planning phase to the final bits of cleaning the castle’s halls up.

However, while they were fun for Snow, they weren’t so much for Emma, as she was often one to tell them. It wasn’t that she hated her dresses, the idea of dancing, or even the socializing -- quite the contrary in those respects, since she loved those things at times where balls weren’t being held.

No, what she disliked was actually what Snow loved the most -- the grandeur of it all. Emma compared balls in their castle to what would happen if an entire circus or bazaar was shoved into their dining room, calling it “too much to handle at once.” In her defense, she wasn’t wrong. Balls could serve as courtship openings, family reunions, dances, and managerial work all at once.

Oh well, not every daughter was like her parents. She supposed it couldn’t be helped.

At least Emma was like her where it counted.

That’s the conclusion Snow reached upon seeing Emma playing in the snow of all things from the balcony, in any case.

While Snow loved balls with all of her heart, even she wasn’t about to say no to a short break from one after a few hours, and few spots in the castle served better to hide away in during those breaks than the balcony just outside the ballroom. It was private enough where she could get a moment to herself, yet close enough to the festivities that if she was needed, she could be there within moments. And the view from this balcony in particular was simply gorgeous. Their castle was blessed with a luscious garden, and while the snowfall that started this morning and persisted until the start of the ball had covered the lovely bushes of flowers there, it left the ground with a beautiful blanket of snow amidst the garden’s many arches and gazebos that was quite the sight to take in all the same, and much of it was captured so well by that balcony’s vantage point.

Snow had spent a few minutes there by herself, enjoying both the quiet that now surrounded her and the cold and crisp nighttime air. It was so peaceful there that if not for the ball inside, she’d have been content spending the entire evening out there.

But all of the sudden, that placid atmosphere was interrupted when she heard a sound from down below.

It was a man’s yelp.

Immediately, Snow’s attention moved to the previously peaceful ground.

Her speedy reaction was rewarded when she saw a young man emerge from below the balcony, now hurrying across the formerly clean landscape.

“Y-your Majesty!” he cried, his right hand massaging his shoulder where a bright spot on his otherwise dark navy jacket appeared to be.

And then she heard a second, quite unorthodox sound.

It was her daughter’s voice.

“For the last time, Killian, it’s Emma!” Emma barked through a chortle. Something then flew from her form to his, something small, and something fast, but something Snow also couldn’t quite see -- that is, until it hit him in the chest.

Yes, the man -- Killian -- filled in the remaining blanks of her sight with another yelp.

“Bloody hell, that’s cold!” he shouted, as what was clearly now a snowball made contact with the space just above his ribs.

“Not used to the winter?” Emma asked, the hand that held her snowball now resting against her hip.

“Not at all,” Killian answered, seemingly coming down from the chill that the snowball birthed in him. “My work tends to keep me in warmer climates.”

It made sense, now that Snow thought on it. The way he was dressed spoke of a military profession, and if Snow remembered correctly from his introduction alongside his brother earlier in the evening, he was a lieutenant.

Hmm. A princess and a lieutenant -- how unorthodox.

Snow wasn’t surprised though -- after all, this was her daughter.

And they looked cute together.

“But,” Killian continued, “I will say, though the winters here are merciless, they are indeed beautiful all the same, just as you are, Your Highness.”

Instinctively, Snow’s hand shot to her mouth.

Killian seemed to instantly tell what he has done wrong as well, as a sound -- not of any existing tongue, but one that could only come from the worst of realizations -- left his mouth not three seconds after he addressed Emma.

Bless this young man’s heart -- Snow knew he was quite earnest and liked him already, but she knew her daughter well, a Emma was never one for royal titles.

“I-I!” Killian started saying, trying to cover up his tracks.

But Emma crouched to the ground and rolled up another snowball, clearly not about to let him get away with it.

“Looks like the lesson hasn’t sunken in yet,” Emma said, seemingly very excited about what was to come once more. “Good thing you like the winters here, because here’s another taste of them.”

Killian tried to catch the snowball with his hands, but was woefully unprepared for Emma’s speed. After all, lieutenant or not, no one could compare in a snowball fight to the girl who cornered her own father when she was only nine.

And so another snowball hit him, this time square in the chest. Another followed seconds later, just above Killian’s right bicep. A third hit just seconds after that, this time on his left knee.

Despite every part of her upbringing telling her she shouldn’t Snow couldn’t help but laugh as she watched the scene before it.

“Emma, Emma, Emma!” Killian yelled. “That’s your name! I promise to Poseidon that that’s all I’ll ever call you from now until my dying days! As far as I’m to ever concern myself with, the only name you go by is Emma! Will that suffice?”

Snow could hear her daughter chuckle as she approached Killian.

“Well,” she said, “when you put it like that, how can I say no?”

Killian’s breathing was so loud that Snow could hear it from the balcony, but while it was heavy, the last thing she expected to see was him fall to the ground from exhaustion.

That made it all the more startling when that’s exactly what happened.

“Killian!” Emma cried, her tone quickly shifting from lighthearted to worries as she now ran over to help him. Snow covered her mouth, now in freight, not daring to utter so much as a call in their direction out of fear of distracting Emma from aiding him.

This man -- he seemed so healthy. There was no way he could just collapse like this, could he?

Then again, Snow knew more than most just how powerful diseases could be in this world. It was certainly possible, and especially in this kind of weather.

Killian was right -- this weather was indeed merciless. But hopefully, it would make an exception this one time.

As Emma was checking on Killian’s situation, that’s what Snow prayed for.

Thankfully, with Emma’s help, it seemed like Killian could at least stand. Snow sighed in solace as she watched them rise from the ground, snowflakes sticking to their clothes, imprinting themselves onto them like fingerprints to a blade.

Few things were ever as much of a relief as seeing someone come through a scare like that. And though she cared for Killian’s fate, Snow was especially relieved for Emma’s sake. The guilt of feeling like one caused the death or even pain of another was something Snow would never even wish on her most vicious of enemies, let alone her own daughter. Words couldn’t begin to say how good it felt to know that Emma wouldn’t feel that way tonight.

“Thank you, Emma,” Killian said, just barely audible enough for Snow to hear. “I’ve worked with strong sailors before, but you’ve quite the powerful throwing -- and apparently, lifting -- arms on you.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Emma retorted, smiling and winking all the while.

Killian slowly stood back from her, as if testing his balance after his fall. Fortunately, he looked to be stable enough standing on his own, another relief in a moment filled with them. He and Emma smiled at each other, and Snow relaxed her elbows upon the balcony’s edge.

“I promise you I shan’t again.”

Emma turned and looked out towards the rest of the snowy garden, possibly in search of a bench or something they could sit down on.

Snow was tempted to call out to them and see if Killian needed any further assistance as opposed to letting him linger on outside in the cold, but before she could, she saw something in Killian’s right hand. It was obstructed by the night’s sky, but she knew what it was.

Oh, Emma!

Killian smirked. “But,” he continued, “I’ve quite the strong arms myself, and one thing you ought to know is that there’s only one thing a man can say after enduring an attack like that -- revenge is a dish best served cold!”

And with that last sentence, a muted snowball flung through the air and landed right in the middle of Emma’s back.

It was now Emma’s turn to yelp, and yelp, she did.

“Eep!” she screamed, jumping forward, only to trip and land face first into the snow.

Snow covered her mouth again, though unlike the previous times, she was unsure if it was out of shock, amusement, fear -- for Killian’s sake, that was -- or all three.

“You sneak! You planned that!” Emma shouted.

Killian’s smile had grown into a smirk so large, it bordered on a grin.

“Aye, love. Charming though you may be, I can’t let you get away with your crimes so easily.”

Despite Killian’s retaliation, Emma met it with a smirk as she got up and wiped the snow away, half shocked and half cocky.

“Something you ought to know, Killian -- Charming is my father, not me. I’m more of the vengeful type too. So trust me when I say you’re going to PAY for that!”

“Assuming you can hit me again,” Killian cheekily retorted, now smirking at her as he rolled another snowball into his grip. Snow realized as he did so that one of his hands was fake, but he was so adept at it that she hadn’t even noticed it. She wondered if Emma did. “Looks like I’m adapting quite well to these winters, aren’t I?”

