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anime-book-club · 1 year ago

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“Please Save My Earth” vol. 1 by Saki Hiwatari

TLDR: 7/10

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“Please Save My Earth” is another expensive title to collect physically. I would recommend buying the Kindle edition instead. As it is $6-$7 a book. Getting an entire set once again hits that $1000-$2000 price range if you insist on a physical.

I’ll be honest, I’m only reading this “classic” late 80s manga (with an anime adaptation) because of its relationship with Sonic The Hedgehog! But why? And how is it related?

Apparently this manga had a significant influence on Shiro Maekawa. (A former writer at SEGA and Sonic Team.) and this is what inspired specific writing choices on Sonic Adventure 2 (The space colony ark and Maria specifically) and particular scenes with Shadow and Maria together on the ark. Apparently the voice actor of the main character Alice in the anime adaptation was also the voice of Maria. Which Maekawa described as destiny, and that’s hard to disagree with.

I’m a girl who practically wants to be a Sonic The Hedgehog archivist. I’ve practically experienced all the media Sonic has had on offer and I like reading inspirations and source materials, even if they aren’t Sonic related. I’m hyper fixation to the max.

So does that mean I automatically like this tale of alien scientists who have reincarnated and been born as humans on earth? As their past lives start to overlap with their current ones as it leads to drama and heartbreak?

Ehhh. It’s fine. It’s skippable if you only care about Sonic. But if you like retro manga, I’d give you a positive maybe. And I do like retro manga. So.

The inspiration on Sonic Adventure 2 becomes immediately obvious. But it does a few things that’s… weird. There’s also elements that just plain haven’t aged well. Some of which is ignorable and some of which really isn’t.

But let’s talk about why!

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Detailed spoilers ahead:

Here’s some music while you read because I have a LOT to say:

First let’s talk about the art and my final thoughts on its relationship with Sonic Adventure 2 for book one before getting into the story beats here:

It’s beautiful and soft. I especially love all these scenes in space. Again those influences on Sonic Adventure 2 are so front row in these scenes in particular.

I mean JUST LOOK AT IT:

Context clues imply that if you ship Shadow X Maria you will likely love this kind of material.

Okay but obviously it’s more than its influences on Sonic The Hedgehog, so what made the story a fine experience instead of a great one? Especially since I love it’s inspirational material to death. (My first Sonic games were the Adventure games.)

This is Alice. She has just moved to the city from the countryside. She LOVES plants. (Her past self’s name is Mokuren). For simplicity’s sake these are basically the same person. Except the past self is an alien. Present self is not. (Though the same soul is probably a better way to put it. A lot of these characters are going to have duel identities)

Alice babysits a freaking brat named Rin. (I very much do not like this child.):

I like child characters, and I get that this kid is supposed to be annoying, but I just don’t like his cut. He does gross things to Alice and some of it borders on plain harassment. Especially when BOTH SETS of parents start endorsing the idea of her pretending to marry him in response to her almost killing him. Mind you there’s a 9 year age gap. Rin is 7 years old and Alice is 16.

This is what I mean by some of these elements just not aging well. And one could argue this is 80s manga from Japan. I know some folks like to cut Japan some slack on some of this stuff.

I don’t. It’s 2023, the here and now. Being old does not make it ineligible from critique from a modern perspective. And I think the conversation around that makes it more interesting period.

And hey. I can hear you thinking, “Did she just say Alice almost killed that kid?”. Yes I did.

Being a babysitter of a constantly turbulent kid has Alice is fed up with his behavior. She’s spanked him once before but things reach a boiling point when Rin questions her about wanting to date specific other people (we’ll get into this in a bit). When Alice softly challenges this idea Rin grabs a sentimental object to Rin (a plant from her home town she loved so much.), sits horse back style on the balcony railing, and drops the plant to is death several stories down.

While understandably hurt, Alice stupidly slaps the kid and knocks him off the railing. She manages to catch him, but she is unable to pull the boy back over into safety and he ends up also dropping stories down. (About 12-15 stories high)

This has a weird effect on the story where she is ostracized in school because she effectively pushed a kid off a balcony, but her regular group of friends are guilted into being friends with her again??? And it goes back and forth between emotionally punishing her for it and letting her get away with it emotionally. Though undoubtedly she feels guilty. She never feels she made the right decision, but she is being coddled.

While it’s obviously an accident no one would be cool with her, especially in Japan. She also faces no legal repercussions for this. Which I’m not necessarily advocating for accuracy, but it is a bit too ridiculous on that front. Especially when Rin’s mother advocates his feelings to marry her after he wakes up from his COMA. She also apparently wanted to apologize to Alice for slapping her for slapping her kid off a railing? Nah. Nope. Not a thing.

But, hey, that’s manga. Sometimes you just gotta lean in and enjoy the drama like a soap opera. I get it. I mostly mention it to give you an idea of how this story is going to operate over 20 books. This is only PART OF THE SYNOPSIS for volume 1!

Let’s get into WHY that even happened by first introducing a couple more key characters and their “deal”.

On the left with the dark hair we have Issei. His past alien scientist self, which we don’t see yet, is a woman named Enju. I’ll be swapping between pronouns in the future when talking about Enju and Issei.

On the right is Jinpachi. Their past alien scientist self was named Gyokuran. Whom we also don’t see.

To get you quickly caught up:

Enju likes Gyokuran, but Gyokuran was in love with Mokuren, but Mokuren was already engaged with someone named Shion.

So it stands to reason they still like each other? (Low key it sounds like Enju was always jealous and being treated as a back up plan.)

⬆️ This is a lie. I am certain of this in some capacity. It is uncertain if this is played up as a joke or as a very legitimate conflict. (Too early to judge). I also can’t rightly tell if the manga stands behind that statement or not. But it is also extremely gay coded with them in the modern era. They talk about their dream love together DAILY for Christ’s sake. (And low key act it out. Like COME ON.)

If this is being treated as legitimate, what does that make them? As Jinpachi shows some obvious attraction for Alice. Issei implies that “they’re a guy in real life “ so they could see the appeal of Mokuren. I think Issei will have hidden feelings for Jinpachi. Does that make you gay if you’re context for loving that person was originally straight? As his connection is contingent on knowing him through those dreams. Is Issei gender dysmorphic at all? Which body do they prefer? The one that had a better chance to be with the person they love or the one that has a second, but maybe slimmer, chance to be with them now? Did Gyokuran like Enju at all? Because Jinpachi does seem to like Issei in some capacity. And are those feelings only for Issei, or can that be extended to other men? And how does that effect the relationship now???

They both seem to like both their past and current bodies, does that play a unique roll here? What would you call that? It is obviously reincarnation but are they truly reliving those moments or are they simply kinning their own past lives they get to watch like a TV?

I’m aware some of these are weird questions but I can’t help but wonder these as I read. These aren’t questions that will probably be answered for a while and likely not directly. Hopefully they aren’t… poorly answered. I’m interested to see how this manga will handle these topics.

Now. How does ALL THAT relate back to Rin and Alice?

The whole reason why the balcony fight even happened is because Alice obviously kinda likes Jinpachi. And it is obviously reciprocated.

So Rin gets hurt and Alice prays that he wakes up from his coma and he does. Great. I’m gonna mostly skip over the weird engagement because like, already covered why I don’t like that. But the idea is so wild to Alice she straight up just passes out from the mere idea.

Apparently Rin has new intuitive powers. It is unclear how they work. He initially wakes up in tears after, what I assume, is having his own dream of a past life. Knowing this manga’s m.o. even from just the first volume and Shadow The Hedgehog, I would be willing to bet money this little brat is Shion. 🙄

But after reconfirming with his mother that he does indeed wish to marry Alice, we cut to later and he is sneaking out of bed. He goes out to the balcony and just jumps out and lands safely.

He had apparently contacted gangsters??? And then mentally manipulates one of the biker’s motorcycle brakes to fail so he can have a personal chat with the gangster. They literally float in the air together to talk. The manga ends with Rin requesting that the gangster gives him the Tokyo tower. Okay I guess??? It is about aliens. Sure.

In the midst of all this happening Alice has her “reawakening” after fainting from the news of the engagement. (She faints twice from this news and then cries about it FYI)

We see who I assume is Shion and we see Mokuren. The big thing established is that Mokuren is a… Japan nut (Their words not mine). An Otaku. But it is implied (at least in the first book) they that exist in the era of the dinosaurs (With humans not existing yet. Because remember, all the main cast in past lives are aliens)

And she talks about pronouncing her name “The Japanese way” and making oden. It implies she can mentally visit her future body in the present??? Astral projecting? Is that what they call that? Something along those lines. Like she was astral projecting into her future body, so her past self is privy to Japanese culture but other scientists are not? Unclear. Too early to truly judge. I understand wanting to make the character see into the future but I’m not so certain I vibe how they did it? It could’ve been cooler. I think.

“Please Save My Earth” certainly isn’t uninteresting. There is so much to dissect and talk about within even just one volume. Lots of good head canon potential too. It’s a series I want to continue. All the books are rated individually and not as a series as a whole. My initial opinions may change with later volumes. I plan on reading and dissecting all 20 volumes as I consume them so buckle up.

But as is? It’s a weird manga for sure. I could see this being a very particular flavor for a lot of readers. And while I like it, I don’t know if it would be something I would recommend or not until I get a couple more volumes under my belt.

Next: “Please Save my Earth” vol. 2.

(Next review not available yet)

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shewalked · 3 years ago

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↳ martha jones. partners can reblog. personals dni.

#. ❪ visage › ❛ only i get to decide who i am.#. ❪ edit › ❛ i’m probably hyper fixating again.#damn girl.#the fit.#the hair.#the post.#the riiiiiings.#do u care her ?#i'm-#🥵#*pose

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destinywritessometimes · 3 years ago

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Camilo and Carlos Madrigal Taking Care of You When You’re Sick

I’m sick and I’m still finishing up the next chapter of Pepa’s story and the 69 follower special so here’s this :))

I’ll be coming back to edit as i usually do :)

18+ dni they’re both 15 and that’s creepy

Camilo

When he first hears that you’re sick, he’d be really really worried about you to an almost irrational point with every possibility running through his head ranging from ‘what if their throat hurts so much they cry?’ to ‘what if they have a deadly disease?’ but that’s just because he’s dramatic

Once he reaches you and sees you aren’t dying he’d be fine and would start making jokes like ‘ew I can’t go near you’ etc. to try and cheer you up while making tea like like he did for Pepa

Then he’d probably ask Julieta for advice on what to do and what medicine to give you without letting her help directly because he wants to seem cool and educated lol

Once you get better he’d immediately plan a bunch of stuff for you two to do together to make up for all the time you were sick

Carlos

When he finds out you’re sick he’d be quick to go see how you were doing, and assess how bad you were feeling in a really serious manor like a stark contrast to his usual chaotic personality and it’d be kind of startling

He’d say reassuring things like ‘you’re gonna be fine’ ‘you’ll get better soon’ etc., half to help you and half to convince himself he doesn’t need to worry about you too much and that you’d be fine in the end

He’d make sure you were getting better and would check in to make sure you were taking you medicine and would sort of aggressively care for you lol

Even after you’ve gotten better he’d check to make sure you actually had and wouldn’t let you do anything too strenuous or that would potentially get you sick again until he deemed you well enough

Might write more if these for the other characters but currently I’m hyper fixating on the two of them

Have a nice day and night !! ☀️

#encanto #encanto camilo #camilo madrigal headcanons #Camilo Madrigal #encanto Disney #disney encanto #carlos madrigal #Carlos Madrigal headcanons

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karlswrites · 4 years ago

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Big Vs. Little Spoon

Demon Bois + Non-Dateables Edition

This game is my newest hyper-fixation, so please bear with me. I know there are a lot of head-canons about the boys cuddling, but here’s my rendition. Boy howdy, this one’s a little long...

