#i get the feeling that i’d only end up seeing more of them if i tried to find out more. lord.
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Hiii, I hope you're doing well. In your eden AU, who do you think would be more likely to get a divorce? And the least likely?
Great question!!! I love this (not necessarily the direction I’d go with but if I were to be brutally realistic)
Most likely:
Toji and reader
He’d fold under the pressure of peaking in college He’d be insecure about the fact that he’s going from job to job, settling as a coach, teaching and never doing Whereas reader would succeed in her field It’d become a strain on their relationship And god forbid they have a child together Yeah, they wouldn’t last past the age of 35
Geto and reader
Perhaps too controlling He's around hot clients all the time She'd be insecure He'd do a poor job of reassuring her Also, he might be plagued by his depression and lack of faith in humanity He'd dim her light Make her feel bad for being optimistic
Nanami and reader
Might be a bit of a stretch but it's possible He's around intelligent and successful people She could end up as a housewife, no particular passion or talent She'd be insecure about that Accuse him of cheating or thinking she's stupid They'd divorce because of her insecurity and not for his lack of trying He'd give her the divorce because he thinks it'll make her happy Neither of them are
Least Likely:
Gojo and reader
He's whipped. But also social conventions and the world that they live in Gojo's the type to bend over backwards to keep the people he loves in his life If it ever becomes a failing marriage, he'd lose himself trying to keep her But they wouldn't give up
Choso and reader
Also whipped full stop Thinks she created the moon Needs her for his art And I just can't see him developing a flaw that would make her go ew She's very optimistic and cheerful but also smart She'd know how to handle any angst Choso comes under as a tortured artist
Sukuna and reader
They might divorce but I think it's unlikely for different reasons They need their picture perfect marriage for political reasons They're the only people that'd ever understand and accept each other It's the kind of bond you couldn't ever lose Also, I feel like they'd have dirt on each other lol They're also the type to utilise divorce against each other So every time they have a fight and one brings up divorce to make the other cave (depending on the situation, they'd both be likely to actually succumb) The other would say, serve me the papers and you'll see your name on the NEWspapers along with the words 'drugs' or 'murder' or 'bribery' etc etc
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The Ties That Bind Us: One
*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit.*
•Parings• Noah Sebastian x Soulmate!Reader.
•Word Count• 2,268
•Warnings• fluff, language, talks of death/sickness, angst, depression, dark thoughts, soft!Noah, smut that will include unprotected p in v, oral with both male and female receiving, hand jobs, and fingering. Pretty tame smut in this.
•Summary• Growing up, Noah’s grandparents told him the story of why everyone wore a red tie around their wrists and while theirs glowed while his didn’t.
“Yours will glow when you meet your soulmate, Noah.”
When someone moves in next door and catches Noah’s eyes immediately, he sees the red tie around her wrist glowing only to see his remains red. Convinced she’s not his soulmate, Noah tries hard to stay away from her yet small moments between them start to blossom. So much so, he can’t ignore the tie that binds them together
•Authors Note• As I previously stated, even though this is a "reader insert", there will be moments I describe the reader because it pertains to the story. I'm not quite sure how many chapters this will be, I'm thinking around ten but it could change. I'm also sorry this chapter seems very short, but I figured it doesn't need to be super long with an introductory chapter.
•Tags• @artificialbreezy @blueskylinesx @dominuslunae @lobolocaamo @lilcrazy011 @badomensls @shayeanna-ashlie @supersquirrel1996 @missduffsblog @nicelittlenightmares @curse-bearing-hips @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @chey-h @idontwantthemoney @heyyoplayer @amelia-acero @xmads-omensx @poisongirl616 @theanarchymuse95 @trvshdxddy @thisbicc @losingmyselfinthoughts @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @klutzy-kay24 @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @collidewiththesavannah @tosoundlessdarkistare @rumoured-whispers @dontwantthemoney
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NOAH
Growing up, my grandma would always tell me the same thing whenever I asked her about the weird red tie around my wrist.
“An invisible red thread connects those destined to be together, regardless of time, place or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but will never break.”
When I asked her why hers and my grandpa’s glowed the same color, her answer was simple.
“We’re both soulmates. Destined to be with each other.”
I always thought the idea of soulmates was a bunch of bullshit people told to make up reasons why we all were born with these ties. I spent many hours trying to cut or rip it off but it wouldn’t budge. My grandma’s words echoing in my head once again.
“The only way to remove a bind is with death.”
The soft breeze filtered through my hair as I adjusted the beanie over my head, opening the door wider so my guest could leave. Yet while I stood on the front porch waiting for her to stop talking with Michael, I messed with the red bind around my wrist like I typically did. I’d been expecting to see it glow for the last few years once I reached the age of twenty one yet here I was at twenty four with the still same red bind around my wrist.
“So, can I call you?”
Snapping my eyes away from my wrist to the woman in front of me, her bind also red, I gave her a curt nod. “Sure, I guess.”
I didn’t miss the way her smile faltered with my words and when she crossed her arms over her chest, I suddenly regretted not trying to be a bit more upbeat. It’s not like she was some stranger, she’d come over a few times before but it was never serious. I didn’t even remember her name most of the time which might have been wrong on my end but like I said, it wasn’t ever serious. Just someone to call when the nights were lonely.
Wow, I sounded like a real asshole.
“Maybe we can get coffee tomorrow?” I suggested while stuffing my hands deep into the pocket of my sweats.
Whatever her name was smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “I would really love that, Noah.”
Fuck. She said my name which means now I have to say her name. It's the respectful thing to do.
I rubbed the back of my neck, long strands of hair tangled between my fingers. “Uh, yeah. Same here, uh-.”
When I trailed off, unable to remember her fucking name, her lip snarled and threw her shoulder over her shoulder, bounding down the front steps.
“You know what, don’t call me. I’m busy for the foreseeable future!” She called back, making sure to slam the door to her car as she sat inside.
Shrugging, I didn’t bother to watch her peel out of the driveway and turned on my heels to head back inside when a commotion to my left made me pause. The house next door had been vacant for a few months now so when I saw a large moving truck parked in the driveway. With furrowed brows, I took a few steps closer to the edge of the front porch, the side closest to this house, and watched as someone walked up the ramp into the back of the truck.
“New neighbors.” Jesse appeared next to me almost out of thin air, taking a rather large bite of his apple.
“Since when?” I asked, giving him my attention now.
He tapped my shoulder with the hand that didn’t hold the apple. “Since this morning. Someone was a bit preoccupied to notice.”
Rolling my eyes, I flipped him the bird and gazed back towards the moving van, expecting to see a group of guys like ourselves emerge from the back of the truck. So when I saw a female figure walk out carrying a large box, my breath caught in my throat. The way her hair cascaded over her shoulders and how a soft melody seemed to echo in the wind over towards me; her singing some unknown tune.
My eyes tracked every movement of her when she walked through the front door of the house. She was gone for less than a few minutes but the entire time, my heart beat wildly in my chest. It was something Jesse noticed but didn’t bother to tease because with a wave, he disappeared back into the house leaving me alone again on the porch.
The sunset had broken over the horizon, painting the grass in a glow of oranges and slight pinks. It all paled in comparison to the brightness that radiated from the woman next door as she stepped back out, pausing for a moment to roll up the sleeves of her sweater.
“Shit,” I muttered when I saw the band on her left wrist vivid with a glow.
Holding my breath, I yanked up the sleeve of my shirt hoping to see my own band glowing but felt my stomach drop when it was still that stupid red color. It was foolish to think that this gorgeous woman who moved in next door would randomly be my soulmate. Things didn’t work out that easy for me. I’d been dealt a shit hand in life so I should have figured that this wouldn't be any different.
My soulmate isn't out there. I should learn to accept it.
“Excuse me?”
I whipped my head up from my wrist over towards the house next door, giving a very awkward wave to her.
“H-hi,” my voice shook, showing my nerves.
She gave me a warm smile nonetheless. “I’m sorry if this is weird but do you know when garbage day is? I’ve got stacks on stacks of boxes that are taking over my garage.”
Her giggle danced in the air over towards me, wrapping itself around my heart, and I had to tell myself not to get attached by her damn laugh. If her bind was glowing while mine wasn't, that only meant one thing.
“Uh, Thursdays,” I said after clearing my throat. “Recycling is every other week.”
“Thank you,” she beamed with a tired smile. “We just moved in and the relator failed to mention that.”
Stuffing my shaking hands in the pockets of my sweats, I did my best to not let her realize how the way she was looking at me affected me.
“Well, if you need help or more tips on the neighborhood, I’m your guy,” I said with a lopsided smile.
Even from the distance between us, I could still see her brow peak while she crossed her arms. “That’s very nice of you, thank you. But I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Noah.”
Very briefly, the bind around her wrist flickered which didn’t seem to phase her because she gave me a curt nod. “Well, Noah, it's nice to meet you. I’m Y/N, your new neighbor.”
I leaned against the fence that surrounded my porch. “Welcome to the neighborhood, Y/N.”
Both of us stood frozen for a few beats, staring at one another, and as I felt an urge to ask her something, someone exiting the house made my body go rigid.
“Love?” He called out towards Y/N, resting a hand on the frame of the door. “Do you need any help?”
All it took was once glance at the man's wrist to see the matching glow with Y/N’s, indicating what I already knew.
She had found her soulmate.
You met her less than two minutes ago, idiot. Stop being so heartbroken.
“What are you doing, Eric?” She nearly rushed over to him. “I told you I would bring in the rest of the boxes. You should be taking it easy.”
Feeling suddenly out of place, I pushed myself off of the porch and dragged my feet back inside, doing my best to ignore the way I had once again got my hopes up for this soulmate bullshit.
READER
“Are you alright?” I asked Eric, slowly helping him back into the house and over to the couch.
Even though we moved in this morning, we had a moving company bring all of our heavy furniture a few days ago and set it up. Anything to help take the load off of Eric and I since it was me that did most of the packing and unpacking.
He playfully pushed me away and sat on the couch himself. “I’m fine, Y/N. I just wanted to make sure you were still doing fine unloading the truck. It needs to be back by 8 tonight.”