“I’d say so, but let’s put it to the test, shall we?”

“Ready whenever you are, Emma.”

Emma said nothing, simply crouching down to grab another snowball of her own.

And then, the fight began.

Killian took off running, making sharp turns as he ran through the gardens, with Emma hot on his tail. The garden’s smaller space kept the game exciting, and kept them close to each other the whole time.

Snow had a feeling they liked it that way.

She certainly did.

For minutes on end, Snow watched them run around, laughing as their various snowballs hit and missed each other without reason or rhyme. It was so exciting to watch that she had completely let the time fly away from her, perhaps for too long given her role at this ball.

And someone took notice of her absence.

“Sn-o-ow?” David called in a sing-song fashion, walking out from behind the curtain onto the balcony, and gently pulling Snow close to him. “I was wondering where you went off to. And where’s Emma? It’s almost time for desser-.”

The finale of that sentence never came, as David grew quiet upon looking out into the expanse of the garden below them, clearly realizing what he was now bearing witness to.

As David studied the two of them, Snow eyed him warily. It was always impossible to tell how David would take things regarding Emma’s love life, and especially under such unconventional circumstances, even Snow was at a loss for how he would react.

After a pregnant pause that followed his glance at Emma and Killian, David looked to Snow, and then back to them, and then back to Snow.

“Are they having a snowball fight?” he finally asked, more confused than any other emotion Snow could so much as hope to discern from him.

“Yes, they are, David,” she answered, careful to keep pride and support in her tone.

David nodded. “Okay. Just wanted to check.”

Then, his reaction came out, and in a way Snow never expected it would -- he smiled.

“You know,” Snow said, positively beaming from his reaction, “when I pictured our daughter falling in love, I probably should’ve considered that beating whoever it was over the head with something was a possibility.”

“You didn’t?!” David cried, mock surprise littered in his voice.

Snow playfully smacked David’s chest, but settled back into his embrace not five seconds later.

“At least the snow won’t leave a scar, unlike the one my lovely Snow did,” he continued.

Feigning shock, Snow turned from him, her mouth agape and a hand to her collarbone. “Are you trying to get kicked out of this ball? Because if you are, know that you’re going to have a far worse time outside than they are if you do.”

David kissed her temple.

“No, I know my wife. She would never kick me out of a ball, and if she did, I would just take her with me.”

Snow chuckled as she once more snuggled up to David and looked out at Emma and Killian in the garden.

“Do you think we could take them in a snowball fight?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” David answered. “We’re the ones that taught Emma to throw a snowball in the first place.”

“That may be so, but she’s better at it than you.”

David scoffed, though his smile betrayed him. “She got lucky once, and you two have never let me live it down since then. I could take her.”

“He’s good, too. You should’ve seen him get the jump on Emma earlier.”

“Whose side are you on?!” David teased, nudging Snow.

“I’m just being realistic!”

The two of them broke down in laughter, watching as Emma and Killian came together in much the same way.

A powerful gust of wind brought Snow’s attention back to the fact that outside of their little bubble, there was still a ball going on, one they were needed at more than they were on this balcony.

Snow sighed as she sadly looked at David, who was already giving her the same look she knew she herself carried. Balls were wonderful, but she was starting to understand why Emma found herself able to ignore them so easily in favor of having such a wonderful time outside.

From atop the balcony, Snow could see Emma snuggle into Killian’s side, nuzzling her face into an unmarred part of his uniform for warmth while his arms surrounded her. Despite that chill, they looked so warm together.

Still, all it took was another gust to remind Snow that while it was lovely outside, it was indeed cold, and these winters were gorgeous, but intense all the same.

“We should make sure they come inside,” Snow said. She didn’t know how she’d broach the topic, especially since it meant revealing that they’d been watching the two of them for however long they’d all been out here.

Thankfully, before Snow needed to put too much effort into it, David beat her to the punch, at last breaking the silence between the two couples for the first time.

“Hey, guys!” he shouted.

Never before had David seen two people stop what they were doing faster than Emma and Killian as they jumped apart from their embrace and straightened their postures to face David. It was almost enough to make Snow keel over in laughter.

David smirked.

“They’re serving cake now, and it’s going fast,” he continued. David then turned to Killian. “The first thing you should know about Emma is that she cannot ever be held back from her desserts without serious repercussions.”

The smirk dissolved into a smile, one that grew as he saw the tension drop in both of their shoulders. Emma smiled at him, moving closer to Killian once more.

Killian let himself smile as well.

“Well, in that case, we shall be right up!” he called out. “Can’t have Emma going without a slice. She has too good of an aim to chance the consequences.”

Emma started laughing, a laugh that Snow recognized well. It was a laugh that spoke of such happiness, such hope, and Snow couldn’t be happier to hear it.

From below them, Emma and Killian made a start for the nearest entrance back into the castle, and while Snow and Charming came back into the ball, Snow made a point to request to one of the servants that a set of matching towels be brought to the door closest to the garden. And while the servant gave her a look, all Snow could do was smile and shrug.

After all, her daughter did things her own way, and as it turns out, so could she.

#ouat #once upon a time #captain swan #cs #emma swan #killian jones #cs role reversal #csrr

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irisouy · 5 years ago

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After 610 I keep reading posts about the 100 that are bothering me. Most of them stem from confusion, lack of long-term memory or simply stan culture.

Allow me to clarify things:

Josephine is dead dead. Her mind did not go into her mind drive as she stayed in the ALIE mesh to try to get rid of Clarke. Once Clarke killed her, Josephine’s mind drive was not in Clarke’s body anymore so Jo could not be reloaded.

Octavia did not get a redemption. She acknowledged that she needs to go on the path of redemption, but she hasn’t done anything yet. She just had a long awaited epiphany. Acknowledging that you need to be redempted does not mean you achieved it.

You know who else got an epiphany? Raven. If she was not as harsh with Murphy as she was with Clarke and Abby it’s because with the whole Kane II fiasco she reached an understanding. See how she became less vicious with Abby? She started to acknowledge that her attitude needed to change. She’s taking on Kane’s mission to help others reach morality, and not just condemn them.

Ok, I get that some of you love Octavia to death, but do you really need to bash Bellamy because he hasn’t forgiven her yet? As I said previously Octavia has not reached redemption yet, she’s just started working towards it. Bellamy did not see her reach that conclusion and is not aware that she has now committed to changing things. We viewers, are aware because we saw on screen what was happening inside Octavia’s head, but any other character on the show did not see that. Also, Bellamy is not required to forgive her right away. She treated him like crap for years, taking his love for granted and pushing his limits each time more and more. I love the Blake’s relationship and I want them to mend it, but their relationship dynamic was unhealthy. Bellamy worked on his side, now it’s just Octavia’s turn.

Emori did not lie to Abby about Murphy doing the right thing “eventually”. He did it when he told Bellamy that he needed to get to Gabriel to save Clarke, because Gabriel could perform the operation. Murphy absolutely messed up and I’m angry at him for that, but we have to acknowledge that he “eventually” ended up helping Clarke by providing a key piece of information to Bellamy.

Murphy, Raven and Abby did not bullshit Russel when saying they could create nightblood with bone marrow: did you forget how they took bone marrow from Luna in Becca’s lab, killed a grounder testing it and finally turned Clarke into a nightblood? I guess some part of the fandom missed that back in season 4.

Also, do you honestly think Earthkru want to drill Madi for her bone marrow? No, Raven wants to use the excuse of extracting her bone marrow to hack the flame in an attempt to get rid of Sheiheda

Bellarke has never been platonic: they just have had bad timing and a very slow progression of understanding their feelings for each other. Frankly, without this excruciatingly long slow burn we would not love their relationship as much as we do now.

OK, I’ve said my piece, I’m done for now.

#SupportBellarke

#the 100 #the 100 spoilers

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whitefeatheredcrown · 4 years ago

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the rp that brought me back

Hi friends... I know it’s been awhile. I don’t typically voice my opinion on here or much at all but I feel that I need to tonight. I’m in a roleplay right now that is getting aggressively attacked. They’ve been called out for being many things they are not (mostly through gaslighting) and I’d like to set the record straight as one of their members.

