#and other poorly constructed names | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

silasoctakiseron · 25 days ago

Text

Regarding the Eighth House's appearance and lack thereof in Harrow's River bubble

I want to preface this post by saying that before you read literally any of this you should go read no speculation in those eyes by @onmentalsafari on ao3, because it's a) possibly my favorite Silas fic of all time and b) definitely my favorite handling of the Canaan bubble as a concept. Anyway. Moving on.

This post is almost certainly not going to tell you anything you don't already know. It is nevertheless going to be an extended examination of Silas and Colum's presence in Harrow's River bubble mimicry of Canaan House, with specific regard to whether Colum appeared at all and why Silas conducts himself the way he does.

Despite both being dead and both being people Harrow encountered at Canaan House, the Eighth are not prominently featured in the Canaan bubble. On its face, this shouldn't much matter, given their marginally relevant status as widely disliked side characters. However, people Harrow never met at all — namely, the real Dulcinea and the living Protesilaus — are present, active, and fully-fleshed in the bubble. People she met and didn't know well, including Magnus and Abigail, Jeannemary and Isaac, and Marta, additionally appear as whole, real spirits with independent thoughts. The only people who appear as poorly-fashioned constructs of their real selves are people whose souls Harrow could not call to the bubble, either because they are not dead or because they are somewhere other than the River.

Silas's full and complete soul, rather than a construct in his image, has been pulled out of the River and is trapped in the bubble with everyone else. His primary appearance is in chapter 26, when Harrow finds him on the terrace, which I'll discuss later. This is the only time we see him in person in the entire book.

He appears elsewhere a couple times, chiefly when Abigail attempts to recruit him in hunkering down in the Second's rooms for warmth/protection from the Sleeper (ch. 21) and tells Harrow they were unable to get him to do so (ch. 28):

“Dulcie—Lady Dulcinea, do you mind if I ask you to get Silas Octakiseron with us? He’s neither to hold nor to bind to me, but he might listen to you.”

“I told [Dulcinea] that I didn’t think we’d get Master Octakiseron first time round … She won’t tell me what he said to her, just that he ‘was horrid.’” [Shocker.]

It's clear enough here that Silas has a personality and control over his own behavior that are independent from Harrow's influence on the bubble, and the other ghosts recognize him as a person rather than a construct. The fact that he chooses to use this independence to presumably be insane alone in his room for nine months is his own problem.

Either way, he doesn't appear to be doing well. I've mentioned before that frankly, Silas very obviously falls rather to pieces¹ in the Canaan bubble, as described here in chapter 26 of HTN:

The Eighth House necromancer stood there with the wind flapping his wet alabaster robes, his braid torn to wisps and ribbons ... From closer up, Harrow saw that he was all in disarray: his clothes were smudged and a few of his buttons were not done up. The rain and the fog had lashed him terribly.

He looks great. He's doing awesome. He's clearly capable of appropriate self-maintenance and has clearly not been losing his shit over the fact that he's alone to fend for himself.

I've also said before (see above link) that everything that seems off about Silas in the bubble is related to Colum. Colum sometimes appears alone in GTN, but Silas doesn't appear independently of Colum a single time in the entire book — indeed, Colum occasionally speaks for him or quietly interprets social cues for his benefit. Silas is also, obviously, completely dependent on Colum to perform his necromancy. While it's shown that he physically can siphon from other people, as he does to Ianthe in GTN ch. 34, it's also made clear that soul siphoning works best (or at least, is strongly believed to work best) when the participating necromancer and cavalier are closely genetically compatible, and it's not incontrovertibly certain that Silas can siphon from another person without using Colum as a jumping-off point. Colum's marked absence from HTN is a blip in the broader narrative, but to Silas would have been like having an arm torn off.

The void where Colum used to be gives us a fairly ready explanation for why Silas has "gone to ground" in the bubble, as Magnus puts it in HTN ch. 28; he's completely vulnerable to any and all external forces and doesn't trust anyone else in the building as far as he can throw them. It also explains why he looks a complete mess when Harrow finds him, other than the fact that he's standing in an active rainstorm. We're aware from GTN ch. 28 that Colum is responsible for a lot of Silas's personal upkeep, including specifically his hair, and it's clear that Silas is either struggling to do it alone, failing to prioritize it because he has bigger problems, or both.

All of this being said, having established that he's clearly not present for the vast majority of the bubble's existence: where is Colum Asht?

While Colum never appears onscreen in the Canaan bubble, it's a common misconception that he's never mentioned at all. This is very close to true, but not completely. Colum is never mentioned by name, but vague sketches of him appear in the background until Silas's apparent death.

Something in Colum's place appears by implication in ch. 8, when everyone "arrives" at the Canaan bubble:

They were led away in twos—barring the Third House trio—²

Abigail also alludes to Colum's existence in ch. 28 shortly before learning of Silas's disappearance:

“I tried to make [Dulcinea] take the bed—she was so upset that the Templar pair weren't on board.”

There's one other, less certain mention. The Eighth House are represented in some capacity at Harrow's ball for the hand of Her Divine Highness in ch. 41, though no specific reference is made to its scion or cavalier:

The other seven Houses present³ were flaunting as though they were birds in a particularly baroque mating season.

Notably, the Coronabeth construct does appear at the ball even though Silas destroys it almost 15 chapters prior, meaning that his absence elsewhere doesn't necessarily bar something resembling Colum from having been present. This presence is definitely doubtful, in my view, but it is nevertheless not impossible.

One tall, astonishingly built Third House princess had chosen to sit among their number like a butterfly in a grey bog: she wore a silk robe in gold and breeches that showed off a calf too fit to be called a necromancer’s, and she was holding a glass of champagne and laughing at something she was being told.

All of this suggests that for at least part of the time the bubble was in effect, something resembling Colum was present enough that nothing seemed blatantly amiss, at least not to Harrow et al.

That said, it's clear that ghosts who were close to the real people replaced by constructs in the bubble recognize very quickly both that something is wrong with the construct and that they and/or the construct ought to be dead. The best examples we get of this are Marta's experience of the Judith construct's death in ch. 18 and Abigail's description of what Marta found wrong with the construct in ch. 43.

[Marta] said, with uncharacteristic frenzy: “Why am I here? ... I want to know—I just want to know—” ... “She had eight metal projectiles spun at high speeds through her midsection,” said Harrow. She knew that some people took comfort in the idea, so she added: “She would have died very quickly after her heart was destroyed.” “No,” said the lieutenant, and now Harrow thought she seemed dazed. ... “That’s not … Don’t know why I thought … No.”

“Why did you only pull some of us as ghosts? Why did the others appear as—varyingly ludicrous constructs? Lieutenant Dyas was certain Judith was wrong before she even died, that she was like a confused parody of herself.”

Being as it is that Colum is Silas's constant companion and has been since he was a very small child, it beggars belief to posit that he would not recognize anything appearing in Colum's stead as a construct or other insert rather than the man himself. Like Marta, he also seems to have figured out the truth about Colum's and his own deaths fairly quickly. (Marta says in ch. 45 that "the Second House doesn't overthink the River"; the Eighth absolutely cannot say the same.)

We know that Silas knows both that Colum is dead and how he actually died, including the parties involved, because of his conduct in ch. 26. Silas encounters the Coronabeth construct — though whether he found it where it was or manipulated it out onto the terrace himself isn't clear — and destroys it.

As of ch. 34 of GTN, immediately prior to his death, Silas has no particular quarrel with Coronabeth. If anything, he might consider her vaguely complicit in the crime of Ianthe's ascent to Lyctorhood, but that's about it.

Silas sounded quite normal now when he turned and addressed the monotonously crying girl by the slab: “Princess Coronabeth. Is she speaking the truth? And did you, at any point, attempt to stop her, or know as a necromancer what act she was committing?” “Poor Corona!” said Ianthe. “Don’t get on her case, you little white excuse for a human being. What could she have done?”

But Silas's destruction of the Coronabeth construct isn't about Corona herself. It's about Ianthe, and he says as much.

“And somewhere out there, may all the blood of your blood suffer even a fraction of what I have suffered.” He pushed. The eldest princess of Ida dropped from the side of the docking bay with swanlike ease. ... The Eighth House necromancer stood there ... and he did not even look over the side.”

As I've said before, there is no evidence that Silas had ever experienced any particular suffering prior to his and Colum's deaths that would drive him to seek revenge, particularly not on an apparently unrelated party like Corona. Until his arrival at Canaan House, Silas lived what appears to have been an extremely sheltered existence. The suffering to which he refers here, evident in the clear collapse of his ability to keep himself in order, is very obviously the grief of Colum's death, and may refer in addition to the emotional turmoil he experienced upon discovering the Colum construct and remembering Colum's demise in the bubble.

To Silas's understanding, Coronabeth is to Ianthe as Colum is to him. She's Ianthe's family and companion, the person for whom Ianthe clearly cares most and upon whom she most heavily relies. The Faustian bargain of Lyctorhood demands that Lyctors sacrifice the people closest to them in the world for power. Ianthe made that trade with counterfeit money — she got the power and eternal life without being forced to kill the person she loved most. Silas received neither of these dubious rewards and still lost Colum so completely that he can't even locate his ghost after death.

But wait, I can already hear some of you commenting on this post, wasn't Colum's death very obviously Silas's fault? Didn't Silas directly cause Colum's death by siphoning him without his permission and then splitting his focus while they fought Ianthe? The answer to this question is obviously yes. Silas violated Colum's bodily autonomy more extremely than he ever had before in order to defeat Ianthe, and in doing so recklessly he killed Colum. We, the readers, know this.

We also know that the Eighth House, and Silas in particular, are not in the business of admitting wrongdoing. Silas is both a self-righteous 16-year-old boy and a product of the House which is perhaps the single most loath to acknowledge even the capacity for moral error on its part of any of the Nine Houses.

In Silas's mind, whether Colum's death was caused by something he did is irrelevant. The fact of the matter is that he only did what he did because Ianthe made it necessary to do so. If Ianthe hadn't insisted upon ascending to Lyctorhood, then insisted upon refusing her sentence for heresy, then insisted upon fighting back instead of going quietly, Silas would never have been forced to siphon Colum at all. Therefore, this is all Ianthe's fault, and Ianthe deserves to suffer. Whether Silas similarly deserves to suffer in his own mind is irrelevant — he perceives himself as suffering either way, and he believes it unjust that Ianthe is not experiencing the same punishment.

Then, of course, Silas throws himself off the terrace and into the water below. We know that Harrow perceives this as suicide; we know that Silas does not.

“I don’t give a damn about White Glass mysteries or cryptics,” [Harrow] said. “I care that you just pushed one of the Tridentarii to her death.” “Death?” said Silas.

Silas has no intention of killing himself in ch. 26. Silas is a River specialist, and Silas is knowingly entering the River.

Silas Octakiseron had launched himself fearlessly into space after the tumbling body of Coronabeth Tridentarius. ... Harrow thought she perceived a tatter of something penetrate the cloud. Her heart pounded rhythmically in her ears, and she thought she saw, absurdly, a sudden gush of watery blood, as though the fog itself had been knifed; but it was gone almost as soon as she had seen it.

The water Harrow sees when Silas breaks through the boundary of the bubble is confirmed to be River water, rather than a hallucination or any other visual phenomenon, in ch. 53.

[Harrow] popped the bubble, and the River came rushing in. It came down around her in shreds, as light and insubstantial as drifts of spiderweb. The water sprayed through white holes, rushing in with a pounding roar: that brackish, bloodied water that only existed within the River.

We can infer from the connection between these passages and Silas's general behavior in the bubble that wherever Colum may be, Silas believes the River is how to get there. If this theory doesn't hold water to you, we can determine that Silas believes that staying in the bubble is actively hindering him from reentering the River and, at bare minimum, "wait[ing] for our Lord's touch on the day of a second Resurrection" (per Magnus, ch. 45). That said, knowing that the rest of the Canaan bubble crew have struck out into the River to help Matthias Nonius ally with Gideon the First, wherever he may be, it's difficult for me to imagine that an aggrieved and mourning River necromancer with nothing else whatsoever to do with his afterlife would not similarly go in search of the only person in the universe who has ever cared about him.

We know that wherever he's headed is dangerous. The River is, of course, dangerous anyway; we know that devils travel up through it, and that human souls stagnated in the River for too long are driven to insanity and become revenants. However, Abigail explicitly states in ch. 45 that she's concerned for the state of Silas's soul given the haphazard method by which he exited the bubble.

“I worked out how to return [the Fourth] to the River first thing. They didn’t want to go, but I overruled them. I would have done the same with anyone else—if only Silas had asked me; what has happened to his soul worries me horribly.”

Eighth necromancers' interactions with the River, which chiefly seem to consist of sending the souls of their cavaliers to wait on its bank in order to create empty conduits for its energy, obviously differ significantly from those of Fifth necromancers, who predominantly call spirits out of the River. However, it's my view that Silas could probably have gotten himself across the River safely if he'd wanted to, or at least to whatever point within it to which he deemed non-heretical to travel. I think that Silas has a goal in mind in the River that would not be served by merely transporting himself along it in a manner that would have been guaranteed to keep his soul safe and intact, and I think whenever he reaches it is the point at which we'll find Colum.

Footnotes below.

¹ We can actually compare this to his appearance in chapter 28 of GTN, when he's recently been scared off Lyctorhood by whatever the Ninth trial was and is similarly clearly not doing great:

Gideon must have caught [Silas] mid-ablutions, because his chalk-coloured hair was wet and tousled as though it had just been rubbed with a towel. It seemed frivolously long, and she realised she had never seen it except pinned back. ... Silas looked as though he had not slept well lately. Shadows beneath the eyes made his sharp and relentless chin sharper and even more relentless.

If you wanted, you could establish as a tentative rule that the worse his hair looks, the worse he's doing. I won't, but you could.

² Interestingly, a vague allusion to Babs or something like him is made here, too, and he is genuinely never mentioned again, even in future references to the Third in the bubble. We obviously know where his soul is and that it's inaccessible to Harrow because it's not in the River, so there's likely something to the fact that he and Colum are excluded from the bubble in roughly the same way.

³ This could technically refer to the presence of the First House at the ball for the purpose of presenting Kiriona, but it's fairly straightforwardly clear in my view that the seven Houses which would have an interest in "flaunting" themselves are those which could marry into the House. I'm clearing this up in advance because I know some of you love to argue.

#this post is over 500 words longer than a paper I wrote toward my master's degree last night so. enjoy.#silas octakiseron #colum asht #the locked tomb #harrow the ninth

372 notes · View notes

sideysvault · 9 months ago

Text

ೀ｡˚ Patching Deadpool up years after he left you ೀ⋆｡˚

Pairing: Wade Wilson x fem!reader

Part two here

Wordcount: 2,9k

Tags: Canon typical violence, angst with a happy ending.

────────

The rusty silver plate read in an almost playful manner “The sisters Margaret home for wayward children”. It was a colorful name, and it belonged to a not so colorful bar. That was the place where the two of you had met.

Back then, you were nothing more than a student. Constantly struggling to manage the very limited funding given to you. All you wanted was to finish your thesis, get your master’s degree, and make it to the end of the month. Your paychecks had cornered you into the only half decent apartment you could rent: The one built in the shittiest neighborhood in town, in a building held up solely by divine grace and poor construction.

That particular night was the end of an extremely rough week. Work piled up, homesickness struck you every time you had a chance to relax and think, and you were the living proof that nobody could make any meaningful connections if you only strictly went to work and home with no rest in between.

And for Christ’s sake, you hated to admit it, but you really missed home and the crippling suspicion that you were close to breaking down was settling in.

The only logical next step you could take popped into your head just as you were walking into your neighborhood. You needed to blow off some steam. Have a drink. Or two. Or three. So, your steps seemingly redirected themselves towards that ugly bar that was close to your uglier apartment. Sure, it seemed super sketchy. But right this second, all you needed was to get a drink.

Wade was in that bar too. As he usually was. He immediately took notice of the woman who seemed clearly out of place. You looked like some kind of stuck up librarian. And it was obvious that your mood was extraordinarily dispirited. Sitting there staring at the wall with a piercing stare. Paying no mind to the environment you were in. Furrowed eyebrows adorned your face seemed concerned. Before Wade even realized what he was doing, he found himself striking a conversation with you.

He tried to reason with himself. There were no ulterior motives, no meaning behind his accretion. Wade has always had a soft spot for damsels in distress. And you were hot as fuck. Nothing else.

“What's a nice place like you doing in a girl like this?”

Strangely, that's all it took to make you laugh. The absurdity of the corny comment immediately got to you and a loud burst of laughter came out of your mouth. Wade's face softened with a certain sense of pride when he saw he could make you laugh.

The stuck up girl with a stick up on her ass had just let out not a forced and polite giggle, but an all teeth and gums type of laugh.

The poorly dim light in the bar did not stop him from trying to take all your features in. And a sense of warmth began to surface under his skin. He was the one who made your night better.

Ever since the event, you would visit that horrid place regularly. Only to see the charming guy who would make you laugh. Your little hangouts quickly evolved into something more. A friendship of sorts. He would walk you home when you stayed late working. “To protect you from all the homicidal freaks”. Wade would take you on private tours around the city, so its streets wouldn't feel so foreign to you. He could notice that you genuinely had a great time whenever he was around. And that was all he needed to keep showing up.

One late night, laughter turned into teasing, which transformed to kissing, which later turned into a hookup that evolved into having sex on a regular basis and going out routinely. Wade and you couldn't be more different, it was true. But it seemed to be the key to your relationship. You guys clicked together, balancing each other out.

The insidious realization came to you on a random afternoon. You were in love with Wade Wilson. And he probably felt the same for you.

As cruel as life is, something terrible happened. Just as things were getting serious between the two of you, on one cursed night, he just decided to pick up all of his things from your apartment and leave. All Wade left behind was a tiny note stating that he had terminal cancer and that he loved you. With a little doodle of a heart with crossed out eyes and a tongue sticking out of its mouth.

You were out doing research the first time he fainted. A full-time professor had the kindness to name you as a co-author in an important research paper that was being published in some big shot magazine. Wade felt extremely proud of you. On some late nights he couldn't believe that a woman like you could be head over heels a low stakes hit-man.

