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shakespeareanwannabe · 1 year ago

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As You Wish, Chapter 4

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (though biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, arguing, cursing, reference to divorce, kids doing sneaky things, references to early child rearing, crying, Uncle Bob (because he deserves his own warning), Uncle Rooster and Uncle Javy (because they also deserve their own warnings)

Clifton, Texas, 10 ½ years ago

“Dude, what are you doing? Don’t stop!”

“I’m telling you: my vocal cords are going to start to bleed any second! I need to stop!”

“I swear to God, if you stop, I’m going to find an actual rooster and sneak it into your bedroom at the ass crack of dawn!”

Jake rubbed at his forehead with one hand as he took another lap around his living room, bouncing a screaming Charlie in his arms as he went. The last nine months had been…rough, to say the least. Though his grandfather had graciously opened his home up to his grandson, great-granddaughter, and their two friends, it turned out that securing a home was the least of his worries.

Grandpa Wyatt had quickly hired Jake, Javy and Rooster on as farmhands, their physiques and familiarity with rising early making them ideal candidates for the jobs, but Jake wasn’t entirely comfortable with leaving his baby girl with a sitter all day just yet, so he did what chores he could with her strapped to his chest, and spent the rest of the day in the office, doing administrative work with his daughter asleep in her Moses basket behind the desk. Between the physical and mental labour, Jake was ready to hit the sack early almost every night.

However, clocking out for the day didn’t mean that his day was done. Charlie wasn’t a fussy baby, not by a long shot, but she still required an amount of work that Jake hadn’t been expecting. Her first pediatrician visit had revealed that Charlie was slightly behind on her goal weight, which meant Jake had to get up for an additional feeding during the night. But Charlie didn’t like the bottle, and Jake honestly couldn’t blame her. She’d gotten used to breastfeeding from her mother for her first four months of life, and Jake knew firsthand that Buttercup was infinitely better than some plastic bottle.

On top of trying to get her weight up, the Seresin family had also been battling sleep regression, teething, colic, Charlie’s first cold, and delayed milestones. If the doctor was saying that Charlie should be crawling by 8 months, she was doing it at 11 months. The whole thing had Jake lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, worrying about his baby girl, wondering how Buttercup had managed it all on her own, kicking himself for expecting her to manage it alone when he was deployed.

A loud, shrill shriek had him yanking his head away from his daughter as she sobbed unhappily, her tiny fist curling into his flannel shirt.

“C’mon, Charlie girl,” he murmured into her curling blond hair, pressing a small kiss to her head as he paced. “You just had your first birthday a few weeks ago. Can you be a big girl for your daddy and stop crying? Please?” Her green eyes glimmered with tears as she continued to sob in response.

“Rooster, please, man…” Javy groaned, half buried in a pile of Charlie’s toys that he had been shaking and tossing around in an attempt to get her to stop crying.

“My—”

“Rooster, I will buy you a new set of vocal cords,” Jake bargained as Charlie hiccupped before resuming her shrill shrieks. “Please, if not for me, then for Charlie. I need her to stop crying before she makes herself sick.”

Rooster whined before turning back to the piano against the wall. “You guys owe me so bad,” he grumbled before placing his hands on the keys and pressing out a familiar tune. “You shake my nerves, and you rattle my brain…”

Jake held his breath as the song came to an end, the air ringing with blessed quiet, punctuated by an angelic baby giggle. With a groan, he sank to his knees, his legs too tired to carry him the five feet needed to get to the couch.

“Thank god.” He hefted Charlie up to sit beside him on the floor, keeping his hand on her back as he sagged against the wall. “So, she clearly doesn’t like sweet potato,” he sighed, watching her crawl over to a sprawled-out Javy and snatch one of her toys from underneath his leg.

“You feed her sweet potato again, you’ll be the one getting the rooster in your bedroom,” Rooster grumbled, closing the piano with a light thud.

“You do that, and you’ll wake her up,” Javy pointed at the little blond baby currently chewing on her toy giraffe’s foot. “And then we’ll all be miserable.”

Jake fixed his oldest friend with a glare. “No shit talking my daughter, dude.”

Charlie’s head popped up at the shift in tone in her father’s voice, her green eyes searching the room until she found him, her face breaking out into a wide gummy smile. She pressed her tiny palm into Javy’s stomach and propelled herself to her feet, wavering unsteadily even as Javy’s hand automatically rose to cushion her back. Jake leaned forward, scrambling away from the wall to sit a few feet directly in front of her.

“Come here, Charlie,” he called, waggling his fingers at her, smiling back as she grinned. “Come on, baby girl, you can do it.”

Time seemed to slow down as Charlie looked towards him before taking a small, shaky step in his direction. Javy propped himself up on his elbows and Rooster turned on the piano bench to watch on bated breath as she took another step, then another.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You’ve got this!”

“Let’s go, Charlie!”

“Atta girl!”

Jake’s heart was in his throat, a feeling better than going Mach 10 racing through his body as his daughter took one last, final step before collapsing into his arms with a giggle. With a loud cheer, he scooped her up and paraded her around the room to the sound of Javy and Rooster’s applause before whisking her into the office and collapsing into his chair.

“I’m so proud of you, baby girl,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she cooed softly at him. He’d missed so much, and his heart panged when he thought about Abby and what he was missing from her life. His hand was halfway to his phone when he stopped himself, pulling it back to hold Charlie tighter against him. He’d tried before and he wouldn’t be putting himself through that again. He missed Abby, of course, but Mav had always told them that they couldn’t afford to be constantly looking backwards, that thinking would be the death of them, so he had to focus on the here and now, on the ranch, on the daughter he did have instead of on the one he missed.

“Da-da…” he looked down at the sound and smiled through the tears pooling in his eyes.

“Yeah, baby girl. Dada is here. And he’s not going anywhere. I promise.”

The Airport, Now

Charlie’s hands trembled around her passport as the camp bus pulled into the drop off lane of the Buffalo Niagara International Airport. She looked up as Abby gripped her wrist with a determined grin.

“Last chance to change our minds,” she whispered as the campers around them started to disembark with loud promises of keeping in touch.

“No,” Charlie whispered, handing the passport out to Abby. “I want to do this. I want to meet mum.”

Abby nodded, taking the outstretched passport and handing Charlie her own. “And I’m desperate to meet dad.”

“Remember, he’s going to meet you at the gate in Waco, so you’re going to have to bring your A Game right away.”

“I’ve got a five-hour flight in order to prepare,” Abby assured. “I’m more worried about you. Uncle Bob is meeting you at the security desk. Are you ready?”

Charlie nodded, a look of steely determination overtaking her face. “I didn’t cut my hair and let you pierce my ears for nothing.”

Charlie thought that Amelia was going to have a heart attack when she walked into the Brig on their last day of their punishment to find them looking identical, their hair the same length and an extra pair of Abby’s earrings studding Charlie’s ears. She’d nearly collapsed onto one of the beds when she heard that they didn’t want to return to their cabin, that they wanted to stay in the Brig. To her credit, she didn’t ask any questions, just shook her head and walked away.

Abby nodded, fiddling with her duffle bag nervously. “Remember, Uncle Bob will be taking you from the airport to meet mum at home. She—”

“Abby, breathe,” Charlie placed her hands on her sister’s shoulders and shook her lightly. “Dad is going to love you. And mum is going to love me. And they’re not going to figure out that we swapped until we tell them a week from tomorrow.”