I nodded while throwing the blanket over his lap and quickly adjusting the black beanie on his head that came askew. “I have three more boxes to bring in. Will you be fine alone while I take the truck back? I can call someone to come stay with you.”
This caused Eric to raise a brow. “Who? We don’t know anyone here.”
Right. Nearly forgot that.
“But I’ll be fine. I already told you I can take care of myself for a bit. It’s mostly when you’re gone for the entire day that it gets rough.”
Guilt filled my veins for a number of reasons so instead of unpacking the rest of the truck, I sat on the couch next to him, wrapping my arms around his midsection to feel his familiar warmth spread to me. I traced the various tattoos on his arms with my gaze, burning them into my memory so I could never forget the way they looked.
The way he looked.
“Your mustache is getting long,” I giggled while glancing up at him.
With everything going on in our lives the last few weeks, Eric had basically forgot the upkeep to his mustache. Not that I ever complained though, I loved how that was the only facial hair he kept.
“I know how much you love it,” he winked and pressed a weak kiss to my forehead.
We laid there for a moment on the couch, enjoying each other's presence in our new yet quiet home. Things would be different here, they had to be. We gave up a lot to move to this city because of the opportunities that awaited us.
“I met more of the neighbors,” I spoke after some silence.
“Yeah?” Eric asked, running his tattooed fingers up and down my arm.
“Noah. He told me trash days are on Thursdays. Recycling every other week.”
He hummed. “Is that the one who always seems to be eating some sort of fruit?”
I giggled while playfully smacking his chest. “No, that’s Jesse. He’s the one that recommended this great taco truck a few blocks down. I was thinking maybe I grab some on the way back from dropping off the truck. Our car is at the UHAUL place so I’d drive it home.”
“Home,” Eric repeated the word. “I never thought we’d call California home. I thought we’d be stuck in Ohio forever.”
Tucking my legs underneath me on the couch, I buried my face deeper into Eric’s sweater desperate to have his scent tattooed into my skin.
“We had to move though, Eric. The cancer units here are far better than Ohio,” I reminded him, doing my best to not cry.
I’d spent the last couple of months crying because of not only Eric’s cancer coming back but the news of this time, the chemo might not stop it from spreading. We refused to give up hope so one of Eric’s doctors recommended a program out here in California that was testing some new age chemo, one that possibly could help Eric's type of cancer.
“Which reminds me,” Eric sighed. “My chemotherapy appointment has been moved up to 8 a.m tomorrow. Is that alright?”
Blinking away the tears, I nodded with a long sigh. “With my new job, I can work from home and clock in wheenver just as long as I work a full eight hours.”
His tender touch lifted my chin, forcing me to look into his brown eyes; ones that had lost their light over time.
“I hope that you remember days like this, both of us sitting here together when you're living somewhere new. These things were never clearer in my head especially when peace was in our home and needs were met. Before my cancer.”
“Eric,” I choked out. “Please don’t talk like you’re already gone. You’re still here, in my arms. We need to focus on that.”
Reluctantly, he nodded, knowing that he wouldn’t win this fight. It was one we had often, him trying to tell me not to dwell on his death for long if it came. He wanted me to be happy. But the glowing binds on our wrists for each other gave me hope that Eric would overcome this, like he had before.
Forgetting about the boxes that needed to be unpacked, I let my eyes flutter shut with the sounds of Eric’s soft snores pulling me down to a slumber that my body had been craving. I couldn’t help but wonder of all the new opportunities we’d find here and possibly new friends as I thought of my neighbors, ones that seemed to be somewhat friendly. Especially the one with the longer hair out of the bunch.
Noah.
Exhaustion had taken both Eric and I, us falling asleep in each other's arms on the couch. Neither of us noticed our red binds flickering like a home losing its power in a raging thunderstorm.
#tina talks#noah sebastian#bad omens#Noah Sebastian soulmate au#Noah Sebastian x reader#Noah Sebastian and reader#Noah Sebastian fluff#bad omens fluff#bad omens soulmate au
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So, obviously, everyone has their own opinion and experience. How much Andrastianism in Veilguard is to your personal taste I couldn’t say. But based on your statements, I feel like we’ve played not just one but possibly several different games despite them having the same names.
Andrastianism isn’t “absent everywhere,” whether in plot, imagery, or even audio. As you yourself said, we go to the Temple of Andraste in Minrathous where people are both milling about and praying both inside and outside. So we see the Andrastianism happening, visually. And there is, contrary to your experience, ambient dialogue from NPCs we pass that reference the Maker (Andraste I believe as well, but I’d have to double-check that, and less reference to her would be expected as a schism over her importance is part of why the Northern and Southern Chantries split) both near the Temple and in other parts of Dock Town.
We also, in Minrathous with Neve, visit the Wall of Light, the city’s memorial for the dead and an explicit reference to the Chant of Light. Something of enough significance to Neve that she feels the need to go there before the end of her quest line. A Shadow Dragon Rook can even speak the traditional words of remembrance at that point. It’s fairly explicit Andrastianism. Different than it would look and be done in Ferelden, but that’s because we aren’t in Ferelden we’re in Tevinter.
I’m not entirely sure what the mixture of Northern to Southern Wardens would be at Weisshaupt, and I’m less certain than you are that Southerners would have a significant presence. Orlais’ Wardens were decimated at Adamant and may have even been disbanded at that time (dependent on player choice). Their numbers suffered regardless, and would have been hard to build back up since it has apparently gotten around that they tried to build a demon army (which is why in Veilguard the First Warden is so quick to throw them under the bus). Ferelden didn’t have any wardens to speak of until a cup of coffee before the Fifth Blight, as we see in Origins. And at the end of that blight had one or two. After Awakening maybe six? But there’s a bunch of conditional stuff to even hit that number, if I remember correctly. They’ve had some time to build up since then, but we don’t know how many went down from Ferelden at Adamant and Ferelden’s Wardens also don’t have spotless reputations due to the whole coup thing.
In any case, I agree that there probably are some devout Andrastians in the Wardens. But I think devout Southern Andrastian wardens - those whose Andrastianism we would recognize - are probably a very, very small minority. Not only for the reasons I already gave, but because they are competing with religious military orders that can recruit soldiers as children while generally only recruiting adults. I’m not surprised, since based on what we know their numbers are fairly small, we don’t personally run across a bunch of vocal devout Andrastian Southerners at Weisshaupt.
The people of the Anderfels are devoutly Andrastian, you’re absolutely right. But we don’t meet nearly any of them. Our only exposure to the region is through working with the Wardens in a fortress that is Wardens Only tm and in a town that has been so overrun with blight that nearly all of its inhabitants are gone. I’d be more inclined to agree with you, solely vis-a-vis the people of the Anderfels, if we interacted with more than a handful. But we don’t, we pretty much just interact with the Wardens which I already discussed above.
What you didn’t mention were Treviso and the Necropolis. We do get ambient dialogue in Treviso explicitly referencing both the Maker and Andraste (sometimes to blaspheme, but that was probably more than half the Andrastianism we got in DA2, too). Lucanis references them, and talks about having lost his faith while imprisoned and tortured (and reaching a state of hopeful agnosticism by later in the game which he is also open about). He has statues of Andraste in his house. It’s part of his character arc, even if it’s not the main focus.
The Mourn Watch is an Andrastian religious order. Their whole deal, different though it is to what we see in the South, is them being devoutly Andrastian. Just Nevarra mortalitasi-style. And we go through and attend to religious rites in that style with Emmrich.
We witness the results of slaughter by the Southern Chantry in a quest in Rivain.
Harding at one point straight up asks if we just disproved the Chant of Light.
Religion is discussed, where relevant, multiple times. (See, e.g., all of the above.)
Is it enough Andrastianism for you, or any individual player, personally? Maybe not. That’s okay. You’re allowed to feel that way. Everyone is entitled to their opinion.
Is it not there or in someway incorrect based on the lore of the game? I have a hard time understanding that argument.
I really don’t understand the criticism that Veilguard doesn’t include enough open, devout Andrastianism. Like, it just perplexes me?
Unlike the first three games, which take place in Southern Thedas (the purview of the Orlesian Chantry, the Sunburst throne), Veilguard takes place almost entirely in Northern Thedas. And it’s clear the Chantry’s role there is very different than in the South.
In Southern Thedas, the Chantry is a power unto itself. The Southern Divine, holder of the Sunburst Throne, occupies a place of real significance and power. She has her own militarized forces (the Templar and Seeker Orders). She politically has to interface with the rulers of the various places in Southern Thedas (Orlais, Ferelden, the Free Marches, etc.), but is not formally associated with or dependent on them. The South is comparatively poorer than the North, and we see a majority of services (taking care of orphans, medical care, the Circles, and very significantly education) being taken care of by the Chantry without necessarily much assistance from the relevant countries.
The Southern Chantry is an ever present figure in Southern Thedas, even for those that aren’t devout. And that is reflected in those stories and the cultures we learn about there.
The Tevinter Imperium is not like that. And that’s not terribly surprising. First, the Imperium pre-dates Andrastianism. They have another, older religion that helped form some of their cultural touchpoints. The Imperium did adopt Andrastianism, but did so as a consolidation of empire (which tracks with the Imperium being, in no small part, a reflection of the real life Roman Empire). As such, the Chantry is folded into and subordinate to the Imperium’s government. The real power in Tevinter, and control over the incidents of daily life that we see the Southern Chantry involved in, is the Magisterium and the Archon.
The Imperial Divine doesn’t control the Templars, the Magisterium and Archon do. He doesn’t control the Circles/education. That’s the Magisterium and Archon again. He is, in practical terms, less powerful than Dorian. He can’t make any real change as the Imperial Divine, so he dons a mask and runs a vigilante group to free slaves and make change that way.
The Northern Chantry simply isn’t as omnipresent as the Southern Chantry in the areas it exists, and it competes with a preexisting cultural backbone in a way the Southern Chantry doesn’t (because it largely stamped that out, though some of the Avvar and Chasind are still around).