The decision felt simple at the time. He ran straight to the clinic and never told you about the incident. Wondering why he would bother you with something that was probably nothing. On that day, in a confined room with sterile air, with its gray walls and the constant sound of the old air conditioner, that’s where the doctor hit him with the whole terminal cancer ordeal. Wade knew you would automatically make a billion plans and extensive research. He knew you'd stay with him all the way through the end. Even if it affected your career, even if it would wreck you emotionally, even if your routine together was reduced to a mere nurse-client relationship, you would stay with him all the way. That was the reason he had fallen in love with you after all.

So, he made a choice. Albeit, one that was a little less simple. He was leaving before tarnishing your life, your memory of him and your time together with his sickness. He couldn't do that to you. The woman who actually had goals. And a shot for a promising future. If he told you about the situation, Wade was certain that he wouldn't have the heart to say no to you. He would stay. And you'd forever remember him as a lost puppy who you loved but had to put down mercifully.

The other option was to be the asshole who left. But he could live on your memory forever. As the person he once was. So that was that.

━━━━━━━━━

You decided to take a shortcut to your newly renovated home. You were wearing your favorite heels today. And they really weren't walking shoes. Brand new, stiff, and ridiculously blue. The scrappy and dark alleyway was well illuminated, and it would take you directly into the street your building was in. After weighing the options, you decided it was safe enough to make a run for it.

The loud noises that you increasingly heard coming from the dumpster worried you. The dumpster was located just before being able to get out of that creepy lane, and you tried to stop the flux of thoughts about homicidal maniacs that suddenly plagued your mind. But, the thought of injured animals that people abandoned on the street came to you as well. Getting closer, hearing the early sound of the echoed of your shoes against the cement, you tried to swallow your fear. Something in there could really need a vet.

But there was a mutilated man wearing a red suit. You instinctively froze and began to step back, the scene was so gruesome that you were sure you would puke on the body and ruin the DNA evidence. Just as you were typing the emergency number on your phone you heard that voice.

“Bad Deadpool” it mumbled. You heard some nonsensical phrases before you could make out a “Fuck. That was, like, my favorite arm”

Your heart began to pound so strongly you could practically feel it on your ears.

He hadn't noticed you yet, continuing to lose a shit ton of blood and trying to balance himself upward without the missing limbs and several shot wounds.

Not without a second thought, you ran to help him stand up. As soon as he felt your firm touch, he turned around violently, holding a defensive position. But the man in the red suit stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you were the one holding him.

This was not the neighborhood you used to live in.

You sighed at the sight and quickly took him back to your apartment. You knew it was him. Not only that, but you were sure of it. The lame jokes had given it away. And that voice had haunted you for a long time. You'd recognize him anywhere. His remaining arm felt the same, the inflections of his tired voice sounded the same, and the shock he’d felt at seeing you was indisputable belonging to him. You had heard rumors about the red suit. But never wondered who could be behind the mask. Wade was supposed to be dead by now, anyway.

Wade, on the other hand, was focusing on not making a sound. He really hoped breaking your heart had left you clinically insane. Insane enough to rescue random mutilated men off the street.

As soon as you entered the apartment it became tainted with carnage. A trail of crimson red adorned your freshly painted white snow walls. Little chunks of skin would occasionally fall. Accompanying the already gruesome blood. Your heels had been lost somewhere along the way and with great effort you had managed to throw him into a bed that he wasn't yet familiar with.

Fuck it. As if losing an arm and a leg wasn't enough. This was breathtakingly fucked.

The shock left your body as soon as you saw your not-dead ex-boyfriend mutilated on your bed. And shock was the only thing keeping you together.

By that moment he was certain you knew it was him. Your eyes began to tear up at the sight of his wounded body, your cheeks were trembling with fear, or disgust, or a combination of both. Before he could try to get up, a pool of blood came shooting out of his mouth without warning. Some of it must have filtered through the mask because you somehow looked more terrified than before. He felt dizzy. And before Wade could do anything about it, you took out his mask on a whim to try to avoid him choking on his own blood. And that was it. All that pain, all the abandonment, the secrecy. It all meant nothing now. You had seen his face.

You were definitely taken aback. And he felt his heart break a little when you instinctively removed her hand from his face. You swallowed with difficulty, shook your head and got up. There were more pressing matters at hand. You had heard things about the vigilante regenerating. But you weren't taking any chances. Not with Wade. Never again.

It didn't matter how fucked up he looked now. He took the opportunity of you leaving the room to put his mask back on as quickly as he could. As he was trying to process everything that had just happened, through the door he could see your crying face moving up and down around the apartment. And there you were. Carrying it all into the bedroom.

It was a massive, fancy emergency kit that you had saved up for back in the day. When he was still beating bad guys for money and living with you. You had kept it all this time. And it was still perfectly stocked.

Wade couldn't lift his gaze to meet yours. But he noticed that you seemed relatively unfazed by his new face now. Or by the fact that you had seen him lacking two limbs and with some extra holes. The tears had stopped, but the mortifying look on your face never left. You always knew what he did for a living, you weren’t stupid. But he had always managed to keep it out of home. Or at least he tried to. Never to this extent. You weren't really used to it.

After all he had faced, he thought he did not need any care anymore. Just his healing, getting high and his unicorn. After all, his body would mend all the damage he had done to it and grow itself back together. But it still hurts. And you still tried to make it better. You begin to patch him up as best as you can, taking your time disinfecting, sewing, and fixing him. He knew you well enough to be absolutely certain that you were trying not to gag at the sight of the wounds. And he appreciated your efforts.

When you finished, you softly traced your fingernails on his bandages. He was too tired to talk. And you were still too shocked. How the fuck is he still alive after those injuries? What had happened to him after all these years?

Without saying a word you got up and went straight to the kitchen. You returned after some time, with his favorite tea, soup, and all the analgesics you could find. Your kindness gave him courage to stop being such a weak pussy and actually try to talk to you. You had seen him. Even if you wouldn't want anything to do anymore, the worst had passed.

“So… Sorry about your walls. Didn't know you had a fancy place now. I would've totally died in another alleyway, I promise. And, sorry, for-uhm, you know. The character shattering abandonment”

He coughed some blood. You just furrowed your eyebrows and as slowly as you could, so he could actually stop you this time if that was what he wanted, you removed his mask again. Your eyes pierced him with earnest intensity.

“You are a fucking asshole. And I fucking hate you. And I'm so glad you are alive”

"I know, I know, baby. And thank you for going all Mother Teresa on me. Well, wrong comparison. But, yeah. I'll be okay in no time. It's hard to explain right now. But, I will do right by you and paint your walls bright white when my leg and everything grows back! Pinky promise. I'll also buy you new shoes. It's kinda gross that you are footless. Or, well, it could be h-”

“Oh my lord, Wade. Just shut up and get some rest. Eat when you feel better. And scream if you need something”

And just when you were about to leave the room he softly said “Hey. I'm sorry. I-, I didn't want to bring you onto the whole cancer show. I was going to fix myself and come back. And then everything got fucked. I couldn't let you see me like this. Understand that. I'm a monster now. Inside out. I would have never left if there had been a way of staying without ruining your life”

You just looked at him for a long moment. Tears began to appear in your eyes, threatening to come out again. As soon as he saw your face, he immediately tried to lighten up the mood. “Hey, how long have you been obsessed with me?

Still keeping that old thing?” He said as he gestured at the now empty emergency kit.

He didn't have the heart to explain to you that it was a waste in him.

Saying nothing in response to Wade's dumb joke, you just rolled your eyes. Hearing him talk that way about himself hurt your soul. You couldn't help yourself anymore, so you walked towards the injured man with tears running down your face. You sat down on a chair beside the bed and rested your head on his lap.

He called your name softly “there's no need to cry. I know I belong to a fucking circus, but this is getting a little offensive" Wade finally got a chuckle out of you. You smile at him and wipe out your tears. Wade winces slightly when you tenderly leave a kiss on his forehead. He feels ashamed of the tact his ruined skin probably had left on your soft lips. It has truly been so long. You notice how he reacts. So you put your hands around his face and gently kiss each of his cheeks, and then the bridge of his nose. As softly as you can.

"I'll go now before you make some lame Greek kiss joke. Get some rest. We'll talk in the morning. I know you are sorry.” With a more serious voice, you added.

“Just no more running away in the middle of the night. Okay?”

Wade softens. He really missed you. As much as he liked Al's old ass, his true home was with you. Even after all these years. Even after what he did to you. Even with how he looked. Wade was certain he would be able to sleep soundly for the first time in years. He was safe now.

“Never again. I promise. I'll do right by you. Okay? We'll be friends with a ton of disgusting unexplored sexual tension in no time and who knows where that could lead to”

You laughed again. And there it was. His favorite sound in the world. It sounded just like the first time he heard it all those years ago.

"By the way, you do owe me those heels. And white walls. You pinky promised it. Oh, and you also owe me the biggest fucking explanation of the century.”

“Sounds like a start to me”

────────

Notes: OMG my first big one! I’m excited to post this. I hope it makes sense, if it doesn’t, feedback is always welcomed! -Sidey xxo

[Edited on October 2024! This was poorly written and I was fully proud of it 😭 shoutout to @nikkiwho, who I fixed this fit for] btw, I’m working on your request for part two even if it’s been a while! Hope you like it.

577 notes · View notes

silverb0wties · 6 months ago

Text

Lemonade - Part 1

Lemonade || leah williamson x alessia russo x child!reader

Summary: When something bad happens to your Mummy and Daddy, you end up living with your Aunty Lessi and Aunty Leah. But is there room for you considering they have a new baby on the way?

Chapter Warnings: death, pregnancy, mentions of stillbirth, house fire, hospitals & doctors

a/n: In this universe Alessia has a fictional older sister

~ I originally posted this a while ago but took it down because I received a bunch of hate for it. A few very nice people have encouraged me to put it back up, so I will see how I go. Constructive criticism is always welcome, but if you don't like this, please just scroll by. 💜 ~

PART 1

You didn’t fully remember what had happened that night.

It had all started off very typical. You’d had tea and a bath and watched a bit of telly before heading upstairs to your room for bed. You were 7 now and a big girl, and certain you didn’t need tucking in anymore, so you gave your Mummy and Daddy kisses and cuddles before you went to brush your teeth and then snuggled under your bed covers to keep reading your current library book, Matilda.

At some point you must have dozed off, because you woke up as your Daddy popped his head in through your door to check on you.

“You alright, Bunny?” he asked. Your nickname had been Bunny for as long as you could remember. You had been given a bunny stuffie named Arthur by your Nana on the day you were born, and he had been your trusty companion ever since. Bunnies were also your favourite animal, however you weren’t allowed one as a pet because your Daddy was allergic. Apparently that meant he came up in big bright red spots whenever he got near one. Surely there was some kind of cream that though.

“Can I come sleep in your bed with you and Mummy?” You had made sure to use your biggest, pleading eyes to try and convince him.

“Ohh alright. But you have to remember to be careful of Mummy’s leg, okay?”

Mummy had hurt her leg a couple of weeks before. She had been playing netball when someone on the other team had crashed into her and she landed poorly. You weren’t totally sure what was wrong, but you knew that it was apparently worse than whatever Aunty Leah had done to her leg. But it was also not as bad because your Mummy wasn’t a professional at netball, she just played for fun, and you think maybe they also won some wine sometimes but you’re not 100% sure. Anyways, she had to go to hospital and have an operation and now she was on crutches (which you weren’t allowed to play on) and you had to help around the house a bit more because it was tricky for Mummy to get around. You didn’t mind though, you were happy to be her little helper.

As you reached your parents room (Arthur clutched tightly under your arm), you found your Mummy already in the bed, her leg propped up on a pillow under the blanket. Before she had a chance to ask what you were doing there, you quickly rattled out “Daddy said I could come sleep with you, please please please!”

Your Mummy just laughed and patted the spot beside her on the bed. A few moments later you and Arthur were snuggled under the covers between your Mummy and Daddy and drifting soundly back to sleep.

The next time you awoke it was to a screeching alarm, one you recognised from when Daddy had tried to bake Mummy a birthday cake but had burned it really, really badly.

“Bunny! Sweetie, wake up!”

As you opened your eyes you realised you were surrounded by thick black smoke. Your chest felt tight, and the smoke stung your eyes so badly you couldn’t keep them open. Everything felt foggy and faint and you could feel yourself quickly falling back asleep.

“Just take her! Save her! Get her out!”

You heard your Mummy’s screams over the blaring of the alarm. You would hear those screams in your nightmares for the rest of your life.

The next thing you remember was being outside your house and your neighbour Mrs Green was passing you to an ambulance man. You had Arthur clutched in your hand by his ear as the man lay you down on a wheely bed and put a funny smelling mask over your nose and mouth.

Then you were at the hospital and there was lots of nurses and doctors scrambling around, poking and prodding you. You had still had the mask on your face that was filling your mouth and nose with funny smelling air. There was a big needle sticking into your arm connected to a bag on a pole that kind of hurt a bit. But worst of all, at some point you had lost hold of Arthur, and you could see him lying sadly on a bench across the room.

“She’s awake.”

“Y/N. Hi, my name is Doctor Smith. We’re just looking over you to make sure you’re doing okay. We’ll get you back to a room really soon and then you can see your family, okay?”

Your family was here! Thank goodness. Whatever had happened, your Mummy and Daddy were fine and you would see them real soon.

You breathed a small sigh of relief but still reached out instinctively for Arthur. A nice nurse with dark hair and big, round glasses noticed and looked over at the bunny.

“Is he your special friend?”

You nodded frantically.

“He’s very dirty at the moment, so he’s going to need a bath before you get him back for cuddles, I think.”

You realised that his normally light purple fur was closer to a dark grey colour, but you couldn’t understand how he got so dirty. Surely a bit of smoke doesn’t get a bunny that dirty.

And then it hit you.

Smoke.

You’d only seen smoke come from a few things in real life before:

When your Daddy had burned that birthday cake

From the cigarettes the old ladies who sat outside the newsagents smoked

When there was lots of pretty fireworks and sparklers after Aunty Lessi and Leah won a big trophy

After you blew your birthday candles out

Smoke came from burning things. Had Arthur been burned?

Before you could ask any questions, you were being wheeled into a room where your Nana and Aunty Lessi were. You loved your Nana and your Aunty Lessi, you really did, but you wanted your Mummy and Daddy. Where were your Mummy and Daddy?

“Oh Y/N, oh sweetie. Oh, thank God you’re okay.” Your Nana was crying as she reached for your hand and kissed your forehead.

You tuned out your Nana and the doctor’s conversation as out of the corner of your eye you spotted the nice nurse with the big, round glasses hand over Arthur, who had now been put in a plastic zippy bag, to your Aunty Lessi. She whispered something to her you didn’t hear and Aunty Lessi nodded and put him carefully in a big sleepover bag she had with her. You wondered why she had a sleepover bag with her here at the hospital.

“Does she know about…?” your Nana asked.

“No. We thought it best that she heard it from family.”

You snapped back to the conversation going on over your head at these words, catching your Nana nodding as she wiped some more tears away from the corner of her eye.

“We’ll leave you be to have some privacy. One of the nurses will be back in a while to check on her, but of course, don’t hesitate to press the buzzer if you need anything.”

As all the hospital staff left, your Aunty Lessi came around to the other side of the bed and gave you a hug as best as she could, trying not to bump your mask or the big needle in your arm.

“Nan-” you attempted to talk, but the smelly mask on your face was making your words sound all mumbly jumbly. You also noticed that it hurt a bit in your chest and throat when you tried to speak, your hand automatically coming up to rest on your neck.

“It’s okay sweetheart, you don’t need to speak. You just rest, okay?” your Nana told you.

You nodded, aware that there was something going on. Something definitely wasn’t right. Your eyes flicked between the two women, noticing that their eyes were red and puffy as though they’d been doing lots of crying.

After a long, awkward silence that seemed to stretch on forever and ever, your Aunty Lessi finally started to speak.

“Bunny, sweetie, there was a fire at your house. We don’t know how or where it started, but there was a very bad fire, and it looks like it has destroyed the whole house.”

Your eyes widened as you began to put it all together – the smoke, the alarm, your Mummy screaming…

“Sweetheart, your Mummy and Daddy didn’t make it out. We don’t know a whole lot yet, but we know that your Daddy ran out of the house with you and gave you to a neighbour. You were very poorly and not breathing very well, and that’s why you’ve got to wear this mask to help you breathe. He went back into the house, we can only assume to try and help your Mummy because she can’t… umm couldn’t move around too well because of her leg. But they never made it out of the house.”

You didn’t really understand. What did she mean they never made it out of the house? Where did they go? Where are they now?

“Bunny, do you understand what I’m saying?” your Aunty Lessi asked.

You shook your head furiously. You just wanted to see your Mummy and Daddy. Why weren’t they here? Were they hurt? Were they also lying in beds somewhere with masks on their faces and needles in their arms?

Your Nana stood up from her chair and sat down softly on the bed beside you. She stroked her hand over your face a few times before cupping your cheek gently in her hands.

“I’m so sorry, Bun… Your Mummy and Daddy, they… oh Less, I can’t. I can’t say it…”

Your Nana pulled away from you, burying her head in her hands as she stood up and turned away slightly.

“It’s okay, Mum. I’ve… I’ve got it.”

Your Aunty Lessi swopped in and scooped your face gently into her hands, running her thumbs soothingly over your cheeks as you looked at her with confusion.

“Bunny sweetie, your Mummy and Daddy… d-died.”

You think your Aunty Lessi kept talking but her words just faded into background noise as you tuned out everything around you. You were there, but not really. Your body was, but your brain was just running over the words “Mummy and Daddy died” over and over and over and over until they lost all meaning.

Mummy died.

Daddy died.

Mummy and Daddy died.

You felt sad, but mostly you just felt kind of… nothing. It felt almost like the sadness was a balloon that grew too big, too fast and it had popped and now all you were left with was nothing.

In the movies and in your books when people died, their family cried lots and lots. Your Nana was crying, and it seemed like your Aunty had been crying. But you didn’t feel like crying. You did really, really feel like rubbing the soft fur of Arthurs ear across your cheek over and over and over though.

You had stayed in the hospital for a few nights before they let you go home.

Well, not really home.

But your new home.