Abby bit her lip and nodded. “I know. I just…I can’t wait to meet him.”

“I know…” she smiled back. “I’m so excited to meet mum.”

Abby smiled suddenly and tugged her into a hug. “I’m so glad I met you,” she whispered, and Charlie wrapped her arms around her, squeezing her tight.

“Me too.”

Abby pulled back, wiping at her eyes. “Okay. You need to get to the security desk. Remember, Uncle Bob will be waiting for you. Brown hair, tall, glasses.”

“And Dad will be waiting for you at the gate in Waco. He might have Uncle Rooster or Uncle Javy with him. You remember who is who?”

Abby nodded. “Rooster’s got the moustache. Javy has tattoos.”

“Exactly.”

The girls looked up as an announcement came over the loudspeaker, calling an Abigail Floyd to the security desk.

Charlie bit her lip anxiously. “I guess this is it.”

Abby grabbed her up in a hug again. “You’re going to be great. Call me whenever you need, and I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon!”

Charlie took a deep breath and headed off in the direction of the security desk. Coming around the corner, she saw him. A tall man in a pilot’s uniform, with brown hair and glasses, his blue eyes scanning over the crowd until he spotted her, his eyes studying her for a moment before breaking into a smile.

Charlie took a moment to compose herself, whispering under her breath in the British accent she had been practicing for weeks, “You can do this. You have to do this.”

“U-Uncle Bob!” she finally called out, her accent ringing true as she rushed towards him, tossing her duffle bag to the floor before launching herself into his arms.

“Whoa! Easy, kiddo!” Bob chuckled, gathering her into his arms. “I missed you too!”

“S-sorry,” she murmured into his neck, her arms tightening around his neck. “I just missed you so much.”

“Six weeks was a long time, huh?”

Charlie pulled back, sniffling slightly. “Yeah. It…it felt like a lifetime.”

Bob crouched in front of her, his brown eyes tracing over her features like an X-ray machine, and Charlie gulped. There was no way he could know she wasn’t Abby, right? They were identical, save for a few freckles here and there, and a scar that Charlie had on her knee. But nobody could remember the exact pattern of someone’s freckles, and her knees were covered, so there’s no way he knew.

Finally, he smiled. “It felt like a lifetime for me too, sweetheart.” He reeled her back in, hugging her tightly before releasing her and drawing himself up to his full height. “Now, come on. We’ve got to get you checked in and ready to go for our flight back home.”

Charlie woke with a start as she felt the plane touch down onto the runway, a smooth landing executed by a skilled pilot. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Even though Bob had been with Dagger Squad, like her dad and uncles, he was a WSO, not a pilot, so she was surprised to hear that he was flying passenger aircrafts after retiring, but Abby had told her all about how Bob had gone for his pilot’s license after retiring from the Navy and how Nat had helped him study and prepare.

Charlie gulped nervously. She had had the whole transatlantic flight to soothe her nerves over meeting her mother for the first time, to convince herself that her father wouldn’t be too disappointed in her for running away, to assure herself that her and Abby’s plan would work. She had a sister. And a mother. And an uncle and an aunt that she had never met before. The risk of her father’s disappointment was worth it in order to meet them.

As Abby had instructed her, she waited patiently in her seat until all the other passengers had cleared out before taking the duffle that was being pulled out of the overhead compartment by one of the flight attendants and heading towards the front of the plane, where her uncle was waiting.

“You ready to go see your mom?”

Charlie felt her cheeks flush. “Yes!”

Bob chuckled, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s go see your mom.” Bob shouldered the duffle and led her off the plane, through customs, and down to a town car that was waiting for them. “From the last text she sent, your mom is working in her office at home, and Nat is at work,” Bob informed her quietly.

Right. Auntie Nat worked as a kickboxing instructor now since she was given a medical discharge from the Navy. And mom’s office was at the top of the stairs, two doors down on the right. Both Abby and Charlie had drawn maps of their houses, ensuring to include even the slightest detail so that there would be no surprises. Charlie had studied the map multiple times a day, until she felt like she could walk it in her sleep, even though she’d never been there before. Abby had also printed her a map of the neighbourhood when they were given their computer privileges back, as well as a map of the London tube system, though she had assured her that she would never have to take the tube alone if she didn’t want to.

“Abby?”

She hummed as her eyes darted here and there, taking in the old buildings and the people. They looked the same as the people in Texas, just less plaid and cowboy hats, but they seemed so different to her. She’d only been to a big city a few times, preferring to stick to her small ranching town, so everyone seemed so busy, rushing down the street, their cellphones stuck to their ears.

“Abigail?”

Everything was so new, so shiny. She gaped as an actual, real life red double decker bus drove by their town car, and her stomach was knotted over the fact that they were driving on the wrong side of the road.

“Abigail Floyd, for someone who hugged me so hard you almost cracked my rib, you sure seem intent on ignoring me right now.”

Charlie blinked. Abigail Floyd. That was her. Well, not her, but who she was supposed to be, at least for right now.

“Oh. Sorry, Uncle Bob,” she yanked her British accent into place. “I was just…reminiscing. You know, about camp…and about how homesick I was.”

Bob smiled softly at her, his blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “I’m glad you had such a good time. I know it’s a struggle to be away from home for so long, but I knew you’d have fun and make friends.”

“I did,” she replied quickly. “I met some great friends, and I downloaded WhatsApp onto my phone so I could keep in contact with them. Is that alright?”

“I’m sure your mom will be fine with that. That’s why she got you the phone, after all. To keep in touch with family and friends who are in the States,” Bob’s voice twinged with…something. Perhaps a hint of regret or maybe even anger.

“Good. Because I really like this one girl,” she grinned. “We became best friends.”

“That’s great, sweetheart,” he smiled back. “You never know where you’ll find your best friend.”

“Like you and Auntie Nat, right? You met at Top Gun.”

“That’s right, sweetheart.”

Charlie grinned. “Now the two of you are basically brother and sister.”

Bob chuckled. “Yeah, we basically are. Maybe you and this girl will be like sisters too,” he replied, shooting her a playful look out of the corner of his eye.

She gave him a tight-lipped grin in return. Uncle Bob had always been strangely intuitive, she knew that much from Abby’s stories, but he was hitting a lot of nails on their heads right now and it was spooking her like crazy. So much so, that she hadn’t even registered that the car had stopped moving.

“We’re here!” she cried, scrambling to unbuckle her seatbelt and get out of the car, her uncle’s echoing behind her as she launched herself out of the open door and up the stairs towards the bright red front door.

“The door’s open, sweetheart, so you can go on in,” Bob called, grabbing her duffle and his suitcase from the trunk of the car.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she opened the door into the flat that Abby shared with their mother, uncle, and aunt.

The interior was exactly as Abby had described. Homey and cozy, but still posh. The living room to the left of the door held brown leather couches, lots of bookcases, and a few plants hanging from the curtain rod. The window seat was where Abby and their mother read, together and separately. Charlie knew that the kitchen was just on the other side of the living room, where her family ate dinner together whenever Uncle Bob wasn’t flying.

But Charlie wasn’t interested in any of that, no matter how comfy it looked after a long international flight. No, her sights were set on the staircase in front of her, which she climbed slowly, her legs trembling with each step. She could picture Abby’s map so clearly in her mind: the first door on the right was the bathroom, the second was mom’s office, and the third was Bob’s bedroom. On the left came mom’s bedroom, then Abby’s, then Auntie Nat’s.