I think a lot of people are comparing the impact of Andrastianism in Veilguard to that in Inquisition, because it’s the most recent, and the criticism spawns from that. But that…doesn’t make sense. The Inquisitor is leading a religious organization, ultimately affiliated with the Southern Chantry itself and founded by the left and right hands of the former Divine. It claims its legitimacy from Andraste herself (even if the Inquisitor doesn’t believe a single bit of it). The people who join the Inquisition are all okay enough with Andrastianism to affiliate themselves openly with it (Solas aside, but of course he has other reasons), and many are devout.
The Veilguard are just…random people. Skilled, powerful, talented people, but not people with any real affiliation with any Chantry. Davrin and Bellara have complicated relationships with the Dalish religion they grew up with, for obvious reasons, but they weren’t raised in Andrastianism or an Andrastian culture. Neve, per her, “barely keeps the holidays.” Her relationship to Andrastianism seems closer to the average non-church-attending American who celebrates Christmas and Easter, but isn’t particularly Christian beyond that. Lucanis does seem open to belief in the Maker and Andraste, but isn’t kind of ambivalent to it. More agnostic than anything else. Taash wasn’t raised Andrastian, their mom largely still embraces much of the Qun even if she left, and Rivain was always kind of religiously funky anyway. Only Emmrich and Harding are particularly Andrastian, and even then Emmrich is from Nevarra which although deeply Andrastian is unique. Harding is the only companion whose Andrastianism we’d recognize from the prior games.
So in a game set in a region where Andrastianism is culturally less of an influence, where the Chantry holds far less power, and that has companions that aren’t devout Andrastians…how is it a failure of the game that it isn’t brought up more. That makes sense. It’s consistent with the world building that came before it and the continued reveal of that world in game.
I don’t get it.
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My view on the dreams is that they are a twisted image of a desire that the boys have. They are simplistic in nature though, and that is reflected in what desire they portray. Deuce cares more about making his mom proud than going the easy way, but as shown in book 3 he does sometimes take the easy way out. He misses when this were simple and he could solve problems by just throwing punches. If I had to guess, in Deuces dream his mom supported him being a delinquent so he could solve problems with his fists and make his mom proud. For Cater, I think it has more to do with wanting to been seen. When Cater arrives at the courtroom everyone cheers for him. With how he is with magicam, I think he wants to been seen but is scared to show his true self. I think that Malleus' magic took his desire to be seen as a desire for attention--Which Cater typically portrays it as too--and put him in a position where he would be admired and praised. I also think it is interesting how Trey and Riddle are kinder(?) to him then canon. We see Trey complain in canon about Cater not opening up to him, so maybe this shows that Cater wants to open up to Trey but he doesn't know how. It is midnight for me and I can feel my sleep meds getting annoyed that I am fighting them to write this, so if you want me to elaborate on anything lmk and I will do so when I am not mostly asleep.
I understand what you’re trying to say about the nature of the dreams; that’s my basic understanding too 💦 The bare bones of how they work is… fine, in isolation. I just wish the main story didn’t try to be super ambitious with the concept because the more they try to explain it, the less sense it makes and the less it sounds like the writers themselves seem to understand what they’re saying 😔
I think there’s a difference between acquiring someone else’s study guide to guarantee a passing grade versus dropping all efforts to excel academically in favor of trading fists instead, but I think I still understand the general idea. This ends up rounding back to the question of how much do the dreams pull from conscious desires versus unconscious ones, because there’s a clash between the desire for simpler ways to resolve issues and Deuce actively wanting to turn over a new leaf.
I think this could lead into other issues as well. For example, if Deuce’s mom (Dylla) theoretically supports him being a delinquent, would that not trigger an emotional response in him and cause Deuce to wake??? I’d imagine that this would conflict with his reality in which he overheard his mom’s emotionally distressing phone call, which was his motivation to abandon his days as a delinquent. Lilia woke when the dream!senators praised him for hatching Malleus rather than berate him for it; his brain registered the discrepancy and reacted accordingly. In Cater’s dream, the dream!Riddle trying to collar everyone ended up waking him—so isn’t this proof that the darkness trying to keep them asleep can fuck up and accidentally be the trigger that causes them to wake up too?? Would this not become a concern for Deuce as well if his dream begins to struggle to maintain the logic of his delinquent school?
Cater’s dream provides a similarly confusing scenario. If his desire is just to be seen, there were several much easier situations he could have gotten. Why would his dream actively hand him a position, power, and responsibilities he doesn’t want instead of… I don’t know, simply making him a popular, admired, and well-liked upperclassman??? You don’t need him to be a dorm leader in order to accomplish this. You could literally only change it so that Trey is HIS childhood friend instead or Riddle’s. Wouldn’t that be the easier solution????
It continues to feel like the writers are picking fanservice scenarios rather than what actually makes the most sense in-universe. Again, it’s a big inconsistency with the writing of the dreams and as a result it has been a major point of my criticism for the writing of book 7 as a whole.
I do think it was interesting that both dream!Trey and Riddle were more lenient with Cater than they are irl, though Trey is generally lenient with everyone. Maybe more indulgent is the right word?? This behavior change is much more noticeable with Riddle, whose attitude most likely had to be adjusted to avoid any “party poopers” in Cater’s dream. Can’t say I really see why dream!Trey and Riddle being this way with Cater would imply him wanting to open up to Trey…? They didn’t really seem to demonstrate any more intimacy or familiarity with one another than they do irl. Dream!Trey isn’t all that different, and any changes we do observe are not exclusive to him and are, in fact, more notable in dream!Riddle than in Trey.
And that speaks to another recurring issue I have with book 7’s dreams… They don’t make a ton of sense on their own and have to rely on fan interpretations, most of which will be imperfect or flawed somehow because the game failed to explain the parameters beforehand. If the game wanted us to come to a certain conclusion, they should have granted us the clues and the tools to do so. The way it is now, it’s like a mystery that’s full of red herrings (but hey, at least they’re “fun” red herrings) and everyone is looking at different clues and coming to radically different answers because of that. As I suggested in this post, maybe this was intentional because dreams irl are vague. If could have been done this way to promote character analysis and theory crafting in the fandom��� but since no one has found a “perfect” explanation and no general consensus has been reached—on top of the many, MANY plot holes—I doubt it 😅 It feels like you’re trying to repair a dam by slapping a band-aid on a leak, only for two more leaks for spring up with every corrective attempt.
Those are my thoughts!! (And remember to stock up on sleep!)
#twisted wonderland#twst#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#Cater Diamond#Deuce Spade#Dylla Spade#Trey Clover#Riddle Rosehearts#notes from the writing raven#book 7 spoilers#jp spoilers#book 7 part 12 spoilers#book 3 spoilers#book 1 spoilers#Lilia Vanrouge#Malleus Draconia
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𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬
★ synopsis: unrequited love manifests itself as a beautiful disease
★ character: zayne
★ cw: first-person pov, university au, hanahaki disease, ANGST
★ word count: 2k
★ a/n: zayne my angsty king. who needs happy endings am i right??? (i'm so sorry)
Google Search: Why am I throwing up flowers??????
Hanahaki Disease (花吐き病 (Japanese); 하나하키병 (Korean); 花吐病 (Chinese)) is a disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies. The flowers can now be surgically removed, but all feelings towards the beloved will dissipate.
I already knew what it was. Everyone does. From the first tulip petal I coughed out while working on my essay, to the bouquet that came up from my lungs, covered in blood, just days later.
It was progressing rapidly as the days went on, and everytime I took a breath my lungs would constrict; the vines curling around them, crushing my breathing ability, and my heart.
At first, I tried to ignore it. I’d go out with friends and attempt to go to class, but I felt embarrassed. Ashamed, even. I could feel their eyes on me, watching as I tried to smother my chokes in the middle of a lecture, only to have to dismiss myself to throw up a rose in the hallway.
It’s not like I could go through campus and see him, the one who gave me this. I ignored his calls, ignored his texts. Not that they came often anyways.
‘Are you okay?’
No, Zayne, do I look like I’m okay? I’m sitting in a pile of flower petals and my own blood on my bathroom floor.
Zayne. He was my childhood best friend, and growing up it always felt like I had to fight for an ounce of his attention. He was top of the class in highschool, popular with all the girls for being smart, stoic, and undeniably sexy. Not once did he entertain any of them, and it made them want him so much more. I was excited for college, thinking I could finally have him to myself, without feeling like I was sharing him with the whole school and his extra curriculars. I knew realistically he’d still lack the time for me, studying biology to go to med school, become a doctor, follow his dreams; and I would never be one to step in the way of that. I knew my place. I was just his best friend. I was aware there were boundaries I shouldn’t cross.
At least, until now.
I remember the moment it hit me.
After days, weeks of begging him, I had finally convinced the introverted, brooding nerd to go to a stupid frat party. For the laughs, I had said, follow the college stereotypes. ‘You only live once, Zayne!’ He humored me, I’ll be grateful for that. Giving it barely an hour (and a few free drinks), he quickly got sick of everything, inviting me outside. We sat outside on the driveway, the cool air a breath of freshness compared to the stuffy, sweat smell from inside.
A dumb rap song played inside, and Zayne looked over to me.
“Slow dance with me.”
I smiled and rolled my eyes, knowing it was the alcohol talking and not him. He’d regret this in the morning, and I’d get a stern talking to.
He stood, reaching his hand out, narrowing his eyes. I took his hand, figuring the least I could do was indulge in this moment. For once, his attention was fully on me.
I laughed as we swayed together, a muffled remix of a shitty rap song as our only background music. Looking up at him, I questioned when he had grown up so much. His once round, soft face with chubby baby cheeks had matured into a sharp jawline and high cheekbones I thought about grazing my hand over. Behind his eyes wasn’t a childish glint anymore, and I wondered how long ago that disappeared.
Pressing my face into his chest, I only felt us. One of his arms around my waist, the other holding my hand that was pressed against his shoulder. My free hand clutched his black jacket, like he would disappear into thin air, and my grasp was the only thing keeping him here.
To a passerby, it would’ve looked like a movie; two college kids dancing together outside of a frat party, holding onto each other like it’s the end of a world. In the movie, the two best friends would confess to each other the next day. The boy would rush to the girl's door, with a bouquet of flowers, gasping for air, saying “I love you, I love you, I love you, I never realized that I did.”