You were going to live with your Aunty Lessi and Aunty Leah. Your Aunty Lessi was your Mummy’s sister and Aunty Leah was her wife. They both played football for their jobs and travelled a lot. Before… well, before, you would go and visit them, or they would come visit and you would tell them all about the books you’d been reading and what you’d been learning in school and show them all the different breeds of rabbits there were in the big scrap book you’d been putting together. That scrapbook was gone now though. You weren’t sure if you would start making a new one.

Your Aunty Lessi had the most beautiful smile, and she always seemed to be able to make everyone laugh and be happy. And your Aunty Leah was always a really good listener, and she gave the most excellent hugs. Sometimes you would go and watch them play football, but you weren’t really interested in sports. It was always too loud and there was way too many people there. But it was always exciting when your Aunty Lessi would score a goal though, because if she knew you were in the crowd, she would point in your direction and make a heart with her hands.

You liked your Aunties. You loved them. But you’d never spent the night at their house or had a sleepover with them. You didn’t know any of the rules, and you didn’t have your Mummy to remind you of them before you went. You wanted to be on your bestest behaviour, having read far too many stories and seen too many television shows about children whose parents died and then their new families treated them poorly. You didn’t think you’d do very well in an orphanage or living on the streets. You weren’t very tough like those kids were.

You’re not quite sure what to think of your new room at your Aunty Lessi and Leah’s house. It’s very… adult. A bit boring to be honest. Just a big adult bed, a dresser and two bedside tables. There is a big window however that overlooks the back garden that you quite like. But you’re just grateful for somewhere to sleep really, thankful that your Aunties are letting you stay here at all. You’d happily sleep on the loungeroom floor.

“We will pretty it up and get you lots of new toys and decorate it however you want, Bun.” Your Aunty Lessi was stroking your hair as you cuddled into her side. “This is just temporary until your new bed and furniture arrives and we get you all settled in, okay?”

You nodded gently, not really knowing how else to respond. You were a bit shocked that they’d ordered you a new bed and were going to get you new toys.

“We did get you a few things to start you off with, just until we can all get down to the shops together to pick out some stuff. I hope they’re okay…” Your Aunty Leah gestured towards the corner where you could see a few boxes and some brightly coloured stuffies peeking out through the handles of some shopping bags. You looked up at her and blinked, unsure as to whether you were meant to thank her or go and inspect the items or what.

“We can go through that stuff later if you like?” Aunty Lessi suggested, squeezing your shoulder. “How about we grab something to eat for lunch?”

Just as you were turning to leave the room, a tuft of light purple fluff caught your eye among the bags.

"Is that Arthur?" you asked.

"Oh, your bunny? Yes, Aunty Leah gave him a really good bath and got him all clean again."

You dashed forward and grabbed him from the pile of other toys and clothing, bringing him up to your face to rub his soft ears over your cheeks.

You wanted to say thank you, but those words didn't seem big enough. Instead, you hoped that someday, somehow you would be able to somewhat show your Aunties how much you appreciated them.

With Arthur now tucked under your arm, the three of you made your way down the hall towards the stairs.

“Oh, and remember that is mine and Aunty Lessi’s room,” Aunty Leah gestured towards a door on the right of the hall, pushing it open with her foot. “If you ever need anything during the night, please don’t hesitate to come and get us. I’m up and down all throughout the night going to the loo anyways because of this one,” she smirked as she rubbed her growing belly.

“Does it hurt? Growing a baby?”

You don’t really know why you asked. You were curious, sure. Your own tummy hurt a bit when you ate too much food, so surely having a baby in there hurt lots. But now definitely wasn’t the time to ask that kind of question.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

However your Aunty Leah just chuckled and nodded at you. “It doesn’t exactly hurt, but it is rather uncomfortable at times, especially if the baby moves into an awkward position or kicks a weird spot.”

“The baby kicks you?” you asked.

“Oh yeah! They’re gonna be a striker just like your Aunty Less, I’m sure of it!”

Aunty Lessi nudged you and pointed at your hand. “You might actually be able to feel the baby move some time, Bunny”

“Really? Could I?”

Your Aunty Leah’s smile was a big and bright as you’d ever seen it. “They’re moving around now. Do you want to try and feel?”

You nodded excitedly. You had always wanted a baby brother or sister. Your Mummy and Daddy had told you once that there was one on the way, but then a while later when they’d gone to the hospital, they came home really sad and said that baby brother was born sleeping.

You had only just turned 4 when that happened, and you didn’t understand why they didn’t just wake him up. But Daddy explained that that is what people sometimes say when the baby isn’t born alive.

Mummy had been sad for what seemed like years after that. She spent a lot of time in bed, and she cried more than you’d ever seen her cry before in your life. You’d tried to cheer her up by drawing her pictures and singing her songs and giving her your biggest, bestest cuddles. But Daddy said the only thing that would make Mummy better was time.

He was right. She had slowly returned to her normal self. You were very grateful, because you had missed the little things like the silly songs she would sing when she would wash your hair, and the smiley faces she would make out of blueberries in your pancakes.

As your Aunty Leah gently cradled your hand and brought it up to her swollen tummy, you felt a small whooshing movement under your little hand.

“Did you feel that?”

You nodded quickly, your gaze meeting your Aunty Leah’s as she smiled tenderly at you. You couldn’t believe you could feel the baby moving in her tummy. It all started to feel very real.

“They’re moving around quite a bit tonight. I think they’re quite excited to have you here with us, Bun.”

“Do you know if it’s a boy or girl?” you asked.

“No, we decided to wait until the baby is born to find out and let it be a surprise. We really don’t mind what their gender is, we’re just excited for them to be here and to meet them. Oh, there they go again, did you feel that kick?”

You nodded again, pulling your hand away from your Aunty Leah’s tummy as a sinking feeling began settling in your own.

You knew you weren’t a part of your Aunties plan. They were having a baby, and becoming Mums, which you were sure was something new and super exciting for them. But now they also had you to look after as well, which they weren’t expecting and had probably changed so many things for them. Surely, surely they would be much happier without you here ruining their perfect new little family?

#woso fanfics #woso fanfic #leah williamson x reader #alessia russo x reader #arsenal x reader #leah williamson x alessia russo x reader #woso fic #woso imagine #woso x reader #lemonade #leah williamson #alessia russo

334 notes · View notes

saintslewis · 11 months ago

Text

𝐢𝐟 𝐰𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 | 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

- drabble.

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x black! fem reader

summary: reader will never let the paddock forget who Lewis Hamilton is.

warnings: cussing.

saint’s team radio 🪩: this is just a lil something. I was pissed tf off yesterday because of some lewis “fans” and i will never miss an opportunity to let ppl know who my goat is 🫦. enjoy

ps, i’m not adding actual reporter’s names for this so i made up random names.

taglist: @mauvecherie-writes @perfecttrashface @non-stop-imagines @emjayewrites @purplelewlew @hopefulromantic1 @motheroffae @exotic-iris13 @httpsserene @queenshikongo3 @greedyjudge2 @cocobutterqwueen

The tag from your denim jacket had been irritating you since the second you put it on but you chose to forget about it, often adjusting it with your nails or a little shimmy of your shoulders.

Holding the mic from Sky Sports F1 wasn’t all too odd for you, the broadcast team only handing it to you when talking about Lewis and his achievements. Your support for the Stevenage driver was strong, often being as labelled as biased but you couldn’t care less. The support was mutual between the two of you, usually lingering on the line of friendship but doubt and time was always against you.

Your sunglasses sat on your braided head with a bored expression on your face, just wanting to get this segment over with so that you could go back to your individual blogging and interviews. Standing patiently in front of the cameras while other reporters ran around unorganised, you played with your beaded ‘44’ bracelet.

“My goodness, Y/n! I have no clue how you are so calm, this is always so hard!” One of them exclaimed, laughing in the process. “Not to mention the outfit! You look like you could go to a party!” Another laughed, her smile faltering when your eyes snapped to her, expression never changing.

After a while, the segment began and off the reporters went on a scripted tangent about other teams before getting to the main topic; Lewis. “Now, onto a different subject, Lewis Hamilton’s performance in that car has been nothing short of a…disaster if I could say.” Jimmy said, deciding to look at you as he spoke. Almost as if he was challenging you.

“For a specific race weekend or overall? His teammate, George is doing significantly better. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, it’s like he doesn’t know how to drive.” Jennifer spoke, poorly making an attempt of a joke.

“I’m not too sure why you’re speaking as if he is a rookie. You lot can see that Mercedes hasn’t been doing well as a collective yet you’re targeting one driver who has brought then 8 constructer titles rather than the other who has one win.” Lifting your mic, you spoke with a clear voice, never stuttering.

Frank shook his head and tried to chuckle. “Look Y/n. We understand he’s your boyfriend or whatever but we need to be factual here. What Ferrari has done is a mistake by signing him. I mean, there needs to be more space for others and he’s taking up space.”

“And Alonso’s dusty ass doesn’t need to leave? Using my support for Lewis to try and justify your dislike for him is unprofessional. I have no clue how you have the gumption to say all this.” You responded, still not moving from your spot.

The other 4 reporters stared at you in shock along with other people stopping in the paddock, surrounding the space just in front of the official f1 hospitality suite.

“There’s no need to use aggressive language, Y/n.” Jennifer lifted her hand to place on your shoulder but you moved away in time. “Aggressive for who?” You challenged, tilting your head.

It had gotten quite. “The viewers. It’s not a lie, Lewis is just not good anymore. He needs to make space.” One of them spoke up but you couldn’t be bothered to listen to anyone else other than Frank, your eyes trained on him.

“What? We need to speak with the producers, having an independent journalist was a mistake.” Frank smirked.

“You can take your opinion and shove it up your ass. Thanks for having me, Sky Sports F1.” You turned to the camera to blow a kiss then you gave the mic you were holding to whoever would catch it.

Walking away from the set, you knew what you did was undeniably unprofessional but those people had always had a vendetta against Lewis and any reporter/journalist who support him. Breathing out, you sashayed your way through the paddock with people staring as your braids glided in the slight breeze.

The buzz of your phone shook you out of your racing mind, a little gasp escaping your mouth as you read the notification from instagram.

lewishamilton no joke, that was the best thing i’ve ever seen. glad we have that interview together in 5 minutes :)

You first looked around the paddock after reading that message but you figured that he watched it live just like everyone else did. Your anger for that segment had clouded your thoughts so much, you forgot about the interview you were supposed to have with the champion.

Rushing to the large luxurious paddock club, you received all types of looks from those who either clearly watched the broadcast live or they’re looking at your outfit, although the latter was made up in your mind.

Luckily, he hadn’t arrived to the designated room you booked to have the interview with him but as soon as you got your phone out to record and your notes, the screams and excitement were heard from outside the door and a smile couldn’t help but sneak on your face.

You have only interviewed him three times in your entire career but every time you did so, he never wanted it to end, always trying to make it longer by asking his own questions to you or just sharing a laugh.

With security opening the door for him, he entered the room and spotted you with a smile on his face. He entered alone in the mercedes shirt already on. No words needed to spoken by either of you, Lewis opening his arms for a hug to greet you. Once in his embrace, you thought it’d be quick but to your surprise, it lasted a few moments longer.

“Hi Y/n.” Lewis spoke, a hand still on your shoulder. You took a quick breath and immediately relaxed on the spot. “Hey Lewis.”

“Your response to Sky was insane but I liked it.” He chuckled, sitting across from you with his legs open and a ring clad hand sat comfortably on his lap.

You didn’t want to show him how the sight affected you especially when your emotions are sky high so you remained calm on the outside. “It’s just…I’m pretty sure I lost my job just now because of how I reacted.” You sighed out, flicking a few braids back.

“Some of them had said worse things so you’re okay.” Lewis responded, his tone wasn’t all too sure but he just wanted to lift your mood. “Yeah but I’m black. They used micro aggressions too.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at everything once recalling back to that moment.

“I heard. I’ll have a word with Sky.” He reassured you. “Oooh okay, Sir.” You joked, masking how the reassurance made your stomach flutter. You’d like to think he was openly flirting with you but you quickly put that thought at the back of your mind.

“I just don’t want those people to forget who you are, you know? I’m sure you hear this all the time. You know what you’re doing and you’re the best at it. I wanna remind the people who the goat is.” You rambled a bit, noticing his smile growing as he listened to you.

“You’re too kind, really. I know what I am, it’s just a little tough right now.” He shrugged as he fully leaned back into his seat. “If you need me to fight anybody in your team, let me know.” You winked, flashing a comical smile that made Lewis laugh.

Giving you a once over, Lewis leaned forward and rested his tatted arms on his knees. “You look good today. You always do but today…phenomenal.” He spoke, his voice noticeably relaxed. “Don’t make me blush, Sir.” You smiled, failing terribly at hiding your feeling.

“That nickname, Y/n,” He chuckled. “Is that door locked?” He asked. All you had to do was nod at the man and Lewis smirked, licking his lips in the process.

“C’mere.”

saint’s notes 🪩: slightly rushed, george pissed me off, hope you enjoyed. bye. <3

#saint writes #lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton fic #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 fic #Spotify

525 notes · View notes

wisejudgedragonhairdo · 1 month ago

Text

My side of the @holybibly dumpster fire.

Since my moots, especially @moilele talked about the whole Valerie aka @holybibly situation in their posts about her, it's about time I shared my side of this whole fiasco she caused.

Warning: Contains a lot of swearing, mentions of rape, bullying, harassment and other distressing things. And I will not hold back nor take back anything I say.

DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE.

Now that aside....

Valerie aka @holybibly, you mean to fucking tell me that you chose to start A SMEAR CAMPAIGN AGAINST ME and @moilele by making hate posts about us AND send your bottom feeding, lowlife, braindead, deluded cult followers to harass her and me all because we chose not to support your sick, depraved behaviour in how you chose to treat @moilele for giving you constructive criticsim on your work!?!?!!?!

REVOLTING.

@moilele as well my other moots stated the truth in how you use the word "rape" in your fics without even bothering to give proper warnings to readers.

You even did so in your post you made for me on my birthday where it literally says "raping you" in the screenshot below, Valerie. And WITHOUT ANY WARNINGS WHATSOEVER.

When I saw this part on my birthday last year, I felt uncomfortable reading it but I brushed it off to avoid coming off as "ungrateful".

Now I could not care less of your weak, fickle feelings, Valerie as to make matters worse, you made a hate post about me for your lowlife gremlins to attack me and put dirt on my name LITERALLY A DAY AFTER MY 22ND BIRTHDAY which was this Monday week.

Imagine being in my position, where you're out in your town with your parent on a Tuesday afternoon, THE DAY AFTER YOUR OWN BIRTHDAY, you open up to Tumblr after being in uni for over 5 hours and you see this smear campaign of a post about you, made by a blogger you used to have high regard for and her cult zombies making hateful comments about you based on the twisted, false narrative that blogger chose to create about you. All because you commented on how poorly they chose to react to being given constructive criticism on their work on the day before AKA YOUR OWN BIRTHDAY, the very day before that narcissistic filth of a post was made.

Oh and along with them playing the victim in your DMs + violating your privacy, which is a human right to have privacy, by the way.

As a result to all this above, I was so distressed to the extent I cried in my bedroom after hours of holding back tears.

And I do not give a bloodied dead rat's ass if your demented, narcissistic ass and your mentally decapitated followers say I'm an attention seeker, an attention whore, I'm "playing the victim" or "I'm garnering sympathy" for saying how your vile actions affected me as I am spreading awareness to other people in this community about how much of an awful, detestable, piss poor excuse of an individual you are, Valerie.

And to @swtblue, who made a hilarious claim that I "betrayed Valerie" when I unfollowed her + called her out for her actions. Talk about being delusional. I don't owe that bitch a goddamn thing. Besides we weren't even that close even though we did talk a lot in summer 2024. 🥴🥴🥴 Also to all Valerie's dull-minded enablers who chose to attack me on her hate post for calling her out + liking that post (including my former mutual @therealcuppicake who I have blocked), especially that anon who supposedly "knew there was somthing weird about me".

How laughably pathetic, talk about being deluded pitbulls for a lowlife who's using you all to boost her fragile ego. But sure, go ahead, feel free to pretend you have this amazing intuition that supposedly proves I'm "fake" if that makes you feel better about yourself.🤣🤣🤣

I dare you all to say all that bullshit out of your rotten, decayed mouths you all got from sucking Valerie's unwashed clit, without going anonymous. I'll just laugh in all of your faces along with reporting and blocking you.🤣🤣🤣

Also another thing, Valerie. The fact that you USED THE WAR IN UKRAINE to justify your actions truly shows that you are a deplorable, vile, despicable, WORTHLESS PIECE OF REVOLTING SHIT THAT EVEN PIGS WILL VOMIT AT THE PURE THOUGHT OF BEING ANYWHERE EVEN REMOTELY NEAR YOU AND THEY LIVE IN FILTH!!!

I wouldn't even spit on you and your cult followers if you all were on fire. As a matter of fact, I WILL MORE THAN HAPPILY WATCH YOU ALL BURN DOWN TO ASHES CAUSE THAT IS WHAT YOU ALL DESERVE FOR WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME AND @moilele .

As for you threatening to sue us for standing up for ourselves against your disgusting, barbaric behaviour, I say BRING IT ON!! Let's see how anyone in a court room will take you or anything you say seriously.🥴🥴🥴

Especially since YOU don't know the true, dictionary defintion of manhandling;

Manhandling: handle (someone) roughly by dragging or pushing.

NOT whatever bullcrap you said in this screenshot below.

Your whiny tangent about you being this supposed "princess who's VIP in your job" is all lies and bullshit to make yourself look more threatnening and intimidating than you actually are, Valerie.🤣🤣🤣

You want to start a battle with me and the people I care about? I WILL BRING YOU A FUCKING WAR.

I am not even the slightest bit afraid of you and neither are any of my moots.

I do not give two flying fucks about your mental health being "ruined" by the "bullyling and harassment" you supposedly got when @moilele 's OWN MOTHER had to make a statement to get you to stop tormenting her.

That is how vile and horrid you are, Valerie.

You dare send yourself and/or your minions to harass me and/or my moots, you and you cult followers will wish your parents smashed your head with a boulder when they birthed all your abominable asses once you're dealt with it.

You and your sewage minded enablers can laugh and boast all you want, karma will come back to haunt each and every one of you, especially you Valerie.

It may not happen immediately BUT IT WILL COME KNOCKING AT YOUR DOOR and me + my moots (along with everyone who supports us) will be there to laugh at you and mock you + your cult minions when it happens to you all.