Warnings: Pure Fluff

❤️ Lucifer: Because he’s the Avatar of Pride, Lucifer loves feeling bigger than you. His pride inhibits him from being the little spoon, so he often opts for being the big spoon. Luci can’t help but admire the way his arms completely envelop you when he’s the big spoon. However, if he decides that you’ve been “a good little Main Character,” then he might acquiesce to your request, allowing you to lounge over him. Additionally, Luci prefers that the two of you cuddle in his bed, as it is rather large and extremely comfortable. Seeing you sprawled out over or curled in his comforter fills him to the brim with pride. Being able to hold you close to his chest gives him more pride than literally anything else. Being the elegant fella that he is, he will always lower himself beside you gently, careful not to disturb you. He won’t jump on the bed like some people.

(I’m so sorry you had to read that one line of dialogue, if you can even call it that.)

💛 Mammon: A true switch on top of and underneath the sheets, Mammon is more likely to be the little spoon than his elder brother. He will never admit to you how much he enjoys feeling your arms slumped over him, but he does love it. He’ll never object to being the big spoon, though, as having his arms and legs draped over you is a HUGE ego booster. Mammon often feels little in the company of his brothers, so knowing that you feel safe and comfortable in his hold makes the guy’s heart melt. I must warn you, though, that Mammon doesn’t hesitate to leap unto your bed, effectively smothering you with his love and adoration. In the private on your room or his, because he loves showing his stuff off, he’ll entangle himself in you. Honestly, it doesn’t matter to him how you’re lying, as long as he gets to stay with you. If you satisfy his greed, and you always do, he will never leave.

(My friend thought of an adorable Mammon x MC Piggy-back ride idea, but that’s for another day, hehe)

💙 Leviathan: This poor boy isn’t used to physical touch, much less having someone in his room almost every night. His only experience comes from a Ruri-chan body pillow, and that thing does not compare to your warmth. At first, you have to be the big spoon. Although he’s embarrassed, Levi adores the feeling of your arms and legs hooked around him. He always takes the opportunity to take his hands and intertwine them with yours over his chest and waist. Now, if Levi gets jealous, then that’s a whole other story. If he notices a few too many people crowded around you or hugging you throughout the day, he’ll find his confidence and trap you into him. He’ll pull you into the bathtub with him, lay you down on his pillows, and act clingy so that nobody mistakes you for theirs. Good luck leaving the tub, ya hooligan.

💚 Satan: Out of the two options, Satan is probably the big spoon most of the time. He likes holding you close, being able to enjoy some peace and quiet with you. He’s not so much of a ‘little/big spoon’ as he is a ‘two forks lying snuggly together in a drawer’ kind of guy. You lie next to him, your arms looped around his neck or his chest. Satan holds a book over the two of you, reading aloud softly. His free hand is snaked under your waist, his thumb gently stroking up and down your spine with each sentence he reads. On the other hand, if it’s late at night or super early in the morning, he’ll indulge in that prime spooning opportunity. He’d probably place his chin in the crook of your shoulder. He’ll probably have his hands anchored in your waist. He’ll probably - most definitely- slowly turn you around in his arms, letting his hands wander back towards your spine. Satan loves having you pressed against his heartbeat and vice versa. Your heart is the perfect sound for him to fall asleep to.

💗 Asmodeus: This guy is a little spoon. With how much he loves himself and you, of course, he will curl himself into you. Asmo doesn’t like as much for his back to face you, so he always ends up turning around in your arms. He wants you to have constant access to his face. Whether you’re looking at him or kissing him, it doesn’t matter; Asmo wants your attention on his beautiful face. Being constantly suggestive, especially when it comes to you, he slowly weaves his legs between yours. He doesn’t hesitate when playing footsies, too. In terms of his preferences, he loves hosting you in his room. If you ever want to cuddle in your room, though, then he’ll eagerly agree. Asmo looks forward to leaving the scent of whatever fragrance he’s wearing all over your bedsheets. He wants you thinking about him 24/7 after all.

(If anyone disagrees with this one, in particular, square up in a Denny’s parking lot.)

🧡 Beelzebub: As long as you’re eating food during cuddling, Beel could care less how you’re placed over him. He’s a big boy, so he’s often the big spoon. One of his arms will snake its way underneath you, holding you tightly around the waist. His other hand is preoccupied with a bag of chips or another tasty snack. Unlike Asmo, Beel is not nearly as handsy. He keeps you in his strong hold the entire time. When he’s done eating, he moves his hand up to your head. His digits will stroke and play with your hair. It’s so soft, and Beel can’t get enough of how relaxed it makes the both of you feel. Another position he likes, which isn’t necessarily spooning, but him lying on his back with you on top. Beel loves, loves, loves your head on his chest. The way his chin rests upon your head is so nice to him. He drapes his arms down your back, hooking his legs over yours. He keeps you in place, and you feel so safe. He is a legitimate teddy bear.

💜 Belphegor: The Avatar of Sloth is the best cuddler, hands down. He has so many pillows and, upon request, can provide pillow forts, beds, nooks , or whatever you need. You always fall asleep within minutes. Cuddling was a bit difficult at first, as you didn’t always trust him. Actually, it was Belphie’s attempt to gain your trust that led you to be cuddle-buddies (besides your mutual pining, of course). Like some of his brothers, he doesn’t prefer one position over the other. He can be a big or little spoon. You say the word, and he’ll fall into the position with ease. He covers you with blankets, making you appear as a burrito/cocoon. He is definitely warm each and every time you snuggle in close. Belphie clings to you as a sloth clings to its branch, never letting go, even when you wake up.

❤️ Diavolo: Another big boy, Diavolo is the - drum roll, please- big spoon. He has the broadest shoulders, biggest hands, and widest chest that’s perfect to fall into. Whenever you cuddle, he silently hopes you choose his castle. He’s always so excited to bring you over, and this guy has a massive bed. It’s literally made for a king. Since he’s a ray of sunshine, Diavolo will playfully tug you onto the mattress with him. He holds your face, caressing your cheeks. He grabs your waist, pulling you in even closer. He doesn’t let go until he absolutely has to. Sometimes, Barbatos has to come in and drag him away from you. Diavolo is completely smitten by you, and his affection only grows every time he relaxes against your back. Furthermore, cuddling with you is the perfect way to end a stressful day of dealing with the crazy demon brothers.

💚 Barbatos: Barbatos may be a butler, but something about him screams big spoon. He loves scooping you up in his arms. The feeling of his heartbeat against your back brings him the greatest sense of comfort. When keeping you tangled up in his arms, he asks now and again if he can move in anyway, get you anything, or do anything to make you feel even more comfortable. He likes his control, but he always aims to please. Barbatos and you never stay still for long. His fingers run along your arms, sides, and shoulders continuously. He, too, likes playing with your hair. If you fall asleep before him, he places kisses on the back of your scalp, neck, and shoulders. He never goes past that, but cuddling allows him ample time to indulge in some innocent physical attention. Expect to be carried out of bed bridal style when the two of you wake up.

🖤 Solomon: As the Devildom’s official special snowflake, you might never know what you’ll get with him. Solomon prefers feeling your back against his chest, though he will, like Lucifer, reward you by being the little spoon. He’s very calm and cool, so being the little spoon doesn’t embarrass him. He only cares about encasing you with his arms, hands wrapped around you in a big hug. He’s not as outwardly affectionate with you as another guy might be, but Solomon delivers some high-quality snuggles. You feel small and safe against him, and that’s all he could ever want. In terms of location, the two of you typically end up in your room. However, on days when the demon boys are at it again, he will coyly invite you into his dorm. He loves when your scent seeps its way into his bedsheets, but he also loves it when his gets lost in yours. Solomon is always left floored by how such simple affection can make him feel so warm and fuzzy. He doesn’t need to worry about spells with you, and you don’t need to worry about anything with him.

🤍 Simeon: Similar to Levi, Simeon isn’t used to physical touch, but he’s not as shy. Cuddling you sounds as good as heaven, and he relishes in the feeling of your soft skin against his. Another true switch, in my humble opinion, he is content with being a big or little spoon. He’s an angel, and his greatest concern is how comfortable you are at all times. He’s inexperienced, so he will more-than-happily follow your lead. He never moves without your consent. You might have to reassure him a few times that moving is totally fine. In fact, it’s welcomed. Once he gets that through his noggin, he finally relaxes into you. From behind, Simeon grazes his hands over your stomach, loving the warmth you emit. If you’re behind him, he’ll seize the opportunity to clutch his hands in yours, loving the feeling of your head on his shoulder. He sleeps so much better with you.

#obey me headcanons #obey me #obey me!#obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me fluff #fluff #demon boys

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skeetusmcyeetus · 4 years ago

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I’ve making headcanons about all of my hyper fixations for a while now and just dumping them on my friends so I’m gonna also dump them here.

If you’re into All For the Game , My Hero Academia, ATLA, The Raven Cycle stay fuckn tuned my doods bc I have a loooot of stuff rattling around my empty skull.

Not all of these are 100% mine some of them are already pretty popular and I’m expanding on them or I heard something similar and edited it to my own tastes

I’ll separate them by series,,,

Theres like one canon that’s mildly nsfw

TW: drug abuse

Mha/Bnha

pro hero kirishima’s Red Riot™️ merch is insanely size inclusive bc he wants fatgum to be able to wear the hoodie that kiri’s pr team sent him but that’s not all,,

If he wasn’t super gay and in love with Bakugou he’d be very Into BBWs so again his merch is super size inclusive bc he wants everyone to be able to wear it

The company that makes the merch also takes requests for special made merch for people who’s quirks interfere with a “normal” size or dimension

ALSO ,,,,this man(kiri) is built like a fuckn MACK TRUCK OKAY he is 6’7” and cannot fit through doorways without ducking and turning a little to the side ,,, he is broad And still wears no shirt™️ ,,, this being said ,, bakugou is still around 5’8” and pretty slim don’t get me wrong he’s extremely strong and toned but he’s not huge,, it makes flying easier if he stays a little lighter ,,,,,,, the point is,, sometimes kiri will pick up bakugou with one arm and bakugou can’t even pretend to hate it anymore

Also,,,, fatgum has to use special pens and keyboards because of how big his hands are,,, he’s literally 8’2” I won’t take criticism on this

Fatgum actually loves wearing red riot and sun eater merch

Allmight and Inko start dating and one day when they’re out someone comments on how much all might “looks like a skeleton” and she absolutley lets loose on them for being so vapid and shallow and how “he’s risked his life to save people like you more times than you have ever even thought about being helpful in your life and it would serve you well to treat someone who’d die for you without even knowing you with more respect”

All might had to gently pull her away bc the guy was crying and she wasn’t anywhere near finished with him

Midnight is Asexual and aggressively pretends to be horny on main™️ because for one, it works with her quirk and two, nothing sells better than sex especially when you’re a woman.

Bakugou and kirishima use sign language to talk shit at Public events

Dabi is addicted to painkillers because he’s been on them his entire life,, he wakes up with the shakes and sometimes toga has to help him take his meds in the morning because he’s already in withdrawal

Tensei was the first one to realize that iida was autistic and immediately did copious amounts of research on ASD and how to be a good brother to him

ATLA

sokka grows his hair as long as Zuko’s (except the sides obvi) and sometimes he’ll wear his hair in the fire nation top knot and zuko loses it every time

Azula gets help and now sometimes when she wakes up with the sun after a night of fitful sleep she goes to the courtyard to have tea with iroh. They never talk, but then again they never need to.