But only I realized. Only I realized I loved him.
Zayne never showed up on my doorstep the day after he walked me home that night. The only flowers I got were the ones that filled my lungs.
I refused to speak to him. I wasn’t mad at him, why would I be? It was my fault for forgetting my boundaries. For forgetting the rules. For thinking I had a chance since all the little highschool girls no longer followed him around like lost dogs. For once thinking that I was no longer his side character, for thinking maybe I could be his love interest in his story.
What would I say to him if we did speak? I couldn’t hide what was growing inside my chest. I couldn't hide my split lips from the thorns, or my scratchy voice. The dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep, too busy catching up on work from missed classes and not getting a break from coughing or vomiting. Tell him I was sick? He’d scold me for not taking care of myself, that I need to rest and eat properly. I didn’t want to hear it, scolding me for something he caused. His concern would only grow when I would accidentally cough up a flower in front of him.
Would he ask who I loved? Or would he just look right through me and tell me I needed to get the surgery to fix all of this. ‘Nobody is worth that kind of illness’ He’d say bluntly.
I knew I couldn’t face him. Not knowing if he even cares, yet knowing that the way I look at his face is different from the way he looks at mine. How he sees his future with someone who isn’t me.
“What are you going to do?” I was hanging out with a friend from one of my classes, Tara. She was the only person I felt like I could confide in about all of this.
We were hanging out at one of the campus coffee shops when I told her. It was a good day for my lungs, after almost overdosing on decongestants and ibuprofen.
“I’m not sure.” Twirling my spoon in my cup, I avoided her eyes. “It’s not like I can get the surgery. I can’t afford it.”
She looked me up and down, and I felt as if she could see into my soul. She did, Tara was like that.
“Can your pockets not afford it, or can you not afford it?”
Tara was right. I could afford the surgery, my university healthcare covered the surgery since students caught the disease so often;
But my heart couldn’t afford it.
It had gotten so used to loving Zayne, it would feel empty without the compassion for him. I feared I may act differently, lacking all love for him. Would he even notice?
I quickly made up my mind, looking out the window - seeing the person I dreaded the most.
Zayne sat outside in a car on the other side of the street, and I could only tell it was him if I stared hard enough. He was holding the hands of a girl I had seen around campus. Zayne had briefly mentioned her a few times, talking about the assignments they’d work on together, and I never thought too much of it.
He brought their hands up to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand, and each of her knuckles. His face was gentle, a look I had never seen on him before. She giggled, and I wondered what it would be like to be her. To have him stare at me with all the love in the world, to be able to feel his soft pink lips I had stared at so many times, wishing to just touch, to just feel. To be on the receiving side of his care, his compassion, no more blunt harsh responses and stern looks.
“Hey-”
I turned back to Tara, and coughed up a flower on the table, and I choked back a sob. Tears threatened to poor, but I couldn’t embarrass myself more than I had with the bloody peony in front of me. She came around the table and hugged me, and I mumbled through quivering lips, “Can you take me home please?”
That night the girl had made it official that she and Zayne were dating. All the pictures on social media, the hearts that their friends commented on each other's posts. A disgruntled feeling made my chest spasm, any time I’d post a picture of Zayne he’d make me take it down immediately.
The morning of my surgery, I got up and put on my favorite sweater Zayne had gotten me for my sixteenth birthday.
“I got it for you last month when you stared at it in the shop’s window.” He smiled when he saw my excitement, one of the rare moments I could see his lips turn upward.
On my walk to the bus stop, I saw him sitting there. Once he looked up and saw me, he stood.
“Where have you been?” Zayne looked at me and frowned. I suppressed the immediate urge to roll my eyes.
“I never see you around campus. You’re never in your usual spots, and I texted you. I was supposed to help you study. Are you still attending your classes?” Even after not seeing each other for weeks, he still found a way to shame me. His eyes hard, lips pressed together into a tight line, I wasn’t even sure he was happy to see me.
The bus pulled up.
“Are you going to take the bus?” I asked him, avoiding his gaze.
He shook his head, “No, I’m waiting for-”
“Yeah, okay. I have to go.”
“Wait,” I turned around to him. It had begun to snow, so the small flakes sparkled on his head in the early morning light like glitter. He always loved winter, the snow.
He stared at me for a few seconds before shaking his head, changing his mind.
I nodded. “I’ll see you, Zayne.” Saying his name felt like acid on my tongue.
Turning around without taking another look at him, I boarded the bus.
Two days later, when I finally came home from my surgery, the only difference I could tell at first was that my chest didn’t hurt anymore. I could finally breathe again without feeling like I was choking on air. The doctors gave me a bag of all the flowers that they collected out of me, and at first I refused to look at them.
Yet as soon as I got home, I felt compelled to sit on my floor and sort through them.
I made piles of each flower, twirling them in my fingers before placing them in their designated places. Some had long vines that I used to tie them together into a crown.
After I finished, I spotted a jacket under my bed. I pulled it out to see it was the black jacket he wore the night we danced together outside that stupid party.
I took a deep breath of it, wishing I would feel the same way I did that night;
But I felt nothing.
It was now just a jacket. He was now just Zayne.
I put it on, wrapping it tightly around my body. I nestled the flowers along my head like a crown of thorns.
Looking at the girl in the mirror, staring at her with her blood stained flower crown, I broke down.
(divider by cafekitsune)
#zayne x reader#zayne x you#zayne x y/n#love and deepspace zayne#zayne#l&ds zayne#lnds zayne#lads zayne#lads#lnds#lnds smut#lnds fluff#lnds angst#zayne love and deepspace#zayne smut#zayne fluff#zayne x mc#love and deep space
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The Christmas Party - Chapter 3
Summary: Now that you have a party to plan, you decide to start with the decorations... but Negan has a more exciting idea in mind.
Word Count: 5.2k
Tags: Modern AU, Teacher AU, Swearing, Pet Names, Slow Burn, Negan being an asshole, reader being an asshole too ?
previous chapter can be found here
After your vow to stay resolute in your (accidental) decision to help with the Christmas party, you vanished on Negan. He half-expected you to ambush him first thing the next morning but nothing came.
In a perfect world, you would have gone home that day, realized your pettiness and followed Negan’s original advice. You would have humbled yourself and gone straight to Gregory, petitioning for this pain in the ass party to be called off.
“Carl! That funky eye of yours doesn’t mean your legs don’t work!” Negan shouts at one of the students in his afternoon class “Run for the ball, damn it! Quit standing on the sidelines!”.
The whistle around Negan’s neck swings as he struts along the side of the basketball court, muttering to himself. Despite the chill in the air, it’s sunny outside and so they’re not all stuck inside the sports hall, where Negan would’ve been trapped in the thick air of sweaty, hormonal teens.
But that’s not the only reason he’s glad to be outside on the courts. After Negan’s plan backfired and filled you with spiteful devotion to the Christmas party, he can’t bear to be in the sports hall, knowing it’s only a matter of time before his colleagues wreck havoc on his little slice of heaven.
A polite cough behind him pulls him out of his thoughts. Negan is about to grumble to some kid to cover their mouth but when he glances behind, he sees you instead.
“Fan- fucking -tastic,” Negan says drily “my day has just got ten times better”.
The sight of a notebook pressed against your chest makes him want to groan. Hoping for some kind of a miracle, he asks “You get the party cancelled yet?”.
You join him by the sidelines, smiling mischievously. “Nope,” you reply cheerfully “I think I’d rather torture you by making you help organize it instead”.
Negan scoffs, looking back at the game. You take it as your que to continue. Looking down at your notebook you read the small list you’ve made of the different categories you’ll both have to tackle.
Food. Drink. Music. Decorations.
You read your small list out loud before thinking “Is there anything else a party needs? I guess we could have some kinda entertainment, right?”.
With a long exhale, Negan rubs his forehead “You want a bunch of middle aged teachers to play party games?”.
You shrug “Well, I don’t know how else to keep them entertained…”
“Booze. That’s all you need, not charades or pin the tail on the donkey”.
You write that down, encircling the drinks category before continuing “Well, I’m free for the rest of the day so whenever you want to—“.
“Christ, Patrick! Follow through on your shot!” Negan interrupts, yelling at another poor kid “better fix that limp wrist for your sake!”.
You blink at the… uh… advice, if you could call it that.
Negan begins making his way down the side of the court, following the action surrounding the basketball as he shouts more words of wisdom. You watch with a mix of curiosity and disbelief, suddenly feeling more confident in your own, calmer teaching style.
When Negan finally turns his attention back to you, he raises an eyebrow, his tone turning sarcastic again.
"Class ends in about ten minutes. How about we talk afterwards, so you're not following me around like a damn shadow?" he sighs, checking his watch.
Before you can retort your own thinly veiled insult, he’s off shouting at the kids again, this time clapping his arms to really amp them up.
You shake your head, grip tightening on your notebook as you turn on your heels to leave. Your plan was to just wait in his office but once you get to the door, your eyes are drawn to the adjacent double doors of the sports hall.
If this is where you’ll be having the party, you may as well get a lay of the land now.
Creeping inside the barren hall, it’s the quietest you’ve ever seen it. The large room is almost eerie without the clatter of basketballs or the sounds of kids shouting. You pause in the doorway, taking in the empty space. Soon, it’ll be filled with noise— this time, for the Christmas party you’ve roped yourself into.
Walking deeper into the room, you wonder how much convincing it’ll take to get Negan up on a ladder to hang tinsel and string lights across the high ceiling. The hall is desperate for some holiday ambience and your brain aches as you try to figure out just how much tinsel will be needed.
Thankfully, your phone buzzes with a welcome distraction.
Carol: You want to be a good samaritan and help me bake some cookies after school? Need them for the bake sale
You: Have my hands full planning party
You: but I could be tempted if I get to taste test some :D
After you informed everyone that you will be planning the party (and to hold off on the barrage of questions), Carol was the only one who didn’t give you a pitiful look when you mentioned it being you and Negan organizing it.
“Negan’s… complicated,” she told you this morning. Surprisingly, that was the most polite description of him you’ve heard.