Charlie stepped onto the landing of the staircase, her eyes locked on the door of the second room on the right, which was cracked open just a touch. Her heart pounding in her chest, she slowly approached and, with a ringing in her ears, she quietly pressed the door open and walked inside.

There she was.

Charlie dashed at the tears that were welling in her eyes at the sight of her mother. Her mother. She wasn’t some imaginary figure anymore. She was solid flesh and bone. For years to come, Charlie would be able to picture the way her eyes scanned over the screen in front of her, the way her hair was piled up on top of her head, the way her slim fingers danced across the laptop keys, the way her buttercup tattoo peeked out from the neckline of her shirt. They weren’t images conjured up by her lonely mind anymore. They were real. She was real.

“M-Mum?” she whispered.

Her mother almost jumped out of her chair. “Oh my…Abby?”

Charlie swallowed hard as she nodded. “I’m home.”

“Oh, honey, I missed you so much!” Buttercup scooted her wheely chair across the floor and pulled her into a hug, and Charlie felt herself melt as she hugged her mother back just as tightly.

“I missed you too, mum,” she whispered.

“Six weeks is just way too long, love. I don’t care how much Auntie Nat raved about this camp, six weeks of you being across the ocean is just way too much for me.”

“I agree,” Charlie nodded into her shoulder. “I don’t want to be away from you for that long ever again.” She sniffled as she felt her mother press a kiss into her hair before pulling away.

“You won’t be, love. I promise.” Buttercup’s thumbs gently stroked away the tears from her daughter’s cheeks before tugging her into a hug again. “I meant to be finished with this chapter before you got home so we could spend the rest of the day together.”

“That’s alright. Is it coming along?”

Abby had filled her in on how their mother was a relatively successful author, Charlie even recognizing a few of her book titles from her bookshelf at home. Their mother’s writing was part of why Abby felt that their parents would fall in love again when they had to meet to switch them back. Buttercup’s current, more adult story was about a military man meeting and falling in love with an artistic woman, falling apart, and coming back together to live a happily ever after, and it had Abby convinced that their mother still had feelings for their father.

“I’m struggling, baby,” Buttercup sighed. “These two clearly love each other, but I can’t seem to figure out how to get them back together.” Buttercup looked up and smiled at her. “But they don’t matter right now,” she shut her laptop with a click. “What do you say you and I go out for lunch? You can fill me in on everything that happened at camp. I want to know everything. Six weeks is just way too long and I just know that you have stories to share.”

Charlie’s smile was so wide, it hurt her cheeks. “I’d love that, mum.”

Buttercup pulled her into another hug and kissed her hair. “Go get changed and I’ll meet you downstairs in ten minutes.” Buttercup smiled as she pulled away from her. “I missed you so much, baby. I love you.”

Charlie’s heart sang in her chest. She knew, of course, that her mom thought she was talking to Abby, but it didn’t matter to her. Her mom loved her, it didn’t matter who she was directing those words to. No one would be able to take them away from her. They would echo in her mind for an eternity. She’d heard those words from her father a million times, and they meant the world to her, but from her mother? They were sacred, special. They felt like a gift she hadn’t know she was going to receive.

“I love you too, mum,” she whispered, hugging her tight before racing towards the bedroom Abby had marked out for her on the map.

She finally had a mother, and she wasn’t going to miss a second.

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#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #parent trap au #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #glen powell #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x reader #as you wish fic

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adhdbisexualramblings · 6 months ago

Note

I really like your Bill Regressor headcanons! Have you thought about a scenario where you describe the circumstances under which Ford was able to positively make him regress? I'd be curious to hear more about that!

Aaaaa thank you!! I’m glad people enjoyed them!

I have thought of that scenario, actually! And I will now give it to you in story form! It’s long so I’m putting it under the cut.

(The story takes place during The Book of Bill’s “drunk karaoke session” (spoilers by the way), meaning that there will be alcohol use and also regression while drunk (Bill has problems). As stated before, Bill’s regression is not typical. His regression is very subtle. I’m hoping I wrote it adequately. :) )

(I also got WAY too into the pre-regression part so apologies regarding that-)

(A quick note: I am aware the Bill and Ford are not great relationship-wise. This story isn’t saying that they are, only that they had good moments together. I’m writing this as a what-if scenario based on headcanons - do with that what you will.)

Title: What a Night

Another knight hops across the board to tear into a bishop with its newly acquired sharp teeth.

“Bill-!” The laugh in Ford’s voice couldn’t be clearer as the horse-shaped piece happily chews its opponent. “That’s not valid!”

“That’s a regular move in inter-dimensional chess! I think you’re just a sore loser.”

Bill swirls his glass and takes a sip himself before offering it to Ford, who takes it gratefully to drink a larger portion. The glass never empties.

“God, you mix a good drink.” He praises with a content sigh, slumping further into the comfortable velvet seat.

“They don’t call me the “universe’s best bartender” for nothin’, you know!” Bill blinks once and leans across the chessboard, knocking over a few pieces, “Wink!”

Stanford grins. He moves to grab a rook and jerks back when it snaps at his finger. He laughs joyously and retries.

“Well, I was Jersey’s best chess player for nearly a decade straight,” to the kids that would play against him, which weren’t many. Still, Ford boasts, “and I can’t assess your bartender thing - I don’t get out into the inter-dimensional bars too often, but you…your drink was…oh, boy,” he giggles, already feeling tipsy. Bill laughs loudly at that; it echoes through the Mindscape.

After many, many, chess rounds that ended in ties, the two companions are more wasted than ever.

“No, Bill, we’ve played We’ll Meet Again five times already.”

Bill pokes an accusatory finger at Ford, hogging their one microphone.

“Shhhut it, IQ. You - you just have terrible taste. ‘K?”

Ford huffs but lets the karaoke happen. He crosses his arms and waits on their couch while Bill slurs the lyrics, completely unaware of his own volume level. Still, he seems to be enjoying himself. The music in the Mindscape stops. Bill droops in place as soon as it does, microphone dangling in his loose fingers. Singing his heart out to Vera Lynn each and every time probably wasn’t a great idea.

“…OK, I’m bored. Your turn.”

Ford catches the microphone tossed his way and grins widely. Bill replaces his spot on the couch, wiped out. He sighs deeply and adjusts his hat as Ford decides. All Bill needs is a little more pep, he’s sure of it. Hell, he’ll offer some to Fordsy, too. With a clunky wave of his hand, Bill’s “Myoclonic Jerk” appears in his hand. It wobbles in his lax grip before he grips it with both hands and chugs what would be the whole glass if the drink wasn’t infinite. A fuzzy feeling wraps around Bill instantly, and he’s too distracted to realize it’s more than the buzz of alcohol.

“Hey, Sixer!” He leans forward and holds up the glass double-handed like a trophy. Ford whips around from the handy little song selection screen. His eyes fall on the drink. He stumbles closer to the couch to take it.

“Hey, wo-oah, smaller sips.” Bill advises without much actual danger attached to it, clearly amused. He snaps his fingers, popping the drink out of existence after Ford’s share. Ford blinks at his empty hand in confusion, making Bill laugh again. It’s closer to a giggle this time. Ford gathers himself in time to glance at the selection screen.