Sometimes after a hard day sokka falls asleep in the bathtub and wakes up to zuko warming the water back up and washing his hair for him

Suki lounges in zukos throne while zuko gets worked up about stuff and paces all around the room

Mai is on the ace spectrum

When sokka and zuko visit the southern water tribe zuko will firebend for the all of the kids in the village,,, they love him so much and sometimes sokka gets a little teary eyed watching him

Sokka braids zukos hair water tribe style and it’s the hottest thing maybe ever

Zuko takes sokka on shopping sprees pretty frequently and sokka fuckn loves it

One time someone has the nerve to call sokka “the fire lords sugar baby” and sokka just flips his ponytail over his shoulder Ariana style and says “and what about it?”

The Raven cycle

Ronan has 100% killed Robert Parrish in his dreams and when he wakes up to see Adam next to him he almost immediately wants to go back to sleep and do it again for all the pain he’s caused Adam

Gansey is oblivious to the fact that he is indeed shredded,, when he gets really worked up he moves his arms a l o t like rolls up his sleeves, crosses and uncrosses his arms and The gang’s favorite is when he puts his hands on his head and subconsciously flexes,,,, literally entire gangsey will group swoon at him and he genuinely thinks they are marvelling at his passion for whatever he’s worked up about

Ronan watched broke back mountain once when he was like 16 and now all he can think about is being a gay cowboy ,,,

Adam will read people’s tarot wrong if theyre douchebags

Don’t you think it’s funny that the ganseys don’t have any straight children?

Blue has a T-shirt from each member of the gangsey (except Noah,, rip Noah) and shes created a terrible Franken-T-shirt by ripping them up and sewing them all back together in an extremely ugly patch work thing

Adam talks in Latin in his sleep and it really freaks his roommate out,, like a lot,, not to mention the fact that Adam already creeps him out to begin with bc he’s got that other vibe that comes from being tied to cabeswater and lindenmere ,, 6 out of 7 days his roommate is convinced that he’s a witch or a fairy or something

Ronan teaches opal how to bake and opal burns everything on purpose

aftg

Neil has definitely killed multiple people to survive

Neil’s mom definitely made him kill someone at least twice to make sure he could kill to survive on his own if they got separated

he probably definitely still has nightmares about each one

Matt and Dan both had a crush on Neil for like 30 seconds and absolutely talked to each other about him

Ppl always talk about how hot it is to crush a watermelon with your thighs,,,, Andrew could do it with his arms

Aarons ass is so flat and Andrew has an absolute dumptruck

Kevin started out as one of those annoying “obsessed with WWII” history guys and now he’s actually very into queer history and will rant about the lavender scare for an hour if you let him

The foxes lounge room(?) has a dart board with riko’s face on it to this day,, they literally have a drawer full of copies the same image of riko and every time one gets worn out they put a new one up. It’s more of an inside joke now but wymack still hates that little puke even though he’s dead so it stays up

Post-canon Neil gets drunk and teaches the team how to steal a car by hot wiring Matt’s truck

Matt does drag for halloween one year and Dan liked it a little too much *cough cough* she pegged him while he was still in drag

Someone once asked Renee if she was “saving herself for marriage like a good Christian girl should” and Allison knocked them out cold and stepped over the body

Neil calls Aaron ugly to his face literally any chance he gets (I feel like this one might be canon but I actually don’t know What’s real anymore)

Andrew Unironically wears a pink apron that says “kiss the cook” that Nicky got him for Christmas when he bakes

Okay I think that’s it ? For now?? Let me know if y’all want more,,,,, I’ll separate them next time I just really had to dump these and I didn’t want to make multiple posts.

I made this at 5:30 in the morning sorry if it’s riddled with typos and errors.

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inkdemon-whore · 3 years ago

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✦—uwu new pinned—✦

【archives: C.O.R.E. | 2016-'18 | 2018-'20】

tumblr b-day: february 20th, 2016 January 14th, 2016

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al/alta/alex | 23 | he/him | aspec

fandom hopper | proship | atheistic satanist

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╔═⋆promo section⋆═╗

i’m usin the old post format, so this isn’t really working, but here’s my tgftos fanfic “mo chroí” on ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/39564708?view_full_work=true

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doin commissions, click here for the post!

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you can also just throw money at me for a cosplay i’m working on. any money i get will be payed as a group/pitch in commission. you can pay $1, $5, $50, whatever you want, so long as the $100 goal is met. when the goal is met, i’ll draw a commission level piece as a thank you to everyone that donated! this goal is set for mid september, and if it isn’t met, i’ll just draw a smaller, less impressive thank you to those who donated

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i'm multi fandom and kinda hyper fixate on one or more for a period of time. here's some fandoms i'm in/i've drawn stuff for:

pokemon ✒

undertale/deltarune ✒

BATIM ✒

steven universe ✒

dream smp ✒

hermitcraft

fnaf ✒

fnf ✒

ddlc

OFF by mortil ghost

yume niki

centaurworld ✒

encanto ✒

the girl from the other side ✒

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AUs/tags ya'll can have cuz i probably won't draw more content for them: player!spamton/darkener!kris (aka tag au), sitting ducks DSMP au/🐷🤝🦆

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blog contains casual swearing, artistic and/or suggested nudity, and maybe sexual jokes. my best assumption of my audience age range is 15 to 30-ish. blog also has some pro-ship stuff. i don't tag swearing or capslock.

here's a blacklist for your filtering needs (it's in account settings [zendesk help], or use tumblr savior [chrome / firefox] or xkit [chrome / firefox]):

★ ya should | ✦ ya could | 〇 if ya wanna

★ NSFW - for text and sometimes added with the tw nudity tag

★ nude - can also include censored/suggested nudity

★ tw ship - for explicitly shippy stuff like brumira or techno and quackity smoochin

✦ ship suggestive - for joke ships, or up in the air shippy vibes. it depends on context and your own view of the art

〇 qpr - queerplatonic relationship

✦ rpf - real people/person fiction, like shipping content creators rather than their smp characters (i don't think i'll ever use this cuz i don't make that stuff, but ya never know)

〇 #🐷🤝🦆 - a qpr qacknobros au tag, adding here because there’s too many to go through and add #qpr to. all of it’s qpr unless tagged with “tw ship”, which is like, one

✦ discourse - there’s not a lot, but it’s a tag if ya need it. it’s mostly if i’m talkin about somethin i’m seein on my dash

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ask and submissions are always open. :P

please, if you like my art, reblog it.

you can use my art as icons, just put "icon by @altadoodler" somewhere visible, like your blog description.

you can also use my art as inspo for fanfiction and fanart! feel free to @ me if ya do so. here's my Ao3 if ya wanna send/gift me fanfics (https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALtaDoodler)

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if i’m on your DNI, just block me. that’s arguably better than me unfollowing you, especially if i’m reblogging your post and you see me in your notes. cuz if i unfollow, i’ll completely forget, probably see your stuff again, and follow again. my memory is trash, just block me so i can’t interact.

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this post will be edited as needed.

a bunch of other stuff, like links n whatnot, that i'm puttin under the cut as to not fill up ppls dash, or mobile viewing of my blog. there's also a lil meet the artist under there that i drew up in like, 20 min, because i realized i haven't done one of those, and it also feels like a good ref for my sona

(tumblrs post beta post editor is fucked rn, i might re-post/re-edit this when it’s not trash, i just wanted to add some stuff while i was thinkin about it)

Dream SMP boundaries carrd: alldreamsmp.carrd.co

Dream SMP boundaries blog: smp-boundaries

My pro-ship answers: [-1-] [-2-] [-3-] tl;dr, it's just art, fiction =/= reality, i do not support irl incest/pedophilia, i should have said something sooner but past events made me want to not say anything about it. i'm willing to have a civil discussion about any further questions ya might have, but don't come into my ask with a "kys", hamster murder story, or anything worse.

don't show content creators my ship art of them :/...

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a carrd i found for pro-ship info: https://learnaboutproshipping.carrd.co

post about proship and purity culture: https://fandomeldersintheirthirties.tumblr.com/post/687012217015730176/demongender-vibes-fozmeadows-star-anise-foz

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other blogs i've made/am a part of that have 0 updates, but still exist:

https://knutmeg-aesthetics.tumblr.com

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/800plus-pkmn-propaganda

https://honest-undertale-confessions.tumblr.com

#al #talk #pinned

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dazenightmare · 3 years ago

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Have a drabble I did last night when I was bored and severely sleep deprived. Believe it or not, it’s from the AU I’ve been hyper-fixating on for some reason (Pizza AU)

Barely edited, really short, and basically just a crack fic, if I’m being completely honest :D

“Okay, let’s hope this doesn’t immediately end in disaster!” Tubbo said, tying his bangs up and out of his face with his bandanna. Tommy nodded in agreement while Wilbur murmured in confusion.

Both teens looked back at him before they got in the car, and Wilbur tensed his grip on the pizza box. He felt an undeniable dread, despite currently having no clue what for.

“Okay, now Wilbur,” Tommy said, securing the cap on his head before gesturing towards the box in Wil’s hands with a serious stare. “You mustn’t let anything happen to that pizza. Protect it with your life. We know you won’t do as well a job as Ranboo, what with his main character energy, but we’re counting on you, okay?”

“Okay…?”

“Good!” Tubbo clapped. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

And oh, what a show it would be.

They climbed into the car, Wilbur sitting in the back, already a bit paranoid because of the warning. His brother was rarely that serious. Was delivering a fucking pizza that important?

“Seatbelts or death!” Tubbo repeated, as if he practiced it everyday in the mirror, buckling his own. “Toms?”

“Got the maps,” Tommy replied, also as if reading a script. Wilbur stared confused at the paper maps his little brother held. Wouldn’t… wouldn’t it be easier to use a GPS? Or a phone?

“Boo— or uh, Wilbur?”

Wilbur blinked as they continued setting up the mirrors.

“Uh… pizza…” he said lamely, slightly lifting the box from his lap.

“Love the enthusiasm! Address?”

“Oh! Um, 39 Yalst Avenue,” Wilbur read from a sticky note that he wrote before Techno took over his spot.

“Toms?”

“Enemy spotted,” Tommy mumbled. They slowly started backing out of the parking lot, and soon were waiting to get onto the main road where many cars sped by. Tommy kept staring at the maps as he said “left.”

“Hold on to the pizza!” Tubbo shouted as he suddenly fucking floored it, going when he most certainly shouldn’t have, and Wilbur screamed at the top of his lungs.

He was going to die oh fuck he was gone dead if you will—

Wilbur clung to the pizza box for dear life as Tubbo never let up on the gas, swerving through traffic hazardously.

“RIGHT!”

The car swerved dangerously, likely leaving skid marks as they just barely turned in time. Wilbur let out another ungodly screech as Tubbo tried to steady the car somewhat to go in a straight line.

“RIGHT AGAIN.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Wilbur finally managed out through his screams. They’ve only turned three times and almost died twenty!

Nobody, not even god, answered him as they kept swerving in a zigzag line throughout town. Later on, Wilbur will tell you he probably blacked out for what felt like years but was actually about five or ten minutes.

When reality hit him again, he was shaking so bad in the backseat as they stopped outside a house. They sat in silence for not even three seconds before they both turned to look back at him.

“Hurry up! Deliver it!” One of them urged. Wilbur, still shaking and probably white in the face, was staring into space in fear.

“W- Why can’t you do it?” Wilbur asked, afraid he’d fall over if he even moved.

“We cannot touch the pizza,” they both recited, gazes on the ceiling. “If we touch the pizza, it will be ruined, and we will not be tipped. By law of The Beloved, we may not even hold it.”

Wilbur, more terrified of the people in the car themselves than the car, quickly got out and stumbled to the doorway. After getting the money, he was almost terrified to go back. But alas, he had to.

“Good job on your first delivery,” Tommy said sarcastically, as Tubbo calmly drove back. Wilbur could almost dismiss those five or ten minutes as a fever dream, from how serene this moment felt.