And don't you even bother to come to me or my moots (especially @moilele) to attempt apologising to us when you and your flying monkeys get exactly what you all asked for as we'll laugh and ignore you along with me using your fake apolo-lies (misspelled on purpose) to wipe myself from your grotesque energy.

I will make sure EVERY-DAMN-BODY IN THIS COMMUNITY sees you, Valerie and your cult minions for who you all truly are: a bunch of contemptible, immoral, miserable, vindictive vipers who snuck onto the earth from the abyss of hell to demonise and terrorise innocent people.

And if that makes me fake, a backstabber, a liar, A VILLAIN, THEN SO MOTHERFUCKING BE IT. I'll more than happily be the villain when you are a spineless, weak, narcissistic, insecure monster with a superiority complex who needs your empty-headed army of leeches to feel better about yourself.

Now that I have finally said how I truly felt about this whole disaster Valerie created in this community...

To all my moots and my anonymous supporters, thank you so much for standing by my side through all this, this week aka my birthday week has been hard, no thanks to that vindictive, deranged Jezebel, Valerie and her daft, demented welldwellers making worse for me when this week was supposed to be my happiest week ever.

To everyone in this community who does not tolerate toxicity: Mass block and report Valerie aka @holybibly for bullying, harassing me and @moilele and making hate posts about us so she'll be forced to face the consquences of her actions.

Taglist:

@autieofthevalley @mingislildevil @yuyusbabygirl @yourfatherlucifer @ihavetoomanyfandomstobesane @thetypingpup @youaremystar1024 @yuyu1024 @yuyubeans @yuyuonabeat @gojosnympho @callmeghostly @jiminbility @kpop---scenarios @kitten4sannie @lightsouthalazia @vampireprincess215 @bambikisss @multi-stantrash @mingischains @shinyj3lly @shinestarhwaa @beenbaanbuun @mint-yooxgi @desirehorizon @everyonewooeverywhere @songmino @hwallazia @skteezcursed @sweetinsaniiity @bunnliix @winxmia

#holybibly #valerie #ateez smut #ateez #ateez x reader #spreading awareness #seonghwa #hongjoong #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #block and report her as much as possible #hold her accountable for her actions #stay away from her

99 notes · View notes

breckstonevailskier · 8 days ago

Text

Frederick Sinclair's true colors were shown during the TV series

Among the other named business oligarchs we see in attendance at the Vault-Tec meeting in the final episode of season 1, besides Robert House, is Frederick Sinclair. He's representing Big Mountain.

Those who played the Dead Money DLC for Fallout: New Vegas will recognize Sinclair, as he's the guy who constructed the Sierra Madre Resort & Casino at which the DLC's events take place.

However, some fans have felt that there's a discrepancy between how Sinclair is depicted here vs. the image of him we are given from reading terminal entries and looking at murals around the Sierra Madre.

For instance, Dead Money and Old World Blues have it stated that Sinclair is just a client of Big MT, whereas the TV series has him serving as Big MT's representative at this meeting.

Another point of contention is how Sinclair's physical appearance and personality in the TV show is very different from how it is depicted in Dead Money. In Dead Money, Sinclair is portrayed as a suave man of average weight with brown hair and a mustache (albeit only on pre-War murals), and has a much more youthful and regretful personality. But the TV series makes him older, portly, and very crass.

We have remarks made by Dead Money's project director Chris Avellone where he felt that Sinclair's physical appearance on-screen "didn't really mesh with his appearance in the Sierra Madre."

However, I'd argue that we're not seeing any retcons at all, and nothing about Sinclair's presence at the meeting contradicts what we learn about him from Dead Money. In fact, if anything, his presence in the show informs a lot of the backstory we learned in Dead Money.

Sinclair's foreknowledge:

One thing that is clearly noted from reading terminal entries and a few journal entries, is that Sinclair clearly believed that a nuclear war was imminent:

Now that we know he was at this meeting to collaborate with Vault-Tec, we understand why he felt this way: much like Mr. House, he had foreknowledge. That's why he built the Casino like a fortress. That's why he invested in technology like the Vending Machines, the holograms, and the Auto Docs.

Sinclair and the Cloud:

Sinclair almost went broke in the process of procuring the Vending Machines and the holograms for the Sierra Madre. To compensate, he permitted Big MT to conduct some experiments in the Villa. One of the experiments that Big MT did at the Villa was put an airborne toxin in the Villa's shoddy ventilation system, and then pump it out to see what would happen. This put several construction workers out of commission due to the effects it had on them, and is ultimately the source of the Cloud. To deal with the problem, Sinclair negotiated with Big MT to procure hazmat suits for the workers to go in and try and find where the Cloud had originated from. Unbeknownst to Sinclair, the hazmat suits were intentionally designed poorly, such that the users were exposed to the Cloud and also found themselves getting trapped in the suits (and could only be freed by having someone else cut them out with a Cosmic knife). These two experiments combined are what led to the construction crew becoming the Ghost People who inhabit the Villa.

While terminal entries in Old World Blues suggest that Sinclair didn't know about the Cloud being a Big MT experiment, the TV show makes me think that actually, he DID know. When the executives begin tossing out ideas for vault experiments, listen to the second idea that Sinclair pitches: he proposes a vault where psychotropic drugs are pumped into the air supply (which was ultimately implemented in Vault 106 out in the Capital Wasteland). That's an experiment that's very similar to the Cloud experiment, which involved an airborne toxin being pumped out of a ventilation system. Perhaps Sinclair knew exactly what the Cloud was, and its true origins, and this discovery was still fresh in his mind at the time of the meeting with Vault-Tec.

Sinclair's relationship with Vera Keyes:

Sinclair's depiction as an old and crass businessman does change the nature of his relationship to Vera Keyes. If the Sierra Madre murals of Sinclair are taken at face value...

...he comes off like a middle aged man in love with someone close to him in age, who was very heartbroken by finding out she was an unwitting accomplice to Dean Domino's plans to rob from him.

But with his depiction in the show, his relationship with Vera looks a lot different. Instead of being this middle aged man pining for a woman close to him in age, he's an old man who's obsessed with a young starlet at least 40 years his junior (information on Vera suggests she was in her late 20s when the Gala Event took place, and Sinclair looks to be in his late 60s/early 70s).

Him being an old man also makes a lot of sense when one considers his relationship to Dean Domino. Dean Domino was probably in his early to mid-60s in 2077 (going off Barry Dennen's age at the time that Dead Money was being developed), so close in age to Sinclair. It makes it more believable that Sinclair would've readily trusted Dean regarding Vera and the Villa construction, and thus be blinded to the truth that Vera was Dean's accomplice in the scheme to rob the vault, and also not be aware that Dean was profiting from Mr. Yesterday's scheme to cheat Sinclair by intentionally constructing the Villa with subpar building materials.

There's also these lines from Dean's dialogue regarding Sinclair and Vera that make a lot more sense when you know Sinclair is an old man:

"Ghost in name and image. Still a looker, though. Got to hand it to Sinclair, sure can pick 'em. Well, or get picked. Whichever."

"Vera was a big star, back before the Bomb. Not the best actress, but… well, she had other talents. Nice voice, nice legs. For some reason, Sinclair... he built this place... she caught his eye. Once he was hooked, that was it, had to have her. So made the introductions, and guess what? He builds this place for her, like some kind of Cleopatra obsession. Wasn't always a deathtrap."

And:

Courier: "Why did you need [Vera]?"

Dean: "Because she could get closer to Sinclair than I ever could. Sinclair was already puppy-eyed, so all I had to do was the introductions. She smiled, fluttered her eyes, showed a little leg ...and he built this whole place for her. Made her the key to his vault, like a joke, cause of her name. Her fake Hollywood name. Except Sinclair didn't know I'd been there first. I could twist her whatever direction I wanted."

With that age gap in mind, coupled with his foreknowledge of Vault-Tec's plans, it also makes a lot of sense why Sinclair would build the Casino like a fortress, as he came to value Vera more than anything else in his life. He probably viewed her as the one thing he didn't want to lose when the Great War broke out. It's also understandable why he'd be so devastated to learn about Vera's betrayal and turn the vault into a death trap for her and Dean, though eventually came to regret this (and ultimately died trying to undo the trap).

Additional thoughts:

Regarding the discrepancy in Sinclair's involvement with Big Mountain, I think it's safe to say that he might've actually invested a lot of money into buying a controlling stake in Big MT in order to get them to install the Vending Machines, the holograms, the Auto Docs, and all the other technologies that went into the Sierra Madre. That's my explanation at least for why he'd be the person sent to represent Big MT when Vault-Tec reached out seeking to collaborate with them on the vault experiments.

My opinion as to why the murals depict Sinclair as a young man is because he's rather vain. He was pretty suave way back when, but whereas House has largely retained his good looks up until 2077, Sinclair is now old, balding and fat.

It's worth noting that Cooper Howard has an indirect connection to Sinclair and Dean Domino, as he once starred in a movie with Vera.

...and considering a number of Season 2 set leaks have established that we'll be seeing flashbacks of Las Vegas before the Great War, I think there's a strong chance we'll get to see Cooper interact with Vera and Dean. Dean was very much present in Las Vegas at the time, as evidenced by some of his dialogue and the pre-War posters of him that can be found on loading screens and at a few locations on the Strip in the main game. So maybe Cooper will get to interact with the two of them as they were before Vera died and Dean became a ghoul.

And if they canonize Dean surviving Dead Money (which happens if you didn't bruise his ego while recruiting him), maybe Lucy and Cooper will get to interact with him when they get to New Vegas as his ending slides suggest that that's where he goes after he leaves the Sierra Madre.

I think that Vault-Tec invited Big MT to the table because they also wanted access to the same technologies Sinclair was installing in the Sierra Madre. The Vending Machines and the Auto Docs are pieces of technology that would definitely be useful to have in a Vault, especially when the Vaults are supposed to be self-sustaining.

70 notes · View notes

lemotmo · 16 days ago

Note

I didn't even realize some of this.

Q. You liked Sick Day though, you said so yourself. So I'm a little confused to see you criticize it because that doesn't fit with liking an episode. I kind of feel like you're not going to be okay with certain people getting the spotlight over others and so you should just say that. Buck gets plenty of focus. He's not being ignored.

A. I did like the episode. I have been open about that. But I have also been open about the cartoonish level villain being a bit OTT for me and the glaring absence of Eddie. You can critique something you like. Finding fault doesn't erase enjoyment. I get why they did both things. It's not a 'who done it' storyline. They didn't want to waste time having people try to figure out who the villain is so they made it so obvious it was a little cartoonish in execution. I have also said that I think we were supposed to notice Eddie's absence, I believe that was the point. That doesn't erase the fact that he should have been there.

I haven't really framed any of these replies around Buck but since you brought him up, I will explain. Buck hasn't had a storyline since the lightning strike in the back half of season 6. He has had no real storyline focus since then. He has been on and has been involved in other storylines but he hasn't had a storyline of focus since the lightning strike. His bi awakening doesn't count because that was told in one half of one episode. That's not a storyline. Then they stuck him in a relationship with an actor Oliver clearly doesn't get along with, an issue that seems to be a cast wide thing at this point with that particular actor. So they kept Buck in the relationship in name only and showed very little context of said relationship because the point of that particular relationship had nothing to do with that actual relationship. The point of that relationship was to kick off the Buddie storyline which Tim, inexplicably, decided to tell alongside this god awful Vertigo storyline for Eddie. A storyline that has now been dragged out a full year and a half. That's a problem for both Buck and Eddie as characters. The Eddie storyline has been going on for almost 18 months at this point and we still have no clear resolution. Because it was a poorly constructed storyline from the very beginning. It was a bad original story idea that has been dragged on to the point of nauseating for all involved. And I give Tim credit for trying to fix it but taking 18 months to fix it is inexcusable, especially since it's still requiring Eddie to be separate from the rest of the main cast.

In those 18 months how much screen time has been devoted to multiple Bobby storylines? He resigned from the 118. Took a consultation role on HotShots, a storyline Tim dragged out over 5 freaking episodes btw, got involved with the cartel and lost his home. Came face to face with his estranged mother. Went on a cruise that sank, and helped his wife land a plane. That's 6 different storylines told while Eddie is still going through the Vertigo bullshit. Seven now if you count what's coming as a result of Sick Day and Lab Rats. How about Athena? She had the same cruise ship mishap. The same cartel burned my house down storyline. Revisited her past with an inmate transfer that led to her being in the plane Bobby had to help her land. She had the crazy rookie racist cop partner storyline. The shipping cart vigilante, only one episode but it was more than half the freaking episode. The 911 serial killer Maddie kidnapping storyline. That's six separate storylines for Athena, again all while Eddie's one plot is still unresolved. It's lazy. I understand that the Eddie/Christopher storyline could not and should not have been resolved over the course of one episode but there's been plenty of storytime to devote to it; Tim just used way too much of that time on the same two characters, or on nonsensical Brad bullshit, and that's a legitimate problem at this point.

Dragging the storyline out for so long has made Buck stagnant as well. I understand why they're telling the Buddie storyline the way they are. The problem is we get an episode or two of momentum and then we completely lose that momentum to spend time on episodes like this biohazard stuff, which is in no way more important than your character driven episodes. Yes episodes like this have value and merit, but they should be timed appropriately within the season. This event was not. And we also now have proof that the audience didn't like Eddie not being involved. So it wasn't a decision that was beneficial to the show over all. Pointing that out is not an unfair criticism. It's an ensemble show. Spending a year and half on multiple storylines for two main characters at the cost of real and necessary movement in one single storyline for 3 other main characters (Eddie, Buck and Christopher) is flat out bad storytelling.

Thank you Nonny! 😁

I never quite looked at it from this point of view, but Ali has a point here.

Maybe it's time for Bobby and Athena to spend some time decorating their new house, so the focus can go to Eddie, Buck, Madney + baby and Henren for a change.

Just a thought. 🤷‍♀️

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

#anonymous blog I love #nonnies galore #911 abc issues #911 spoilers #buddie #T mention #L mention

62 notes · View notes

bnhaobservation · 9 months ago

Text

Todoroki family and chap 430

In case it wasn't obvious by now, I was very invested in the Todoroki family storiline and one of the things that sadden me the most about chap 430 is this image.

We've Enji, or maybe I should say Endeavor, Rei is pushing his wheelchair as he goes somewhere, we don't know where, some want to think he's visiting Touya but it's not said and, around him there are 3 men and a woman.

It's not his children, it's his sidekicks and Hawks.

The final chapter doesn't touch what happened to Natsuo and Fuyumi, we've to assume Fuyumi is happy with her work and Natsuo with his marriage.

We don't know if Touya is still alive but, anyway, he's going to die. Even if we assume he died happily he had said smiling was why they lived their lives. He could keep on living out of anger and grudge but not out of smiles and happiness?

Fuyumi has fought for all those years so hard because she wanted back her family and she basically get nothing, not her old family as Natsuo leaves and Touya dies and it's not even hinted she has a new one as it was Natsuo the one who got a girlfriend as soon as he entered university and marries her basically a year and a half later.

Natsuo is just rushedly married to this character of which we don't even know the name. We don't know if, in the end he visited Touya again or not, we don't know if he ever managed to overcome all the anger and pain he felt inside for how his father ruined the family.

Shouto became a Hero, but his mother is not with him to support him but she is with his father. We don't see his siblings around him, cheering for him. We don't know which effect had on him to reconnect with Touya only to lose him. We're only told he became a good Hero so people don't call him anymore Endeavor's son, forgetting people also looked poorly at him for being Dabi's brother. How did he overcome that? Evidently it somehow disappeared as all the first years are already all his fans and even Dai said all the kids wanted to be like Shouto... but, at the end of the day, we aren't shown Shouto having a good moment with his family, his good moments come from being a Hero and being with his friends.

Even if we assume that, despite having to marry Enji out of duty to help her family, Rei had fallen in love with Enji while their family was having a good time before he turned abusive, and now that she had forgiven him and he stopped being abusive she's glad to be back with him... skipping this was very vaguely constructed she lost 10 years in a hospital and we can't see her with her children. She's supposed to be happy being with him with one of her children dead and one of her children keeping away from his father because just being in the same room with him makes him feel bad.

Mind you, I'm not saying Natsuo should forgive Enji or force himself to be with Enji or whatever but having a person that's related to you that makes you to feel bad just by being in the same room with you so that you've to avoid that person, is not something that's good. If Enji and Rei live together and Natsuo wants to visit his mother he has to make sure to do it when his father is somewhere else. In the past Rei was split between taking care of Shouto, who couldn't be with her other children, and taking care of Touya, Fuyumi and Natsuo, with the result Natsuo felt neglected because he was very small when all this happened and needed his mother... but likely she ended up neglecting Fuyumi and Touya too because you can't be in two places at the same time. Now, instead than having to take turns with Shouto, Natsuo have to take turns with Enji.

Ad for Enji... all his atonement for what? He doesn't manage to rebuild a relation with his children, apparently his sidekicks and Hawks have replaced them, they're conveniently of the right number. His children would have gotten where they were even without his atonement because all we hear is about others helping them, he only get the cool sentence, we see nothing of his struggle. But this is also supposed to be a happy ending for him. Who care if he doesn't have his kids? He has his sidekicks and Hawks his newfound family he would have had anyway had he focused on his work only.

The story tried it's hardest to make me think he cared about his family but then I'm supposed to think he's happy not having any of the sort apart for Rei and a new found family.

Horikishi had already established in the previous chapter Enji would have his sidekicks and Hawks' support, I didn't need a reminder of that.

I needed to see THIS image at the end...

...maybe including Natsuo's girlfriend as he could have introduced her to the rest of the family... or him holding his firstborn and letting Rei see her grandchild.

I needed to see Fuyumi finding someone with whom to form a family since she can't have her own back and she wished so badly for it.

I needed to have this being shown to me...

...or at least to see Touya out of that contraption as he died in peace, a smile on his lips since happiness somehow couldn't save him but grudge could.

I needed to be told something that Enji did that HELPED his kids, that made them be better. Not something vague, I need something concrete. Even if they would never be with him, since he's supposed to atone to them, I need him to make something more than just give them a new house and pay for the bills because he'd been paying bills through all his life so that's not new.

I would have been fine with him watching them smile from a distance or hearing from Rei how they were doing and smiling.