“Just keep your distance, keep your head down and do the work” Carol listed “he’ll complain a lot but he will get the job done. Eventually”.
Given how much people seem to dislike him, hearing a neutral take felt like a welcome shift.
Carol: you’re starting to sound like my students
You let out a soft laugh before quickly typing a reply, letting her know you’re not sure if you’ll be finished with Negan by then. As much as you hate to admit it, you know how easily you two can fall into a back-and-forth, letting the time slip away without even realizing it.
Carol replies with a thumbs up, and to kill some time, you check the group chat. It’s been a while since you’ve looked at the new messages.
You don’t blame yourself though, not when it’s where you got yourself into this mess. It’s like returning to the scene of a crime but this time you know better than to hurriedly send in a text.
Gregory: WHO GOT THE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS INSTALLATION VAN CLAMPED
Gregory: HOW? WHY?????
Sasha: I told you they shouldn’t park in designated spaces
Rosita: they had their warning
Gregory: they want to school to pay the fee
Sasha: better than slashed tires
Gregory: go to principal Grime’s office , this needs to be sorted now
Rosita: I’m in the middle of teaching a class ??
Gregory: and you’re busy texting?!?!?!?
Gregory: both of you. Principal Grime’s office. NOW
A chuckle from behind makes you shiver and jerk away, hot breath fanning against the side of your neck. Negan peers over at your phone, having read the messages.
“I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation” he snorts, offering you a smirk as you tuck your phone away “can’t say I blame Rosita though, Gregory’s definitely the type of asshat that let them park there”.
“Yeah and you wanted me to talk to that asshat about getting this party cancelled” you grumble, irritation creeping into your tone
“In the past, sweetness,” Negan smiles just to annoy you “now we’re a team, ain’t we?”.
“In the past?! Negan, that was yesterday!” you point out exasperatedly, wandering around the hall to burn off some of your already pent up energy.
“And yesterday is in the past”.
You shoot him a glare but all that achieves is a wider grin looking back at you. Damn him. You run a hand down your face, forcing yourself to stop— both physically and mentally.
Negan’s trying to get you to bite, to start bickering with him so you’ll lose focus on the party and storm off. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to gather yourself. Unfortunately, when you open them again he still has that cocky smile on his face that makes you want to throttle him.
“Do you have any decorations from the previous years?” Your tone is sharper than necessary but that’s what he gets when he’s being a jerk.
“Usually, they’d host this shit at a fancy little place called the Kingdom, so we don’t have much” he replies, his demeanor easing now that you haven’t taken the bait.
“Really?” you question, expecting at least a worn down Christmas tree “What about things for a nativity or Christmas carols?”.
“Yeah cause nothing screams party like having the fuckin’ nativity scene laid out in the middle of the room” Negan teases, fishing keys out of the back pocket of his sweatpants.
You scoff, rolling your eyes as you match his sarcasm with a dose of your own “Well, no, I’m not suggesting we all get drunk in front of baby Jesus”.
Negan lets out a small chuckle, but it sounds unfamiliar. This isn’t the mischievous laugh you heard when he tried to set you up, nor is it the smirk he gave you when you were badmouthing him.
No, this is something else. It’s a rare, genuine sound– a laugh that seems to catch even him off guard. And strangely enough, it’s aimed at you. You try not to linger on it, not wanting to make things awkward.
“If you wanna have a look yourself, knock yourself out” Negan strides over to the small storage room door and you follow behind as he unlocks it.
You stand there, waiting for him to open it but he doesn’t. Instead, Negan pauses for a moment, then he turns to face you with that familiar, smug grin.
“Enjoying the view?” he teases, letting the question hang in the air.
“I— ugh! Negan!” you scold, stepping forward and pushing the door open yourself. Negan doesn’t stop you, even flicking the light on as you go first.
“Careful, sweetheart,” Negan says, grabbing one of the boxes to prop the door open. “This shit’s old... probably as old as me, so the door’s heavy and a real bastard to yank open from the inside”.
Inside, you’re met with a chaotic mess; boxes piled on top of boxes, cones and rackets scattered across the floor, and a jumble of balls stacked on a rack against the wall.
Technically, the room is large but with all the clutter, there’s barely enough space to move around. Inching your way across a small clearing, you almost wedge yourself between two tall stacks of boxes. “Any idea which ones might have the festive goods?” you ask.
“Pretty sure it’s the two at the back,” Negan trails after you, clearly uninterested “y’can usually see a bit of tinsel shimmering through the box”.
“This is a good start… I guess,” you try to take an optimistic approach “at least there’s something here”.
You carefully navigate through the maze of clutter, sidestepping loose javelins and dodging stray tennis balls. The mess makes every step feel like a mini obstacle course.
As you finally reach the last stack, you tug the lid off the nearest box, the dust tickling your nose. Peering inside, you slowly begin to sift through its contents—a jumble of tinsel, some baubles that have no string and a few random holiday knickknacks.
Negan leans against the next stack of boxes, arms crossed, watching you with mild amusement.
“Oh wow, you’re just going straight for it, huh?” he commentates, unbothered to help “it’s like you’re on a treasure hunt… y’know if you want to find the real treasure, you’re in luck”.
You don’t bite, not believing his bullshit. Even with no response, Negan continues “I know exactly where to find the crown jewels”. He gives you a wink but you miss it, keeping your head down as you rummage.
”… hellllllloooooo?” he pokes your side.
You pull out a handful of mismatched ornaments and toss them at him. “Maybe you should stop doing nothing and actually help?” you suggest as he barely manages to catch them.
With an exaggerated sigh, Negan starts to search the second box. “I was doing something,” he protests, carelessly looking through the box “flirting, if you didn’t notice”.
“Yeah, well if that’s your idea of flirting, I pray I’m not your type” you jeer.
This time, Negan doesn’t reply. You wonder if he’s taking a page out of your book and ignoring you but then you feel his eyes land on you.
Readying your disapproving look, you turn to meet Negan’s gaze. “What?” you ask, already annoyed by whatever shenanigan he’s about to pull.
With the ghost of a smirk, Negan simply stares at you for a moment. He doesn’t let his eyes wander like how you expected, the action something you thought he’d do just to get a rise out of you. Wetting his lips, Negan teasingly pulls his hand out of the box, bringing with it a tattered piece of mistletoe.
“Guess there’s only one way to find out if you’re my type” he shakes the mistletoe, accidentally making one of the plastic leaves fall off.
“Oh fuck off” you don’t stop the words coming out of your mouth, turning on your heels to leave.
Flinging the mistletoe back into the box, Negan follows. You’re half tempted to kick the box that’s keeping the door open just to lock him in, but his long strides allow him to catch up with you in no time.
“Awh, c’mon,” he teases “are you always in ‘teacher mode’ ?”.
“Only when I’m around immature people”.
“Very funny,” Negan comments as you storm back out to the empty hall. He can tell he’s almost got you; you’re so close to walking out, yet you won’t give him the satisfaction.
Negan knows how to push people’s buttons— it's one of his favorite hobbies. He enjoys testing how much people will tolerate, seeing what it takes to crack them. For some, a single remark is enough to make them fold, while others can take a whole barrage, letting it build up bit by bit.
The most frustrating thing about you is that you can take a lot, all while throwing your own taunts right back at him. You rub your forehead, trying to will yourself into not punching him.
“You got any classes left today?” he breaks the silence, his tone surprisingly conversational considering the amount of teasing he’s been doing.
Every question feels like a set up for some next lewd joke or suggestion and so you simply nod your head.
“Perfect,” he says, locking up the storage room and tossing the keys up into the air before catching them “let’s go grab some new decorations”.
You raise an eyebrow, curious, but Negan doesn’t wait around. As he strolls out of the hall, you have to quicken your pace to keep up with him.
“What do you mean?” you ask.
He glances over his shoulder, speaking to you as if you’re a three year old. “we go shop, buy new decorations, you happy, party less shit looking”.
“But don’t you have classes?” you badger him, watching as Negan makes a quick stop by his office. He drops the keys onto his desk, grabs his coat, and snatches up his car keys.
“Yeah, but Mark can cover for me,” he replies casually, clearly unfazed “it’s the bastard’s last day before his vacation, he can do some extra work”.
The last thing you expected was for Negan to suggest going on a quick trip together, especially with how little you two can tolerate each other. Negan lets out a short laugh when he sees your wary expression, clearly unconcerned.
“He’ll figure it out,” he says nonchalantly, pulling out his phone to shoot a quick text to the other coach “it’ll be fine as long as he doesn’t give Fat Joey my class, don’t trust that fucker to teach gym”.
“Negan!” you slap his arm “Rude”.
He shrugs.
The two of you walk out of the school and head toward the teacher’s parking lot. As you look around, a wave of hesitation hits you.
Even though you don’t have any more classes to teach today, you can’t shake the feeling that leaving early feels like you’re playing hooky.
Negan notices in an instant. With a small chuckle, he places both hands on your shoulders and gives you a gentle nudge forward.
“C’mon, Ms. Goody Two Shoes,” he teases, steering you toward his pick up truck “we won’t be gone long”.
You hesitate for a moment, still unsure. “Are you sure?” you try to look up at him as he directs you toward the passenger side “I don’t mind driving myself and meeting you there”.
“No need. I’ve got it covered,” he replies, taking his hands off you to open the door. With the automatic roll of your eyes, you get in.
The car ride to the store is a mix of awkward tension and playful banter. As Negan drives, he leans back in his seat with an easy confidence. Every now and then, he throws in a flirtatious comment but for the most part, he keeps it PG.
Surprisingly, Negan actually asked about you and why you’d move to “such a backend fuckin’ town”. You grabbed the opportunity to not argue or get flirted with and instead babbled on about why you needed a break away from your hometown (making sure to skip all the family rifts and drama).
Pulling into the Target parking lot, the familiar smirk of the Negan you know resurfaces.
"I can always make time to give ya a real tour of the town," he says, and for a brief moment, you almost believe he's being sincere—until he adds, "With or without the extra stop at mine afterwards."
You let out an exaggerated sigh as he parks, shaking your head. "You're like a comedian that only knows one joke and no matter how many times it falls flat, you just keep saying it anyways".