“One down, who knows how many to go!” Tubbo cheered. And there was the dread again.

“More…?” Wilbur breathed out, gripping his own work hat with a new fear as he stared with wide eyes.

“Well, yeah! It’s in the job description!”

“FUCK.”

#mcyt #dream smp #tubbo #tubbo_#tommyinnit #wilbur soot #pizza au #fanfic

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ettawritesnstudies · 3 years ago

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Storge Edit Update Ch. 10

(links to catch up, I didn’t do any dedicated posts for #1-3: here’s 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9)

Stats

53384 words, 104 pages (standard MS Word settings)

This chapter is 4754 words and 9 pages long. I actually calculated how that measures up against my average chapter length so far, and the ratio is .91. So it’s about normal! A little shorter, because it’s a fast paced villain chapter but I’m right on track as far as pacing goes.

I’ve learned that measuring pacing with word count is so much nicer and objective than just going “ehhh I think it feels right?”

This chapter brings me up to speed with the original timeline! I had to rewrite it because I changed the setting/situation significantly, but it accomplishes the same plot point of pushing Lyss over the tipping point.

Excerpt/Commentary/Taglist under the cut!

TW for riots, government ineptitude, blatant propaganda and civil unrest

The crier spoke through a brass ring, fitted with a delicate mesh of woven crystal that amplified his voice above the quiet roar of the people. His news amounted to ill-comforting platitudes, and it set Esil’s teeth on edge to hear the blatant lies.

“No one could have foreseen this tragedy, but rest assured we are working hard to apprehend the terrorists,” he called.

“They’ve been harassing us for months!” screamed one voice from the crowd.

“You ignore the threat until they target your own families. What about the rest of us?” shouted another.

“Their protests destroyed my shop!”

“Where are your guards when we need them?”

“And why are they marching against your own people now?”

“They locked us into the arena against our wills!” This last statement was screamed by one of their own members, the accusation carefully constructed by Samoth to turn the blame from the anarchists doing the attacking onto the Atilan who were complicit in the massacre. After what they’d done, it would be difficult to make many sympathetic to their cause, but they could work to redirect the anger towards the tyrants who deserved it.

“We stand together!” cheered the caller, as he stood on his gilded podium above the crowd of people standing in the wreckage of the ruined street.

“Now is a time for healing and prayers as we rebuild and return to normalcy.”

“Will the guards protect our trades?” shouted a potter, waving a piece of broken clay above his head. The soldiers shifted uncomfortably and the crier glanced over his shoulder at them. Lyss gestured that they should continue forward, and he turned to face the crowd. He didn’t have the chance to raise the ring to his mouth again to answer before Amika’s voice carried above the din.

“Will the priests serve in the fields?”

“Will the medics come to our homes?” Joanis added.

The crier hesitated, jumped forward in his script, and picked up with a condescending tone, as if scolding a misbehaving child. The true Atilan attitude saw the Debilan as simpletons to be herded into compliance, while remaining in indignant disbelief at their supposed stupidity. “Everyone must do their part to satisfy gods, so we may continue to reap their benevolent protection.”

“Since when have the gods protected us?!” There was a splatter of rotten fruit against the side of the cart and the caller winced back, narrowly avoiding the rancid juice. Lyss snapped an order, and the soldiers crowded forward towards the children that had tossed it, forcing them to scamper back into the crowd before they could reach Lyss. Bravo, Esil thought. It was a small rebellion, but they had the spirit. As they ran, the crier regained just enough confidence to desperately scream his last line.

“Disruption does not have to mean despair!”

“Our families are dying!”

Commentary

this was a surprisingly tough chapter to write? I think I know why though. I usually love fight scenes, and bomb through them with an epic soundtrack and 3 hours of hyper-fixating, but this chapter was written in 15 minute bursts between packing for college and switching classes. It is a fun one though, reading back on it. Esil gets stabbed. Amika gets to commit arson. Lyss is slowly edging towards her dramatic 3rd act villain breakdown. it’s kind of difficult for me to get into the heads of such awful people, who both believe their off-kilter morality is totally justified but it’s the type of challenge I enjoy.

next chapter is a debate!! I get to unleash my inner argumentative contrarian policy kid! i know that’s probably the most boring thing in the world but I’m vibing with it.

#storgewip #storge edit update #editing #etta rambles #wip excerpt

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tyramir · 3 years ago

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So, apparently A03 made a tag limit of 75 tags. It boggles me that it’s still that high. But okay. And people are upset about this. As if it infringes their freedom.

I’m a casual reader at best on A03. I just don’t have the time. But the odd moments where I do, and I’m scrolling through fics with my fandoms, if I just see a wall of tags that is a chapter unto themselves, I skip the fic. I don’t even read the summary. I just keep going. If anything, I’m a little annoyed at the page pollution. If an author is especially prolific and posts multiple fics with paragraphs of tags, I even update the search settings to specifically filter that author out so I never see them again. I keep a notepad file of offenders which I happily copy and paste into A03′s handy search feature.

Maybe I’m not your target audience. Maybe you don’t care that you’re alienating a core group. Maybe you want to tag every possible trigger and trauma under the sun, or expect everyone to get into the exact, minute specifics of their fics so you can hyper-fixate on what’s in the box before shooting Kevin Spacey.

Sorry. Got a little sidetracked there. Still, if you have an opportunity to shoot Kevin Spacey, you should probably do that.

Point is, 0.5% (the actual number) might need to sit down and look at your tags and edit some of them. I guarantee you more than 0.5% of the readerbase is heaving a sigh of relief that the people who abuse the system are getting put in a metaphorical corner and being told to think about what they’ve done.

#a03 #tagging system

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mprosperossprite · 4 years ago

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I Made Stuff in 2020

Shoutout to @nevermindirah for the tag

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works (fics, art, edits, etc.) you’ve created this year and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world in 2020. If you don’t have five published works, that’s fine! Include ideas/drafts/whatever you like that you’ve worked on/thought about, and talk a little about them instead! Remember, this is all about self-love and positive enthusiasm, so fuck the rules if you need to. Have fun, and tag as many fellow creators as you like so they can share the love! <3

In 2020 I re-watched Leverage, which led me to tumblr, which led me to seeing these posts about this movie The Old Guard, which led me to watch one of the best films I’ve ever seen, which led me to AO3, which led me to discord. Before falling down The Old Guard rabbit hole, I hadn’t written fanfiction since 2012. Unsurprisingly, a lot has changed since 2012 for me and for the internet. For the first time since my participation in internet fandom, I feel like I’ve found a community online and that is probably the big theme of this post: making for each other has been an absolute joy in an otherwise pretty shit year.

This is not really a year in review, so much as a last two months review (my first fic of the year was published on November 2nd) but it’s been a utterly delightful and impactful couple of months, so here we are. On to the fics!

1. The Sport of Bright Steel - This was the fic that started it all. Someone on the Old Guard kinkmeme prompted a Joe/Nicky fic from the POV of their swords and I sat down on my couch one Saturday morning and an hour later had a lil piece of fanfiction all written out. And then I panicked that it was terrible and weird and so posted it anonymously to the kinkmeme. And then someone in the discord rec-ed it in the fanfic channel and then I dusted off my old AO3 account and posted for the first time in 8 freaking years.

2. Our Toil Shall Strive to Mend - This was my second foray back into fanfic (once again, inspired by a kinkmeme prompt), and the first multi-chaptered fic I ever wrote. Big manly man with tiny human? I am weak. I love all of the Old Guard characters, but I think Booker will forever be my favorite to explore in fic. Unlike the others, Booker is a reluctant soldier and much of his pain comes from losing his identity as a husband and father. This fic asks what if Booker’s path to healing comes in the form of fatherhood? Writing the last chapter made me cry happy-sad tears for him.

3. The Perfect Shot - From the idea that both snipers and photographers are in search of “the perfect shot” came this delightfully silly little fic. Nicolo di Genova, sniper and international man of mystery, knows one damn pun/pick-up line and just so happens to find the one man (Joe, photojournalist) whom it works on hook-line-sinker. Everything about this is fun and makes me happy. Never in a million year would I have written this, if not for a very silly post on this website that someone on discord suggested as a Joe/Nicky prompt. Inspiration strikes in the most unexpected of ways. And I fucking love puns, y’all.

4. This Rough Magic - Nicky is a selkie who accidentally get himself married to unsuspecting, marine scientist Joe and it might be my favorite thing I’ve written all year. It’s a story about identity and the unexpected and being willing to take a leap of faith. This fic would not have happened without the discord, and made me so so grateful and happy to be creating with other people and as part of a community. The joy of fanfic is that it is freely created and given, and I never would have dared to write this story without the inspiration, support, and enthusiasm from internet friends.

5. Bring the World Back into Tune - aka my Book of Nile opus, still a work in progress. Technically it’s a Hades/Persephone fusion, but really it’s about finding family, finding healing, and finding love, about making meaningful choices despite whatever fate or the supernatural has in mind. I fell into Book of Nile because who they are beyond being immortal has so much in common: growing up basically ghettoized in a country that doesn’t give a damn about you, fighting for an imperial army because there were no other viable choices, knowing the pain of missing 1st families. In Bring the World Back into Tune I love that I get to explore what it means to be fated for something (they’ve become Hades and Persephone without realizing it, in addition to the whole immortal thing), and also what it means to still get to choose how you arrive at and cope with that fate. Very few people are reading this on AO3, but it’s something I love working on and through because the characters and ideas are so compelling.

Honorable Mention: Leaving AO3 Comments - One of my greatest joys this year has been in giving to others the kind of love and support I’ve received as a person who makes stuff on the internet. I love leaving AO3 comments, and applying my English major brain to what I’m reading. The things we love most are deserving of our critical attention, including and especially fanfiction. I’ve met fandom soul-mates in the AO3 comments and befriended authors. In response to a shitty anon comment on another fic, I crafted what might be my fanfic manifesto: why fanfic is the heir of western storytelling moreso than our popular media and why the “expectedness” of fanfic is in fact its greatest feature, not it’s biggest flaw. It is A+ work, if I do say so myself.

None of this would have been possible without the internet (the kinkmeme, tumblr, discord, and of course AO3) and, perhaps more importantly, without the great, supportive Old Guard fan communities. Thank you for the beautiful fic and stunning art. For the thoughtful meta and funny headcanons. For the cheering and screaming and encouragement. For the kudos and comments. We make for ourselves and each other and that’s a truly remarkable thing.

Thanks to @hyper-fixate @sweetlyenchains and many others for being so lovely and kind and making my 2020 better with The Old Guard fic and art and thinking and community. If y’all are inspired to do this year end recap too (whether tagged or not), please tag me! I’d love to read about your triumphs too!

#the old guard #fanfic #writing #fandom friends #tog #tog fic #fic rec #book of nile #joe x nicky

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system-of-a-feather · 4 years ago

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“The Inner World Isn’t Real”; Personal Comments from a Gatekeeper

So I have been looking around and I know that a lot of people who like to complain about people with DID and how they should “know the inner world isn’t real” and “take the inner world too seriously” and similar things. I know there are some that say “inner worlds don’t even exist” which to that I am not even going to comment on since I really don’t care to argue that.

[[DISCLAIMER: This post is entirely based on our system and my perspectives as a gatekeeper that spends a lot of time understanding the inner world and how that works with our trauma memories and compartmentalization and stuff. This is not based on science. This is based on our experiences and as such, take it with a grain of salt. I’m not good with the science shit, that is Lucille and Riku’s things but what I do know is how our system and trauma work so this is coming from my experience.]]

Okay, now with that out of the way, the inner world isn’t real. It feels very real, it is a mental image / symptom / aspect of DID that is real, but the inner world itself is not real. If I am remembering Riku’s readings right, it is a form of coping through fantasy / daydreaming to help interpret and process trauma and understand the disconnect / dissociation between parts. Don’t quote me on that since I am remembering that from a layer or two down, but I believe that is probably founded - if not, that is my take on the inner world.