Mind you, I'm willing to believe in Horikoshi's mind Enji now is a changed man and very sorry for what he did and loves his family and yadda yadda but there's a reason why we say 'show, don't tell' and so far Horikoshi is more interested in telling than showing.

I get that in his mind Enji is a character more important than Rei, Fuyumi, Natsuo or even Touya, I would have been fine with all that I've mentioned being shown through his perspective because he cares about his family and so he's happy if they're happy.

If, in all that talking Midoriya does about reaching out to others, what he wanted to point out was Enji had continued to reach out to help his family even if they had cut him out of their lives.

But no, the good part is that his sidekicks and Hawks are reaching out for him. Okay, I can take this as the test trying again to point out Enji will never be a Hero, in the end he's not the one reaching out but the one others have to reach out to help but, again, it was established in the past chapter so I didn't need a reminder and it kind of steps all over his arc of trying to reach out for his family.

In the end the most he does is to just take it when they want to yell at him and let them live the live they want... I do think it's a great thing if an abuser were to realize what he had done to his victims and try to atone. It's kind of a miracle turned true... but there's just too little of it in this story.

Maybe I'm missing some deep cultural context, maybe Enji is doing something AMAZING for his family that Horikoshi thought he didn't need to show because it's obvious to Japanese readers but... but I wish he had shown it. Instead the moment Enji finally stop being a Hero and could do something for his family, the manga ends with his family disregating but I'm supposed to see it as a happy ending.

I prefer it had just been called a sad ending. Bad things happen, I can stomach them but honestly "Ano Hana" makes a much better work at portraying grief and atonement and the same goes for "Koe no katachi".

Horikoshi knew he was selling this manga also to foreign readers. I'm not saying he should have made his manga thinking to them but, if this atonement arc was so important, maybe he should have made it more understandable for us as well. This makes the diffference between a national mangaka and an international one.

#boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #Todoroki Enji #Todoroki Shouto #Todoroki Touya #Todoroki Fuyumi #Todoroki Rei #Todoroki Natsuo #bnha ramblings

159 notes · View notes

thisgirlnamedblusy · 7 months ago

Note

Yo! Hello there blusy :3 (is that what i call you? .. sorry .. bad at context)

would u mind writing a tiny lil blurb/oneshot about Reader being like, a saleperson that walked up to Donnas estate, trying to get her to buy fabric or whatever, being totally clueless to who Donna is? Not being from the village/country and all, assuming Donna was just a very tall goth gal?

(Donna just standing there confused like.. what? Huh? Angie, if i remember the dolls name correctly, is just laughing her ass off)

Make it wholesome or i'll eat you. /hj (lighthearted!! Dont take this as a genuine threat .. aha ..)

also ignore the fact i might be writing this in like a really weird way .. this is the first time ive requested something .. so .. i hope i asked this okay?? 😵‍💫

thank you, thank you, much love, from useless internet loser named Jooseboxxe 🧃

Yesss!!!! Was it your first request?? Welcome then!!! Thank you for your love, your support, and your request!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :)))))

A clueless outsider

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff,

Word count: 8,005

Summary: What's going on here...?

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

On your trips through Europe you had visited many places, you had even gotten lost in many of them, but there was nothing that could compare to that journey through the villages of Romania, to the radical change of what you had around: a poorly paved road, sinister trees that seemed to chase you, crows...

You were a merchant, a kind of nomad who traveled through old Europe trying to make it on your own. Without family and friends, traveling, selling and repeating was your routine. Visiting new places, meeting people of all kinds was always the only thing that kept you with a slight sanity. Loneliness was never your enemy, but it wasn't your ally either.

Your old GPS had stopped working a long time ago, but you, who always looked on the bright side of things, didn't give it any importance. You assumed that the thick forest was the guilty.

“What!?” you screamed when your tedious driving made a sharp turn to avoid a strange shadow in the middle of the neglected road. “Damn!” you screamed again, trying to keep control of the vehicle that, due to your sharp turn, went down a slope until it crashed spectacularly into a tree.

Luckily it was nothing serious.

“Oh…” you lamented, trying to stay calm, thinking about what you had seen. It seemed as if someone, or something, was in the middle of the road. You couldn't see it well. It looked like a vermin, perhaps, or some absent-minded peasant.

Of course, what had caused the accident wasn’t the biggest of your worries. The sound of the vehicle's engine dying over and over again was an unpleasant mockery, as was the smoke coming out of the hood.

“No, no, no,” you protested, hitting the steering wheel and giving up, getting out of the vehicle. “That's all I needed…” you sighed, rubbing your eyes and taking out your phone, looking around.

“112,” you repeated while dialing the numbers, hoping that mistake wouldn't lead to a fine, since you had spent a lot of money on the way and you didn't have any cash. “What? It must be a joke…” you sighed when no one answered on the other end of the phone.

There was no signal, not even for emergencies. You had to have an accident in the most isolated place in Romania.

Looking at the vehicle and then around you, you sighed, shaking your head. You took several steps forward to try to make out something among the trees. A small wisp of black smoke rose before you. There seemed to be a village very close, and that, at least, was hopeful.

Taking what you needed, you walked towards that village, looking up when you were close enough, admiring an imposing castle that seemed to watch over the town, a beautiful construction that you hadn't seen in any of your travel guides.

At least in that place, someone could help you, or so you thought.

Snow, old houses... A graveyard in the middle of the square... It was a picturesque place, no doubt, although sightseeing wasn't your main idea. It didn't seem abandoned, but you didn't see anyone in the tiny streets either, maybe in the castle?

“Can I help you with something, miss?” a deep voice made you jump.

You were sure there was no one around you.

From an old carriage, whose doors suddenly opened, a strange, exaggeratedly fat man appeared with a sinister smile. The fright made your mind ignore those disturbing details, and you saw that man as a possible savior.

“Um... Hello,” you said with a more timid smile than usual, trying to bring out a bit of your business friendliness, downplaying that sudden appearance, that disconcerting appearance. “The, the truth is that I do need help.”

“What can I do for you, outsider?” that man asked, looking at you cautiously, without removing from his face a smile that seemed familiar to you. “To see tourists around here isn’t very common.”

“Tourist? Oh, no, no, I...” you said, recognizing the smug air of his words, the blood of a merchant running through his veins. “I, I had an accident with my car and... My phone doesn't work.”

“I see,” the man said, shaking his head. “What a bad luck.”

“Yes…” you sighed, with a more confident smile. “Uh… I need to call a tow truck, or someone who can repair my vehicle. It's nothing serious, or so I think,” you explained with a formal tone.

“It's normal in these cases,” he said, amused, with a tone that made you a bit suspicious.

“Is there a mechanic in this village?” you asked, looking around.

“A mechanic? Well, I think there's someone who's… How to put it… Expert in manipulating vehicles,” the man explained, arching his eyebrows.

You nodded with a sigh of relief.

“Great, could you call him?” you asked in a friendly tone.

“Oh, but I'm afraid his services have a price, outsider,” the man in the carriage commented. “As well as mine.”

“Oh, sure, sure… I have, I have money,” you said, rummaging through your bag and taking out your credit card. “Well, if it's not too expensive…”

“That won't do anything here, miss, keep that piece of plastic,” he said, making an unpleasant gesture with his hand.

“What? But…” you said nervously, shaking your head.

“I've never believed in money as an intangible thing. If I can't touch it, it doesn't exist, understand?” he said.

“Yeah, but… I don't have any lei right now, I…” you whispered, looking for some change, one you couldn't find. “I only have euros in cash.”

“Euros? Oh, please…” the fat man laughed, moving the carriage at the same time. “Your euros are of no use here.”

“But, but I need help, at least let me call emergency services,” you said with a more serious tone, crossing your arms. “Are you going to charge me for that too?”

“If it's something you need… Of course I’m,” he said amused

“It's clear that you're a merchant,” you commented with a furious gasp. “An unscrupulous one…”

“Yes, you've guessed right,” he laughed again. “Is there even one with principles?”

“Me, for example, I’m also a merchant,” you hissed, looking at a dark flock of crows that shrank your spirit. It was a terrifying place.

“Oh, what a coincidence,” the man said, leaning towards you.

“Yes, fabulous,” you said ironically, looking away. “Tell me at least where I am. Is there any other town nearby?”

“I'm afraid there isn’t,” he replied. “It seems that you have run out of options... Or maybe you haven’t.”

“Explain yourself,” you said with a frown, seeing in his smile, an imminent proposal.

“Sometimes something as simple as a bag of coins can be enough to close a deal but... There are days when it’s not enough... I don't know if you get it...” the strange man explained.

“No,” you said, wanting to leave that place.

“I propose something to you, miss… Maybe you don't have money to offer me, but I think that, being a merchant, you could pay me in another way,” he said with a gloomy voice, without removing that smile from his face.

“It's true… I have, I have some products in the car, maybe if I give them to you, you can…” you said, thinking about your possibilities.

“Actually, as tempting as your offer may be, I'm afraid I don't need anything you have to offer me, however…”

“However…” you repeated through clenched teeth.

“Today I woke up a bit lazy, perhaps you would like to do me the favor of saving me the trouble of having to wander around the village doing my job,” the man commented, looking at his nails with disinterest.

“What? Do you want me to work for you?” you asked annoyed, refusing instantly. “Listen, I have to get out of this place and…”

“You want your car repaired, I want this list of orders to disappear. It's a good deal,” he said, taking out a piece of paper and handing it to you. Several names of products followed by each other were written on it.

“If I take this to those people, will someone fix my car?” you asked curiously. “Come on, it's too easy.”

“Trading seems very easy for you,” the man commented. “But if you do me this favor... Well, you'll be closer to being able to get out of here.”

“Okay, fine,” you said defeated, not finding another immediate way out of that situation. “I'll work for you. I hope you keep your word.”

“It's business, I never play with business,” he whispered. “By the way, I'm the Duke...”

“Duke? I can't say I'm glad to meet you,” you said with a mocking smile. “I'm... (Y/N),” you said, shaking the big hand of that man with a strange name.

After telling him where your wrecked car was, you accompanied the man to a warehouse of sorts, where you collected all the things on the list. It looked like an old village, with old customs. There was nothing remotely similar to the 21st century, but you didn't give it much thought. You were born with the ability to overlook things. Perhaps that's why you were that good at business.

The people of the village seemed surprised, even frightened by your presence, but your talents and your sales skills helped you with the task. They were strange people, but kind in their own way, fearful, but... somehow, easy to fool.

In a few hours, you were almost finished with that list and returned to the Duke's warehouse for your last order.

“Is that an empty cart?” the merchant asked, looking at the cart you were dragging. “Have you sold everything?”

“Yes,” you said satisfied, letting yourself fall into a chair. “I have sold the family, I think it was… Djovic, the baby clothes.”

“The clothes? Oh, that's good,” the man said, counting the coins you gave him, satisfied with your services. “Good job.”

“I suppose this won't help to fix my car,” you said distrustful of the look of the Duke, who obviously laughed amused, shaking his head.

“Mm, no, miss, but you’re on the right track,” he commented, gesturing for you to come closer, pointing to a package with what looked like fabrics. “There is one last order for you…”

“Fabrics?” you asked curiously, loading those rolls into the cart. “Okay…”

“You have to sell those fabrics to Lady Beneviento,” the man explained, with a slightly darker voice, narrowing his eyes.

You shrugged, examining the merchandise.

“Lady Beneviento…” you repeated, scratching the back of your neck. “She seems like someone important, is she from the castle?”

“Oh, no, no…” he whispered. “She lives in a house near the village.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding. “Beneviento… Okay, where does that woman live?”

“Mm,” the Duke murmured, with a strange smile. “Go towards that square over there,” he said, leaning out of the carriage and pointing to a path. “There you will see a wooden door decorated with a moon and a sun. Go through the door and follow the path, cross the bridge and it won't take long to you to reach the estate.”

“Okay, great,” you sighed, looking at the road in the distance. “Is she a seamstress or something?”

“Not exactly… She's a complicated woman, but seeing how you dealt with the villagers, I think you won't have any problems,” the man explained, with a slightly disturbing tone you didn't pay attention to.

“Wait, didn't she ask for these fabrics?” you asked curiously, looking at the small cart full again.

“The best merchant is the one who sees the need before it exists, don't you think?” the man asked.

You frowned and shook your head.

“A door with a sun and a moon, a bridge… Fine, I'll do it,” you said murmuring, grabbing the handle of the cart and leaving through the door.

“Oh, Miss (Y/N),” the Duke interrupted, with a voice that was too kind. “It was a pleasure to meet you…”

You opened your eyes at that mysterious phrase, but you didn't give it any importance, you kept walking ignoring that comment from the merchant. It was certainly a strange place, probably the strangest you had ever visited. On top of that, you were trapped there, but you couldn't complain either, at least you could do your job.

Following the Duke's instructions, you entered an even darker forest, on a path that seemed devoured by the passage of time. It didn't take long for you to see the dangerous wooden bridge and, despite your vertigo, you managed to cross it.

Everything around you seemed to be in ruins. You imagined what that place would have been like a few years ago as you walked between two abandoned cabins towards a small clearing, one with a grave in the middle, a grave that you didn't approach out of respect.

“Wow… Whoever lives here must have a lot of money,” you commented, approaching a red door, pulling the cart behind you. “Surely that Beneviento is the typical old lady who can't go to the village. I'm not surprised. It seems as if she doesn't want anyone to come near this place.”

An old elevator was waiting for you to go up. Your danger instincts were deactivated. On your travels you had met very peculiar people. Neither that extravagant merchant, nor that mysterious house seemed anything out of the ordinary.

Maybe that was it, or maybe you were just a girl of simple convictions. You always had a logical explanation for everything.

“Whoa… Incredible,” you said leaving the elevator, walking along a small path towards an old mansion, a spectacular construction next to a waterfall. “This is really curious,” you commented, admiring the subtle and dull beauty of that place, a strange, uncomfortable beauty, but a beauty nonetheless.

“Ahem,” you said, clearing your throat as you crossed the gates of the mansion, which seemed surrounded by strange plants, like an unkempt garden. “If everything goes well, I can leave soon…” you whispered as you climbed the steps and fixed your hair.

It didn't look like the place of residence of any ordinary villager. You would have to use your best skills. Carefully, you knocked softly on the door, looking curiously at your surroundings.

“Hello?” you asked when you didn't get an answer. “Is anyone home?”

“It's an outsider, Donna…” A murmur behind the door made you stand up elegantly. It seemed like a high-pitched voice, as if it were a little girl. “What do we do?”

“H-Hello?” you asked again, sure you had heard that voice. “Sorry, but, but, I came to…”

“No? Why? Oh, yes, it's true, we haven't played for a long time…” the girl's voice said again, approaching the door. “She looks like a silly girl…”

“Hey,” you protested silently, shaking your head. “What manners that girl has…”

The door opened with a creak and before you appeared a strange sight: a woman dressed completely in black, with her face covered by a veil, holding a strange doll in her arms. Her pose was straight, elegant, and her voice seemed not to want to leave her lips.

“Uh… Hello,” you said nervous at that curious sight, at that strange woman in mourning. “Sorry for the inconvenience but… Oh, well, first of all, I give you my deepest condolences.”

You lowered your head slowly and respectfully, looking curiously at the hands of that lady, hands that erased the image you had of an older woman. She looked like a young one.

“What are you talking about?” the same shrill voice from before spoke while the mouth of that doll moved, leaving you pinned to the ground, stunned.

“Oh… what?” you asked confused, frowning and looking closely at the doll. “Oh, it's a ventriloquist doll, how curious,” you said naturally, looking up at the lady's covered face.

You didn't want to ask the reason why that woman spoke through the doll. What you thought was that maybe she was dedicated to giving shows in the town, nothing out of the ordinary for someone as open-minded as you.

“Who are you calling a doll, stupid outsider?” the doll protested in an amused tone, making you laugh curiously.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” you joked, playing along with that doll. “Um... Um... Well, I'm very sorry for your loss, Lady... Beneviento?”

“What loss?” the doll asked, making your gaze separate from the lady's.

“W-Well, you're dressed in mourning and... Well, it's not very common to do it anymore but... Um, I...” you stammered.

“Do my Donna’s clothes annoy you?” the doll asked again, making you blink in confusion.

“Donna? Is that your name?” you asked curiously. “It's, it's a beautiful name...”

“Who are you?” the puppet asked again, pointing at you with its finger.

You focused your eyes well to see the strings that surely guided the doll to move. The woman in black seemed not to move, something even more mind-blowing to you.

“I'm (Y/N), I'm, I'm here for... Well, the truth is that I had an accident and... Well, I don't want to bore you with the details, but the Duke asked me to help him and...”

“The fat guy?” the doll asked, tilting her head comically.

Your eyes returned to the lady, who stood firm, with that black veil hiding her face. You nodded slowly, forcing your face into a typical merchant smile.

“Y-Yes, I… I have come to bring you these fabulous fabrics,” you said, pointing to the cart. “The Duke told me you might need them.”

“Let me get this straight…” the doll commented, with a slightly stranger voice. “You say that the Duke has sent you to sell us fabrics? You?”

“Well, yes,” you said, nodding more confidently, taking one of the small black rolls and holding it out to the woman. “Surely this shade of black will suit you.”

“It's clear that you're not a villager,” the doll joked, laughing softly. “Don't you know who you're talking to, stupid?”

“What? Oh, well, to Lady Beneviento, right?” you said absentmindedly, keeping your smile. “Donna?”

“She is Donna,” the doll said, pointing at the woman, who looked at it briefly, sighing, apparently.

“Oh, okay…” you said a bit confused, frowning. “You are Donna, right? Donna Beneviento?” you asked again.

“Are you stupid? I told you that she is Donna,” the doll insisted. “I’m Angie, Miss Angie to you, outsider.”

“Angie,” you repeated even more confused.

You had seen enough ventriloquist so that this kind of personality dissociation didn’t seem strange to you. Who knows, maybe she was giving you a free show.

“Miss Angie!” the puppet squealed, moving nervously in the arms of its owner, who whispered something you couldn't interpret. “Donna, get this over with, she makes me nervous.”

“Yes, it's true, it will be better if we talk business…” you said, interrupting that strange conversation between woman and puppet, making both of them look at you suddenly. “If you don't like this black fabric… Well, I also have…” you said, rummaging through the cart. “Oh, this grey fabric is also quite fancy.”