“Oh, I picked som-something. C’mere.”

Bill floats up, finds himself unsteady, and conjures his cane to “help” him keep his balance despite the fact that the cane is no help at all. He stumbles some and giggles. Bill twirls the cane poorly, squinting at the screen.

“Disco Girl?”

Ford’s drunkenness doesn’t stop him from being self-conscious, it seems. He chuckles with a hesitant smile.

“It’s admittedly catchy.”

Bill crinkles his eye into a grin, bouncing a little.

“Hey, I’m stellar at keeping secrets, Fordsy!”

The song plays.

Saturday night is a night alright Time to groove till the morning light..

Bill knew of Ford’s guilty pleasure for the pop group, but the way he sang with such carefreeness for the entire three minutes had even the triangle surprised. Ford was similarly surprised and overjoyed when his companion also knew the lyrics.

At some point, Ford gets into the groove of the song and starts dancing along. Bill, also plenty giddy, follows suit.

Ford laughs between lyrics, a grin lighting up his features - the laugh booms around the Mindscape. It’s bright, hearty, and from the belly. Bill takes a moment to address the warm pit that laugh leaves in his body. He grins again and gets closer.

Their dancing stays separate for the most part, until Bill slings a hand around Ford’s shoulder and Ford grazes his hand long enough for Bill to feel it.

Bill freezes at the touch. Ford doesn’t, perfectly content. Slowly, Bill takes his hand away to stare at it with a wide eye. The part where Ford’s warm hand had touched his buzzes softly.

The fuzzy feeling from the alcohol and other factors increases. Bill blinks. An odd feeling wells up the longer he keeps thinking of the touch. He’s thinking so much that he doesn’t notice the song end.

“-Bill?” The voice calls.

The addressed demon blinks again - must’ve spaced out. He keeps his touched hand suspended and looks to Ford. The human stopped dancing a while ago and realized his companion had looked off.

Ford must have gotten concerned, Bill realizes. It makes Bill feel…nice.

He finds he wants something from Stanford. It’s not the portal or eternal servitude; Bill knows that’s not it. It ties to the fuzziness he’s been feeling. He decides to figure it out.

He grins and laughs, not fake in the slightest.

“Hah! Do that again!” Bill thrusts his hand to Stanford, the implication being clear as day in his mind, which is starting to feel even happier.

“…Do what?” Ford asks with an owlish blink. He looks down at Bill’s hand and looks to his own six-fingered one, gears turning. It finally clicks, “Hold your hand?”

Seeing nothing wrong with it and susceptible to suggestions, Ford fulfills the request and bring his hand to clasp it around Bill’s smaller one.

The warmth from Ford travels up Bill’s arm and only adds to the warmth in the rest of his body. Bill blinks silently again. Oh. Wow, that felt…comfortable?

Bill slips.

Without registering what he’s really doing, he leans into Ford and grips one of his fingers with his hand, moving to sit on his shoulder. Ford makes a little noise of confusion, to which Bill only giggles at. In a second, all the alcohol is figuratively flushed out of Bill’s system as his earlier excitement dies. Ford frowns.

“Bill? Are you alright?”

Bill gathers himself with a chuckle, “Pfft. Of course I am, Fordsy.” He lies.

Bill’s getting oddly sleepy. He was used to this tiredness, however; it went hand-in-hand with the fuzzy feeling. He squeezes Ford’s finger tighter, which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Y’know what? It’s been a long night,” Bill starts, temping down the slight fog in his mind.

“…Has it?” Ford asks confusedly. Even intoxicated, he notices the behavior switch in his muse.

“O-oh, sure!” Bill finds that he’s unusually tired. It must’ve been the alcohol’s effect. He hopes his stammer isn’t noticeable, “I mean, this stuff’ll give ya a heck of a hangover.” He laughs falsely again, snapping his fingers.

Their couch immediately turns into a simple, cozy-looking, bed. Ford stares at it oddly.

Bill leaves Stanford’s shoulder but doesn’t let go of his hand. It gives him too much comfort.

“C’mon, kid. Let’s get you to bed.”

Without waiting for an answer, Bill physically pulls Ford toward the bed with impatience. Stanford stumbles at the sudden movement but follows anyway out of curiosity. He falls on the sheets, Bill falls after him.

It’s unsurprisingly comfortable. Ford had been low on energy, but hadn’t realized how tired he had truly been until now. Not bothering to take anything off, he sprawls out over the blanket.

Bill, meanwhile, lightly kicks his feet off the edge of the bed, sitting near Ford’s stomach. His feet don’t even reach the bottom. Bill stares at them swinging with attention and an oddly childish look in his eye. He giggles quietly before noticing that Stanford has already lain down.

Bill moves to hold Ford’s hand again and crawls closer to quietly lay next to him. Ford’s coat is made of fabric that Bill just found out is really comfortable. He snuggles closer to his side, making sure that the human’s sleep in the Mindscape won’t take him back to the waking world before Bill wants him to. He’ll let Fordsy wake up when he’s sober again. That sounded much better.

Ford doesn’t let go of Bill’s tiny hand - maybe he’s too tired to notice. Bill sighs quietly and flutters his eye closed.

In one movement, the karaoke in the Mindscape starts playing a slow lullaby on low volume and the blankets suddenly cover both Ford and Bill comfortably.

Bill turns his eye into a mouth and shoves his thumb inside, sucking on it soothingly. He squeezes a sleeping Ford’s finger tighter as he himself dozes off.

#Gravity falls agere #gravity falls age regression #Regressor Bill Cipher #Caregiver Ford Pines #(Unintentionally) /lh #regressor headcanons #my writing #fanfiction #I might actually post this on AO3 lol #CRINGE CULTURE IS DEAD #cringe but free

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azdoine · 4 months ago

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Whenceforth art thou, Hell?

Nona the Ninth appears to confirm Abigail Pent's suspicion that the River has been deliberately broken or sealed, per the comments of Varun and Alecto:

The Captain’s voice was like old teeth. “He left them too long—you left them too long, my salt thing.” ... Afterward Alecto went down to the ship and stood before John, purposing to travel through the River, and was grieved to find it yet dead.

However, a common thread of discussion I see in theorycrafting goes that if John has closed whatever gates may lead beyond the River, then his actions here are somehow for the sake of sustaining necromancy as an institution - as if, at the eleventh hour, we'll learn that all magic has somehow been fueled by burning through God's giant Philosopher's Stone all along. I cannot accept this interpretation. To me, it raises an infinite regression: how could John possibly have used necromancy in order to invent necromancy?

Moreover, this kind of plot twist disregards the internal logic and deflates the significance of TLT's social critique. The Tower doesn't need to be a secret hydroelectric dam in the River for converting human damnation into worldly power, because the engine of suffering has been in the real world the entire time, and it's just called colonialism. The price to be paid for working necromancy is a price to be paid overtly and in this life, either by the coin of explicit necrocapital or by the coin of grief.

If the path to a hypothetical River Beyond has been closed, I think it's for a much more banal psychological reason: John is a mission-oriented avenger who refuses to accept any check on the reach of his judgement.