With that being said, I really very very much dislike people commenting on how systems “take the inner world too seriously” or “should know that it isn’t real and should stop taking aspects of it seriously” or “need to focus more on reality and less on their inner lives” and I find those claims absolutely ridiculous.

Firstly, at least in our experience, the inner world is primarily a safe place where a lot of parts retreat to in order to be able to relax, process trauma, process emotions, and internally go through events to either help process or come to terms with things that had happened. It is a “form of escapism” if used too much - that I understand - but more than not, it is a place of self regulation, relaxation, and being able to find peace in a mind that is full of trauma and mental health issues. It is a place that allows us to process things in an easier manner and in a more controlled environment. It allows parts to communicate and understand one another more - and if “dating” comes out of it, then so be it. That isn’t a problem and it is two parts understanding one another better and a form of self love.

There is a reason a lot of therapists encourage the creation of an inner world if one is not inherently present. It helps to make sense of the disorder, the amnesia, the parts, and create an environment where one can relax and breathe.

Secondly, for people that get upset about how specific and hyper fixated people can get on aspects of the inner world, they also do have to remember inner worlds, again at least in our experience, are conceptualized perceptions often built with trauma in mind.

Yes, it might sound silly to be stressed about what one alter is doing in one part of an imaginary world and how that might affect how the imaginary world is functioning. Yes it might sound silly to get worried about how a part of the inner world is blocked off when it “isn’t really a real world anyways”, but a lot of what an inner world is is an intense and detailed metaphor / personification for parts of a whole that are not understood.

Our inner world is structured and divided and have rules and universal laws (similar to physics) that apply to it as it is important to how trauma is processed, internalized, and structured. We have parts of the inner world that can’t change for specific trauma reasons. We have parts of the inner world that *shouldnt* change for specific trauma reasons. Some areas are known to hold heavily traumatic parts. Some areas are known to store memories that would upset others. Some alters are stuck behaving in a way or are unable to interact because of how a trauma had impacted them.

Of course these aren’t “real” things and it sounds silly to be concerned or think much on them since they are “just an imaginary world” but they are very directly linked to the nature of the trauma and understanding it.

Thirdly, for those that comment on how “memories from the inner world aren’t real and shouldn’t be taken seriously” or anything similar, again, do remember a lot of what happens in the inner world is a conceptual understanding of trauma. If someone has very intense emotional memories of something that happened in the inner world, it is likely associated to something unprocessed from the real life. That applies similar to psuedomemories and any other sort of substitute belief. To shirk those off because “they didn’t happen in the real world” and “shouldn’t be taken seriously as real emotions” is ridiculous as - while they are likely twisted and turned to be easier to process / handle - they are almost always based in actual events that had happened to the system.

And in that regard “innerworld trauma” and “exotrauma” and “source trauma” aren’t real in the sense that “I got traumatized from my backstory”, but they ARE real in the sense that “inner world trauma” and “memories from one’s source” are able to feel real and be taken as genuine traumatizing events that happened because it was a reinterpretation and warping of actual trauma that had happened to the system. To say someone is wrong for “being traumatized from their source” and to try to push them into saying they are faking or wrong is problematic since it is very often that those “traumatic memories from a source” are warped / twisted / substitute memories personifying an aspect or type of trauma that is not ready to be digested or taken in through its truest and unadulted form.

I have “innerworld abuse / trauma” that means a lot to me - and I know exactly where it came from in connection to our real life and I am aware that is what I am *actually* working with, but the truth is that what happened in the inner world is how I have best processed it as it is. I will likely pull away from the substitute belief, but that isn’t now and currently as it is - the inner world version can be a lot to handle. Its an elaborate re-wrap of an actual traumatic aspect of our childhood that I was gifted to hold. Yes, it isn’t real and it “didn’t really happen” but the core event did - just how it was encoded was different.

Anyways, this is getting a bit lecturey and rambly, but the point is - if people want to try to minimize the complexities of having an inner world while having DID, they should really stop. Inner worlds aren’t just some “imaginary world” or “just daydreaming” even if they are in a way. They have multiple purposes and work in a lot of different ways that are often hyper personalized to each system based on what they have gone through.

Also, for those that don’t have an inner world or have a small inner world or whatever - that is 100% valid and this post IS NOT to say that you HAVE to have an inner world or that it has to be a complex inner world. Inner worlds are not mandatory to being a system.

This post was just put out here to talk about inner worlds a little more seriously from our own experience and my knowledge of it.

((EDIT: Also, while I do say and talk about the inner world in a much more clinical-detached manner - other alters in the system would likely describe it differently. I have a particular relationship with the inner world as a large part of my job in the system is maintaining it and learning about it and how it connects to our life and trauma history. Riku and a few alters would probably consider it a lot less clinically.))

-Ray (Gatekeeper)

#alter: ray #gatekeeper #inner world #innerworlds #actuallydid #actuallyosdd #dissociative identity disorder

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shewalked · 3 years ago

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↳ shewalked. partners can reblog. personals dni.

#. ❪ visage › ❛ only i get to decide who i am.#. ❪ edit › ❛ i’m probably hyper fixating again.#she is 🥺 in human form.#imagine her looking up at you like this.#she's so gorgeous i cry.#also.#teethies.#love her.

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heartofsnark · 4 years ago

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This is Love (Chapter Eight): Whispers of Wolves

Notes: Heyo, since A) I took a break and B) it’s friday the thirteenth, as it was when I posted the first chapter of this is love back in January, I decided to go ahead and post chapter 8 today. Chapter 9 is already done and I’ll be beginning work on chapter 10 soon, as this is my current hyper fixation. I hope you all enjoy.

Word Count: 8671

Chapter Warnings: Oh boy we got some shit today my dudes! Stories/Reference of Past Child Abuse, Animal Death In the Context of Hunting, Homphobic Slurs/Homphobia towards lesbians, and referenced past anti-Semitism. Less important but there’s a pov change and like three different quotes in this chapter, from the Book of Joseph, and two different songs, which is probably a lot but I ain’t editing this shit anymore

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here

Pain cracks through Joseph’s skull late that night, shooting across from each temple, seeming to split his head apart. He sits on the edge of his small bed, a modest bedroom in the back of his church. He knows what it means, he’s grown accustomed to the sharp ringing pain, visions always come with it. They’ve started to come more frequently since The Lamb arrived.

He grabs at his head, as if he could press hard enough to keep his skull together as pain racks him, an instinctual reaction. Pain strikes through and breaks the reality of the world around him, closed eyes starting to see visions of what could be, images of what may await him.

A world anew surrounds him; one changed by the Collapse and washed of sins. Lush and natural, even more beautiful than the world that came before it. Vibrant pink flowers decorate the earth, thick green moss covering trees. A soft pink flowered apple tree stands at the center of the compound, white buildings replaced with hand made little houses.

Men and women are all around, working around New Eden. Parents playing with their children, carrying their babies; loyal followers allowed to pass through the gates and grow their family. Some members bring back hunted animals to be prepared for meals and others tending to gardens.

And then he sees his brothers and sister.

A fact that changes time and time again as his visions come to him in waves. He’s seen New Eden with and without them. He’s seen each of his siblings die time and time again, old and young, premonitions of what will be or what could be.

In this version, this vision, he’s been allowed his siblings. Faith, Jacob, and John talk at a distance where Joseph can’t quite hear the words, only taken in the moment. Jacob and John’s ages showing more clearly in the gray just starting to pepper their hair.

A voice rises above all others, cutting through the mumbled conversation through the compound, and Joseph knows it’s calling towards him. The soft voice calls him a name similar in meaning to his title, but it cuts to his heart so differently.

“Papa!”

Through the eyes of his older self, he can only watch and take in what happens, no control as he turns to see the source. A young boy of about five comes running towards Joseph, bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile. Joseph’s body moves of it’s own volition reaching out to hug his son, his son, but before he can feel the embrace of his child the world cracks apart again.

Pain splinters through the world and rips him from the moment, when he opens his eyes again he’s back in his room. And his hands itch to hold his son who’s yet to exist, instead he rubs at his temples, fingers knotting in his own hair as he attempts to soothe the agony within his own head. The only respite being what he hopes is a new promise from his creator. A chance for his family to not only walk with him to New Eden, but the chance to expand it.

He’ll have a son. The very idea soothes his pain and is like a salve to frayed nerves. Becoming an internal mantra as he eases himself back to sleep that night.

Sweat coats Dahlia’s skin as she does another push up, her muscles aching at the workout. She shifts to lay on her back on the living room floor, t-shirt riding up her sweaty stomach. Her second day of no work has turned into an impromptu work out, push up and using doorways for chin-ups. She uses her shirt to wipe sweat off her forehead before grabbing her phone to check the time. Dahlia must have gotten her way through the day, it has to be late by now.

“Fucking hell.”

It’s noon, it’s only fucking noon.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” She screams into a pillow, how the fuck is it only noon? Dahlia looks at the mess of her coffee table, trying to consider what to do just to eat at her time, she could draw again. But her hand is still cramping. She read somewhere you’re suppose to do warm up for drawing, she’ll have to start doing that.

Then she sees the Book of Joseph, her drawing still sticking out of it. She’s burned through her backlog of manga on her phone and fuck, it’s something to do. Joseph seemed like a genuinely sweet man, maybe he has something interesting to say. Music still blasting, because everything in her life requires a soundtrack, she opens the book.

“Bless the name of those who have dealt you blows.

Be grateful to those who have caused you harm.

For it is these sufferings that have led you to me.”

The first sermon in the book, she chews her lip, it’s not that much different from things Joseph told her yesterday, that he’s thankful her past led her to him. But, something rubs her wrong about the idea of being grateful for her abuse. Not for her, she plans on dying mad about it. She reads onward, an illustration of a flaming capital building surrounded by waves with someone drowning in the foreground. That’s…dramatic.

“If a person had been walking down the poorly maintained road out front of the Seed’s house on that afternoon in June and felt the strange urge to glance over, they would have witnessed a bizarre sight.

They would have seen a man dress in black pants and a white undershirt, frothing with anger, brandishing a comic book in one hand and a bible in the other at his son, a child of about ten. But no one had been down this in the poor suburb of Rome, Georgia, in a long time. Not ice cream trucks, not social service cars, not even police patrols.”

Dahlia stops almost three pages in as Joseph begins to write about a dying widow who once gave him and Jacob cakes before she grew sick. The picture he’s painted is far too clear and hits too close to home for her to continue, at least for the moment. A belligerent bible thumping drunk of a father who derided Joseph for loving Spiderman comics and beat Jacob’s back for the younger brother’s supposed misgivings.

Father Monroe, her stepfather, wasn’t quite the ruddy faced sloppy drunk that Old Man Seed was. But when Joseph describes Jacob offering his back up for a beating, she nearly feels the bite of leather against her own. Stripes for the backs of fools, is all she hears.

She wants to talk to Joseph, she realizes, thinking of both the beginning sermon passage and how their own pasts match up. Does he really bless the man who hurt him? Is he grateful for Old Man Seed? Maybe that kind of forgiveness and peace with it comes with age or is it just him? Ruth has a similar story as well, a little older than Dahlia, and she holds on to the same anger Dahlia does. Has Joseph managed to let it go? Does he still like Spiderman? Did his father beat the passion for comic books out of him or does he still enjoy them? Its hard to imagine, the intense Joseph Seed casually reading a comic book.

Less than three pages is a pathetic excuse for reading and didn’t pass much time, but it’s intense for her. So, she’d rather just…stare at the wall for a bit until she’s ready to tackle it again.