“Stop, stop, stop,” Angie doll interrupted, making an impossible gesture with her hands. “Are you serious? Do you intend to sell us fabrics?”

“Of course, I, I'm a merchant, it's, it's what merchants do,” you said in an informal tone, assuming that this woman spoke only through the doll, something that didn't seem strange to you.

On your travels you had met people of all kinds, she was no exception.

Lady and doll looked at each other again, shrugging comically at the same time. You laughed too, thinking, of course, that it was funny.

“It's incredible, I once saw a show of a man who had a similar puppet,” you explained, rummaging through the fabrics. “I think its name was... Billy the Rebel or something like that. The man barely moved his lips, it almost seemed like the puppet was alive.”

“Ohh...” the doll murmured in a sinister tone, with the same high-pitched voice as a child.

“Although well, wearing a veil makes things much easier, doesn't it? It's almost like cheating,” you commented amused, pointing at the lady, who fidgeted nervously, tilting her head. “Oh, I don't mean to say that you're a cheater or anything like that, it's just a comment.”

“Cheating? I can't believe it...” the doll said, shaking its head and resting a wooden hand on its forehead. “Donna, this girl is an idiot.”

“Idiot? Oh, yes, idiot for having such low prices especially for you,” you said, taking the insult easily. All those dolls always had a similar personality. “Like this ruffled fabric. I'm sure it will serve to make a beautiful dress.”

“A dress?” Angie asked, apparently holding back its laughter. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, I'm not saying that your dress is ugly,” you said apologetically, not paying attention to the lady or the doll, focusing on your work. “I also had my gothic phase,” you commented amused, comparing the black fabrics with the lady's dress, getting so close that she took a step back, nervous.

“Gothic? Like a cathedral?” the doll asked, amused.

If it weren't for the fact that that woman was a ventriloquist, you would be thinking that she was starting to make fun of you.

“No,” you said laughing. “W-Well, I used to always wear black, like, like you, wear black lipstick… Everything black, you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t understand a word, silly,” Angie said, shaking its head, with a sinister laugh. “Besides, my dress is white.”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about… Your dress,” you said amused but with a kinder tone. “I meant, Donna, right?”

“You have some guts to call my Donna by her name,” the doll commented, drawing your attention again. “Do you really not know who you’re talking to?”

“N-No…” you sighed, trying not to let your smile fade. “Oh, wait…” you whispered, blinking, letting curious thoughts wander freely through your mind. “Ah, okay, I get it now…”

“Do you understand your situation now, stupid?” Angie mocked, laughing again. “Then you can start running and…”

“How did I not notice before?” you murmured, interrupting that strange phrase from the doll. “Forgive me.”

“It's late to apologize, outsider,” Angie growled, while the lady slightly raised her hand towards you, a gesture you overlooked.

“The clothes are not for you, but for Angie, right?” you asked, taking out a piece of cloth similar to the doll's. “Of course, how stupid I am…”

“W-What?” the puppet asked, confused.

The lady in black lowered the hand she had raised and you ignored a shiver that ran down your back, you even thought you heard voices. It had been a hard day, you weren’t surprised by the sudden tiredness your body felt.

“Forgive me, Donna, I already said that I'm not from here and... Well, luckily for you, and for me, the fabrics can be used in the way you prefer, besides, I'm convinced that a gray dress is perfect for Angie,” you said confidently, taking out a gray plaid fabric. “The wedding dress is fine, but you're probably thinking of something simpler, maybe with this Angie can look like a very formal lady.”

“What? What?” the doll repeated. “Hey, but...”

“Well, or you could also buy this black fabric and make her a dress just like yours. Wouldn't that be cool? Black is an interesting color like any other.”

A loud laugh echoed off the rocks of that place, off the walls of that old mansion. The Angie doll laughed non-stop, leaving you confused at first, making you react the same way, laughing softly.

“Don't go on, don't go on, I'm dying,” the doll said, being lowered to the floor by its owner.

You stopped laughing when you saw how that puppet remained standing, how it even seemed to throw itself on the ground to writhe with laughter.

“Wow...” you said, bending down to observe the doll, not finding anything strange in those movements, in the lack of strings or mechanisms. “Wow, I thought this village was a bit old-fashioned, but that robot is really impressive...” you murmured, getting a little closer to the doll.

“Mm?” a confused sound came from the black veil, a tone very different from that of the doll.

The lady looked at the puppet, who continued to laugh tirelessly until the laughter disappeared for a moment.

“A robot...” the doll commented. “A robot!” Angie shrieked, laughing again in a scandalous way. “This girl is great, Donna.”

“Do you make them? You must have a lot of clients,” you said curiously, looking at the woman in black, who seemed confused, looking at you and the doll repeatedly.

“I make porcelain dolls,” a hoarse voice came out from behind the black veil, a melodic voice, soft but damaged, as if she hadn't used it for a while.

“Oh, wow, it's comforting to talk to you, that doll is quite a naughty girl, isn't she?” you said amused, causing more laughter from the puppet. “Wow, that's also very, interesting... It's not very common.”

“I suppose is not,” she commented, relaxing her shoulders and gesturing towards the doll, who stopped laughing immediately, standing up again. “It's not common to see a stranger around here either.”

“How curious, everyone in this village has said the same thing,” you commented, scratching the back of your neck, no longer feeling that strange heaviness in your head. “I'm surprised it's not a tourist spot, the castle is amazing.”

“The castle? Donna, the castle!” Angie squealed, laughing again. “She likes the castle…”

“Of course, it's wonderful, what century is it from?” you asked curiously. “I'd like to visit it.”

“Oh, yes, I'm sure Alcina would like you to visit it too…” the doll commented, approaching its owner with a walk that was too soft for a robot.

“It's from the 17th century,” the woman said, with a serious, cold tone. “You said you had an accident.”

“Oh, yes, well,” you said nervously. “My car crashed into a tree and… I ran into the Duke and what a surprise, he doesn't accept that I pay a mechanic with my credit card so he offered me to work for him.”

“Credit card?” the lady asked, tilting her head curiously. “I'm afraid I don't know what you mean.”

“Oh, um…” you said, rummaging through your bag in confusion and pulling out your wallet. “My, my credit card… You know,” you said, taking out the card and making a gesture as if you were going to pay with it. “No?”

“No,” she said, with a strange sigh. “Can I take a look?” she asked, extending her pale hand towards you.

You, trusting, handed her the card. It seemed incredible to you, but this woman had no idea what you were talking about.

“Is that money? It's just a piece of plastic,” the doll said, letting Donna show it to the puppet as well, giving it back to you shortly after.

“Um, yeah, well…” you stammered, putting away your wallet. “But let's stop talking about me… So… Do you want some fabric for your dolls?”

“Give me all of them,” she said in a whisper, making the doll gasp in surprise. “I'll go get your money.”

You nodded in relief and looked curiously at the animatronic doll, who was impatiently tugging at her owner's dress.

“But Donna, are you going to let her go? She's an outsider… Hey, Donna, silly Donna, listen to me…”

Luckily, the payment was large and after a friendly farewell you were able to return to the village. Your little encounter with Donna Beneviento wasn’t what you expected, but that woman with an Italian accent seemed curious to you, enough so that you couldn't stop thinking about her during your return. She was a strange woman, but relatively normal.

Despite that black veil, you didn't see anything that made you think you were in danger, nothing at all. In fact, you could say that the doll technology was amazing. Maybe that strange woman was like that because she was some kind of genius.

“Ugh, it’s an useless piece of junk…” a male voice said as you approached the warehouse. “But I guess I’ll find a place for it at the factory…”

“I think so, Lord Heisenberg.” The Duke’s voice made you walk faster, finding yourself in the warehouse with a curious sight: your car was there, without any kind of vehicle that had brought it.

Next to it was the Duke, in his carriage, and next to him was a man with a hat. He seemed like a bit of a strange man, but after meeting the doll lady it wasn’t something too out of place.

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat to get the attention of the men, who turned sharply, staring at you, as if they were surprised.

“Miss, (Y/N), you’re back,” the Duke said with a fake smile, unable to hide his surprise. “I’m impressed.”

“Hey, didn't you say that the girl had gone to Beneviento's estate?” the other man asked, with an equally surprised smile.

“Yes, that's right, Lord Heisenberg,” the merchant said, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“I've already sold the fabrics, Donna seems like an interesting woman,” you commented without giving importance to those disturbing comments, leaving the empty cart in a corner.

“Interesting?” they both said at the same time, looking at each other with a strange expression.

“Mm,” you murmured, crossing your arms. “Oh, you must be the mechanic, I'm (Y/N), surely the Duke must have told you about me,” you said with a rehearsed smile, extending your hand towards the man, who shook it with a soft laugh.

“Of course,” he whispered. “Karl Heisenberg,” he introduced himself, bringing your hand to his lips in a gentlemanly manner. “It's a pleasure…”

“Yes, whatever,” you said, removing your hand with an informal gesture and approaching your car. “It would be a pleasure if you told me how much is going to cost that. You can fix it, right?”

“Fix it?” Karl asked, looking at you over his glasses, with an evil smile, one which at least looked evil.

“Ahem, Lord Heisenberg…” the Duke interrupted, with a fake smile. “Miss (Y/N) and I made a deal. She worked for me and you would be so kind as to repair her vehicle.”

“Oh, I see…” the supposed mechanic sighed, frowning. “It seems that you are losing faculties, Duke.”

“It seems that way…” the merchant whispered, making you blink in confusion. “Lady Beneviento has not been a problem for her…”

“Yes, it’s unusual,” the shorter man commented, shaking his head.

“Oh, well,” you interrupted innocently. “She is a strange woman, but the truth is that she seemed kind.”

“Kind…” both men sighed at the same time.

“Yes, and that robot of hers, the Angie doll, is impressive, it almost seems that it’s alive,” you said approaching your car, without giving importance to your words.

“What?” they asked in unison, looking at each other intensely and bursting into a loud laugh.

“I don't see what the joke is,” you said, annoyed by that mocking laugh. “Come on. Tell me how many days of work it's going to cost me.”

“I don't know, Miss…” the Duke said, wiping away the tears that caused his loud laughter, with the other man looking at you with a sardonic smile. “Wait a… “

The phone in the warehouse rang, interrupting.

“Allow me, just in case you get some exercise,” the Heisenberg guy joked, picking up the phone himself. “Hallo? Oh, ciao, dear…” he said in an amused but kind tone. “No, no, Angie… Ugh, stop… Shut the hell up!” he shrieked furiously.

Angie?

“Yes, that's better… I love the sound of your voice, little sister,” Karl said, leaning on the small table. “Yes, the fat guy is here… And his new assistant too, I think you’ve met her… Oh, yes… I don’t think Miranda would be happy with that… Oh, okay, okay… Paint? Well, that’s not my area of expertise but… Oh, yes, well, I know, I’ll tell him… ciao, ciao…”

You barely listened to the conversation. You just stared at the wreckage of your car.

“Donna,” the man said, sighing and approaching the Duke, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “She wants some paint.”

“Paint? I sent her a few cans last week,” the merchant commented.

Heisenberg shrugged.

“Looks like you have more work to do, girl…” the man murmured, walking past you and out the door. “Duke, do me a favor and keep me informed, this is going to be interesting…”

“Of course, Lord Heisenberg,” the Duke said, looking at you moments later. “Well, (Y/N), you can sleep here for a while, until you pay off your debt.”

“Great…” you sighed, shaking your head.

“But now you have to go back to the Beneviento estate, apparently she needs paint…”

Without asking many more questions, you complied with his order, returning shortly after, chatting again with that curious, strange woman but… Whose presence seemed comforting to you.

Your car wasn’t going to be fixed overnight, and you began to accept that job as a new routine. Every day you walked around the village doing that man's job. None of the villagers seemed to want to answer your questions, none seemed… None seemed to believe that you were still there.

Confident and without any fear in the face of all those signs of danger, you continued working, and most importantly, you continued walking towards that dark mansion, having longer and longer conversations with that lady in black. Time passed so quickly that you barely noticed.

One of those days, mysteriously, the lady in black invited you to enter that mansion, you could see the portrait of a beautiful woman on the stairs, her portrait, or so you thought. Questions were constantly stalking your head, but your ignorance was your best protection.

Surely that lonely woman had suffered terribly, channeling part of her personality into that strange robot. Something disturbing, but also mind-blowing.

“So is he your brother?” you asked, sitting on an old sofa, with a cup of hot tea in your hands easing the cold.

“Something like that,” the veiled lady whispered, doing the same in front of you, with that robot roaming freely around the house.

“Oh, well, he seems like a strange man,” you said with a smile. “Do you think he can fix my car?”

“I don't know, I guess he can,” she said, with a somber tone, putting her cup elegantly on the table. “Tell me something about you.”

“About me?” you asked, with your cheeks blushing, something that sweet voice caused on your face. “There's not much to tell. I prefer, I prefer you talk to me about yourself.”

“No,” she said dryly, shaking her head. “I asked first, you're not interested in my life.”

“No? So, why are you interested in mine?” you asked amused with your merchant attitude speaking for you. “I'd like to know something about Angie.”

“What do you want to know?” the lady asked, scratching her knee through her dress, as if she were nervous. “I'm not sure I can answer your questions correctly.”

“Mm, well, to begin with... Is the voice yours or it has some kind of voice box?” you asked, pointing at the puppet, who approached curiously.

“Are you blind, silly? It's incredible that you haven't noticed yet,” the doll said, laughing amused again, like every time you made a comment about her. “Why are you wasting your time with that stupid girl? Miranda is going to get angry...”

“Miranda?” you asked curiously. It wasn't the first time you heard that name in the village, it seemed like someone dangerous... “Hey, come here,” you said, taking the doll by surprise. “Do you run on batteries? Where do you have them?”

“Batteries? Let me go, silly!” the doll protested while you searched for the electrical part of that robot, one that, of course, you didn't find, turning pale and lowering the doll to the floor with trembling hands.

“Um...” you murmured a bit dizzy. There was no mechanism that made the doll move. “My God... It can't be. It's, it's impossible...”

“Mm, it probably is for someone like you,” Donna commented, without making the slightest effort to explain herself, to make you understand why that doll was alive. “Are you starting to understand your situation?”

“N-No, not really,” you said, with a cold sweat running down your neck. “I don't know what kind of joke this is but... I'm, I'm starting to get scared.”

“Okay, be scared then,” the woman said with an amused laugh, standing up. “Angie, call Mother Miranda”

“Right away,” the doll said, running towards a small table with a telephone. “What do I tell her?”

“Tell her that the outsider won't be a problem anymore,” she murmured, walking towards you. “I'm sorry, (Y/N). I've really enjoyed your company, but you being here can cause me problems.”

“What? D-Donna, what are you talking about?” you asked nervously, moving restlessly on the couch, swallowing as the lady approached.

“I'm afraid you've chosen the worst place to have an accident, ragazza…” she whispered, bringing one of her hands to the black cloth that covered her face, removing it with a sigh, revealing you her true appearance, one that you couldn't even imagine.

You blinked several times, with the portrait of the stairs in your head, admiring the beauty of that woman, a special one, a beauty that a hideous scar on her right side tried to hide, but was unsuccessful.

“I hope you can forgive me,” the lady said, with a sad look, with her only eye shining due to a tear that left it as she moved her hand towards you.

“Forgive you, why?” you asked stuttering, shaking your head to get out of the daydream that beautiful woman caused you. “Oh, you have nothing to apologize for… We all, we all have flaws, you know? Besides, you are, you are a beautiful woman… I don’t think covering your face is rude.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, squeezing the veil in her hands. “Doesn’t my appearance scare you?”

“Well… It doesn’t…” you whispered, your mind sending you a thousand danger signals. “You were worried about that, weren’t you? You thought it was rude not to show your face but you were afraid to do so, right, Donna?”

“Cosa? But, but, (Y/N),” she said nervously, frowning, breathing heavily.

“You are beautiful, really,” you said with a sincere smile, getting up and putting yourself at her height, running a hand over her wounded cheek, one that she removed with a slap. “I’m sorry… What happened to you?”

“Um... I...” the lady stammered, turning her face away from your curious hand, running one of hers through her black hair, as if she were going to have an anxiety attack.

“Mother Miranda, I'm Angie, your faithful friend...” the doll's shrill voice interrupted an intense look, a look between you two that awakened something inside you, something that went beyond your intention to trade or seem friendly.

You really wanted to be, you wanted... To be closer to her.

“Cazzo...” the brunette hissed, walking quickly towards the doll and abruptly hanging up the phone, resting her hands on the table.

“Hey! I was talking to...!” the doll protested, jumping on the floor.

“No one has ever told me that I am beautiful,” the lady whispered, looking at you out of the corner of her eye.

“Well, I say what I think,” you sighed with a tender smile, one that she returned to you as she turned slowly. “By the way, who is Mother Miranda?”

“She is nobody, it doesn't matter,” the woman said, walking slowly towards you, playing with her hands. “Have you… have you finished your work?”

“Yes, I always come here last, so I can stay a bit longer. It's very nice to talk to you.”

“That's what Josef said��” the doll commented, amused, walking away when she received a deadly look from her owner.

“(Y/N), I… I, I would like… Well… That you would stay for dinner with me,” Donna said, with an innocent and nervous look. “I'm convinced that the Duke doesn't feed you properly.”

“You got it right,” you said amused. “I'm sick of that damn soup,” you joked again, pretending a grimace of disgust.

“Good, because… Because I would like… Maybe you want…”

“It will be a pleasure, Donna,” you said nodding, making her smile widen.

That dinner marked a different stage in your ostentatious stay in the village. Her gaze was tender, it was almost as if she was looking at you for the first time. As best she could, she explained some details of her life, her childhood, her loneliness…

You knew there was something she wasn't telling you, something she was hiding, but you didn't insist. That comforting feeling next to her grew, turning dinners into a pleasant routine. You couldn't find out anything else about the village, you weren't even interested in the living doll anymore. Donna seemed to be the only thing you had to pay attention to.

As time went by, that closeness went beyond the limits of a pure friendship. Tension began to be present in your encounters. You never believed in love at first sight, but you didn't believe in living dolls either, so... It was never too late to discover something new.

“It was delicious... That tidamisu was the best thing I've ever tasted in my life,” you said, wiping yourself with a napkin.

“Tiramisu,” the lady corrected you, with a pleased smile at your praise. “I'm glad you liked it.”