Negan’s eyebrows bounce up as his truck comes to a stop, his tone dripping with cockiness “Oh it works real well, 99.9% success rate”.
“Wow, you’re just like bleach” you shoot back as you unbuckle your seatbelt.
Getting out of the truck and heading into the store, he proudly replies “All I have to say is I have been told I’m killer in the bedroom, so maybe I am like bleach”.
Shaking your head, you opt for a small basket instead of dragging around a massive cart. The last thing you need is Negan laughing as you struggle to control one of those things.
“Do you have an off switch?” You taunt.
Taking the basket off you, Negan’s fingers brush yours. He takes full advantage, tilting to the side so his tall frame is closer to your eye level.
Lowering his voice to what you can only assume is what he uses in the bedroom, he seductively growls “Wanna try to find it?”.
The look you give him says everything, and with a sharp ‘hmph ,’ you head toward the holiday section, letting him trail behind.
As you pass the Christmas trees, you glance at them, already knowing you’ll need to check your budget before committing to one for the party. This trip feels more like a reconnaissance mission—just picking up a few affordable things if you find them while scouting what else they have to offer.
Meanwhile, Negan simply drifts by, clearly bored now that the playful banter has faded. He’s like a kid that’s been dragged into grocery shopping with his mom—picking up random items and staring at the ceiling, hoping for some kind of entertainment.
Negan would’ve spent his time staring at your ass but he knows better than to risk it. You’d throw a nutcracker at him if you caught him perving on you.
“ Neeeeeeegan ?” You drag out his name, watching the man completely zone out.
As much as you want to give him a piece of your mind, you can’t say you’re surprised. You both knew this was going to be a pain.
The only reason you’re party planning is out of spite, while Negan’s just here because he doesn’t want his sports hall to be trashed by either terrible decorations or the teachers on the night.
Shaking the wreath in your hands, the bells jingle and you call out again “Negan? Hello?”.
Looking back to you, his expression softens just enough to pass as a real smile rather than a smirk. “I heard you the first time, I just like hearing you say my name,” he says, his tone playful.
You scoff, fighting the urge to smile. Unfortunately, you’re human so when a handsome man throws you a compliment, it’s impossible not to react, no matter how much of a pain in the ass he can be.
… handsome ?
You quickly shove that thought aside, irritated that your brain so easily confessed that. He is handsome, but… he’s Negan. An asshole, in other words.
Alright, time to stop thinking about that.
“I, uh…” you swallow, trying to get your thoughts in order “The wreath! If we drape a tablecloth over the desks and put one of these in front of each, that’ll look nice, right?”
Negan gives a casual nod, eyes shifting between the wreath and the rows of holiday decorations.
“I mean, the desks are just for finger food and drinks anyways but… it’ll be festive!” you find yourself rambling, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.
He scoffs at how you try to justify spending some money a on wreath, taking a few steps toward the sales section.
“How about…” Negan starts, picking up a small pumpkin statue priced at just a dollar, “…we buy a bunch of these and throw a Christmas hat on ‘em?”
You pause, unsure whether you should dignify that with a response.
“You want to use Halloween decorations?” you drop the wreath into the basket, rubbing a hand over your face in disbelief.
“I’m getting it” he puts the pumpkin next to your wreath.
You look down at the pumpkin and purse your lips. As if this party hasn’t been doomed from the get go, you don’t think having pumpkins there will help. You don’t have to voice your concerns, Negan can read your face.
“Hey, I’m just offering a little direction,” he says, wandering down the aisle “someone’s gotta take charge when you’re doubting whether you should buy wreaths for a Christmas party”.
A flutter of defensiveness stirs within you, a shift in your chest that spreads like a warm yet uncomfortable pressure.
Picking up a box of lights, you drop them in the basket “I’m not doubting, I just don’t want to buy junk that we won’t use”.
Negan stops, ignoring what you just said as he picks up some balloons. “We should get these… just gotta make sure this side is at the back” he lifts up the packet, showing you the gigantic ‘Happy 60th Birthday’ printing on the front of each balloon.
“You’re kidding,” plucking the pack out of his hands, you put it back on the shelf “and I don’t need you to take charge of this, especially when you’re doing such a half assed job”.
Negan scoffs “Am not”.
The more you try to ignore the building in your chest, the more it festers, growing into a quiet but insistent urge to clarify, to defend and correct the narrative.
“That’s all you do! You want to be in charge but you’re not thorough enough whenever you are” you explain as calmly as you can.
There was a small bit of you that hoped Negan would listen to what you’re saying but he’s not interested in the feedback, waving his free hand dismissively as he walks back up the aisle.
“It’s easier when I’m in charge because I get shit done, I don’t try to reason with myself why I need to buy something– I just do it,” as if to prove the point, he puts another pumpkin into the basket.
It's like he’s not even trying to understand your point, and that’s a realization that makes your patience unravel.
The calm concern starts to fade and is replaced by a barely contained annoyance.
“But you don’t try to make things easier for others, you literally just left Mark to deal with the rest of your classes for the day and complained at the idea of Mark letting Joey help! You’re always pushing your own agenda and railroading people into going along with it” taking a firm stance against him, you do the unthinkable.
You reach your hand into the basket.
And remove a pumpkin.
Negan gives you a pointed look, boring into your skull and not even watching your hand place the pumpkin back on the shelf.
“Sweetheart, calm down, this isn’t a military operation,” he asserts “we’re just planning a damn party so lighten up. Get festive!”.
It’s maddening. Now you’re making a mountain out of a molehill? You should just lighten up because it’s a Christmas party and nothing more?
His dismissive tone is like a constant poke to your patience, stretching it thinner with every passing moment. To make matters worse, Negan carries on like usual, wandering over to the next aisle.
Begrudgingly, you totter after him.
“You can’t just do that!” you snap, absentmindedly perusing the scented candles “you can’t act like this is something silly when I’m giving you valid criticism! I’m trying to put in effort here and actually make this party bearable”.
It hits all at once, a rush of raw emotion that floods your mind and spills out before you can stop it.
Your voice shakes, not from fear, but from the overwhelming need to be heard. You don’t even have time to think, to carefully choose your words; it all comes out, unfiltered.
Every bit of irritation, confusion, and disbelief tumbling out in one breathless rant.
“All you want to do is skip school, wander around here, flirt with me– even though I keep rejecting you! And just buy stupid shit that we don’t need for this party!” you rant, gesturing to the lonely pumpkin still in the basket.
“You have to respect other people’s time and their effort too. Not everyone wants to half-ass this! You get your own way all the time and no one will say no to you or make you do it their way. It’s Negan’s way or no way. And people are so used to letting you get away with shit again and again just because—“.
You stop yourself.
Your mouth clamps shut, stopping your cathartic rant before it can say anymore but it’s too late. Negan stands next to you, waiting.
Shit.
“… I like the cinnamon one,” you say quietly, trying to change the subject as you sniff the candles “sometimes, I think they make the gingerbread ones too strong and the ones that are supposed to smell like vanilla never do”.
Negan doesn’t budge. A small smirk creeps up on his face. Negan already knows what you were going to say, he doesn’t need anyone to tell him.
He’s attractive, good in the sac, can charm the legs off anyone within a ten mile radius and happens to have one swoon worthy smile.
He gets away with this because he’s sexy. Nothing he can do about that, it’s natural!
“Go on,” he implores, tongue peeking out as he wets his bottom lip “say it with your chest, doll”.
You want to stay quiet. You know for the interest of everyone, you should.
“People let you be an asshole because your wife died”.
You’ve never seen a change in someone so quick. His face darkens, veins pulsing at his temples as his jaw clenches so tight that his teeth almost grind together.
Negan’s eyes narrow into a hard, unforgiving stare. Every muscle in his body seems to coil, as if ready to snap.
“Are you fucking shitting me?” he grunts.
You’ve never seen him like this— not even when you’ve bickered with him. This is something different, something deeper.
His entire demeanor has shifted, like a switch was flipped, and all the previous irritation and taunting have been replaced by a quiet, seething fury that radiates from him in waves.
Your fingers curl around the candle but you barely register the sensation. Your eyes lock on him, wide and unblinking. He told you to say it, to be honest with him.
Every muscle in your body feels frozen, as if something inside you has short-circuited. You’ve always thought you’d know what you’d do in a moment like this, whether you’d be a flight or fight type of person. But now, facing a full wave of intimidation, you realize the truth: you’re not the fight type. You’re not the flight type.
You’re the freeze type.
It’s as if the air around you has thickened, the space between you and him narrowing to a suffocating stillness. You want to stutter out an apology but it’s all happened so suddenly that you forget how to.
It feels like all you can do is stand there, rooted to the spot. In an instant, he snaps out of his silent rage and rushes into action.
Without warning, Negan lets go of the shopping basket, letting it drop to the ground with a violent clatter. The sound cuts through the air like a gunshot and you jump.
His hands are still clenched into fists as he takes a step back and his eyes flash one last time at you with an unreadable mix of frustration and something deeper. And then, he spins on his heel and storms off.
“Fuck this,” you hear muttered under his breath as he goes.
You’re left standing there, the abruptness of it all taking the air from your lungs. Your legs take jittery steps forward before you meekly grab the basket and try to follow.
With only a pumpkin, some lights and a wreath inside, the basket somehow pulls at your arms, as if you’re carrying a thousand things. Trying to follow, the basket swings awkwardly in your grasp, banging against your shins with each uncoordinated step.
“Negan?” You call out, your voice sounding smaller than you mean it to. Your gaze darts nervously from aisle to aisle and across the registers until you spot a tall and imposing shadow going out the main doors.
“No, no, no, no, no,” your heart thuds painfully against your chest, each beat louder than the last.
You set the basket down gently, almost afraid it might shatter if you move too quickly, before rushing out of the store. The cool air hits your skin, but it’s no relief. This can’t be happening. He can’t just leave you here. Not like this.
You move fast, almost stumbling, your eyes scanning the parking lot frantically. Cars of every make and model line the pavement, but there’s no sign of his truck.
A pang of panic rises in your throat as you take a few more steps, searching the sea of vehicles, your stomach tightening with every second that passes. His truck should be here. It should’ve been parked right where you left it.