It’s Saturday night, Pratt and Hudson won’t be going to The Spread Eagle tonight, because no work. Meaning a rather mundane day with no interruptions. Other than a short walk, Dahlia spends the rest of it fucking around on her phone and watching shitty tv; passing out after downing an unevenly heated microwave meal.

Sunday morning rolls around, spent much like the last, Dahlia using her down time and excess energy to work out. It’s important to stay on top of exercising and staying in shape, given her profession, she makes a mental note to order some weights online. There’s not really a proper gym in the county and she doesn’t want to lose muscle.

She’s in the middle of another round of pushups when there’s a knock at her door; she jumps up from her position, skin still slick with sweat as she rushes towards the door. Finally, something to disrupt the monotony.

It’s Pratt standing on her porch, hazel eyes looking her over. She’s expecting a shitty comment on her appearance, dressed in shorts and a baggy shirt, hair mussed with sweat.

“You need something?” She asks him, slightly out of breath. Dahlia lifts the bottom of her shirt, using it to wipe sweat from her face, breeze skimming the bare skin of her stomach.

“What the hell has you sweating, Rook?” The older deputy chews his lip, avoiding eye contact for a moment.

“I was working out.”

“With a head injury? Seriously?”

“The fuck else am I suppose to do?”

“Figured you’d be bored out of your mind, reason I’m here,” he grins, “throw some clothes on and we can head out.”

“You mind if I shower first?” She asks, while she’s not sure where he plans on dragging her but she’d rather not stink like sweat while she’s there.

“Uh, yeah, sure that’s fine.”

“You wanna wait in here?”

He nods and Dahlia steps aside to let Pratt into her trailer, it’s not the most tidy of place because, well, she’s not the most tidy of people. She can feel the judgement starting to build up as Pratt looks around her messy living room. A pillow and blanket haphazardly on the couch; her duffle bag on the ground with clothes falling out of it. Her table has her sketchbook, thankfully closed, and the Book of Joseph is tucked under it. It’s a messy little nest, but it’s hers.

“Are you sleeping on your couch?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s just, I prefer it,” she explains with a shrug, not really sure how to elaborate on her weird feeling about sleeping in a bed.

“You have a bed, right?”

“Yes, I have a bed, I just, shut up. I don’t barge into your house and start judging how you live,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, “just sit down, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Dahlia grabs a change of clothes, hearing the couch springs creak as Pratt sits down. It’s weird seeing someone in her trailer. The closest she’s had to visitors have stayed on her porch. Pratt is the first person to be in her actual trailer, he looks immensely out of place and judging by his eyes glancing around, he seems to feel that way too. She tries not to think too hard about it, making a beeline to her bathroom.

She tries to keep her shower short, not wanting to make Pratt wait too long and not wanting him to snoop while he’s left alone. That doesn’t stop her from playing music as she showers, just limiting herself to two songs before she jumps out. A quick dry off and she tugs on her clothes, towel still on her damp hair as she walks back out to her living room.

Pratt, sure enough, has found something to snoop through. Dahlia grimaces at the sight of him picking through her little jewelry box of photos. Was he rifling through her dufflebag? She clears her throat, smirking when he jumps up.

“I was just-”

“Snooping,” she cuts him off, ruffling the towel over her hair.

“It fell out of your bag.”

“No it didn’t.”

“It did...after I kicked it a little, but it did fall out.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she snatches the little wooden box off the table, Lloyd and Caroline’s photo booklet was on top, so at least she probably avoided him seeing baby photos.

“You, uh, don’t look much like your parents. You adopted or something?”

She can’t help but chuckle as she puts it away; she can’t blame him for thinking Lloyd and Caroline must be her parents. The pair are both about Whitehorse’s age and why else would she have so many photos with a couple that age. But, the couple absolutely look nothing like her. Both fairer skinned and blue eyed; Lloyd with dark strawberry blonde hair and Caroline with light honey blonde locks. Short of some shenanigans the chance of them producing an olive skinned, brown eyed brunette is slim. And while the couple have their share of adopted children; Dahlia isn’t one of them.

“No.”

“Oh, uh…” She can nearly see the gears turning in Pratt’s head, her usual one word style of answering has put Caroline’s devotion in question and Dahlia won’t have that.

“They’re not my parents; legally or biologically.”

“Oh, you just hang out with old couples?”

“Maybe, maybe not, ain’t really any of your business,” she shrugs, “more importantly, where the hell are we supposed to be going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t trust your surprises.”

“Would you rather sit here and twiddle your thumbs all day?”

“Fuck no.”

“That’s what I thought, you ready to go then?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she throws the damp towel onto her laundry chair before shoving her feet into her boots, “lets get going.”

She locks up behind Pratt then follows him out to his car. Compared to the last time she was in his car, this is infinitely more relaxing. She hums along to the radio, resisting the urge to sing along. He probably already heard her yelling along to her music in the shower, she doesn’t need to blast his eardrums at close range. After one song ends and another shittier one begins she starts to fiddle with the radio setting.

“The driver is supposed to pick the music,” Pratt tells her as she flips through stations, trying to find a station playing something other than country.

“The driver needs to worry about the road, while I find something worth listening to.”

“Yeah, ‘cause your taste in music is so good.”

“I have excellent taste in music,” she turns to one station and it sounds like a choir.

Help me, Faith

Shield me from sorrow

From fear of tomorrow

“Turn that crap off, right now.”

“The hell is that?” It’s not a bad song like technically speaking, but it’s definitely a bit much.

“Peggie station, it's all crap, Eden’s Gate runs it. It’s all their choir music and sermons.”

“Gross, but the song ain’t that bad.”

“You might wanna have your head checked again.”

“Piss off.”

She finds something better, even if she doesn’t necessarily mind Eden’s Gate music, she’d rather listen to something without fear of a sermon coming up after. At the very least, Pratt doesn’t complain about her choice, a few more songs playing before they cross into Holland Valley.

“How’s your impromptu vacation been going?”

“Boring.”

“That’s what I thought,” he laughs, “figured you’d be going stir crazy by now.”

“So, you decided to come end my boredom?”

“No need to sound so excited,” Pratt rolls his eyes, not appreciating her lackluster response.

“Sorry, I, uh, do appreciate it,” she admits, looking out the windows, cheeks warming at it. It’s embarrassing to say that she is genuinely thankful. Hell she nearly jumped up and ran to the door like a dog when he knocked. Boredom is hell.

“Oh, it’s fine, I was bored too.”

They pull into the police station parking lot and she raises an eyebrow at him as he parks. He’s taken her to work? What on earth is he planning?

“Don’t look at me like that, you’re gonna enjoy this, c’mon.”

She follows him out and around the building to the helipad she noticed before, a black police grade helicopter on it. He doesn’t hesitate to climb into the pilot's seat, telling her to get in. She listens, climbing into the seat next to him. It looks like a mess of buttons and controls to her, none of them making sense. But Pratt confidently starts turning switches, lights coming to life in front of her. They’re going for a helicopter ride, holy shit.

“Pffft,” Pratt huffs out a laugh, “we’re not even in the air yet and you’re already grinning.”

“This is okay, right? Like, no one will mind.”

“I’m the only person at the station who can fly, so if they needed it, they’d be calling me anyway. Don’t worry.”

“I’m fine, I just wanted to know I can enjoy this guilt free.”

“And lift off,” Pratt says as he brings the chopper up off of the ground. The station grows smaller and smaller as they ascend up into the air.

“Wow…” Is all as can seem to say at first as the chopper kisses the sky.

They’re surrounded by a bright blue sky and puffy white clouds as Pratt flies across the county. Lush green forests and farms beneath them, mountains along the edges of the county. A top down view of animals running through, specks in their vision. She oohs and awes, unable to help acting like an excited child over the view. They fly along the county, Pratt is kind enough to answer her stupid questions about flying, what buttons and switches mean. She’s certain to a seasoned pilot her naïve question must be frustrating, but he grins with every answer. Before she knows it the sky around them has shifted to an awash of pinks and purples, the sun setting, before a midnight sky takes it place. Brilliant stars twinkling around them, feeling so close, like she could reach out and touch Andromeda.

Once it gets too late, Pratt lands back at the station, her cheeks ache from all the time smiling. He drives her back to the trailer park, the pair in comfortable silence as she hums along to the radio. Her thoughts drifting off as they are so quick to do. Pratt and her butted heads a bit when they first met, but he’s quickly become her closest friend in the county. Their light-hearted bickering and shenanigans have become her favorite part of her days in Hope County.

He walks with her to her trailer, shoulders brushing occasionally as they move. She turns to look at him when they reach her door. Dahlia clenches and unclenches her hands searching for what she wants to say.

“Thanks, a lot, really.”

“You like flying that much?”

“Not just for that, not to be all mushy and crap, but coming out here, keeping me from going nuts, being my friend. It, uh, means a lot, seriously.”

“Eh,” he scratches at the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes, “just watching out for you, probie.”

“Well, I appreciate it, I, uh, know I’m not the easiest person to get along with.”

“No one in this county is.”

“Good to know I fit in, I guess.”

“Uhh, you’re getting there, once you start stinking like beer all day and have a house full of deer heads, we’ll call it good.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she grins, “night.”

“Night.” She waves Pratt off before going back to her trailer to settle in for the night.

Monday is spent showing up to the station just to play with Petunia behind the building; just laying on the ground while the fluffy opossum crawls on her. She scratches along the marsupial’s back as they nuzzle into her neck.

“Aren’t you supposed to be home relaxing or something?” Beau asks and Dahlia shifts her head back to look at him.

“I am relaxing, what are you doing?”

“Well, everyone asked me to go see what that weirdo deputy was doing, so here I am.”

“Oh no, you hear that Petunia,” she looks at her opossum friend, “people think I’m weird.”

“Yeah, talk to the ‘possum, that’ll really show ‘em.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and he just rolls his eyes, leaving her alone for the moment. Pratt and Hudson invite her out to The Spread Eagle once the sun starts to set, but a steady throbbing ache has built in her head, she skipped pain meds. And the idea of the jukebox booming in her skull makes her turn it down for the night, once she’s back to work she’ll treat them to a meal there, she decides on the quiet ride home.

Dahlia wakes up the next day and decides to finally take that hike, wanting to explore some of the mountains and woods that surround the county. The brunt of the trails seem to be within the Whitetail Mountain area up north, the mountains in the Henbane are mostly around that statue and as much as she likes Joseph more than before; the statue is still creepy.

She tucks her sketchpad, pencils, water, and her pain meds in the storage under her motorcycle seat before she drives up to the mountains; the north section of the county is colder, a chill from the air as she rides up. She stops in at an Old Sun Outfitters, buying a little black backpack to carry her stuff in when she hikes.

The woods around her get thicker and thicker as rides further into the mountains, land growing steeper with every minute, civilization sparser and sparser; buildings harder to find, just peeks of wood or cement through trees. The trees clear on her right as a turn of the road leads her to a large parking lot with little hutch and a sign that says, ‘rest area’. The hutch says Valley View Overlook. It’s built at the top of a plateaued piece of land, not as towering as the mountains in the distance, but higher than the meager hills of the valley or river. She parks her motorcycle and packs the bag before taking in the view.

A small navel high fence, she imagines waist high for others, keep animals or children from just running off the side of the mountain. It’s a beautiful sight; she can see why the lot is named after it. She takes a deep breath of fresh mountain air looking out at the soft blue sky that meets the mountains in the horizon; the deep green forests further down. Air so clean and refreshing, but for some reason she finds herself pulling out a cigarette, to fill her lungs with smoke. Too much good needs a bad, she supposes. She watches the white clouds and birds flying through, as she lets smoke settle heavy in her lungs, only parting from the sight when her cigarette threatens to burn her fingers.

She follows along a little beaten trail through the woods, kicking up rocks and crushing grass underfoot as she lets the trees surround her. Grass rustles around where animals sneak through; deer running through, other hikers crossing her path, and hunters packing bucks back home with dogs sniffing along after them.