“Yes, you should sell them, I can help you,” you said amused, pointing at yourself, earning a tender laugh from the lady in black, who shook her head.

That phrase seemed innocent, but, certainly, a strange feeling accompanied the tension of your dinners with Donna. The feeling that maybe you weren't uncomfortable in that place, the feeling of leaving your travels and staying there permanently. You had work, food... A friend, or at least that's what you thought... You couldn't be happier.

“I have enough with the dolls,” Donna commented, smiling.

But there was something else that night, something that made you sad, something you had to tell her.

“The Duke told me this morning that the car is ready,” you said in a whisper, making the lady look at you briefly and then go back to finishing her dessert. “I can leave tomorrow.”

“Oh, well… It's, it's good news,” she said in a strange tone, like sad or disappointed.

“But I don't know, maybe, maybe I'll stay here a little longer. I'm very comfortable in this village,” you said sighing, rocking in the chair.

You almost fell when the lady in black suddenly slammed her fist on the table.

“No,” she said with a dangerous hiss, shaking her head. “You have to go.”

“But, but…” you stammered confused, blinking erratically. “I would like to stay here, with you…”

“No! You can't stay! You can't!” she shouted, furiously throwing the plates off the table, breaking them into a thousand pieces.

“Donna, Donna!” the doll shrieked, trying to calm her owner's fury.

“Donna, hey, calm down…”you said, getting up to put your hands on her shoulders. She seemed out of it, terribly nervous. “I, I've been thinking about it and… Well, maybe, maybe it's okay here…”

“No, no, no… You have to leave this place, it's, it's dangerous,” she murmured, letting you take her sweaty hand. “Please, go, I’m begging you.”

“Dangerous?” you asked curiously, frowning. “Donna, what's going on in this place?”

“You don't want to know and, and it's better this way, okay? You have to go as soon as possible, you have to go before… Cazzo… Please…” she whispered, now squeezing your hands with a pleading look. “I don't expect you to understand but… You have to get out of here. (Y/N)…”

“Okay, I…” you said, feeling the lady's fear, one that seemed impossible for someone like her. Maybe she was serious. “Then, then come with me. Let's go on a trip through Europe, the two of us…”

“I can't…” she whispered, shaking her head. “I can't get out of here…”

“Donna,” you sighed sad, disappointed. The story ended before it started.

“You're the only person I've really talked to in many years… I… I'll always remember you…” she sighed again, searching for something among the broken plates, taking out a kind of medallion hanging from a golden chain. “I wanted to give you this so, so you wouldn't forget me…”

“I could never forget you, Donna,” you whispered, getting a little closer, putting one hand on her cheek while the other played with the medallion. “But, but I don't have anything to give you.”

She laughed, letting a tear slide down her cheek, caressing you with her soft hand.

“But I have something in mind…” you sighed, closing your eyes, slowly approaching her lips, kissing them softly.

It was a short kiss, but one that confirmed the rumors you heard in your heart. Goodbyes were always the worst part of your trips, and even more so, having to leave such a wonderful woman.

“Don't forget about me, okay?” the lady sobbed, kissing you again and resting her forehead on yours. “I will never do, (Y/N)…”

You nodded, deciding it was the best time to leave, to let her hands go and get away from the warmth of her gaze.

The cold of the night cut your skin, tears froze on your cheeks. Why did you have to leave? It seemed like an absurd question because, even though you wanted to stay, you obeyed that woman in black, the woman you were terribly in love with.

The Duke and the Heisenberg guy kept their word and your car was waiting for you. Sobbing, finding a growing danger in that place, you put the key in the ignition, taking a last look at the village.

“Danger... what danger? Damn it...” you protested, hitting the steering wheel.

It was time to go back, to go back to your old life. You had no family, no friends, no one waiting for you, no promising future. All you had was Donna, and you were going to leave her behind because of an absurd fear that you didn't understand.

You put your hand on the keys, but you didn't turn them.

“What am I doing? Fuck it, throw me all the living dolls you want, I'm staying with you…” you hissed, leaving the vehicle with a bang and throwing the keys into the darkness, returning to the warm lights of the village.

It didn't take long for you to arrive back at the estate to hear some pitiful sobs coming from inside the house.

“You're stupid, Donna, why did you let her go?” the doll's shrill voice asked, which seemed to comfort a broken lady, who was crying uncontrollably.

“It's the best, Angie, if Miranda finds her…” she murmured.

“You're stupid, aren't you a Lord? Miranda won't do anything to her, she's always let you do whatever you want,” Angie said.

You listened carefully behind the door.

“But, but she is an outsider, and she doesn't like outsiders... She will kill her...”

“No, she won't, besides, the girl is stupid, she doesn't even know what's going on here,” the doll whispered.

“Gods… Angie, you're right… Cazzo, cazzo, cazzo!” Donna shouted, seeming to be running. “I have to stop her from leaving! Angie, the veil, quick! Angie!”

The door suddenly opened, making the lady freeze when she saw you.

“(Y/N)…” she murmured nervously. “You haven't left…”

“No, I haven’t” you said amused, moving the veil away from her face and kissing her slowly. “I don't know what's going on here but… I don't care, Donna, I want, I want to stay with you…”

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #re8 donna #re8 village #oneshot #requests

108 notes · View notes

arachnixe · 11 months ago

Text

Kinship

I peer through the glass into the holding chamber. The specimen within paces aimlessly, without purpose or direction, interacting with nothing inside.

“What’s wrong with it?” I ask.

“She’s been restless and agitated like this since we separated her from the others.”

I glance over at my partner. “‘She,’ huh?”

He shrugs, looking self-conscious. “I mean, look at her. She looks like a woman, doesn’t she?” He gestures vaguely into the chamber. “Or like she used to be one. We’re working on saving her, making her a person again anyway, right?”

I suppose we are trying to save it, but I certainly can’t think of this thing as a person the way it is now. Especially so utterly directionless with its connection severed to the rest of its Swarm.

It is a pretty thing, though, I must admit, vaguely person-shaped as it is.

Its skin—or carapace, rather, rigid and chitinous—is a lovely jade green, its limbs elegant and many-jointed.

The dark, hair-like structures on the top of its head are similarly striking. They’re probably some kind of setae; I’ll want to collect a sample for study.

It looks right at me through the glass, and I exhale softly in an involuntary expression of wonder. Its multifaceted eyes—two perfectly cut rubies of immaculate shine and impossible depth—grip me with something like longing until, an eternity later, it resumes its pacing.

“Doctor Klein? You catch that?” My partner interrupts my momentary lapse of concentration.

“Hm? Oh yes, remarkable eyes. I should document the observation.”

“Er, no. I was reminding you that I will not be staying to join you on your overnight observation.”

“Right. The wedding. Good luck on that. Or congratulations? I’m never sure what to say about these things.”

He laughs, clapping me on the shoulder. I flinch at the unexpected touch and hope my tight-lipped smile reads as genuine.

I breathe a sigh of relief when he leaves.

“Maybe I am the opposite of you,” I confide to the creature through glass. “You barely function without the company of your kind, and I barely function while in the company of mine.”

I settle down and get to work. “Perhaps with just the two of us, we’ll make good progress.”

I review my notes. When it was captured, the creature was observed to be patient, intelligent, and confident. It threatened several researchers and nearly escaped a half-dozen times before it could be brought to this facility.

And then it abruptly stopped trying.

We predicted some kind of reaction, of course. This facility had been specially constructed to isolate those inside from the—still poorly understood—mental connection between members of the Swarm.

We expected it to show signs of agitation, but not this…listless melancholy.

Its behavior remains unchanged as the hours pass, even as I try various forms of stimulation. It acknowledges nothing, not even recordings of others of its kind. Its eyes focus on nothing in particular, with only one occasional exception.

It watches me observe it sometimes.

I visit the glass-walled room with a fresh mug of coffee, and I catch it looking at me again. I move, and its eyes follow.

Yes, I manage to be a figure of interest even when nothing else is. Because I am the only other living thing in here, perhaps?

I approach the speak-through grill and attempt to open communication.

“Hello, my name is Dr. Klein.”

I did not think this through and find myself at a loss without a script. “Can you even understand me?”

It stares at me, unanswering. I fidget with my skirt uncomfortably.

There is something so compelling in its eyes. Though it does not emote like a person, it somehow projects a sense of deep sadness and longing.

“You’re lonely, aren’t you?” The insight strikes me with the force of lightning. I can practically feel its loneliness myself.

Why do I feel like I understand this creature better than my own family or coworkers? Their moods could be inscrutable, but I read this creature’s melancholy as plain as day.

I press my hand to the glass, and to my surprise, it approaches the window to mirror the gesture.

To hell with the study protocols. I want to understand these creatures, and this is the furthest anyone has gotten.

I override the security on the holding chamber and enter, hoping to reinforce whatever this tenuous connection is. I am more determined than ever to save it.

“Does this help?” I ask. “There’s no Swarm here, I know, but I’m here with you, and I’m on your side.”

One step at a time, it closes the distance to me. It moves slowly, as if to avoid startling me. The whole time, its beautiful eyes stare into mine.

Soon it’s inches away.

So close, I cannot help but acknowledge to myself that it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I am utterly entranced by it.

When it reaches its hand-like appendage to my face, I lean into the touch.

So smooth. Cool to the touch. Oddly sweet and comforting.

The affection I feel for this thing surprises me, but I do not care to debate myself about the validity of those feelings.

I probably should interrogate my willingness, however, when it pulls my lips to its mouth in a kiss.

The taste is sweet, like honey. Its tongue is almost human, though alien ridges and protrusions along the sides tickle my own tongue in novel and exciting ways.

It pulls away. The experience leaves me feeling gently fuzzy headed and with a welcome euphoria.

The creature opens its mouth to speak at last. “You save me?”

I recognize, somehow, that it pulled the thought—and maybe even the words themselves—from my mind. Something about that kiss…

I nod. “Of course. That’s the most important thing. May I exit the room?”

It permits me to leave.

I do not bother to reactivate the security.

What I need is fresh air to clear my head, I decide. I make my way through the facility toward the exit, flashing my badge to the overnight guards at the checkpoints.

I need to think clearly if I am to come up with a way to save this creature. And I will save it in a way that is kinder than my partner intends.

No, he would force it to be a person again. That’s a cruelty I’ve had to live my whole life with, and I now know of another way.

The lock cycles. As I take my first step outside, the fuzziness in my head clears. It focuses into distant chatter, into light and life and song and…

The Swarm floods my mind. The sudden connection nearly drops me to my knees, but I maintain my outward composure.

Knowledge, thought, and desire floods me in a way that nearly overwhelms.

The feeling of connection and belonging is so beautiful, I nearly cry.

I don’t. A precious member of the Swarm is still held captive.

With our combined knowledge, we make a plan to save it.

#empty spaces #my writing #hiveminds #becoming

188 notes · View notes

jennysparksandtheauthority · 6 months ago

Text

The fallacy of realism in Life is Strange Double Exposure. Another more or less analytic rant :)

Okay. I lied. This is the real LAST commentary about Deck Nine's fiasco. Or maybe not.

ANYWAY. I'm reading a lot of discourse of how it's realistic that Max and Chloe would break up.

Even the devs have been on Twitter saying the most basic stuff you've heard a thousand times before:

As someone who’s been in a loving, committed relationship for more than a decade (and we met in our early 20s), that shit MAKES NO SENSE FOR PRICEFIELD. Move forward? Yes. Absolutely. But you can move forward with another person. Moving forward doesn't have to mean leaving your partner behind, and certainly not for these two.

Max and Chloe didn’t create a “trauma bond”. People seem to forget they were childhood best friends. They went through trauma together. There’s a difference.

Each time my wife and I went through devastating shit (cause life is a bitch sometimes), I leaned on her, we carried each other. We went through rough days, of course, we fought sometimes, but we grew together. I fell more in love with her seeing her taking decisions, reacting to me, dealing with her own shit, taking care of me when I didn’t have the energy to take care of myself as I would take care of her when the roles were reversed.

Sure, some relationships don’t survive when they go through bad times.

But Max and Chloe? These two literary broke space and time for each other.

Characters have to be profoundly CHANGED at the end of stories for them to be meaningful, for stories to move us. This has been established since we began to tell stories around campfires thousands of years ago. It's been engraved in conventional storytelling even way before Aristotle gave it a name in his Poetics.

At the end of the BAE romantic path, Chloe was ready to die for Max, and for a whole town of people who mostly despised her. She had changed profoundly. She had understood the meaning of love and loyalty and devotion, because Max showed her.

Max was ready to face the consequences of choosing Chloe. She had changed too. She had understood that loving Chloe made her better, braver, determined, that the past was in the past and that she couldn’t keep rewinding. That she had to accept herself, fight back, take ownership of her destiny.

When they left Arcadia Bay they were both devastated, but ready to fight for each other and move on. The Chloe that gave Max that reassuring touch and that loving look at the end of the game would NEVER, under no circumstances, break up with Max by letter saying all kinds of mean shit. This destroys both their characters' arcs from LIS1. It's an unsuccessful, poorly camouflaged reboot.

Maybe if the break up was presented differently it wouldn’t have enraged so many people. Maybe. We’ll never know. I’d still argue that having a path where Chloe is dead, the decision to break them up was absolutely unnecessary. But to have made that decision, and to justify the OOC behavior and the outcome of their relationship by saying “it’s realistic” (some people have taken the devs' discourse to heart) is just ridiculous and dissapointing, and just straight out unprofessional. This kind of revisionism and lack of understanding of the themes and motivations of the first game is truly baffling, so much so it’s hard for me to believe how NO ONE at Deck Nine or Square Enix with some level of responsibility and proper education in media stopped the madness.

Writers choose what to include in a story, meaning they bear responsibility for the narrative choices they make, regardless of whether those choices are realistic. Fiction is an inherently constructed art form. Authors decide what to include, exclude, emphasize, or downplay. Using “realism” as a justification can be seen as a way to avoid responsibility for narrative decisions, especially when those decisions are unpopular or ethically troubling.

This is writing 101, and I can’t believe a supposedly professional game dev studio is acting like children writing their first fics on Wattpad and falling into the realistic fallacy.

In “The Decay of Lying,” Oscar Wilde famously argued that “Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life,” suggesting that art should not be constrained by realism. Another example is the philosopher and literary critic Roland Barthes, who in “The Death of the Author,” argued that the meaning of a text is not determined solely by the author’s intentions, thus challenging the notion that invoking realism absolves a writer of their choices.

They CHOSE to break them up.

They chose to villainize Chloe, the canonically queer, fan-favorite character that was at the heart of the story along with Max. Together.

Crying realism doesn’t make it any less senseless, knowing damn well they knew how it would affect people.

So, Deck Nine, Square Enix: please take some fucking responsibility.

BONUS (Michel Koch ❤️):

#life is strange #pricefield #chloe price #max caulfield #life is strange double exposure #life is strange spoilers #lis #deck nine #square enix #michel koch #dontnod entertainment #bury your gays got morphed into reboot your gays #media literacy might really be dead after all

94 notes · View notes

swaps55 · 1 year ago

Note

I have never heard of an epithet before! What does it mean?

This is a great question! You have probably seen many of them, and just not heard them referred to as epithets.

An epithet is more or less a descriptive word or phrase that stands in the place of a name or a pronoun, such as, “the taller man,” or “the brown-haired woman.” In my experience, fanfic writers in particular tend to latch onto them, especially when trying to create variety in scenes with two characters who share the same pronouns.

I’ll put my thoughts on them under the cut, because I have Opinions on epithets, but I am not An Authority. I’m not your mom. I’m not here to tell you what to do or how to write, and I’m not here to ruin your fun, but we all have the hills we’ll die on and this one is mine. If you are a fan of epithets, just give this post an eyeroll or the finger and scroll on. If you want to know more about epithets and why I think writers can and should avoid them, read on!

Let me get this out of my system: I loathe epithets. Do whatever you want with your oxford comma, but take your epithets out back and shoot them.

Okay, now that’s out of the way, I’ll be a little more constructive about the purpose epithets serve and why I think they are so frequently used poorly.

In my experience, they’re often used as a tool to avoid pronoun confusion, but it’s an inelegant tool that can become a crutch. You have two characters of the same gender in a scene, you have already used their names in a sentence, but the pronoun antecedent is unclear unless you name the character again. You don’t want to do that because it feels repetitive, so you pick out a physical quality and use that instead. Problem solved! Except instead of solve the problem, you’ve potentially introduced new ones.

Nuance is important, and to talk tools we should be using the same toolbox, so for the sake of this argument I’m going to assume we’re talking about 3rd person limited POV, because that’s what I generally see, read, and write the most of.

Chances are very high that the descriptor you chose for your epithet derived from you the writer’s perception of the character being described and not the POV character. This is important, because if you are writing in 3rd person limited, the way you describe other people is how the POV character sees the person being described.

Now tell me. Have you ever thought of a close friend, a lover, or someone whose name you know as, “the taller woman,” or “the dark-haired man?” Have you ever thought about YOURSELF in these terms? Probably not. I have never looked at my Real Life Romance Option and thought of him as “the brown-eyed man” or “the taller man.” I’ve also quite frankly never consciously thought of him as “my lover.” Is he all of those things? Yes. But from my POV, those are never descriptors I would use for him. Once you know a person’s name, they tend to become Their Name and not ‘Random Characteristic” in your mental picture of them.

So when you default to Random Characteristic, it’s usually the writer talking, not the character. And chances are high that the characteristic you choose to represent is not something that is important to the POV character or the scene in that moment. Therefore, is it significant enough to the reader that it clearly identifies the character, or does the reader now have to stop and think, ‘wait, which one is taller?’ So instead of eliminate confusion, you may have actually introduced more of it.

And even if it is an important detail, stating it as a fact is generally a lot less effective than making it part of the character work being done in the scene. For example:

“Can you help me reach this?” Jed asks the taller man. Leo stops chopping vegetables to oblige, and snags the wine glass the shorter man couldn’t reach off the shelf.

Vs.

Jed sighs as he makes another futile swipe with his fingers and barely grazes the bottom of the shelf. He looks over at Leo, blissfully chopping vegetables in a world where stepstools are for other people. “Can you help me reach this?” Leo sets the knife down and looms behind him, effortlessly snagging the wine glass and handing it to Jed with a grin.

Hopefully, the second example feels more impactful than the first, because the height difference became part of the scene, and not just a descriptor cosplaying as a pronoun.