“There can be no forgiveness for those who walked away,” he said. “Just as there can be no forgiveness for me—even though I rip the very fingers from my hands … throw them into the jaws of the monsters who hunt me … as I run from them across the universe, end to end. Something will satisfy them eventually, but nothing satisfies me. Nothing.” He drew his gaze away from her—his black-and-white, chthonic stare—and looked out over the dunes. He said, “But that’s the grace of it, Harrow. If I’m God, I can start over. The flood, you know? You can wash things clean. That’s all the end of Earth was … making things clean. It gets dirty again, you clean it again. Like those old power-washing ads. Spray and walk away, right? Sometimes I think the only reason I haven’t done it already is that I can’t bear the idea that I wouldn’t be able to touch them—that they’d still be out there…"

People regularly overlook the psychological significance of John's long reach in the context of understanding his behavior. Death and physical distance are no escape from a sufficiently powerful necromancer, because his enemies can be summoned out of the River - which bridges locations across unimaginable gulfs of space - and subjected to further torments in person.

(this is another reason I don't believe that John's expansionist project is being carried out in order to hunt down and slaughter the resettled generational descendants of the trillionaires; based on what we've read, John simply shouldn't need to settle for such a pointless blood feud, let alone carry out his revenge-by-proxy in the physical world. however it came to be that the dead are trapped within the River, everyone who lives is certain to enter his kingdom of death eventually, to sit and wait for him to sieve them from the waters.)

From here, it also makes sense on John's part to arrange for a specific place for the interment of problematic souls. He has to be able to keep some people pinned in place in the palm of his grave-dirt hand - otherwise he leaves a potential attack surface for anyone to try to summon the dead as their witnesses and ask for incriminating information about the King Undying. John certainly admits to deliberately leaving many souls on ice in proportion to their moral desert, for which Harrow accuses him of malfeasance:

"We’ll get them all back … some of them, anyway … or at least, the ones I want to bring back. Anyone I feel didn’t do it. Anyone I feel had no part in it. Anyone I can look at the face of and forgive. And my loved ones … The ones I left, I’ll bring back." ... "I want to know how many of the Resurrection are left, and how many you began with, and what the discrepancies are. I want to know where you put them. They didn’t go into the River. I want to know why she was angry … and why you were terrified."

Alecto The Ninth is set to invoke the harrowing of hell, but I still think we have to be very careful not to overstate these mythological allusions or buy into John's mystique here. The Locked Tomb is a setting with an intensely organic and visceral metaphysics, where the embodiments of the divine - Alecto and John, John's hands and gestures, the human soul itself - are "merely" congregations of smaller powers. "God is a dream, Harrow, and you all dream me together" - the secular minutiae of life and magic are divine only where we remember they're worth deifying!

As John's godhood was once demystified to expose him as an oversized Lyctor, if I want to understand the nature of Hell and the Tower in advance of Alecto, I think I have to let go of my assumption that the answers to all of these questions isn't hidden in plain sight, that there must be a dizzying twist. Let's assume a man did it, and not a god; and ask, how would any man go about trapping ten billion souls or damming the River?

#the locked tomb #alectopause #alecto the ninth #tlt meta

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cryingatwindermerepeaks · 7 days ago

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Hi!! I have a request for a little! Rio fic! It's a little bit angsty but can you write one where Rio regresses pretty small and just wants her mama, even though she's a ghostie now? Maybe it's after the scene where she tells Billy he may go and after he's gone, she just slips and wants her mama so bad.

Little!Rio - Alone

Regressuary day 2 !!

As you can probably expect this one is ANGSTY… please be careful reading <3

Tw: brief mention of suicide, in depth discussion of death (it’s like the whole thing)

Word count: 594

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Since the beginning of time Rio had presided over earth. She’d experienced life and death and everything in between a trillion times and would go on to do so an infinite number of times more. She’d seen people laugh and cry, fall in and out of love, kill each other, kill themselves. She’d been the face of fear and the hand of death to every being that’d ever existed yet somehow nothing had hurt as much as this.

As Rio stood in the dark, windy, yard, accompanied only by the flowers bloomed by her own hand, she realised for the first time the finality of death. Agatha was gone. As the younger witch had requested she hadn’t seen Rio’s face as she crossed over, and Rio hadn’t seen hers in return. She’d spent the better half of her existence loving Agatha, and a fair bit of that watching her from a distance like a lost puppy. But now there was no one to love, no one to watch. No Mama. Just Rio.

It was fitting that death was the last one standing at the end of the road. She always was. Death couldn’t cry, couldn't feel such a pitiful human emotion as grief. But somehow she did, every death she’d played a role in since the beginning of time could not compete with the pain this one death forged in her soul. There was no one around anymore, no one to keep her mask up for.

Rio began to regress, her mind growing fuzzy to block out the pain burrowing in her chest. Why was it burning there? Death didn’t have a heart. She sunk to the ground, soft moss engulfing her skeletal knees. She dreamed of a forest far, far away. One with moss just as soft and flowers twice as bright. A home she’d once shared with Agatha, a cottage in the middle of isolation where she’d thought she could live for the rest of eternity, small and safe. At the beginning of time, Rio had thought death was home, that bringing a soul to her realm was bringing them home, but now Agatha was dead and Rio still ached to take her home. Not to the land of souls that were at peace or weeping, but to the little forest with a cottage where they could just be Mama and baby.

Rio wept, though no tears came from her darkened eyes, her chest heaved and her bones rattled. She erupted with choking sounds, strangulated sobs which ached for a comfort they would never again receive. Words slipped through her lips though they fell on deaf ears. Mama. Please, I’m sorry. I want to go home. I need you. But there was no one here, there never would be again.

She dropped her face down by her knees, pressing her forehead into the dirt and moss. Death saw and heard more prayers than any god, but Rio had no god to pray to. She cried to the ground, to the flowers. Allowing her muffled sobs to echo through the soil until she couldn’t tell what was hers anymore. Her words only grew further entangled, coming out wobbly and childlike. Mama. Mama. Mama.

What was there in the world if there wasn’t Mama?

The worst part of it all was that Rio knew Agatha was out there somewhere. That if she hadn’t taken her soul it meant that her Mama wasn’t truly gone. Just hiding from her as promised. Agatha wanted nothing more to do with Rio, but Rio still needed her Mama.

#regressuary #sfw agere #fandom agere #asks box #agatha all along agere #aaa agere #little!rio vidal #cg!agatha harkness

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azazelsazaleas · 19 days ago

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Set a course...for home

So I just finished Voyager. And I have thoughts.

Endgame, like the series, was good but felt like it could've been so much more. I'm not the first fan to point out that it's weird that the last thing we see is Voyager flying towards Earth, with no coda or montage or anything showing each of the crew when they get home. What really surprised me on this viewing (I saw it once back when it first aired, but it's been over 20 years and I barely remembered it) was how slow the pacing was until the last 20 minutes or so. I kinda feel like the writers could've trimmed a bit out of it so we could have a more satisfying denouement. Oh well. They got home, Janeway thoroughly wrecked the Borg, and I'm not going to lie - I got a little choked up when they fly out of the exploding Borg Sphere and Janeway says, "We did it."

With that said, may as well go through the good, the not-so-good, and any other random thoughts I have in retrospect.

The good :

Captain Kathryn Janeway.

I'm sorry, that deserves to be written thusly:

CAPTAIN KATHRYN FUCKING JANEWAY

Oh my god, I love this woman. I think, at this point, she's my favorite Star Trek captain and easily one of my favorite characters in the franchise. She absolutely radiates an aura of "I am in charge here, and this situation is going to go how I decide it goes," and she delivers every damn time. Strong-willed, controversial, authoritative, intelligent, creative, and just damned incredible. Janeway alone is a major reason to give this show a watchthrough.