This is going to get lengthy so I understand if you don’t read the rest xo. Before you go I just want the people in Devils Key to know they are LOVED, SUPPORTED, and APPRECIATED.

I have been in many RPs in the glee bdsm fandom. Many of which I’ve had pretty terrible admins. I haven’t felt at home in an RP since Blooming Hearts and that was forever ago. I actually left the RP scene for about a year after my last terrible experience. Devils Key was my reintroduction to RP and I couldn’t be happier that I made that choice.

The admins have been nothing but kind and helpful to me. When I have a problem, they address it immediately. When I have a question they get me an answer quickly. They have an open DM policy and have made it clear on numerous occasions to our members that if there’s an issue ooc or ic that they are more than willing to talk us through it and come up with a solution. They’ve also made it clear that they want to help and that they can’t help if they aren’t spoken to directly. When it comes to triggers they crack down (but only if you tell them to list a trigger.) For instance- I posted something that had some violence in it. One of our members got uncomfortable and went to the admin. The admin came to me, without telling me who the individual was, and asked me to put a TW and to black out the post. I did immediately.

Before the individuals running another rp came into ours, we didn’t really have ooc drama. I’ve been here about two months now and these people are amazing- they are fantastic writers and so kind ooc! They’re always up to plot and are here for all the feels, angst, fluff, smut, and things. Ooc I’ve never witnessed bullying in our rp until the two individuals in question came into the ooc in the middle of a plot drop and started to try and gaslight all of us. Someone called them out about their motives and they went into attack mode further. It was jarring to say the least. They’re still doing it through the guise of an rph blog. It’s petty and childish and needs to stop.

This all came about because of a Dom and Switch wide punishment plot drop. It happened at the tail end of it (a 3 day plot). The individuals in question decided to up end everything by saying an “anonymous person” was triggered by a plot that everyone in the group had consented to. No one brought their own personal problems or triggers to an admin, not before or during. Then they proceeded to call us out for being M/s and not D/s and a lot of our members took issue with this and voiced their opinion in the ooc chat. They kept getting shot down by the individuals.

Our group is D/s but we’re being called out as an M/s rp. We are not an M/s rp. We do have some members who enjoy an M/s plot here or there kink wise. M/s is part of BDSM. Our group is advertised as catering to BDSM. When you come into our rp there is A LOT to read up on INCLUDING that we have NPCs that carry out group punishments. You have to take the time to actually join the discord group before applying to read up on everything. But if you haven’t taken the time to read up on everything and are surprised by severe group punishments then it’s on you for not doing your research before applying. If you’re not into intense scenarios with harder and darker kinks then the group probably isn’t your cup of tea. That being said, if you do see this impending punishment coming up and you know you don’t want to participate then all you have to do is speak with an admin to figure something else out for yourself.

I have been triggered before and it’s terrible, that being said, I would never expect an RP to do a 180 because of an issue I have. Especially if I haven’t spoken up about it. One person getting triggered does not mean an entire roleplay has to change its structure. It means that the person with the problem needs to speak up for them self with the proper people (the admins) and figure out a way to prevent the trigger in the future, that doesn’t involve messing with the plot of every other character in game.

This rph is saying they spoke to our autistic member about abuse from our admins and members. She’s a lovely person and I would hate to see her abused in any way. She happens to be livid because they never actually spoke to her about any of this before posting lies about her. They just triggered her and now she has to deal with that unfortunately. Unless there is another autistic player who hasn��t spoken up and in that case please let us know so we can all be aware and inclusive! <3

I could go on and on and show receipts for things that have been said and done by the individuals in question but I’m not going to. Because I’m not a child.

I know from experience that some of this community can be vicious. My anon feature will be turned off because I’m not in the business of getting hateful things sent my way. I believe it’s cowardice. If you have something to say then say it without hiding behind a grey face.

With all of this said, I hope that I’ve shed some light on a few misconceptions. I love and appreciate the RP that has brought me back. Thank you for providing a place for us to write out twisted fantasies. xo

#glee rph #glee ds rp #glee smut rp #glee rp #rph

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impishnature · 5 years ago

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Feather Fall (Part 1)

AO3 Fandom: Good Omens Rating: T+ Summary: What is an Angel without a connection to Heaven? A/N: @sightkeeper asked a while back for Aziraphale whump with the line ‘Blood? Oh it’s not mine’ and I wrote 18k words from just that. Warnings: Thoughts/talk of falling. Graphic violence (later). Panic attacks, blood, self harm. Some of these warnings are for another part but I’m putting them all here.

It had been three months since they had saved the world.

Three whole months. Ninety days. Two thousand, one hundred and sixty hours and counting.

And he was counting. Minutes, seconds, days, weeks, it all bled into one as he waited for something to happen- because for some reason it didn't feel like they had saved the world at all.

There had been no joyous occasions, no fanfare or parade. No celebrations except their own minimal affair. Just the peaceful, quiet hum of life continuing on it's path, never knowing just how close they had come to seeing it all crumble around them.

Well that, and the score of snarling angels and demons on their tails.

He could almost understand the demons vicious rage, but the angels? His family? How could they so blindly follow old texts that no longer truly aligned with what the world and humanity had evolved into? How could they sit idly by and watch it all burn, content to fight in a war with no real meaning or end other than complete annihilation? Was the world that the Almighty had created, truly just collateral damage in the wider scheme of things? Did none of them see the contradictions? The hypocrisy? How did their faith override their reason so easily?

And beneath all the questions, all the unfulfilled answers, there was a deeper ache; yearning, cold and hollow. It stung deep in his chest, pulsing pitifully with every fluttering heartbeat- a dagger thrust there by those who should have understood him, should have stood beside him.

Instead, they had tried to kill him with hellfire.

All for choosing humanity over an unjustifiable war.

All for asking the questions no one else seemed to be asking.

...Had he been so wrong?

Aziraphale sat, lost in his own thoughts, his book forgotten on his lap. It threatened to slip off him onto the floor at a moment's notice that he wasn't even present enough to feel or hear happening. It had been three months. Three months and the only contact his brethren had had was to try and kill him. He'd hoped that it would all blow over, that they'd see the error in their ways and realise that he and Crowley had made the best decision for everyone.

It was wishful thinking, he knew that now.

Neither side would ever admit they were wrong, nor admit defeat. It wasn't in their nature.

A human hundreds of years ago had seen the truth, but it had taken watching his own body be dragged up to heaven for him to accept his fate.

Thankfully, he hadn't been himself then, nor had Crowley been soaked in holy water as the other side had decided. But there had been a hint of barely quelled fury in Crowley's eyes when he returned that let him know that it was not just the actions or hellfire that had spoken out loudly at that meeting. He knew Crowley would never tell him, he'd sugarcoat it or brush it off, but then again he didn't really need to know what had been said. The dagger in his heart still twisted at the implications regardless, that deep rooted sadness that refused to leave.

Aziraphale tried to shake himself in his seat, the thoughts a dark cloud that needed to be swatted away. He brushed at his chest subconsciously, as if there was a physical item embedded there that he could tug out and be done with. It didn't matter what had been said. They wanted him dead, plain and simple. And when that hadn't worked, they'd cut him off.

He hadn't realised until then what true freedom tasted like.

For a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased, his mind slipping to warmer thoughts. It had been blissful at first. He'd felt lighter, brighter, like a weight had lifted from him, chains that he hadn't even realised he was wearing crashing to the floor. He no longer had to hide himself, to dim his light to quell questions and curiosity at his actions. He no longer had to subject himself to their whims even when he disagreed, to bite his tongue and smile dutifully at every snide remark or reprimand. And best of all; he could go about his life in peace, spend his days with Crowley without fear of what management might say or think, because none of them had any right to say anything anymore. They may judge him, but without the fear of consequences looming above his head, what really was there to stop him from giving into temptations and living life, however he saw fit?

He was already dead to them, or he would be if they had gotten there way, so, what more could he really do to anger them more than they already were?