The realization hits you like a wave. It’s not here.
A soft whine escapes your lips, barely a sound and yet it carries the weight of everything that’s suffocating you in that moment. Confusion. Anxiety. Guilt. And an overwhelming sense of abandonment. You stand frozen, the noise of the parking lot fading as the panic surges again.
He’s gone.
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gif made from scenepack provided by harleys.scenes on insta <3
#negan fanfiction#negan smith fanfiction#negan x reader#negan x you#twd negan#negan#negan smith#negan twd#jeffrey dean morgan x reader#jdm x reader#the walking dead negan#negan imagine#negan smith x you#negan smith x female reader#twd fanfiction#twd#twd x reader#negan the walking dead
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Ok so I saw sonic the hedgehog 3 last night and I want spill my thoughts
SPOILERS BELOW
I really liked that Shadow was explicitly described and portrayed as a kid—he’s Sonic’s age (minus the 50 years in stasis, where he clearly didn’t age physically or mentally)… he was manipulated by Peepaw Robotnik, he was a hurt child that was used by the govt and later someone he considered something akin to family………
Anyway that scene of sonic and shadow sitting on the moon… ahh damn it makes me tear up to think about
Also I like that sonic isn’t perfect—I like that he decides he needs the use the master emerald, he goes back on his promise with knuckles and tails and is ready to actively fight his friends to get to it, both to stop the evildoers and to get revenge for his/their father… he leaves his team after promising they would always work together, and he realizes that what he’s doing is wrong, realized that killing shadow wouldn’t make Tom better, it wouldn’t reverse what happened, and it would only make him regret taking a life
And seeing that compassion, that ability to make a difficult choice, even in emotional turmoil, has such a profound effect on shadow, because suddenly he’s seeing someone going through something similar to him, who begins responding like him before… not. He sees an option, a path, that previously wasn’t even considered—forgiveness, moving on… etc
I also like that knuckles calls sonic out when they square up over the master emerald. He explicitly tells Sonic that he’s in no mental state to make such a drastic decision, but he trusts Sonic enough that he lets him get the emerald anyway, and despite not agreeing with his choice he still turns up with tails to help out at the end.
I really hope that shadow is not just dead now, though, because clearly they plan to continue this film series (metal Sonic and Amy seem to be coming next, based on the after credits scene)… I’d like to see shadow pulled into Sonic’s funky little family with two parent humans, a dog, and a handful of mutant alien animals…
Let shadow learn how to have a family again, to move on, to honor and remember Maria but live a fulfilling life because it would’ve made her happy to see him happy
Also let him get some mfing therapy
Oh, also, I really appreciate that they used the super shadow coloring from sonic adventure 2, where shadow is more of a silver-gold rather than the bright yellow-gold of sonic (shadow’s coloring is way more like Sonic’s in the shadow the hedgehog game, and I kind of hate it)
Really my only complaint: about the film, besides them not hinting at or showing shadow surviving (please don’t kill my blorbo) {Edit; I have since seen a second end credit scene that I missed—thank you to everyone for sharing!! My boy lives!!!), is the fact that Rouge is just not around… which like, she absolutely wasn’t necessary, plenty of characters are/were omitted but I feel like with the pattern of introducing characters in pairs (Tails and Knuckles in 2, Metal Sonic and Amy in presumably 4), it’s weird that Shadow didn’t have some other character introduced in the same movie… Rouge could have helped with the infiltration of G.U.N., for example… but again she’s not necessary and it doesn’t really take away from the movie.
Final complaint is the G.U.N. lady, her name escapes me… the one who acted as essentially a secondary antagonist and was trying to secure the weapon keys. Tom gets the key from her by impersonating the other G.U.N. guy who died, and that’s the last we see of her!! Feels unresolved imo (though I wouldn’t be surprised if we see her again in 4, perhaps accusing Sonic of crimes committed by metal, maybe leading to a similar city escape-framed by lookalike situation that happens in adventure 2 with Sonic and shadow)…
Oh and last thing: I do think the movie spent a bit too much time on the Robotnik’s… it could’ve used a bit more shadow screen time imo…
And those are my unorganized thoughts fkejjdjndidkejs fun movie def recommend watching it
#shadow the hedgehog#sonic the hedgehog#Sonic the hedgehog 3#sonic movie 3#Sonic movie#sonic movie universe
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unfinished business
Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman
Summary: Amelie finds herself confiding in Gracie Abrams backstage about an unexpected encounter with Lando Norris at a recent party. Their conversation unravels Amelie's unresolved emotions and the complicated history between her and Lando.
Wordcount: 1.2 k
Warnings: just fluff
request over here!
August 7th, 2024 - Los Angeles, CA
Amelie sat on the leather couch in Gracie Abrams’ dressing room, the lights from the vanity mirror casting a soft glow on her features. She looked exhausted but content, having just finished a grueling leg of her Emails I Can't Send tour in Asia. It felt surreal to be back in Los Angeles, where the bustling energy of the city mixed with the excitement of Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour. Amelie was opening for Taylor later this month in Mexico, but for now, she had a bit of time to herself before the madness started again.
Gracie sat beside her, adjusting her stage outfit in front of the mirror. Gracie had been kind enough to let Amelie hang out in her dressing room before her own set, and it was a relief for Amelie to finally have someone to talk to.
—So, I ran into Lando again,— Amelie muttered, her voice laced with frustration.
Gracie’s head snapped up from the mirror, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. She already knew about Lando—the history between them was no secret. From their days playing video games in 2020, to their short but intense relationship in 2021, Gracie had heard it all. She knew how much Amelie tried to move on, but no matter how hard she tried, Lando’s presence lingered in the back of her mind.
—No way, where?!— Gracie leaned in, her eyes wide with excitement. —Spill, I need details.—
Amelie took a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. —It was at Penelope's birthday party in Monaco, just a couple of weeks ago. Honestly, I didn’t even know if I was ready to see him again, but there he was.— She paused, her frustration bubbling to the surface. —And he looked... he looked so damn good. Like, it’s not even fair. How does he do it?—
Gracie smirked, her lips curving into a mischievous smile as she turned fully to face Amelie. —Okay, but did he say anything? Or was it one of those 'awkward glance across the room while the sexual tension suffocates everyone else' kind of moments?—
Amelie let out a dry laugh, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them. —Oh, he said something, all right. He came over to say hi like nothing had ever happened between us, all casual and charming. He even asked how I’ve been, like he genuinely gave a shit.— She groaned, covering her face with her hands for a moment before looking at Gracie again. —And then, as if the universe wanted to mess with me even more, he was just... nice. He didn’t try to flirt or make things weird. He was just... Lando.—
Gracie leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. —And that’s what gets to you, isn’t it? That he can just be so fucking effortless while you’re sitting here overthinking everything. Classic guy move.—
—Exactly!— Amelie exclaimed, throwing her hands up. —It’s like, how dare you show up looking like that and being all calm and composed when we have so much... history. I was ready to ignore him all night, you know? I had a plan. But then he had to go and smile at me, and suddenly I couldn’t even remember why I was mad in the first place.—
Gracie gave her a sympathetic smile, scooting closer to Amelie on the couch. —It’s because you’re not really over him. And before you start with the 'I don’t love him anymore' speech, I get it. You don’t have to be in love with someone to still feel... something. Especially when things ended the way they did.—
Amelie sighed, leaning her head back against the couch. —I don’t even know if it’s him I miss, or just... what we had. It was so easy with him at first. He made me laugh when I thought I’d never feel happy again. And for a while, it felt like he was the only person who really saw me, you know? Not Amelie the actress or the singer. Just me.—
Gracie reached out and squeezed Amelie’s hand. —I get that. But if he made you feel that way, why did it go so wrong? What’s stopping you from... trying again?—
Amelie hesitated, biting her lip as she considered the question. —Because he hurt me, Gracie. He made me feel like I wasn’t enough, like my career and my life were too much for him to handle. And I know I wasn’t perfect either—I was busy, distracted, and maybe not as present as I should’ve been. But he started talking to someone else while we were still figuring things out, and that broke me. I don’t think I’ve forgiven him for that.—
Gracie’s face softened, her usual playful demeanor replaced with genuine concern. —That’s valid, Am. What he did was shitty, and you’re allowed to still be angry about it. But... do you think he regrets it? Do you think he’s changed?—
Amelie shrugged, picking at the hem of her oversized sweatshirt. —I don’t know. Maybe. He seemed different at the party, like he’s grown up a bit. But I’m scared, Gracie. What if I let him back in, and he does it again? Or worse, what if I’m just some lingering crush he can’t let go of, and it doesn’t mean as much to him as it does to me?—
Gracie leaned back, crossing her arms as she thought. —You’re overthinking it. But honestly, if you still feel this strongly about him—even after everything—you owe it to yourself to figure out what that means. Whether that’s telling him how you feel or deciding to truly let it go, you can’t keep living in this limbo. It’s not fair to you, and it’s definitely not fair to whoever comes next in your life.—
Amelie nodded slowly, her fingers drumming against her knee. —I just... I don’t want to look weak, you know? Like, if I even hint at wanting him back, he’ll think he has all the power. And I can’t be that girl, Gracie. Not again.—
Gracie gave her a firm look. —Wanting someone back doesn’t make you weak, Ames. It makes you human. But if you’re going to do it, you have to do it on your terms. You set the boundaries, you call the shots. And if he’s serious about you, he’ll respect that. If not, then fuck him. You’ll know you tried.—
Amelie let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. —I hate that you’re making sense right now. It’s so annoying.—
Gracie grinned, leaning over to bump her shoulder against Amelie’s. —That’s what I’m here for. To annoy you with good advice and remind you that you’re a badass who deserves someone who’s all in. Whether that’s Lando or not, only you can decide.—
The room fell silent for a moment, the distant hum of the concert venue filling the space. Amelie stared at the floor, her mind racing with memories and emotions she thought she’d buried long ago.
—Do you think he still cares?— she asked softly, almost afraid of the answer.