Not to mention, Kate Mulgrew is a fucking INCREDIBLE actress. She brings 110% to every episode, and I swear to god, she basically carried the first two or three seasons.

And speaking of amazing actresses, Jeri Ryan was incredible. A lot of people loved her performance in Body and Soul (and yes, watching her channel Robert Picardo was delightful), but seeing her constantly changing personalities in Infinite Regress two seasons earlier was the big "Holy Shit" moment for me. Even beyond that, she was brilliant as Seven of Nine (and say what you will about ST:Picard, I loved seeing her step back into the role). It also doesn't hurt that Seven is one of the most interesting characters on the show, if not on Star Trek.

In general, the show had some great characters on the main cast. I found I really liked Tuvok and B'Elanna as well. Tim Russ nailed that "annoyed Vulcan who secretly cares" thing, and I thought B'Elanna's struggles with her identity were generally well-handled, at least for mid-late-90s TV.

I'm honestly surprised how fine I was with Tom/B'Elanna. I was not expecting that relationship to work as well as it did.

Speaking of "didn't expect that to work," Naomi Wildman was genuinely endearing as the "kid on the starship" character type that Star Trek seemed adamant on having in the 80s and 90s. I"m glad the writers learned their lessons post-Wesley Crusher.

Oddly enough, I also found I enjoyed some of the "bad" episodes - Threshold, Tuvix, etc. Voyager got pretty weird, so some of the more questionable creative choices were just damned entertaining. Not all of them, though. Which brings me to...

The Bad:

Oh my god fuck the Kazon. They are easily the worst recurring villain race I've seen on Star Trek. They don't even seem like ST villains, they seem like the kind of thing you'd see on a b-rate late night 1990s crappy sci-fi action show. They're like an attempt to make Klingon copies but without literally anything whatsoever that makes the Klingons compelling.

Speaking of which, fuck Seska, too. I still have a hard time buying that any self-respecting Cardassian would look at the Kazon and go, "yep, I'll throw my lot in with them."

The whole Neelix/Kes thing was...gross. I'm sorry, there's no way around that. They had no chemistry, no compelling reason to be in a relationship, and the whole thing with Kes's age felt like a variation on the theme of "she may look 12 but she's actually a 5000 year old dragon." Whichever producer came up with that needs to have something solid thrown at them.

In general, Neelix was just the worst character for the first couple or three seasons. He got a lot better, but early Neelix was...yikes. I got genuinely frustrated with how much time was focused on him.

I also have mixed feelings about Chakotay. Sometimes he was pretty great, but the whole behind-the-seasons thing with the "cultural advisor" made for some pretty bad early character building, and after they gave up on that, he felt kind of flat. And now that I think of it, inconsistent. It seems like the writers (at least in the early seasons) couldn't decide between making him a tough hardass who'll punch you if you don't get in line or the more calm, measured, cautious voice in contrast to Janeway's bullheadedness.

Seven/Chakotay was just...no.

Other random thoughts:

I have mixed feelings about the EMH. Robert Picardo was great in the role, but as the character progressed, I feel like he got away with crossing lines he really should not have. The entire episode Renaissance Man just pissed me off. Can't say I was thrilled with some of his behavior in Body and Soul, either. The whole running gag of him having a giant ego seemed to swing between hilarious and painful to watch, as well.

The show was good, but it felt like it could've been so much more. Part of it was Paramount's insistence on not having anything serialized, but part of it was also how actionized it got. There's a number of episodes that felt like they could've done something more interesting but instead the producers wanted phasers and explosions.

I have very mixed feelings about how the Borg were handled. On one hand, Seven is an amazing character, the Scorpion 2-parter is probably my favorite pair of episodes in the show's run, and there are a couple other Borg-relate episodes I liked. On the other hand, I thought the Borg as a direct threat got stale quickly, Dark Frontier nerfed them way too much, they felt underwhelming as an enemy in Endgame, and (yes I know this is more of a criticism of First Contact, but still) the Borg having a Queen ruins a lot of the creepy mystique they have. No matter how you slice it, I think the Borg as a recurring enemy were pretty much spent by the end of Voyager.

Favorite episodes (off the top of my head): Scorpion 1&2, Equinox 1&2, Bride of Chaotica!

Final score: 7 out of 9 (you were expecting anything else?)

#star trek #voyager #janeway #chakotay #tuvok #b'elanna torres #tom paris #harry kim #neelix #kes #seven of nine #star trek voyager

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nostalgiclittlespace · 7 months ago

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Request: Care giver! Lilith and little! Lucifer (Hazbin hotel)

Plot: Lucifer being in little space and Lilith taking care of her baby (he’d be 0-2 years old), just lots of fluff please 💕

Thanks so much for the ask, anon! Sorry for the short delay in getting this out, but I hope you enjoy! (Also it seems like all of my agere fics end with sleepy cuddles 😭 aka Self indulgence. Luci was also very neurodivergent coded. Again, self indulgence)

SFW AGE REGRESSION FIC, DNI IF KINK, NSFW, PROSHIP, OR SIMILAR. DO NOT REPOST.

Title: The Cutest King of Hell

Word Count: 1249

Pairing: CG! Lilith x Little! Lucifer

Description: Playtime and a picnic for Little Luci! (Fluff!)

The Cutest King of Hell

Lucifer. A daring, intelligent, cunning creature. The first to introduce evil and disobedience to the so perfect human kind. He had once been an angel, hand-crafted by God, and cast away from his first home. But now, he was a king, the most powerful being in Hell…

But he also happened to be the cutest.

Lilith huffed affectionately as Lucifer pushed his rubber ducks along the floor. Laying on his stomach, pacifier between his lips, white and yellow onesie equipped–no one could argue that he wasn’t just the sweetest, most innocent being Hell had ever seen.

Especially not Lilith.

She too sat on the floor, pushing the rubber ducks back towards Lucifer, as if they were swimming back down the lake of his pale blue playmat. There were many other creatures along for the adventure too of course. Some frogs, fish, and even a couple plastic dinosaurs had made it into Lucifer’s imaginary world.

Lilith knew all about the fallen angel’s imagination and creativity of course. Perhaps it was the thing she adored most about him. He could create infinite stories, creatures, and worlds in that perfect mind of his. Even when regressed as young as this, he managed to maintain a clear enough objective in his play. If his babbling was anything to go by, the ducks were meeting the dinos and toads for a picnic on a faraway island. Called Ducky Island of course.

“What’s the duck say, Luci?” Lilith quizzed with a smile as she pushed one towards him to join the other rubber figures at their meet-up.

“Qwak!” the baby exclaimed, pushing it along. “Qwak, qwak, qwak!”

Though the mimicry was muffled by the silicone in his mouth, his confidence and pride in the answer was evident by his eyes crinkling into a smile.

“That’s right,” Lilith smiled as well.

The Queen of Hell reached for the toy bin, where they kept all of Lucifer’s play toys. FIshing around, it only took a moment for her fingers to land on yet another duckling.

“Here’s James Pond. Is he going to the party too?”

“Yeah!” Luci giggled. “Swim, swim, swim.”

“Off he goes, swimming and swimming,” Lilith agreed, pushing the tuxedo-wearing rubber duck in a circle then towards Lucifer.