But then the doubts had spread.

It had started as a small voice, that hint of sadness, that he couldn't quite escape. And then like a creeping vine it had taken hold. It grew and grew, tendrils reaching into every crevice of his skull, strangling the happiness that he had thought he finally deserved.

Aziraphale swallowed, his eyes open and unseeing as his shoulders raised defensively around his neck. He hunched forward, arms gripping tight to his knees, a bid to protect himself as the cold seeped back through his lungs and the dagger pushed deeper still.

His family had deserted him.

As much as he disagreed with them, as much as he was glad to no longer be under their scrutiny, it still didn't feel quite right to be completely isolated from Heaven. To have their full and unabated disappointment echoing through the silence of a disconnected phone line.

Was this what it felt like to fall? The ache of loss that he couldn't control or reason away. Grieving over something he hadn't even truly wanted, but now that it was ripped entirely from his grasp, never to be his again...

The thought sent a shudder down his spine and he propelled himself from his seat without thought, giving into the need to move, to pace. The book crashed to the ground at his feet, to be stumbled upon and kicked away with little remorse. Shame and repulsion slid heavily into his gut; a meal he wished he hadn't eaten and put him off eating ever again, whilst guilt and fear fizzled through his extremities, tingling down his fingers to keep them restlessly twining together as he paced.

It was nauseating and disturbingly unfamiliar, as if a beast had taken up residence inside his core and refused to be abated until he begged for forgiveness for crimes he hadn't even committed.

It roared to life inside of him, it fed on the panic and the paranoia, the doubts and the disorientation. It didn't care who was right or who was wrong, only that he reach a resolution and fast. It whispered insidiously in his ear, voice shifting between Gabriel's and Her's until his heart was clattering against his ribs and beating in his throat, and no amount of reminding himself that he didn't need a heartbeat would halt it.

You need to fix this. You are the fault, the issue. Heaven's closed its gates to you, how long until that is irreversible? What do your opinions matter against that?

Your fall is imminent- that is, if it hasn't started already...

"Don't be ridiculous." The words ground out of him amidst gritted teeth and an uncooperative tongue. The voices hushed against the sound, the beast curious and patient at his interruption. The blood pumping through his ears receded as his own commanding voice took centre stage and pushed the fear back in its place, down to the depths where it belonged. Or perhaps it wasn't his own voice, perhaps it was the accompanying shocked hiss, a spark of gold in the darkness, that lit up his brain and soothed his racing heart.

We picked our side. We picked the human's side. We did the right thing. Heaven and Hell are against us, surely that's got to mean something?

"I'm not falling." Aziraphale stood up straight, closing his eyes for a second to take a deep breath before glaring out at the open air, as if his aggressors were there in the room with him. "I would know. Crowley refuses to talk about his fall, and I will be damned if we place this- this- tiff at the same level as his suffering."

It was abhorrent, disrespectful, that his mind would put the two anywhere near one another.

The beast was subdued for a moment, irritated but conceding. It shrunk in size and let him breathe easier as clarity and logic took over his thought patterns.

...The peace didn't last long.

Her voice, quiet and questioning, echoed past all the others. It created space where it needed, growing in form and consistency, engulfing him in its reverberations.

How would you know?

"I'm sorry?" The words stuttered out of him before he could stop them. A puff of irritation fizzled through his chest, his hands clenching into fists.

What was he doing apologising to an imaginary voice? It wasn't real. It was just his mind playing tricks on him.

She wasn't here. She wasn't talking to him.

And if She was, he hoped that he would have enough in him not to shrink at Her presence, that he could ask all the questions that, over the years of silence, had begun to sit and multiply at the back of his throat every time he thought of Her.

His resolve didn't stop the flow of the voice though. The one that slid across the surface of his brain and mingled with his own thoughts until he wasn't sure if it was Her or him that spoke them into reality.

It was pervasive, humoured by his ignorance and strengthened by his doubts.

How would you know what falling feels like?

Aziraphale swallowed past the lump in his throat. A strangely hysterical part of his mind was proud of himself for having the foresight to close the shop early that day. Humans weren't all that fond of people having fights with themselves nor imaginary people. "I don't... I've seen it, heard about it. The Fall. They fell from- it wasn't a slow process. It's never been a slow process. There was never any doubt that they had fallen."

Well, that was then. No one's fallen in millennia. There was also never any doubt that they had lost sight, that they had lost faith. They fell for their reasons, you're falling for yours.

A sharper voice grated through, Her voice opening up the floodgates for it to return from the depths he'd cast it to. It was darker, less hypothetical, and more disparaging as it snarled at him.

You never could do anything right. Why would this be any different?

He was suddenly finding it hard to breathe, the need for oxygen to unnecessary lungs somehow desperate and required. The room was closing in on him, shrinking into a suffocating prison built purposefully for him. Each book, each shadow, opened another set of eyes that dispassionately watched his descent, judging him for every little action, every thought, every word, every minuscule movement-

Her voice slipped through the soft breeze, sending goosebumps trailing across his flesh and the hairs raising on the back of his neck.

Perhaps every day you make the choice to fall just that little bit further...

A soft clatter dragged some of his awareness back into the room. His eyes focused in and out on a small button rolling across the floor away from him with no recognition or recollection of where it had come from.

It wasn't until there was the remains of a bow tie held too tightly in his hand that he realised he'd been tugging at his collar in an effort to get his breathing under control.

And one day you'll realise with a shock that you haven't been an angel for a very long time.

"Stop it."

The cacophony of voices abruptly left him, like he had snapped the lid shut on whatever horrific chest they had manifested from.

Aziraphale stood in the deserted silence, breathing hitching and twisting as the shift took him by surprise and left him hollow, his own voice the only one now flying around his head in a wisp of fear and paranoia born from no one but himself.

He wasn't sure if he had accidentally miracled the others away or if this was some new harsh punishment set out by his old management.

At least, when the voices hadn't been his own he could pretend that this wasn't all his own doing.

Your choice, your choice- your fault. Can't blame anyone else for this. You stepped over the edge, you made the choice, no one else.

"This is... absurd." He swallowed, his patience and practicality paper thin and fragile against the onslaught, but still there, a thread of sanity in a tumultuous sea. "Utterly ridiculous." Every word added a layer, a knot, another steadying, gratifying breath to his heaving lungs. "You're fine, for Go- goodness- for goodness sake."

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

"We did the right thing."

Silence rang back at him across the empty room, disapproval and condemnation cloying the air like a stagnant smell that refused to budge. It didn't matter if they could hear him, not really, not when the answer would always be the same.

So many eyes upon him but so desperately alone.

"We did." If only he could believe it himself without a shadow of a doubt- without thinking about how many of his compatriots disagreed, how much pain they were happy to put him through because of his decision- perhaps then the dam would break and the fear of holy retribution would finally leave him. "It was the right thing to do."

The silence remained. His new unwanted companion. How many times had he wished for freedom from their scrutiny? Yet now as the feeling of being watched dissipated into the ether, he couldn't help but feel that every utterance from his mouth turned another spectator away from him, taking a piece of his grace with them.

Turning their backs, one by one. He didn't want their forgiveness- but he needed it all the same.

"It has to be."

Whether or not he wanted it, he was alone. No longer watched, no longer listened to.

He could do as he pleased.

As long as he was happy to fall for it.

Aziraphale moved. He wasn't sure where or what he was doing at first, just that there was a sharp need at his core to do something. His common sense and logical approach just weren't cutting it today. No amount of philosophical reading or prayer could fix the anxious storm that brewed inside his skull. He'd been able to tamper it down before, even forget its existence when in the company of a rather distracting friend, but it had always returned when he was alone, always bubbled back up, thick and oozing through every pore as if to suffocate him.

So now it was time for another approach.

Before he knew it, he found himself in front of a mirror, one that he wasn't even sure had been there before this very moment, though he didn't have the mental resources to really think that through at present. It was also rather reminiscent to one he had seen in someone else's apartment, but again- now was not the time to think of such things. Instead he found himself staring at his reflection, inspecting it, almost as if he would be able to see the difference his actions had caused. As if he would see some kind of blemish that would prove his fears correct, or crush them to non-existence with little fanfare, if only he could prove to himself that all was as it should be.