Epithets become even more distracting when they become part of a prose style rather than just a means to avoid pronoun confusion or name repetition. I see a lot of writers make the stylistic choice to have a POV character refer to themselves as an epithet right alongside the epithets being thrown around for other characters, and there are so many crammed into a paragraph or two I can’t figure out who is doing what.

At best, epithets are distracting. At their worst, they’re actively confusing when their purpose is to do the opposite.

“But Swaps, if I don’t use an epithet, how do I avoid pronoun confusion without wanting to throw myself out a window?”

This is a problem every writer contends with, whether you’re writing same gender smut, combat, or just have two people of the same gender doing things in a scene together. And unfortunately, this is one of those ways in which writing is hard. When you have some pronoun confusion in a sentence you can’t wriggle your way out of, the answer is probably to try a different sentence. Break the sentence up. Structure it differently. Finding the better sentence is part of becoming a better writer.

If repetition is what you’re concerned about, know that just saying a character’s name and using their pronoun is okay. It’s like ‘said.’ ‘Said’ isn’t a trendy word that goes in and out of style. It’s a building block word that blends into the background. Can you get fancier than ‘said?’ Sure! But do it with purpose. Don’t be afraid to use a character’s name. It’s their name. It’s what you’re supposed to call them. Why are we fighting so hard to respect people’s names and pronouns if all we’re going to do is replace them with epithets? (Kidding. Mostly.) And if you’re using their name so much it’s interfering with readability…it’s probably time to revisit a few of those sentences and figure out what the better sentence is.

When can you use an epithet?

I joke that there are no exceptions to my There Are No Good Epithets stance, but there are. Sort of. Because rules are made to be broken, though I do believe you should understand why the rule exists before you break it, and you should break it with purpose.

Here’s the easy one.

Epithets are useful when the POV character doesn’t know a character’s name. Now you have to use something else! And here’s the great thing about that: the epithet is now a vehicle for characterization. What about this stranger stands out enough to get the POV character’s attention? Do they notice a physical characteristic? Clothes? Attitude? What does the thing they notice say about the POV character and the character being observed?

For instance, my POV character is eavesdropping on a conversation between two people in a restaurant. You could grab the low hanging fruit and describe them as, “the brunet woman” and the “older man.” Or you could make your scene work harder. “The man with the punchable face,” or “the woman who makes eye rolling an art form.” Or how about, “the woman wearing fake pearls,” shorthanded to Fake Pearls Woman, and “the man with the name-brand suit that’s seen better days,” shorthanded to Shabby Suit. Now you’ve said something about the characters that place them in a more useful context than their hair color – you’ve said something about them that helps inform the scene, and how your POV character observes the world around them.

Are there other instances where you can effectively use an epithet? Yes, if you are using them like this: with narrative purpose. And in those cases, is it really just an epithet anymore? It is in that yes, it is a descriptor taking the place of a name or pronoun, but it’s doing a lot more heavy lifting now. Maybe you have a character who chronically can’t remember or can’t be assed to remember people’s names. The epithet is now a means of characterization. Maybe you have a Jekyll and Hyde style character, in which a descriptor of those different personas becomes a means of setting a scene or crafting their relationship with the POV character. These descriptors are narrative vehicles being used with intention. “The other man,” is rarely a tool being used with any real intention. If there is an instance of it, I have never seen it.

Now, if reading this makes you second guess your own work, or to feel like you write wrong, or if the thought of going to painstaking lengths to rewire sentences you would typically use an epithet in gives you hives, there’s an easy solution: forget about this post.

Because fanfic is supposed to be fun. It’s your hobby. You are not getting paid for it. You don’t have to use a specific writing style, or meet anyone else’s expectations. That’s part of what makes fanfic such a beautiful thing. You can do whatever makes you happy. Not me, not anyone else. If you fucking love using epithets, use them. If you think I am made of bullshit, give this post the finger like I initially suggested and write five epithets just to spite me. No one will stop you, certainly not me. Though I will continue hating epithets, because you can’t stop me, either. XD

#swaps replies #Anonymous #how writing is written

168 notes · View notes

tobytost · 2 years ago

Text

meet Aspera! my togruta OC

I've had him for some time now and he's pretty much a work in progress right now but here is some info about this little guy:

his name comes from latin saying "per aspera ad astram) which translates to "through great struggle to success" or something like that

i like how it translates to my native language better: "through the thorns to the stars"

so their name basically means "a great struggle"

lost one of his lekku in an incident involving his lightsaber

bites his other lek when nervous, that's why it's bandaged up

his saber is poorly constructed and barely works (sometimes it ignites on its own, or doesn't ignite at all, or its settings suddenly change from training to combat or something like that)

but they're stupidly attached to it (force brain worms) to go and change it

was 21 and at the temple when the order 66 happened

survived thanks to the defective clone that decided to risk his life to save Aspera

wasn't present for the many of the clone wars because he was deemed too unstable in the force to continue fighting

by unstable I mean he can't control the force really well

the force leaks out of him constantly and he can't control its stream

he often hurt his friends because of that

one wrong move and they were sent flying across the room, that's how Aspera developed an anxiety

poorly working saber doesn't help either

I have more thoughts but I can't form a coherent text for the life of me, I will be adding to this post later when I make my brain work properly haha

#i hope you like them btw:)#my little guy #my art #star wars #star wars oc #togruta OC

465 notes · View notes

ashs-cardboard-box · 1 year ago

Text

The Sin of Envy

~ Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Matthews, Child!Arthur Morgan/Child!Male Reader

~ Familial (found family)

~2.7k words

Request :3

....................................................................................................

You owed it all to the Van Der Linde gang. Having lost it all as a mere boy, you grew up on the streets for most of your life. Just a few months after you had turned thirteen, two co-founders of said gang picked you up and treated you like their own flesh and blood.

You thought of the two of them as your fathers. Hosea was a gentle, patient individual. He took over as your primary caretaker. Feeding you, teaching you to read, write, and pick apart safe from toxic herbs. As such, you were a lot closer to him, though that’s not to say you didn’t care for your other father figure.

Dutch was a more stern, focused man. He kept you in line should you disobey either him or Hosea. While he wasn’t as open about his affection towards you, his protection and observations over your well-being showed he had a heart.

Living with them for the next three years of your life were nothing short of great– as great as life on the road can be. Dutch and Hosea were slowly attempting to gather members for a gang, with little success. The two would always praise you for the fine young man you’ve grown to be, starting to teach you your way around a gun.

However, when another, younger, orphan boy was picked up in the same manner you were, you couldn’t help but feel a little off about it. Stubbornly standing a ways off to the side with your arms folded across your chest as your father figures feed the boy at one of the few tables around a newly formed camp.

You didn’t know his name, and you weren’t sure you wanted to. You wanted to march right up to them and ask Hosea to teach you again the proper positioning of your weaponry, but you didn't. Instead, you stand and stare as silently as possible.

Much to your dismay, Dutch is more observant than you thought. He looks over towards you and away from the new boy, that same blank expression on his face. “Boy. C’mere.” He beckons, pulling Hosea and the boy’s attention over to you as well.

Feeling awkward with their eyes on you, you shuffle over to the poorly constructed, wooden table. Slowly dropping your arms back down to your sides, your shoulders slouching forward slightly. “Ah, Y/N! I don’t s’pose we’ve introduced you to Arthur here!”

Hosea seems excited about the new addition to your family. A wide grin spread across his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling. You and Arthur don’t say anything to one another. Staring at each other as if trying to read what the other is thinking.

Arthur looks away from you and turns back down to his food in front of him on the table. Stuffing his face as if he hadn’t eaten in a long while– a statement you could fully believe. He was scrawny, but you couldn’t deny the height the other boy had on you, only serving to make you more envious.

“He’s gonna stick around for a while. Found him the same way we found you, y’know.” Hosea points out with a chuckle as Dutch merely nods, turning back to his conversation with Arthur, almost seeming like a promise of a better life if he joined the gang.

You look back towards Hosea with a small sigh. Muttering a quiet “okay, papa” and giving your father figure a subtle smile. Accepting that as your agreement, Hosea joins their conversation once more, shutting you out.

You can’t deny the pang of resentment and jealousy building in your chest. Taking your leave and heading back to your tent to find something to do. You weren’t really used to being on your own anymore. After having to fend for yourself for the first decade of your life, you assumed you wouldn’t feel this way. Unfortunately, you got attached.

You’re not sure how long has passed of you sitting still on your bedroll, staring blankly at the floor, deep in thought, but you get caught off guard by a short “hey.”

Lifting your head, you find Arthur standing at the entrance of your open tent. The sun casting his shadow across the floor. You’re not sure why, but his presence just upsets you further. Your fingers beginning to fidget with one another as your hands rest in your lap.

“What’d’ya want..?” you grumble, trying to keep your harshness under wraps. He’s only two years younger than you, at fourteen, but that fact makes you feel worse. You’re scared. The last thing you want to be is an old toy your father figures toss aside for something new. Someone younger and much different from you.

Arthur shrugs with a hum of “i dunno.” While you got passed down some of Hosea’s old clothes as a hand-me-down, Arthur’s clothes are dirty and torn. The hems of his pant legs are frayed, the fragile strings flicking with each slight gust of wind.

“You wanna play dominoes?” He asks hopefully with a small tilt of his head. You don’t really want to be so mean to the new boy, but you can already feel that urge mounting. You take a deep breath before responding with a curt “no.”

“Well why not? You got somethin’ better to do?” Arthur asks curiously, but to you, it’s just plain obnoxious. Pushing yourself to your feet and crossing your tent. Walking right passed Arthur without another word to him.

You knew you shouldn’t, but you just didn’t stop walking. Right out of the small camp and heading wherever your feet took you. Slowly shuffling through the dense woods, brooding as your boots step over leaf after twig, crunching under your weight.

It wasn’t until you made it to the nearby town that you realized just what you had done. You were forbidden from leaving camp without either Dutch or Hosea until you could learn how to properly handle your gun. They just cared for you, after all.

Unfortunately, you had the bright idea to prove yourself to them. If you could prove you were strong, maybe they’d like you over Arthur again. You wanted your family to yourself again. You refused to be replaced.

Waltzing right into the budding city with nothing but false confidence keeping your head held high. Your mind darting over what you could possibly do to show you’re a strong man. The civilians didn’t bat an eye, seeming to not even notice you among the many other individuals.

Taking what little you’ve gathered from Dutch’s schemes with Hosea, you settled on pickpocketing. It seemed easy enough, and you could make a lot of money depending on who you choose.

Now looking at the surrounding people like nothing more than their wallets, you spot a shorter, older man waiting for the train with a newspaper held between his fingers. Perfect, you thought. Taking it upon yourself to take a seat next to him on the old wooden bench. He doesn’t seem to care about your presence; he’s far too enamored by whatever’s happening in the region.

Slowly, you slide your hand across the unsanded wood, feeling prick after prick of splinters threatening to pierce your skin. You’re too focused to care. Your eyes rapidly flicking from your hand, to the man, to something mundane in front of you to avoid seeming like you’re staring at him.

You make good progress. Getting as close as caressing the man’s pocket jean with your pinky, before you hear a ruffling of the newspaper, followed by a rough grip around your wrist, causing you to hiss in pain.

“The hell you think you’re doin’, kid?” The man demands, tugging your wrist away from his body, but not letting go of it. His face contorted into one of frustration at your audacity. You don’t respond, and that seems like the wrong choice to make. Staring doe-eyed at the man with a small grimace, wanting to be strong and not show pain nor fear, though you feel it all.

The man grunts in disapproval, giving your wrist a sharp tug and sending you down onto the floor of the train station. Propping yourself up on your elbows as you stare up at him, but you don’t run away. You’re not strong. You’re terrified.

“Someone oughta teach you a lesson, boy.” He spits coldly as he stands up, reaching down to tug you up by the collar of your shirt and drag you to your unsteady feet. Letting go of you and taking a step back putting up his fists, glaring at you to tell you to follow. “Be a man. Fight me for it.” he challenges

Feeling that false, stubborn confidence return, you put your fists up at the level of your eyes, copying the man. The man has both an experience advantage, and a physical advantage over you. He might be short in stature, but he’s bulky in his old age– seeming in his late fifties. You, on the other hand, barely hold your own when fake sparring against Dutch, only meant to be a teaching lesson.

Instead of letting you try and strike first, the man cocks you in the first hit. Your head knocking back as you take a right jab straight to the nose, causing your eyes to water. Your form curling into itself as you whine in pain. Your nose dripping blood down your lips and chin. The crimson liquid staining your hands.

Not giving you time to brace yourself, the man takes you by your shoulders and knees you in the gut, knocking the wind out of you as your knees give out. “Your daddy would be disappointed. You ain’t a man. Might as well become one of ‘em two dollar whores.” he scoffs a laugh, glaring down at you as if you’re the scum of the Earth.

All you can do is clutch your stomach with your entire forearm as your other hand clasps over your mouth. The blood from your nose dripping down the back of your hand and hitting the train platform with a near silent splat. Looking up at the man through watery eyes, choking back tears.

The man pays you no sympathy. Palming your forehead and shoving you backwards, causing you to land awkwardly on your back. Groaning quietly from behind your blood stained hand. He stares down at you coldly for a long moment before stepping away from you. Bending down to pick up his newspaper from off his spot on the bench before taking his seat again, acting as if nothing happened. “Get outta here, kid. If you know what’s good for ya.”

As soon as you regain the ability to breathe properly, you scamper to your feet and run off with your tail between your legs to go lick your wounds. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as you retrace your steps through the town and back into the woods. Blood staining your face and shirt.

You’re reluctant to go back to camp. What were you supposed to say? That you were jealous of their new favorite and decided to go get your ass kicked? You stumble slowly through the woods, massaging your sore abdomen. Each time you sniffle due to your tears, only swallowing more blood than you should.

Staring at the empty clearing around twenty feet away, signifying the entrance of camp, you stop. You’re a mess. You feel completely emasculated, hurt and jealous. Wondering if the stray boy they call Arthur could’ve done better than you. You’re mostly silent. The only thing heard from you are small sniffles and pained whimpers.

Hearing a cacophony of different, yet familiar, voices all calling your name into the void of the woods, you feel even worse. You don’t want to be seen like this. Your face stained with blood and tears, dripping down the front of your shirt.

Before you can even consider heading inside on your own, you hear two sets of footsteps rapidly approaching you from your left. Quickly turning, you spot Arthur and Hosea– both seem terribly worried about your sudden disappearance, only made worse when they see the state you’ve been left in.

Arthur is the first to get to you. Gawking at you as if you’ve grown three heads, only causing you to turn away from him. Your tears continuing to shamefully roll down your cheeks. He’s the last person you want to see right now. Hosea, however, is a different story.

Hosea sighs heavily as he approaches, reaching forward and pulling you into a tight hug– just like he used to when you were younger. Resting your bloodied chin on Hosea’s shoulder, you wrap your arms around his frame tightly. Your fingers balling tightly around the back of his shirt.

“What happened to you, son? You know you ain’t s’posed to run off like that..” He chides gently, running a hand up and down your back soothingly. You mumble a meek “‘m sorry, papa” in response. Sounding more like a timid boy than a young man.

“It’s alright, boy.. You’re okay..” Hosea murmurs into your ear, letting you try and compose yourself despite the soreness of your body. A much harder task to accomplish with Arthur’s bright eyes on you. “Where’d you go? Why’d you leave?” he questions, not wanting to force you to respond.

“Th- The town.. Just nearby. I–” you pause, swallowing the uncomfortable concoction of saliva and metallic blood pooling in your mouth. “I- you just…” you’re not sure if you want to be honest or not. On one hand, Hosea could help with what’s weighing so heavily on your chest. On the other, he could ridicule you for getting into trouble over something so stupid.

“You ‘n Dutch got along with Arthur so well.. ‘n I got scared that y-you were gonna leave me for him. Wanted to prove I was strong so you wouldn’t think he’s better..” you sob, feeling it all come crashing down at the admittance of your envy. Arthur is taken aback by your statement, but Hosea seems unfazed. Only focused on making you feel better.

“It ain’t a game of favoritism, son. Dutch and I care for you boys equally. You’re real damn stupid for runnin’ off ‘n getting your ass beat, but that don’t mean Arthur’s any greater or lesser than the man you’re growing up to be, you understand?”

You nod slightly with another small sniffle, slowly pulling away from the hug. You wipe your eyes with your fingers on your clean hand, not keen on the idea of getting blood near your eyes. Hosea sighs as he inspects your face. You’re grateful he’s not upset with you, but you still feel guilty. You hadn’t even considered what a fuss you would’ve caused.

“Arthur,” Hosea starts, looking over towards the other boy, prompting him to look at Hosea with a quiet hum of acknowledgement. “Take Y/N back to my tent. Clean him up a bit, will you? I’ll let Dutch know he’s back” He lays out, leaving no room for disagreement.

Arthur copies you and nods, shuffling around you awkwardly and beginning to make his way back to camp. Tentatively, you follow behind. You’re not sure how you feel. It feels like a weight has been pulled off your shoulders, only to be replaced by a heavier weight of guilt for your jealousy.

Not a word is spoken between you two as you follow the younger boy back to Hosea’s tent. Your boots scuffing against the ground below until you slink down onto Hosea’s cot with a heavy sigh. Arthur wastes no time soaking an old washrag in alcohol and approaching you again. Carefully wiping the blood off your face.

“Sorry for..y’know- makin’ you jealous ‘n whatever. Never meant to..” He mutters quietly, focused on getting the dried blood off your skin. “It ain’t your fault.. Was just- scared, I guess..” you respond quietly, trying not to speak too much so as to not disrupt his work.

It felt uncomfortable to be getting cleaned up by the younger boy, but you can’t complain. Your leg mindlessly bouncing against the floor of Hosea’s tent. Sighing heavily from your nose as you let your sore body actually relax under Arthur’s care.

“You still up for that dominoes game?” You mumble quietly, a small smile spreading across your blood stained lips as you look up at Arthur hopefully. He stands up a bit straighter at your question before he rolls his eyes and gets back to helping you. “I thought you’d never ask.”

....................................................................................................

finished this on 2%

Hope you like it !! :3

#rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x male reader #dutch van der linde x male reader #hosea matthews x male reader #arthur morgan x male reader

148 notes · View notes