Lucifer took over, gliding the duck in smooth patterns across the playmat. Lilith watched, enjoying the play’s serenity. Hell, a place of violence and punishment, didn’t see moments as simple as this. If she were to simply step onto her doorstep, blood, swears, and devastation would greet her. Inside however, in the nursery she had designed to protect from the horrors, the R-rated nonsense wouldn’t exist. Here, the most complicated thing was figuring out how to keep Lucifer entertained for more than ten minutes.

“Looks like that picnic needs some food, Luci,” Lilith remarked, pointing to the congregation at ‘Ducky Island.’ “What would they like to eat?”

“Apple,” Lucifer replied, lining up several frogs with the other guests.

“How about apples with peanut butter?” Lilith suggested.

“Yummy! And cookies?”

“Of course. Would you like to help me get it?”

“Mhm!”

Lucifer smiled behind his pacifier, placing the very last duck at the picnic gathering. Then, using his hands for balance, he pushed himself to his feet with the grace of a baby deer.

Lilith stood along with him, borrowing the elegance of a great stag. Lucifer immediately grabbed her hand. Holding himself close to her, he lightly leaned into her side for balance. Lilith took it in stride, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze as they ambled towards the kitchen.

The plush carpet beneath their feet, the perfect crimson walls, and the occasional abandoned toy paved the way through the castle. Lucifer’s babbling filled the royals’ desolate hallways. An innocent, adorable sound, a stark contrast to the endless curses that would envelop anywhere else in Hell.

Soon, Lucifer and Lilith arrived at the kitchen. Like the nursery, it held all Lucifer’s essentials. Baby bottles lined the countertops. Several sippy cups and plastic plates had been abandoned in the sink to be washed.

“Let’s get your picnic and bring it back to Ducky Island,” Lilith said.

Even if he would inevitably make a mess of crumbs and peanut butter on his playmat, seeing the joy Hell’s little king derived from his picnics and play made the mess worth it.

So, Lilith grabbed a couple apples from the pantry, along with a jar of peanut butter and a package of his favorite cookies. Lucifer watched with big eyes and a smile beneath his pacifier. He already extended his hands, silently requesting a sweet treat.

“Not until you finish your healthy food,” Lilith chastised lightly, tapping his nose playfully. “Come on, let’s get your picnic ready.

Luckily, Lucifer wouldn’t have to wait long. Within a minute, Lilith had sliced the apples and arranged them in the shape of a swan. Luci’s eyes grew wide and lustered as he watched the snack take shape. With a scoop of peanut butter plopped beside it, it was ready to be enjoyed.

(The cookies, despite some pouting, remained in their box for now.)

Revitalized by the prospect of a delicious snack, Lucifer tugged on her hand, pulling her towards the nursery. He was already babbling about how all his duckies would be thrilled to see the apple duck she had created. Actually, it was a swan, but she didn’t bother correcting him; not only would it be pointless, his cuteness was too much to even remotely diminish.

As soon as they arrived at the playroom, Lucifer broke free from her hand holding; he rushed back to his toys on loose, uncoordinated steps. He plopped down right in front of the ducks and dinosaurs, then popped his pacifier out of his mouth. Mumbling incoherently, he patted his hand on the spot behind him–clearly demanding that snack time begins.

“Yes, I’m coming,” Lilith smiled, placing the dish on the mat beside him.

Happily, Lucifer snatched an apple slice. He took a bite before showing it to his toys. He continued his baby-talk, and made dramatized munching sounds as his toys also digged into their lunch. Lilith also may have stolen a couple sweet slices.

As predicted, peanut butter stickiness covered the mat. Apple juice dripped off Luci’s chin. Once the cookies were brought out, an ungodly amount of crumbs covered his onesie. Nonetheless, the endearing giggles made the mess seem small enough. As the snack slowly disappeared, Luci’s energy did the same. He yawned, scratching his eyes as his sluggish a hands and slurring babbles poked at his toys. Lilith, knowing naptime would soon follow, strode from her place on the floor over to the nightstand, where she wound his music box. By the time Lucifer had noticed she had temporarily left his side, the gentle notes already drifted through the nursery.

Lucifer stared up her, taking long and slow blinks as she scooped him off the floor. It seemed that playtime had sapped all his energy. Duckling picnics were very tiring work after all. As soon as his pacifier was replaced in his mouth, his head rested on her shoulder. The sound music box would last long enough to get the little king to sleep. But not without his lullaby added onto it. Soft lyrics danced with the ringing song.

“More than anything, more th anything, I’ll shelter and adore you more than anything. More than anything, more than anything, need you to know I love you more than anything.”

And every word was true.

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talonabraxas · 7 months ago

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The Dream Sabbat

‘The true Sabbat is simultaneously a state of Dreaming-consciousness and an extradimensional locus where the convocation of the living and the dead occurs and the Great Return which leads to a new becoming is achieved. The celebrants of the Sabbat gather in the twilit forests and the mist-shrouded meadows of Elphame and through the averse formulae of the infinite return, deliberately ’go backwards’ to that which lies behind all phenomena and consciousness, the ineffable source of all creation glyphed in the Witch-Mysteries by the Cauldron and the Cavern.

This mystical self-reversion or initiatic regression to the root of All is synonymous with the Horned God’s law of Misrule. It provides the inner metaphysic of ritual reversal, symbolised by the Backwards Prayer, the Widdershins Dance, and the black tapers ceremonial inversions characteristic of the Sabbat-Rite. All these infer the way of initiatic return and self-reversal to the ground and matrix of primeval unity which is the true state of Sabbatic ecstasy.

…The Dream-Sabbat is the supreme rite of the Witches, a total actualisation of the Great Mystery - all restrictions and bonds are overcome there. The separations between god, human and beast dissolve in a polymorphous inferno of extasis, the secret rapture of inner Witchdom. Thus the Sabbat is a dream, a dream of such potency that the profane world seems pallid and unreal by comparison. To enter into this sacred world of paradaisal night-revels requires consummate agility of the Dream-Body and the employment of techniques to sidestep and diminish the hold of profane perceptual conditioning, enabling the leap or flight to the ’Other Side’ to be effected.’ --from Masks of Misrule by Nigel A. Jackson

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calibrationneeded · 1 year ago

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Something about Chuck that frustrates me is that his existence makes no sense in terms of philosophy, and I know the writers probably weren’t studying Plato, but my little brain doesn’t like when things don’t make sense

Okay, so the fact that Chuck is a physical being that has power that can be separated from him implies that there is something above him, like an even higher power. (The existence of Amara and the Empty also lend to this since Chuck didn’t create them). This implies an infinite regress, something that doesn’t work in philosophy, because it would mean that god was made by a god and that god was made by a god and so on forever. This can’t work because something can’t come from nothing. The regression has to end.

There’s also the philosophical point that God, in order to be God must be completely omnipotent and good (not morally but in the sense they never make a mistake or fail) but Chuck isn’t omnipotent (he didn’t see that punch from Mary coming) and he isn’t perfect.