A rather optimistic and unrealistic notion perhaps, but one that he couldn't help but hold onto.

In reality, he wasn't really sure what he was looking for.

He was unkempt that was for sure.

Aziraphale stared into his own almost unseeing eyes, filled with a strange sheen of dread that he wasn't used to seeing. His chest was rising and falling in sharp bursts, his breathing still quickening under the stress he'd managed to put himself under. He tried to brush past the fear, ignore it for the time being, and instead stare deep and wide eyed into his own gaze for a hint of- something. Something new, something wrong, something- well, different.

The watery gleam to his expression may not be familiar, nor the pasty pallor of his skin, but it was still undeniably him.

He gave a soft, long, exhale, some modicum of certainty seeping into his system.

As much as he had a soft spot for a certain serpent's eyes... they were hardly subtle.

If he really were changing, he would expect a rather more dramatic change in his appearance, something that would say 'beware of me!' to humans.

If anything his reflection looked rather more human than it had any right to. With it's soft tremors and heavy breathing, hair wild and matted from fingers he didn't recall running through locks. With his shoulders hunched defensively around his ears as if to weather any storms thrown at him from the outside world.

Not to mention his suit.

A soft noise of distaste clicked across his tongue as his crumpled suit finally made it's way into his vision, taking his attention gladly from rather more important matters. He tried to straighten himself out; dusting off his shoulders, brushing down his sleeves and tugging at the hem. It was a frustrating task, one that usually took only moments, but for some reason was proving rather futile as he twisted and tugged to get his appearance back in order.

It was only when he gave up with a soft huff and went to the final task of straightening his collar, that he finally noted the distinct lack of a familiar bow tie, fingers flitting over non-existent material without thought.

He shook himself, ignoring the drop in his stomach at not noticing a rather vital part of his outward appearance. Pushed down the clamouring voices to check- check again, check everything, you missed something, you're wrong. He didn't need his bow tie, he wasn't going anywhere. Aziraphale continued his ministrations around his collar as nonchalantly as possible, as if he hadn't noticed anything amiss at all. All he had to do was fasten his top button and he'd be able to look at his reflection again and all would be well-

Oh.

His top button was missing.

His fingertips ran over the yielding fabric, thumbing the hole on one side and pulling perplexedly at the few stray threads on the other where a button had once been.

When had that- oh. Oh, he remembered now.

Aziraphale swallowed, closing his eyes. He felt his adam's apple bob against his knuckles as he tried to think straight. He'd read about this, hadn't he? Humans had all kinds of words for these situations. Where panic made the mind go blank to the outside world. When just being inside a struggling body was hard enough to cope with, let alone spending energy and effort on anything else.

The only thing was- he'd never heard of an angel suffering similarly.

Then again, he'd never heard of a demon being afflicted either.

Having said that, though... He wasn't sure he'd heard of any angels or demons going against the grain quite like they had, at least not since the Fall.

He found himself laughing without intention, a mildly hysterical chuckle that rattled through him until he wasn't sure if they were morphing into sobs.

Who was he fooling? No one had ever done what he and Crowley had done before. No one had attempted the things they had achieved. Why on Earth did he think that anything that happened next would have any semblance to what had come before?

All the research, and all the time in the world, would never be able to prepare them for whatever came next.

Because no one had any inclining as to what would come next.

They were all completely in the dark and there was no light coming.

They had to make their own way from now on, their own choices- and whether they liked it or not, the other angels and demons were in the same boat as him and Crowley.

Just like the humans.

Aziraphale blinked, his eyes finding his own reflection once more, not even comprehending the moisture clinging to his eyelashes and leaving glistening marks down his cheeks.

Just like humanity.

His laughter bubbled up again, this time hollow but accepting. Humanity had dealt with this for as long as they could remember. Faith and belief only got you so far, the rest was a choice you made every day. To be good, to do good- there was nothing stopping them, not really, only their own thoughts and feelings and those around them.

Every day they dealt with the knowledge that they truthfully- knew nothing at all.

And that was OK.

It had to be OK for them.

And now, it had to be OK for everyone else as well.

None of them had ever known Her plan. Not really.

They'd hoped they understood, they'd hoped She wasn't setting them up for failure.

Because why would She?

Her and Her plan- they were ineffable. That's all there was to it.

But then on the other hand- they were ineffable.

How on Earth could they ever live up to a plan that they had no way of comprehending? How could they follow those distinct orders without knowing why, or how, or even whether they were following them correctly?

Maybe She hadn't set them up to fail, but at the same time, She had doomed them to failure.

They would forever fall short of Her expectations. Because none of them knew what Her expectations were.

Perhaps, they weren't all that different from humanity, after all.

"Different..."

The word left him in an almost reverent hush.

There was one rather glaring difference.

Between humans, angels and demons.

He just wasn't sure he was ready to visualise the outcome of his transgressions.

"Stop being ridiculous." He growled, his teeth clamping together as his watery gaze hardened to ice. Self-loathing was bubbling up thick and fast, eclipsing all other thoughts and feelings as it heaved and seethed throughout his frame, it twisted his earlier tremors into something almost unrecognisable, more forceful, sharper in his twitching muscles.

No other angel or demon would have this much trouble looking at themselves in a mirror.

Not unless they had something to hide.

And he didn't. He didn't-

A soft low swish muffled and dampened the electric air around him. Warmth encircled his frame, his wings unfurling from the ether to rest either side of him, downy and light against the fabric of his suit. Feathers brushed against his neck as, just for a moment, he let himself be cocooned in their embrace, soothed by his own heavenly essence when no one else would embrace him or remind him that he wasn't alone.

Aziraphale let himself stand in that tranquil darkness for a few moments. Let himself breathe in the subtle smell that lingered from the ether they were kept in. He hardly ever got them out and the brush of nostalgia that the sensations brought forth was sustaining him in that instance, reminding him of all the good that he had done, all the times from long before when it had been the norm to wander with them proudly visible. That is, before the humans came along and didn't understand, needed answers to questions they couldn't give and they had begun to hide amongst them instead.

But this wouldn't do.

This wasn't what he had come here to do.

He took a deep inhale, holding his breath for a few more seconds before he unfurled his wings on the exhale. He gave them a cursory glance in the mirror, scrunching up his face in mild contempt at the sorry state they were in, dusty from their containment.

"I'm glad it's only me here right now. The higher ups would have a fit." The words came out in a soft grumble, a half relieved sigh at the notion that he was alone slipping past the pit of loneliness that had been consuming him.

He really was such a contrary being. One moment he hated it, the next he rejoiced it.

He ignored the hissing notions that still wormed their way into his head, instead turning away from the mirror to find a suitable place to groom himself. His fingers had already started before he had found a place to sit, twisting and tugging at itching feathers that were making themselves known the longer he had them out in the open. "When was the last time I did this? Too long ago. That's for sure."

He continued to tut and tsk at himself as he plopped himself down, focusing on one wing and then the other. It was an arduous task, one filled with somehow knotted together feathers and tweaking unruly down until it lay flat and in position like it should. There were a few that came away altogether but he ignored them as they fell, knowing in the way they dropped off into his hands and fluttered to the ground, that they should have been gone a long time ago if he'd thought to check on them. There were a few difficult spots, frustrating, irritating tangles that he couldn't help but curse and bemoan at, all the while ignoring his heart, threatening to beat out of his chest, every time a stubborn piece of dirt took longer than it should to leave his white shimmering wings.

It wasn't until he finished, back in front of the mirror, fiddling with the hardest to reach feathers on his back that he realised they were all the spotless white they had always been.

There were no darkening stains, no grey spaces or sparse black feathers leaking through like ink on gleaming snow.

Fear and paranoia shed from his back like another layer of itching feathers, his shoulders falling as the weight on them lifted.

"See?" The word left him in a puff of air, misting up his reflection in one relaxing exhale.

He continued to fiddle with some feathers, pushing and pulling them to make sure they stayed in position, ever the perfectionist now that he had a task before him. "I really should do this more often."