It doesn’t take long for her to go off the path, just walking in any direction that catches her interest. Deeper and deeper into the woods, following divots and drop offs, walking along the occasional stream of water that passes through the area. Her feet and head start to ache as hours pass, the cool air no longer able to chill her body as exertion coats her skin in sweat.

A hunting stand, one of many, is within the woods. Gray metal built around a tree with a ladder leading up. It’s empty, but if a hunter really needs it, she’ll move along. She climbs up curling her legs under her on the stand as she pulls off her back pack and red flannel, the sleeves now sweaty after her walk. Dahlia ties it around her waist, feeling the cool air on her skin as she takes a deep breath.

She takes a deep swig of water and one of the pain killers. There’s a crush of grass and she looks up to see a group of deer a short distance from the stand. A fawn and what may be younger deer, with a buck among them. The buck’s fur grayer in color than the richer warmer brown of the others. Dahlia gets out her sketchpad and pencils, balancing them on her knee as she takes the drawing the creatures. A calm energy and flow falls over her as she draws, the only sound the animals rustling within the woods. She’s better at drawing people than animals, she realizes, when she can’t quite get the right slope of the buck’s muzzle, but she doesn’t stress herself over it. No one will ever see her wonky deer. She looks up; the buck has gotten much closer, shuffling near the stand.

Dahlia puts her sketchbook aside, half finished wonky deer abandoned, as she moves to lay on her belly over the edge of the hunter’s stand. She stretches her hand out, his antlers high enough for her fingers to just brush the velvety texture. But that’s not what she’s after, wanting to pet the stags head. Dahlia shifts to a knee and a foot, she forces the fingers of one hand into the grating to keep a solid grip on the stand. She leverages herself to lean further and further out, stretching a hand out and nearly hanging completely off the stand. Her fingers just centimeters away from touching the stag’s head.

The fuzz of fur brushes across her fingers and the soft brown eyes looking up at her go blank; blood spraying from the side of the buck’s head as it’s body goes limp to the ground. She can’t help but jump back and fall on her ass; gasping at the now dead deer in front of the stand, the rest of them have scattered at the sight.

Maybe she should have expected it, being in hunter territory, but the closeness of it still startles her. There’s a heavy thud of boots, steady consistent footfalls crushing branches and grass beneath them. Ginger hair with shaved down sides and an army jacket; Jacob Seed.

This is likely the only time she’ll ever be taller than him, watching him from the stand as he shifts a bright red rifle from his hands to on his back. It seems so vivid and ostentatious compared to his utilitarian style of dress. There’s a childish urge to jump on his back and scare him. But, they don’t know each other well and he’s a veteran, so she can’t know how he’d react to the sort of thing. Maybe a boo would be okay, just something small?

“You enjoying the show, honey?”

Dahlia jolts, taken aback by the sudden acknowledgment. She tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear and chews her lip watching as he starts to gather up the slain deer; then he looks up at her, blue eyes sharp and harsh. All the masculine Seeds have blue eyes and intense stares; but Jacob’s gaze is colder than Joseph’s and more steady than John’s. Something almost predatory to it.

“I was drawing him,” she says after a moment, looking down at the stag.

“And I was hunting him.”

“Still would have appreciated another minute or two,” she says as she grabs her bag, throwing the sketchbook back inside before she jumps off the stand.

“So, you could flail around and try to pet him for another five minutes.”

“Hey,” she pouts, she was caught hanging from a hunting stand like the child she is, but, “wait, you saw me?”

He gives a vague grumble of agreeance, more preoccupied with tying up the hooves of his latest hunt to make it easier to carry.

“And you still shot? You could have shot my hand off.” Has this man never taken a gun safety course, she catches a glimpse of the scope on his rifle, there’s no way he didn’t see how close his shot was to her hand. He chuckles, dry and deep, mocking her.

“Relax, if I wanted to shoot you, you’d be dead by now.”

“Wow, that’s not comforting.”

“Wasn’t trying to be,” he says, standing up and packing the giant deer over his shoulder, like it’s nothing.

Dahlia reaches out to touch it, fingers brushing through soft fur, no warmth beneath it. She might as well be petting a rug. Jacob starts to walk off and she doesn’t know why, but she follows him. Hands clasped behind her back and walking heel to toe after him. Maybe it’s just because she’s curious about him. He’s the only one of the Seeds not to take a strange interest in her for whatever reason.

He doesn’t say anything at first, allowing her to follow along after him. Leaves and grass crush under foot as she follows along behind him, curious as to where he’s going or doing. She’s not sure what she expects, but it’s something to do if nothing else.

“You got somewhere to be?”

“Not really, no.” She tries to crane her head around, trying to get a better look at his face to gauge his reaction, but their height difference is too big to truly do so. The man has to be around a foot and a half taller than her; he seems even taller than the sheriff.

“Well, I do, so get out of here.” Her smirk drops, she was hoping to see him get more agitated like the youngest Seed brother, but his voice doesn’t rise. Staying the same steady deep timbre.

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere you need to be, sweetheart.”

“The nicknames aren’t really necessary.” She can’t help but say, wrinkling her nose in annoyance, the condescending way he calls her sweetheart and honey make her nauseous.

“Neither is following me like a lost puppy dog; but here you are.”

“I’m bored.”

“Not my problem.”

“You killed my only entertainment, so it is now.”

He comes to a sudden stop and Dahlia has to stop herself from running into his back; she doesn’t particularly want deer corpse on her face. He turns to face her; expression still the same stern look he usually carries, and she misses his grin when he was talking to kids at the barbecue.

“Look here, deputy, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong and irritating me isn’t a habit you want to form. Get out of here.”

“Oh no,” she rolls her eyes, “I’m really scared.”

“Keep pushing, sweetheart, won’t get you anywhere.”

“God, you’re no fun.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“Jacob is something wrong,” a voice cuts through their conversation, rough and masculine. And Dahlia see the long-haired man and short haired girl from the barbecue; the ones who shot her dirty looks when she talked back to Jacob.

“Nothing you need to concern yourselves with.”

“What are you doing here?” The woman asks Dahlia directly.

“Standing.”

“Fallon,” Jacob says the woman’s name, stern tone making her posture snap straighter, “I said it’s none of your concern. Let’s go.”

The three of them start to leave down a path; Fallon and the long-haired man have heavy bucks they pack as well. A hunting trip for Jacob and his…friends? Are they friends? That didn’t seem like friendship, but Dahlia is far from an expert on the matter. She offers a goodbye wave; but Fallon just rolls her eyes. Their steady footfalls leaving the deputy behind.

Well, it staved off the boredom for a while she supposes.

Dahlia lets out a huffy sigh, blowing loose strands of hair from her face as she begins back down the path she came. The sun is setting by the time she’s back to the parking lot and climbing on top of her bike.

Her stomach is growling by the time she’s driving down a main road, she sees the sign for The Grill Steak as she reaches the intersection. Dahlia pulls in, letting her stomach guide her actions, as she’s one to do.

It’s a small restaurant packed with groups of people from friends to families; she can feel the heat of the grill radiating through, the smell of her making her stomach growl. She settles into a booth by herself, when she reads through it the menu is full of gamey meat burgers and steaks. No signs of beef or pork; it’s all bison and deer. She wonders if the cook hunts everything himself, it wouldn’t surprise her, given what she’s seen of the county. He can hear the cook yelling something she can’t understand from the kitchen. Dahlia settles on ordering a cola and a deer burger; thinking about the hunted stag she saw Jacob kill.

As she waits on her food, the chatter of a group catches her ear. They’re not from Hope County; the different cadences of how they speak mingled with fancy latin technical terms tells her as much. Trying to be discreet; she glances at them over her shoulder. A group of four; two women and two men all around the same age. Dahlia’s not the brightest bulb in the pack by her own admission, but when she hears the words corvids and lupine, she realizes they’re talking about animals. It doesn’t shock her, given the abundance of wildlife in the county, certainly people would come to research them.

The door to the restaurant swings open and a man comes walking in, shoulders back and footfalls confident. It reminds her clearly of Jacob, the walk of a soldier, though this man isn’t quite as intimidating a figure. Older than Dahlia, though most people are, with a full dark beard and long scraggly dark hair. He doesn’t bother to take a seat at a booth or look at a menu, only giving a single wave to the cook in the back as he makes a beeline to the group. Dahlia shifts a little further down into her booth, not that anyone could truly tell she’s eavesdropping, but it gives a little more secrecy to it.

“You the conservationists?”

“Yeah, we’re studying the wildlife here… And you are?”

“Eli, not here to ‘cause trouble or anything like that, just wanted to give some friendly advice.”

“Friendly advice?”

“You need to watch yourselves out in those woods.”

“Pffft.”

“We’re well aware of how dangerous the wildlife out here can be. You-”

“No, you aren’t. There’s wolves-”

“And bears and mountain lions, oh my,” one of them jokes, “look, we know what we’re doing.”

“You’re not listening, they’re not regular wolves. They’ve been trained to kill and hunt people down on sight. Even if you avoid ‘em, you get on the cult’s bad side and they’ll send ‘em after you. You gotta be careful out here.”

“Okay, sure,” the eyeroll is nearly audible, “we’ll keep an eye out for killer cult wolves, don’t worry.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, alright.”

The man, Eli walks away, and Dahlia considers stopping him. Admitting her nosiness and ask him some of the million questions going through her mind. Surely by cult, he means Eden’s Gate, right? Dahlia can’t imagine who else he could mean. They’re small and close knit, but they’re not a cult, right? Cults imply something more out there or intense; they’re just a little Christian church. Joseph may have his own book, but they still follow Christian ideas of sins and scripture.

And wolves? How could they possibly be training wolves? It’s all so ridiculous and asinine, making gears spin and churn in her head until they overheat, but it was said with such conviction. By the time she brings herself to make a noise, Eli has already left, and it’s probably for the best. It’s too crazy to be true. Maybe he’s a tinfoil hat wearing type of guy, a conspiracy theorist like the Zip guy who leaves a newsletter in every damn corner of the county, screaming about chemtrails and baby farms.

She fills her stomach, deciding to leave that as it is, finally returning to her trailer late that night. A restless night of sleep with images of wolves and deer creeping around through her brain, nothing concrete enough to latch onto, but enough to unsettle.

A boring morning leads into a boring afternoon, time blurring before the sun has set and Dahlia’s finding herself pulling up to The Spread Eagle to catch her coworkers after their shift. She’s popped enough pain killers that the throb of music and noise is welcomed instead of irritating. A smile already gracing her lips when she catches Pratt and Hudson shooting the shit in the bar’s lowlight. As she sneaks up closer to them, their conversation starts to be audible over the tunes playing through the bar.

“I bet you break before then,” Hudson says, a teasing grin directed at Pratt.

“Hey, it’s only six months.”

“Please, you’re weak and you know it.”

“How much you wanna bet?”

Dahlia strikes, throwing her arms over Pratt’s shoulders, effectively hugging him from behind and leaning her weight into him. He’s warm and Dahlia can’t fight the impulse to squeeze him a little tighter. She breathes in the faint smell of coffee and cologne that still cling to him; comforting after so much time spent around him.

“Jesus fuck, when’d you get here?” Pratt blusters and at this close of a range Dahlia can see his cheeks pinkening under the scruff of his beard. Does this bother him?

“Right now.”

“You decided to come hang out again?” Hudson asks, grinning at the flustered Pratt.

“Mmhmm,” Dahlia hums into Pratt’s shoulder, pressing her face into him, “bored.”

“Get off me,” he grumbles and reaches back to swat at her hip.

“Ugh, buzzkill,” she bitches as she detaches from Pratt and climbs onto a bar stool, “so what the hell are you guys making bets about?”