So this leads me to two options;

1. Chuck isn’t God

2. The writers didn’t think too hard about it

And I know it’s 2 but let me be delusional for a moment

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #chuck shurley #Chuck isn’t god theory #supernatural meta #allow me to over analyze a silly tv show #spn meta

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lunchboxpoems · 11 months ago

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A STATEMENT FROM NO ONE, INCORPORATED

“what is it when a death is ruled a homicide but no one is responsible for it”—Hanif Abdurraqib We are not responsible. We have not the capacity to respond, cannot take your call, are not obliged. We promise nothing in return except that we will return, asking that the potential profit this lost life’s labor could have produced be accounted for, and blaming our Black dead president for the deficit. We are deficient and without your damage the world is difficult work to live on. We live on the unanswerable, assert that acknowledgment is inartistic, history is regressive, and aggression looks like no one we know. No one is responsible while we have the luxury to see ourselves as infinite ones, ocean of individual possibility. We are so many blades in the yard the wind runs screaming invisibly through. We need to have a deeper dialogue about the need for deeper dialogue, but oh oh, we are always these spondees of speechlessness and cannot process your request, are too busy about our dreams. The celestial bodies appear from here, ripe for colonies and more questions. We are over earthly inquiry and unfortunately, though your sigh traveled light-years from the dark matter of gravity we’re intrigued to find you now are, we will not see you today (we are recessed on narrowing beaches, toasting our gods with a wellsprung red we cannot source but are confident the year was relatively good), but here, for your trouble, for coming so far:

JUSTIN PHILLIP REED

#justin phillip reed #poem #poetry

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saint-augustines-pears · 2 months ago

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Me when the Reddit atheists propose an infinite regress to get out of admitting God exists (logically impossible)

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claire-want-to-sleep-all-day · 3 months ago

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loosely based on album of memories untold by aevum

this is some of my delusional orv thoughts about a what-if KDJ did read the novel, but when the scenarios started he doesn't stay at the same planetary system as YJH. KDJ tweaking his way to the final wall, become the most ancient dream and stay at the subway, trying to find YJH. did KDJ made companions at his planetary system? yes, and he really treasure them but his feeling toward YJH is strong enough he choose to stay at the subway, knowing the pain he has to go through. KDJ tells this to his closest companion/friend, YSA. they tried to stop, but his stubbornness won.

KDJ, with his status as the oldest dream, left an avatar contained most of his memories in this worldline to his companions. and walk into the eternity with his companions' blessings. they respected his choice, knowing how much KDJ love TWSA and his wish to repay the debt.

(side note: TWSA cast and HSY isn't there.

it's more like TWSA main cast didn't existed in KDJ's original worldline. HSY is dead for the sake of writing TWSA (read: plot), but we will talk about it later. incarnations originated from planetary system 8612 did not appeared in KDJ'S earth, but Namgung Minyoung, Kyrgios, others from different dimensions and magically, asuka ren are there.

JHW although doesn't become YJH's companion, but her existence as the mad butcher is enough for her to not existed in KDJ's original worldline.)

after spent who knows how long in the subway, watching all the worldlines (he felt bad about it), KDJ stumbled upon the first worldline that has YJH in it. but this YJH is weird. he is acting naive, clueless about scenarios. KDJ realized he's in the 0th turn. needless to say, KDJ went crazy and swear that he will do his best to give this YJH his happy ending. he succeeded. and then everything come crashing down.

YJH wishes to meet the star helping him numerous times. 4th wall choose that moment to whisper the solution.

YJH regress. KDJ breakdown.

times passed. at some point, KDJ uses his authority as the oldest dream to let a part of himself incarnate into planetary system 8612, watching himself living the same hell he once went through. his mom went to prison because of his other self. the living hell called school. his suicide attempt.

and he's looking at the young girl enter his room, holding his hand as if he were something precious. the dokkaebi king, the only one could see him, send him an ominous look.

KDJ now know why TWSA was written. he wailing, repeatedly asking the young girl despite she can't hear or see him.

4th wall and dokkaebi king stay silent, watching KDJ crying himself to sleep. after a long while, he finally accepted the truth, and begin watching both himself and HSY.

he adores the author, but SSSSS-grade Infinite Regressor made him cursed her a lot. she can do better, not this shit show of novel.

life's hard. KDJ watching other self, HSY, YJH as the same time. no, he shouldn't call the name YJH, he's now secretive plotter. there are numerous times he wanted to reach out to SP, told him to stop chasing, but thr worldline probability and 4th wall reject him. how HSY exhausted her fables to write TWSA, his other self living a hellish life, the guilt of being SP's sponsor is rubbing even more salt onto his already wide-open wound. KDJ doesn't remember how many times he had cried himself to dream, how many times he told them to stop, but failed miserably. but at least he is able to do sth for them. he's there to protecting KDJ and SP's dreamscape. he's there, ready to use his probability to ease KDJ and HSY's pain.

he abandoned his identity as 'reader' to become a 'guardian', a 'dreamer'. he's no longer 'kim dokja' but most ancient dream, the god.

everytime KDJ and SP has nightmare, OD would enter their dream and offer them comfort. he talks about TWSA with KDJ, he uses himself as a wall separate SP's subconscious from hauting memories. everytime HSY feels too much fatigue, he's there to take it away.

but times can change a person a lot. OD had already feel numbed after round 700s. but now? he become more and more unresponsive to things he used to feel worse about. he only feels exhausted, tired, dissociated. OD sometimes forgets his story and old identity as 'kim dokja', if not for 4th wall. sometimes he just wakes up and frightened, has a panic attack and after 4th wall's consolation, he goes back to dream. if the panic attack is too severe, he will try to commit suicide. lots of things has happened during thousands of years staying at the subway, and OD never wanted to talk about it.

time flies. OD begins to watching his old companions, YJH's companions, and YJH himself. he went nuts about YJH's abysmal diets and his fucked up life, basically cursed that piece of shit for daring to poisoned YJH's food, made him refused to eat other's food. OD swears he'll torture that worth-less-than-insect bastard and comminute that trash's soul to pieces and burn it using uriel's hell flame. 4th wall, watching his god spending 1h to cursing that man, enjoy the spectacle. it's been years since the last time OD engaged in something this much.

the scenario begin. OD's eyes tearing up for hearing his dear author final words, strengthen his resolve to help YJH and SP reach their happy ending. and doing his best to help KDJ reaching the 'ending' they longed for. OD usually stick to KDJ or YJH's side, but he also wanders around n'gai forest and HSY's side. 1863rd soon becomes his new stop. OD could only watches 1863!YJH sacrificing his everything to reach the eternal slumber.

if 4th wall said OD cried himself to dream, he'd deny that statement.

OD, despite cheering for KDJ, is envy of him. if 4th wall has to make a comparison, then it would compared them to SP's feeling toward YJH. he yearns to become YJH's companion, desperately so, but he could only stuck at the subway or as a phantom hovering around.

4th wall and OD continues watching the worldline in complete silence, their minds race with thousand thoughts.

[is it okay for you to stay here and abandoned secretive plotter?]

4th wall, surprisingly, was the first one to break the ice.

"you are the one insisted on me staying here though?"

he let out a scoff to 4th wall's hypocrite. but he's going to be the generous one here, so OD decided to answer.

"i don't know."

his voice cracked. OD wants to tell it's okay, but why he can't bring himself saying it? why is he feel suffocated, as if the idea of being okay is smothering him?

#omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv #i don't know what i'm doing #may yjh and plotter save kdj and od from their own eternity #1864!yjh/kdj is already doomed and now i'm doomed sp/adult!od #jd and spod can be read as platonic/romantic btw #if you see this on bsky yes that account owner is me

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