He dropped his hands, letting his wings relax before miracling his collar back to how it should be, running a quick hand through his hair to tame his wayward locks.

"Absolutely nothing to worry about."

#good omens #Good Omens Fanfiction #Aziraphale #crowley #hurt/comfort #Feather Fall #tw: blood #tw: falling (religious)#tw: self harm #tw: mental breakdown

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hcpefulmarshmallow · 5 years ago

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Time for some long, unnecessary Meta. I’ve had this one in my brain for ages, but I haven’t really had an excuse to talk about it until recently. Identity isn’t a major theme in Nagito’s character (although it plays it’s part), and so, I’ve been putting this one off. Then, my good pal Ashi had to go be a literary genius and incorporate some really interesting things into their Gundham, and now I have all the excuse I need. So I’m going to be talking about him, too, to a marginally lesser extent, using aspects of the Best Gunny’s characterisation. (Seriously though, plug. I’m not even sure it’s possible to follow this blog and not know about Ashi’s Gundham, but on the off chance: @the-taboo-king.)

Under a cut for length, philosophy, and shameless, shameless Roulette.

This is the part where I say something that makes the reader’s eyes glaze over, but indulge me. No Exit is a 1944 existentialist French play by Jean-Paul Sartre. It’s about three people - Garcin, Inez and Estelle - who are all doomed to hell, except hell is just an ordinary room, and it’s really, really good. I’d highly recommend.

The characters spend much of the start of the play sitting around, waiting for Satan to show up with the hot pokers and the lube, but once the three of them are gathered in this room, nothing happens. All they can do is sit there, get to know one another, and watch the people they left behind on Earth live out the rest of their lives and move on. There’s nothing there except three chairs; nothing else for them to do. It’s explicitly mentioned that hell has no mirrors, so for instance, when Estelle wants to fix her makeup, she has to rely on Inez to tell her if it looks alright or not. The trouble is, Inez is really attracted to Estelle, so Estelle has no way of knowing if Inez is telling her the objective truth or not. Furthermore, Estelle is kind of grossed out at the thought of another woman being attracted to her, so she starts flirting with Garcin. Not because she’s especially interested in him, per se, but he is the only man there, and Estelle thrives on male attention.

Garcin doesn’t seem to want much to do with either Inez or Estelle at first, preferring to focus on watching his wife try and cope with the terrible reputation he left behind. However, eventually she, and everyone who knew him, dies or moves on. It becomes like he never existed, as it does for them all.

Garcin accepts Estelle’s advances, but it’s not her attention he wants. It’s Inez’s. She’s furious, jealous, and ready to throw some hands. Inez’s fixation remains on Estelle; Estelle’s on Garcin; and Garcin’s on Inez. Things become vicious between the three, until, at last, the door to hell opens. Garcin has the chance to leave, but he doesn’t.

The play is especially famous for the line “Hell is other people”, and directly opposes the old adage, “I think, therefore I am”. It posits that humans exist because we are seen, and therefore if we are unseen, we do not exist. At this point, Garcin has become dependent on his feud with Inez. He might be forgotten in the world, but as long as she hates him, there’s a him to hate. The absence of mirrors removes the characters’ abilities to reflect on themselves, so they can only experience themselves through one another. In that sense, their purpose here isn’t solely to be punished, but to punish one another for all eternity.

So, what does this have to do with Dangit Roomba 2, the game where everything’s made up and the deaths don’t matter? Like I said, this play has been in the back of my mind for a while when it comes to writing Komaeda, but it hasn’t been explicit enough for me to justify writing oodles about until recently. So before we talk about Nagito, let’s talk about the man, the myth, the hamster dad himself.

Identity is a major theme for Gundham. He cultivates his own very, very carefully, only breaking character here and there either to adjust himself (and comment on a “good line”), or when he’s flustered and his composure slips just a little bit. Given how much effort he puts into his words and appearance, you’d be probably correct in assuming he wants to be seen a certain way. He appears to thrive off the fear and intimidation he inspires, yet despite demanding “silence and solitude”, he seems to crave companionship, and find it best in those who can easily reconcile his demonic persona with the kind, nurturing person he is underneath, as opposed to people who try and see directly through it. He needs that persona, you see. He can’t cope with it being stripped away. I’ve spoken about Gundham’s tendency to play the bad guy even when he is, objectively, the hero, before, so I won’t belabor the point too much. But what I’m driving at here is, who he is, and how he’s seen, are too intricately linked to be separated.

If you recall, the door to hell opens and Garcin has the chance to leave, but he doesn’t.

I can think of no better example than the ideas in No Exit, and the intricacies of Gundham’s character, falling into place better than Ashi’s future verse. Which is really, really good, and a masterful take on the philosophy of identity. When Gundham shatters the mirrors and covers the reflective surfaces in his living space, he is effectively robbing himself of the ability to see himself. He’s forced into the vulnerable position of his identity being placed in the hands of others. With no way to reflect on himself - literally and symbolically - he has to take what others say to him as is. Rely on other people to cultivate his appearance and judge what he can no longer see, and therefore, alter. Coupled with his persistent, subsequent self-aggrandizing and deprecation, and he’s submitting himself to the torment of being made into the villain of this story, no matter what he does from hereon out.

You see, the world isn’t in despair anymore. He’s been given a second chance. The door to hell is open, and Gundham has the chance to leave, but he doesn’t.

Like Garcin, he becomes reliant on the fight. The constant struggle against people who will see him in the worst light possible, no matter what he does. But unlike Garcin, Inez, Estelle, or even Nagito - and we will get to Nagito - he isn’t forced into this state, for survival or for punishment. At least, not by a third party. He’s condemning himself. He’s robbing himself of the ability to improve, or to see himself improve. He doesn’t think he deserves to. He relies on others to validate who he is, because others have always let him down. Always seen him as the villain. The weird kid. The one not worth including. He��s waiting to be told, “Actually, you’re a bad person and I don’t want to be near you”. He’s waiting to be abandoned and left alone because, when there’s no one left to see him, he will, effectively, no longer exist. He’s given up on a meaningful, extraordinary death, opting to instead languish in the depths of oblivion. For someone who has grappled for years to forge an identity he can live with (again, that other meta I did on him a while back), this. This is hell.

Now that I’ve outed myself as a secret Gundham Tanaka stan blog, let’s talk about his boyfriend. Identity is less a key theme for Nagito, and more a background element to his character. So it hasn’t been something I could justify a thousand-odd words on so far. But now I have an excuse, I’m going to talk about the single most underrated ship in all of Dimple Raddish. Like I usually do. Look, there’s been a semi-recent semi-surge on popularity for Roulette in the fandom, just let me ride it out, okay? As someone who doesn’t shut up about these two, I have no idea how much of it I’m responsible for, but I am arrogant enough to take more credit than is due, so. You’re welcome, fandom.

For all the things Nagito is awkward and dumb at dealing with (see: All The Things), helping Gundham cope post-tragedy is one thing he does pretty effortlessly. Because what Gundham needs is what Nagito has in perpetuity: relentless, unyielding love. The only way Gundham will ever face himself again, is if he’s forced to believe there’s something worth facing. There is an opportunity in seeing himself as others do. He can see the good things he’s never let himself acknowledge before.

Now’s as good a time as any to say: this is not a healthy way to be. And I’m not trying to imply that the love of the right person can cure years of trauma and abuse. But you know what can help? Being treated with some basic decency and respect. And heck, even love. Gundham is not a role model, and Nagito, less so. He’s a morally ambiguous, deeply damaged young man. He can’t really be fixed. But he can be given the support he needs to heal.

This is the inevitable part in all my long metas where I lament that Nagito’s childhood was loveless, and robbed him of the ability the feel any kind of self-worth. That he’s rendered incapable of recognizing his own needs much less putting them first, as a result of them never being met. That he’s a good person who deserves a good life, and despite having been through insurmountable hell, it’s a wonder he came out the other side so, very capable of selflessness. And that it’s tragic his biggest wish in life is to just know how to feels to be loved in any way by anyone, just to have the most basic, fundamental human experience. F in chat.