Pratt coughs, trying to dislodge something from his throat, and Hudson laughs, “yeah, Pratt why don’t you tell her about our bet?”

“Don’t worry about it, Rook.”

“We still need to set an amount.”

“Fifty,” Pratt suggests and Dahlia wants to know even more what the hell they’re making bets about.

“Mmm, hundred.”

“Fine, if you’re comfortable losing that much.”

“Anyone gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“Nope.”

“Well, that’s gonna drive me crazy now, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and orders food, stuffing her face as she listens to her coworkers fill her in on anything of interest she’s missed during her off time. It’s not much, as usual, the workload in Hope County is pretty low stakes. Hunting violations, speeding tickets, and the like. Seems like her assault is about the most interesting case in a while. Dahlia’s tempted to ask if they know anything about wolf attacks but bites her tongue before she does. Hope County is filled with wildlife, wolf attacks have no doubt occurred to some degree and if she mentions the idea of trained cult wolves, they might start to think she’s buying into the conspiracy shit.

“Stop,” Pratt says suddenly, putting hand on Dahlia’s knee, “you’re shaking the whole damn bar.”

Her leg she realizes has been bouncing the whole time, the hike helped, workouts help, but she’s still breaming with pent up energy. There’s a rustle of movement and Dahlia is drawn to the open floor near the jukebox, she’s seen a few people dance here and there, a couple now and again swaying to softer tunes while she’s been here. But, it’s more crowded tonight, people laughing and dancing together.

“People are dancing,” she states the obvious.

“It’s ladies’ night, women drink free, so everyone’s extra, uh, energetic tonight,” Hudson tells her.

An upbeat song starts and Dahlia’s up in the next breath, she needs to move, burn off excess energy. And while her favorite club in Lake Charles isn’t exactly available to her anymore, she’ll jump at the chance to lose herself in a song.

You should be wilder, you're no fun at all.

Dahlia’s singing along as she sways and shifts through the crowd, body moving instinctually to the beat. There’s a woman about Dahlia’s age, long blonde hair and brown eyes, dancing as well and the deputy finds herself gravitating towards her.

Yeah, thanks for the input.

Thanks for the call.

She asks low into the woman’s ear, so she can be heard over the music, if she can dance with her. The response is a smile, lighting up the girl’s face, a nod of her head and then she’s pulling Dahlia in by the hips.

With dull knives and white hands

The blood of a stone

Cold to the touch, right

Right down to the bone

And then she loses herself in it. In the music that fills the bar, the feeling of a stranger touching her, the slide of her feet as she moves, the way hips knock together, the scratch in her throat as she sings lyrics in the woman’s ear, their grins as they laugh and bump noses together. It’s fun and it’s silly, a reason to move and forget life for a moment.

Cause you give me the electric twist and it kicks and it kicks like a pony.

And true, you might run away with it, it's a risk it's a risk yeah.

Because it kicks yeah.

It really kicks yeah.

Dahlia spins the woman with a laugh, before pulling the woman close against her again, wide smiles and bright eyes as their foreheads touch. There’s sweat sticking to their skin as the song winds down. Panted breaths ghosting over each other’s faces as they come down from exertion.

And the touch of your lips it's a shock not a kiss

It's electric twist, it's electric twist

“How much I gotta pay to see you kiss?!” A loud voice booms out, making Dahlia and her dance partner of the night separate. There’s a man, couldn’t be older than his mid twenties, sitting at the bar with his legs sprawled open drinking a beer at the table between the bar and the dance area. His eyes linger and look over both women’s bodies

“Can I help you?” Dahlia asks and furrows her brows, glowering at the man as she draws closer.

“Oh just enjoying the show, sweetheart.”

“Not your sweetheart and I’m not a damn show.”

“Pfff, don’t get your panties in a twist,” he turns back to his table and rolls his eyes, as if Dahlia’s the problem, “fucking dykes.”

The junior deputy grits her teeth and she sees from her peripheral the woman rubbing the back of her neck, letting her bangs fall into her face looking like she’d rather disappear.

“The fuck did you call us?” She can’t stop herself from speaking, barely managing to reign her anger in enough not do something worse.

“You heard me.”

“Fuck you!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Pratt’s voice cuts through as the man starts to turn to retort, the warmth of her coworker’s hand wraps around the clenched fist she didn’t realize she had raised.

“Is something wrong?” Mary May calls out, starting to walk out from behind the bar.

“Everything’s fine,” Pratt responds before Dahlia can say anything and when she starts to speak, he looks at her to whisper, “you’re barely three weeks into your job, you really wanna be getting into bar fights?”

“He ca-”

“I heard what he said, Rook, but it ain’t worth your job.”

“You’re right,” she gnaws on her lip and looks down on the ground, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I get it, I just don’t want you doing anything stupid.”

“I need some fresh air.”

Dahlia leaves The Spread Eagle, noticing the woman she danced with has already vanished, unwilling to deal with the bullshit. A cool breezes ghosts over her sweaty skin as she sits down on the porch steps at the front of the bar; running her hands through her hair as she fights to ease her nerves. She digs a pack of cigarettes out of her jacket pocket

There’s a crush of footsteps as she lights one, bringing it to her lips, shiny black leather boots entering her vision.

“Dep-yoo-tee.”

“You Seeds can just smell when I’m sad, can’t you?” She teases looking up to see John, the neon bar sign setting his face aglow in the night as he chuckles at her.

“Not my intention, but if you’re in need of a talk, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“You weren’t coming out here to harass Mary May again, were you?”

“Deputy,” he puts his hand to his chest cartoonishly dramatic in his hurt, “h-harassment? That’s ridiculous. am I not allowed to visit with Ms. Fairgrave and just discuss our difference of opinions.”

His voice is ramping up in pitch as he defends himself and Dahlia can’t help but smile, appreciating the distraction from her own troubles.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Mary May would have a different of opinion about that one. We still gotta talk about members stealing booze.”

“Our members would do no such thing; and I assure you, if there’s any harassment here, we’re the victims. We’ve been insulted, had our sermons interrupted, our practices mocked, Mary May herself once showed up our church simply to cause trouble.”

“Okay, okay, it’s a two-way street, I get it. Sit, we can chat for a bit,” she pats the section of porch step beside her and reluctantly after a beat of silence, he sits down, “so, Mary May caused trouble for you guys?”

“Yes, yes, she has and she’s not the only one; the people of this county have persecuted me and my family since we’ve been here.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, no one should mistreat you that way,” she looks him in the eye as she speaks, “and if it ever happens again, I want you to call down to the station, ask for me, and I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“Well, it’s certainly nice to know you’re on our side.”

“Ah, ah, I’m on everyone’s side. Mary May is owed the same respect as you and your family; and if you cause issues for her, I won’t hesitate to intervene for her sake as well. I’m here to keep everyone safe. Got to treat everyone like you wanna be treated, the whole spiel.”

“I know you’re not preaching biblical principles to me, dep-yoo-tee.”

“Not biblical, just a little maturity.”

“Are you implying I’m immature.“

“You’re a grown man spatting with a woman ten or more years younger than you; throwing a tantrum and pointing fingers when you’re told to behave.”

“First of all, I’m not that old,” Dahlia raises an eyebrow at him, “don’t look at me like that, I’m 32. Secondly, I am not a child. Mary May has-“

“And if she does something again, now that I’m here, let me know and I will help. But her actions don’t justify yours.”

“Fine, I’ll be sure to hold you to that promise, then.”

“I mean it’s less a promise and more so doing my job, but alright.”

She breathes out a plume of smoke, making sure to aim away from John’s face, his blue eyes track the movement and the nicotine fumes that escape into the air. An ex-smoker, she deems as she watches him staring at her lips and the cigarette between her fingers.

“You want a smoke?” She asks, offering her pack of cigarettes.

“Smoking is forbidden in Eden’s Gate.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Tattooed fingers pick out a cigarette and she lights it for him with a grin, watching him take a deep inhale and blowing out the smoke that fills his lungs. The soft rise of his chest and the gray clouds that billow out from parted lips. She notices for the first time the freckles on his neck and chest, shirt unbuttoned low enough to expose them. There’s thin fresh scratches along his hands and forearms, too superficial and fresh to match the deeper worn in scars, they look like cat scratches. And yeah, he seems like a cat guy.

“So, now that you’ve berated and tempted me, deputy,” he speaks after an exhale of smoke, “why were you out here pouting?”

“BREH!” She plops her back down on the porch with a vague animal long groan and throws her arms over her eyes, cigarette still between two fingers, must he remind of her own issues.

“Well that certainly wasn’t immature or dramatic.”

And she laughs, because he’s right, she can preach maturity all she wants to him. But, she’s still a brat herself. She’d justify herself with their massive age difference, because no way he’s thirty-two, but that feels flimsy at best. They’re both just two temper tantrum throwing children, hell they’re even both fibbing about their ages. Though, she suspects his own much more severe than the few months she adds to her own.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You know,” he lays back on the porch, matching her position, “I take the confessions for our church, if there’s anything you need to get off your chest, I’m the man to talk to.”

“Not much to say; guy called me a slur, I nearly throttled him.”

“Someone else’s actions don’t justify your own,” he parrots her words back to her.

“Yeah, someday I’ll follow my own advice.”

“Has that happened before?”

The gears in her brain churn, she’s been called many a thing, but her sexuality has been one of the less insulted facets of who she is.

Her stepfather, as religious as he was, was adamant on his hatred of gay people. But her own disinterest in exploring her sexuality or romance saved her from his scorn in that area, his focus more on the other various things he found deplorable about her.

Her mother’s side is Ashkenazi Jewish, and Dahlia remembers the few people of her stepfather’s church who despite her mother converting were disgusted their preacher would marry a Jewish woman. A handful leaving the church, a few sticking by just to call Dahlia and her mother slurs when their backs were turned.

The nightclub she favored in Louisiana was considered a gay bar, though not exclusive to LGBT folks. Women dancing with women, men dancing with men, men and women dancing; and a healthy amount of people who didn’t quite fit either label. Only one-night sticks out, a car speeding past the line outside the bar just to scream a slur out the window.

Maybe what bothered her most was the boldness. This wasn’t someone whispering when they thought Dahlia couldn’t hear, and this wasn’t a man just screaming out at the public as he speeds away. Just a man emboldened and willing to hurt her in front of a bar filled with people.

“We’re blocking the door.”Everything else died on her lips; unable to spill her guts.

“And we weren’t while you were lecturing me?”

Her phone buzzes in her jacket as she brings her cigarette back into her mouth, unwilling to justify her evasiveness to a man she barely knows, she answers a number she doesn’t know at all.

“Hello?” She says around her smoke.

“H-hello, is this a deputy?” A soft broken voice, she remembers from the diner, asks her and Dahlia sits up, tension pricking at the back of her neck.

“That’s me, Cassie?”

“You remember me…”

“What’s going on, are you okay?”

“Yeah, uh, I…” a beat of silence and a choked sob comes next, “no, I’m sorry, I’m, I’m not okay, I-“

“Where are you?” Dahlia’s on her feet, heartbeat in her throat as she waves off John’s furrowed brows and concern, running to her bike.

“I’m at the diner. I didn’t know where else to go…”

“I’m headed your way now, Cassie, are you safe?”

“I…I don’t know…I…”

Her voice breaks out into sobs again as Dahlia starts her engine, slams on her helmet, and switches her phone to the speaker in her helmet. The girl’s cries echoing around her as her wheels kick gravel across the parking lot, speeding out of Falls End.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #john seed #jacob seed #this is love #dahlia hale #joseph seed #if you ever think im like smart or competent i want you to know that everytime i post a chapter i doubt my ability to count #like i know last chapter was chapter 7 but am I reeeeallly on chapter 8 is that reaaaaalllly how numbers work

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