Nagito has interests, and hobbies. He...reads, sometimes. He likes dogs. His luck ruins everything. But when he isn’t encouraging others to chase that One True Hope, what is he actually doing? What would he be doing if he never attended Hope’s Peak? Given how many times he’s been treated like a burden, can he ever truly feel like he’s worth something to anybody?

There’s a sense of static around him, I feel. Like when the video quality suddenly drops, and it takes you a moment to realise. Who is he, exactly? The answer is simple and sad: whoever he’s told to be. He’s spent his life being treated like his feelings are a burden and he’s useless trash, therefore he is burdensome trash. In class he is often ignored and ridiculed, so he largely keeps to himself during group activities, and whenever he says something out loud, he often scolds himself for it before anyone else can. You know, that whole, “Haha sorry, that was a bit much, guess I’m just trash” thing he does. He has to be this way. For his own survival, for whatever sanity he has left. It’s easier to be treated like garbage if you believe you deserve it.

It’s normal for people to be different around different people. But I find that to be especially true with Nagito as I play him through different relationships with different people. The more he is with Gundham, the more his nurturing, animal-loving side comes out. The more he is with Celeste, the more we see his intelligent, competitive, gentlemanly side. With Sonia, his ability to be princely and adventurous; with Chiaki, his gentle and relaxed nature, with Yuuki, or the WoH, or literally any child under his care, we experience a strong paternal side to him. He is by no means a different person, but different aspects of his personality are given more dominance over him as a whole, based on what somebody sees in him. He’s very capable of stepping up, but only when he feels someone expects him to. Otherwise he’s content to sit on his hands and watch, because he doesn’t think he deserves anything better.

Nagito will not see these things, or anything especially good, in himself until he is given permission. Until he is made to feel, by an authority higher than himself, that it’s okay. He exists as others see him. If someone he looks up to, whose opinions he values, recognises the - for lack of a better term - hope in him, he will eventually be forced to accept that it’s there himself. He might even. You know. Develop enough self-respect one day to forge a more self-actualised identity. Have the audacity to want things, and have dreams and stuff. He might even follow them. It’s a long, tiresome, non-linear process; but a worthwhile undertaking if I say so myself.

I guess the tl;dr here is that: both boys validate themselves through the eyes of other people because it’s the only way they know how. It’s not a good or healthy thing to do, but with the right kind of support, and enough time and patience, maybe next time the door to hell opens, they’ll have the courage to leave.

#( this wasn't as in-depth as i'd have liked #i could have kept going but the word count bro #so imma just leave it like this and hope i've made my point )#meta;#long post;

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robininthelabyrinth · 5 years ago

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Fic: Lonely, Dark and Deep - ao3 link - Chapter 7

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Madara/Tobirama, background others Summary:

Hashirama was always going to have to leave Konoha behind one day, but no one was expecting for it to happen so soon.

Tobirama falls apart without his brother.

Madara, mad and bitter and preparing to leave himself, finds that he’s now without his best friend and responsible for a village he’d just about given up on.

And now it seems like there’s something not quite right with the forest…

———————————————————————————–

It sleeps, mostly. Sometimes, it has tea.

(The blood-soaked earth of the battlefield, rich with nitrogen from decayed flesh and the remnants of bone, makes for an excellent earthy tea, very stimulating. It would recommend it highly, but it doesn’t really talk to anyone anymore.)

But most of the time, it sleeps: sleeps, and grows, and watches.

It has a million eyes –

- studded throughout bark, centered on every leaf –

And a million ears –

- grasses and reeds that catch every whisper and carry it back –

A million tongues –

- flowers unfurling to taste the changing chakra on the breeze –

Even its brain has grown as vast as the forest itself, a network of interconnected mushrooms woven throughout the earth, neurons sparking like electricity through each fiber.

Nothing will escape it, should it need to act; nothing can evade its diligent watch. Time means nothing to it: it is, and was, and will be. Knowing that, it sleeps the sleep of the just.

It is here to keep the peace.

And it has.

Not in the little things, of course: the oaks squabble for territory as they always have, strangling acorns that fall too close to home; ‎the willows hide their schemes behind their leaves, weeping by the riverbank; the mint and dandelions have formed an unholy alliance of conquering that has all the other flora in a tizzy to spread their seeds out on the wind and through the bodies of birds.

The animals still fight, too; the foxes and the bears, sharp-toothed; the rats and the squirrels, sharp-eyed; the rabbits with their vicious internecine strife.

And those strangest of animals, too, tall and two-legged and unbearably precious – they fight, too.

But there are no armies.

No battlefields.

No dead children, bodies crushed on the ground for someone else’s pointless hatred.

With that, it is content.

Yes, sometimes it thinks about doing more to stop the little fights, but -

(You can't wrap people in cloth, anija! ‎We have the right to choose. Sometimes we choose to fight, and you have to let us. Without competition and conflict, there can be no growth!)

No, it is content‎ as it is. There will be no war for as far as its reach stretches, miles upon miles, and it is still growing, its seeds carried by bird or fox or human for miles on end.

Soon - a few centuries or so, certainly no more than a few millennia, at most - it will be able to ensure there is no war anywhere at all: just life, and death, in an endless cycle.

‎Until then, it can sleep undisturbed -

But something disturbs it.

Somewhere in its great and terrible perception, it sees something.

Somewhere in the depths of its gargantuan mass, it hears something.

Somewhere in its vast and near-infinite memory, it remembers something.

(something white as snow and red as fire, infinitely precious, placed into his too-short arms and being told this is yours to protect, protect and love, and he did, he did love, it was for this love he first dreamed his dream of peace‎ that seized him and would for the rest of his life)

Tobirama.

Tobirama, a brother.

His brother -

His brother, who is dying.

It has seen enough battlefields - he has seen enough battlefields - to recognize the resignation that slows his brother's movements, the death-longing singing in his chakra, and how can this be?

Tobirama was supposed to be safe. Safe in the village created just for that purpose, entrusted to his hands. He's not supposed to be out here in the depths of the forest, feeding the ground his precious blood and giving his death away to strangers because he has nothing left to live for.

"This won't do, Tobirama," it says, stepping forth into the clearing.

With a thought the roots and the branches leap forward to act as its sword, just the way they once did for him on the battlefield, though it thinks with some disapproval that it could probably do better if it puts its now-near-infinite mind to it.

It's gotten so much more powerful than he used to be.

It gathers his brother into its arms, crooning soft words, and Tobirama smiles blindly up at it, soft and vulnerable the way he sometimes, rarely, gets when they’re all alone, murmurs, "Missed you, anija..." before he falls asleep, ‎and it knows it has done the right thing.

It has been sleeping, not understanding the meaning of time, but it remembers now.

Time doesn’t matter just because it’s passing, that much is true, but it does still matter.

Time matters because of who you spend it with.

Tobirama was always a good brother.

There’s no reason Tobirama can’t still be its brother.

The way he was his before.

That sounds nice.

Healing Tobirama’s injuries takes a mere thought – it may be attuned to flora rather than fauna, but the cell structure isn’t all that different, and his mastery of small details has gotten so much better than before – and takes him somewhere else.

There’s a nice cavern it’s been sleeping in, deep in the earth: it is be dark there, dark and wet and safe, a perfect place for his brother to rest.

After all, if there’s one thing it can rely on, it thinks wryly even as it traces the circles under Tobirama’s eyes with a long fibrous finger, it’s that little brother has not gotten enough sleep again.

It’s only ten or so hours later that Tobirama stirs again – not nearly enough, what has Tobirama been doing to his body? It’s as if he hasn’t slept right in years – and the first thing he does is reach out blindly.

“Anija,” he says, sleep-drunk. His eyes are open, but blind: there is no light in this cavern, none at all, and he cannot see so much as the barest outline of anything. Not that that matters, to a sensor like him. “Hashirama.”

Yes.

Yes, that is right. That was his name.

Might as well be its name as well.

Hashirama reaches out and lays a hand on its brother’s chest. Its hand is large, its fingers long, compared to what he once had, and it can cover almost all of Tobirama’s chest with just the one.

It likes the feeling of Tobirama’s heart beating beneath its palm.

Such a fragile organ, tenderly woven through with chakra, but supporting life that is so very precious.

“Missed you,” Tobirama slurs. He’s not really awake, only half-way there; a simple nudge of chakra will push him back into the sleep he so desperately needs. “So much. Missed you…even those – those stupid hugs. Bear hugs, lifting me up like a kid…always pretended I hated them. Wasn’t proper. S’not true, though. Didn’t hate them. Wanted you to know that.”

Hashirama smiles. It always knew that: its prickly little brother who loved him so much. Loved him too much, that Tobirama would deny himself the pleasure of something he enjoyed just to protect him from slights only imagined.

It is pleased to hear Tobirama admit it, though. As a reward, it gathers Tobirama into its arms again. “Sleep,” it says.

“Don’t want to. You’ll disappear.”

“I will be here.”

“Hallucination. Too much bloodloss. Maybe a genjutsu…”

Oh, Tobirama. Always so skeptical.

“I will be here,” it says again. “There is no genjutsu. I have only been sleeping, waiting for you to find me.”

Oddly, that explanation seems to be enough.

His brother must be very tired, to allow that.

“Missed you,” Tobirama sighs. “I’ve been so…I tried so hard, anija, really, truly I did. I took care of the village for you. But I missed you so much. Too much. Just wanted you again.”

Hashirama smiles wider than ever, smile curling up through his cheeks to his temples, a gaping wound stretched across the bark that forms his face until it nearly cracks the whole thing off. “I’m here now. But now you need to sleep – sleep and recover your strength.”

“You’ll still be here when I wake up?” Tobirama asks shyly, seeking verbal reassurance he hasn’t asked for since he was a toddler.

Since the first time Butsuma put a sword in his hand, and showed him how to use it.

(It’s been a lifetime since then, and Hashirama is very different now, but the memory still makes something inside burn in anger.)

But it has no reason to be angry now. Tobirama is safe, his head is pressed to Hashirama’s chest, and the soft golden glow of Hashirama’s chakra, no longer capable of being fully contained to the inside of its body, falls upon his face. Tobirama’s red eyes, never strong, cannot see the light - Hashirama has muted the visible spectrum that it sometimes emits entirely to make sure its photosensitive brother’s rest is not disturbed, and the absolute darkness of the cavern muffles all other input. This is good, it thinks to itself, as the cool dark will sooth the strain those eyes have endured.

No, it is not angry.

Neither is it content.

It is happy.

“I’ll still be here,” Hashirama promises. “I’ll be here for you forever.”

The plants around them ripple in response to his vow, backed by all of his power, and in their frenzied approval they climb over the two of them: roots wrapping around Tobirama’s arms and legs and torso, moss leaping forward to cover him like a blanket, over-large mushrooms sprouting beneath his head as a pillow.

Tobirama sighs, a happy sigh, all the tension draining out of him, and falls back asleep.

Hashirama remains hunched over him, the smile on his face growing uncontrollably, extending all the way around its head and up and down its wooden cheeks to better express its joy, its jaw gaping open in a grin filled with teeth of needle-splinter-sharp points.

Yes.

This is good.

It had forgotten how much it liked having a brother.

Peace came first, of course, emblazoned as it is on its heart, but in the end some small part of its vast and endless memory reminds it the original purpose of his peace was for his brother, and it likes that thought. If at all possible, it would make sure that Tobirama would be safe and secure and peaceful in a way he never had a chance to be growing up.

And if the village wasn’t doing its job in caring for Tobirama?

It would.

#senju hashirama #senju tobirama #my fic #lonely dark and deep

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blxckdamask · 5 years ago

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Trashcan’s Fic Rec: June ‘19

2nd month of fics I've read this month, and the same as last month, I've read a fuck ton of bnha fics (mostly bkdk whoops), with the exception of a couple of marvel fics. Yall this list is gonna be long as fuck so buckle the fuckle in. also sorry for the wait my dumb ass forgot to actually finish this.

Bakudeku Fics:

Persephone by nikk_pfefferneuse | 70k | 7/7 | au | izuku has a quirk | OOC

"Stop killing my dad's tulips, stupid!"

The boy looks up, and Katsuki is greeted with the biggest, greenest eyes in the whole entire world. Round baby cheeks dotted with freckles. Petals in his hair.

The air is stolen from his lungs. Words leave him. The world stops moving.

Izuku should’ve listened and known and watched out for this so he wouldn’t be here, in this position. But he is, and everything is awful.

In which Katsuki and Izuku pretend to be a couple to avoid journalists, the plan backfires magnificently because of course it does, and the act goes on. Includes feelings, pining, domestic fluff and jealousy.

When Midoriya Izuku gets hit by an age-reversion Quirk, the last thing anyone expected to find out is that Toddler-Izuku is a little shit.

Except for one Bakugou Katsuki, who has seen this phase one too many times already.

And apparently his "Kacchan" is the only one who can deal with Izuku's screaming fits.

Midoriya and Bakugou don't have the best of relationships - except when they find themselves alone.

Bakugou quickly finds himself developing a soft spot for the nerd.

Happy birthday Midoriya!

I Love You; or, alternatively, Katsuki and Izuku say what they feel in entirely different words as the years go by.

Izuku will have Bakugou's knot. He's Izuku's alpha after all.

I'm sorry for this, but I just had an image in my head of omega!Izuku destroying the school, hunting down Bakugou, and demanding his knot.

Kaitou shyly reaches up to touch Bakugou’s face. A second later, he changes from a boy with gray eyes and black hair to a mini Bakugou, blonde explodey hair and all. Bakugou almost drops Kaitou in shock. “W-what the--?” “My quirk,” Kaitou says in explanation, smiling a little at the shock on Bakugou’s face. ----------------- When a young boy is found in the wreckage from a building collapse, Izuku and Bakugou's lives change forever.

Raising a little girl wasn't easy, but pro hero Katsuki Bakugo felt he owed it to her after an accident in the field left her parents dead and him shouldering the blame.

But now she was starting school and her teacher was a lot cuter than Katsuki had been expecting.

Midoriya and Bakugou wind up in the very last position either of them thought they'd be in: Hero Partners. It's not fun, but they learn to cope. Their first big assignment together takes them undercover to infiltrate a cult, but the situation turns out far more sinister than they first thought.

(Or: Midoriya and Bakugou pretend to be Fake Married, join a cult, start having sex, and learn not to suck as partners, not necessarily in that order.)

"If you are still breathing, you have a second chance" - Oprah Winfrey

Izuku Midoriya's life has been plagued with mistakes. People have been hurt, friends have been lost, accidents have happened. When the country is nearing imminent destruction, he remembers every bad move, every wrong word, and wonders if he could have changed things.

Then time stops.

Izuku Midoriya grew up thinking he was Quirkless - turns out he just needed to face death to activate it.

Izuku is touch-starved. Intricate rituals ensue.

Staying up too late playing video games, Kirishima wasn't expecting to get an urgent call begging for help. Next thing he knew, he was letting his classmate Izuku Midoriya take refuge in his apartment - without consulting his always angry roommate.

Other Fics:

Katsuki Bakugou hasn't been okay in awhile. But he's trying. It'd help if one of his boyfriends didn't eat Kit Kats like a monster. Or if a certain group of villains would take a hint and stop trying to kidnap him into joining their boy band. Somehow the first thing still bothered him more.

Now they stand together at twenty-five, gold bands on their ring fingers, hand in hand in front of their first house as husbands.

“This… this is ours,” Tenya whispers beside him, probably in awe of making it this far. Katsuki can relate.

“Yeah. Got our names on the lease and everything.” Katsuki squeezes Tenya’s hand, rubbing his ring with a thumb.

They're fugitives, on the run from not one but several of the most powerful and dangerous organizations in the world. And that's not even what's going to be the death of Sam.

(It's Bucky. Bucky is going to be the death of Sam.)

Through various circumstances, some of the former 1A students become parents.

Oneshots from my parenthood AU. Main series is called MHA Adventures in Parenthood

#fic rec #monthy fic rec #bakudeku #todobakudeku #iidabaku #sambucky

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