Gracie hesitated before answering, her voice gentle. —I think... if he looked at you the way you’re describing, then yeah. He cares. But the real question is, does he care enough to make it right?—
Amelie didn’t respond, her thoughts too tangled to put into words. All she knew was that seeing Lando again had stirred something in her, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to confront.
But maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop running from it.
#f1 fluff#lando norris#lando norris fluff#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#lando norris fanfic#lando x reader#f1#f1 smau#formula 1#lando fluff#lando x you#f1 fic#formula 1 fanfic#formula one#singer#sabrina carpenter#lando norris x singer!#lando#lando norris x you#lando norris x reader#lando norris x y/n#lando norris x oc#lando x singer!#lando x y/n#f1 imagine#short n sweet#short n sweet tour#sabrinasource#sabrina carpenter edit
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So, uh… tonight was cathartic as hell. Remember how I was raised in a church that became a cult and how it’s left me with thirteen metric tons of religious trauma, which I’ve only recently been able to start working through?
Tonight, I did something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time: I went back one last time to say goodbye.
We had a Blue Christmas service this evening at my church. I planned to attend just because it seemed like it would be peaceful, but it ended up opening my eyes to a loooooot of pain and grief I’m still holding onto. Today was the church I was raised in’s annual candlelight communion service in honor of Christmas. My whole family was there, except for me. I invited them to the Blue Christmas service and our own candlelight communion this coming Tuesday, and they rejected the offers, just as they’ve rejected every other invitation I’ve extended to them. My dad always said he wanted nothing more than for me to seek God with my whole heart, and now I’m finally in a place where I feel safe enough that I can… and it’s driven a wedge between us, because he’s convinced God could never reveal Himself to me so long as I’m openly and unrepentantly trans. This isn’t the first Christmas I haven’t gone to church with him, but it’s the first Christmas I’ve spent in church alone, and I didn’t realize until tonight how heavy my heart is as a result.
I ended up planting myself at the alter and just praying for a good twenty minutes after the service proper ended. There wasn’t any divine revelation, I just gave up all my fears and concerns and sorrows. About halfway through I felt a hand on my shoulder, and it stayed there until I finally got back up. It was one of my pastors, and he prayed with me until I was done; he offered me a hug and told me quietly that “God delights in you,” and that, no matter what I face, I won’t have to face it alone; God is always with me, and he and his wife (who’s the head pastor) will always welcome me. Talk about not even knowing what you needed to hear until you hear it. I was choking up. 😆
I sat outside and watched the stars for a bit because I just… didn’t wanna go home. I never do when I’m at church. I felt like there was more that needed to be done or experienced. Ultimately I decided to drive around for a little bit and just let my thoughts run wild. And as luck would have it, the path I chose took me past the church I was raised in… which was completely abandoned. They usually have evening service, but since it’s the last Sunday before Christmas, no service tonight.
I’m not really sure what compelled me to pull in, much less to get out of my car. But I did, and then my feet just started moving, and once I started, I didn’t wanna stop.
I visited as many places as I could without access to the inside of the church and just remembered. “This is the door that led to my dad’s Divorce Care class. I’d always poke my head in on Wednesday nights to see if I could nab some candy from the crystal bowl.” “This is where the swing set used to be. I’d play sick so I could swing instead of having to sit through sermons. Lots of lectures happened here.” “This is the AC unit I hid behind one of the last times I attended a service here. I hid here and cried and prayed someone would find me there and assure me I wasn’t as alone as I felt. No one did.”
Once I finished circling the outside of the church, I stood on the bridge overlooking the fish pond in front for a bit, because that was one of my favorite places to linger growing up. The rocks, the planks, everything was exactly how I remembered them. Then I waved at the nearest security camera, hopped back in my car, and pulled away. It seems kinda silly recounting it now, but I thanked the church and said “goodbye” out loud, then I was off down the road and I didn’t look back.
I don’t know if this will actually be helpful in the long run or if it truly gave me lasting closure. But for tonight, there’s peace. I’ve said my goodbyes on my own terms, and now I’m moving ahead, and for tonight at least, that’s enough.
(I also got this cool picture of one of the crosses on the side of the church. A cult it may be, but it’s a well-decorated cult. 😂)
#peaches shut the ENTIRE fuck up already#I confronted a lot of unexpected emotions tonight so I’ll be heavily sentimental for a while 😅#peaches screams into the void
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Can I, maybe, possibly, if its not to much to ask, request something with Jason/Nico? I know there are fics with Trans Nico but I’d really like a fic with Trans Jason (I think it has to do with how feminine the certain characters seem). A list of Headcanons wold be fine or you can do a short fic if you feel up to it.
(it does sort of kill me how people hc more “feminine” male characters as trans and vice versa…i get if it’s a trans guy looking at nico like “oh he’s 5’6” just like me fr” but when it’s a fandom wide thing…idk how to feel. if it’s well-meaning i suppose i’m overthinking it. i do 100% support the trans jason grace agenda though 💌)
New Rome liked to see itself as progressive for appearance’s sake, though at the end of the day, it stuck to Roman values. Jason could fight in the Roman army, could receive all the same honors, though he felt different—he was the muse, not the poet. He was put on the sidelines instead of the front.
He didn’t even truly know how he felt until he met Nico. The Ambassador of Pluto took a liking to him, preferring to collect his intel (for Pluto, of course, though Jason could sense his curiosity) from him over anyone else.
Jason understood that. Reyna was intimidating, and Octavian was…
Octavian often said there shouldn’t be two female praetors. Even if one of them was a daughter of Jupiter. He wasn’t sexist, of course, but…it didn’t align with old Roman values.
Reyna often told him (in the most professional way) to kick sand. Jason agreed. It wouldn’t matter if there were two female praetors, but…it bothered him in more ways than one.
Jason confessed as much to Nico under fear of death one night atop the observation tower. Nico connected the puzzle pieces before Jason could even manage the words. If Jason could forgo his birth name, could magically change himself to be a man…it would be the burden of the sky lifted from his shoulders. It would be being forced to fight in too-tight armor all his life, only to finally get refitted for armor that fit him perfectly. He would still have to fight, but…it would be easier. More fluid. He would be…Jason.
Nico told him that was perfectly alright, that he would call him whatever he wanted, that he would be his friend. Nico confessed that this had to be true because…he was gay, and he was pretty sure he had feelings for Jason. The real Jason that he could sense on the inside, not the persona he put on for New Rome.
Jason and Nico shared their first kiss that night, and Jason was almost giddy at the thought of having at least one person that would support him in this. Perhaps he would tell Reyna soon. Even if the whole of New Rome would be against him, Reyna would support him. He went to bed that night thinking, dreaming of a new and different life.
Jason awoke the next morning on a bus, holding hands with a cute girl. A bubbly, slightly annoying boy cracked jokes from the seat in front of them. He called him Jason. Jason didn’t remember anything, though everything felt off.
He could remember one name, though: Nico.
#submission#pjo jason grace#pjo nico di angelo#pjo nico#pjo jason#jasico#jason x nico#nico di angelo x jason grace#nico di angelo#pjo#pjo hoo toa#jason grace#percy jackson#trans jason grace#using the tags that came with the submission#asks
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when the confusion is r e a l
#aka ‘im doomscrolling on the birdsite to escape the horrors of real life bUT WHY IS MY DASH COMPLETELY FILLED WITH THE SAME 2 GUYS KISSING’#i dont even go here help where are they from who is ivan and how does he fit into the kissing guys thing is he one of the guys or??#im confused as to why they are people comparing the kissing dudes to the pair of main dudes from o.rv but hey good for them ig#but now im seeing them on my yt recs too. help what is an algorithm anyway#d o i want to know who they are#i get the feeling that i’d only end up seeing more of them if i tried to find out more. lord.#uh. stay kissing ig??? flashtag lovewins???#(maybe i should just take it as a sign to return to reading o.rv lol im not even halfway through this 6k page epub)
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Do I have to start saying not that anyone would care in that super duper passive aggressive way to guilt people into caring or what
#dora daily#I’m so tired#the one thing I’ve consistently wanted since I was a kid was to be cared about and seen 😜#yet I can’t even seem to get that ☠️ I honest to god am so tired like every day is another futile attempt to try to engineer what I say#specifically for the purpose of me hoping someone ANYONE would care#how I used to be sick when I was younger because I saw that the kids who would get sick or would get sad would get sm care and love but#I was stupid because I didn’t account for the fact that when I was sick I had to just suck it up or when I was sad I need to stop being such#a crybaby and get over it#what if I say I’ve had enough of just being shamelessly used by others for me to comfort them through their problems#but I always have everything thrown back at my face because somehow when it’s my turn my problems are uncomfortable or awkward#I don’t have energy for a single thing yet I force myself to talk to at least one person and trying to fix my relationship with just#literally talking it shouldn’t be that hard but I feel so worthless that even speech is impossible and makes me feel like I will literally#die. it’s been working kinda but now I just can’t help but feel so sick to my stomach about all this my head hurts really bad and I’m trying#not to cry and trying my hardest to make peace with the fact that in truth nobody will ever like me enough to care at all ever#not my mum not my dad or my siblings and certainly not my friends either#I’m so tired of always begging and pleading for someone to just notice I’m here too#or maybe it’s specific people#it’s so cruel to say all those overly nice things to me and not act on them#why else was I so psychotic about that girl ? obviously because she would shower me with the nicest things I’ve ever heard#but she says that to everyone she’s not consistent with me and we aren’t really friends#ik it wasn’t her intention but it doesn’t change the fact I have wanted to and I’m not even over exaggerating but actually off myself#because this is just proof I’m around to serve people’s dirty work and clean messes when I can’t even stand on my two feet anyways#isn’t it so stupid I’m just talking to myself here and most likely nobody will ever see it meaning this was just useless yet again#and the fact i can’t be free ever nor can i do anything about this to permanently end things because i am a coward and because the worst#part is that even after death I shall be tormented anyways#and let’s say I somehow survive an attempt I will literally be scarred for life and then I’d rlly want to be dead#it’s the way not even death can be a solace for this because there would only be more torture#I can’t leave this religion because leaving won’t change the truth but I’m so tired and worn thin of every single responsibility in my life#even tho I don’t have much the few I do have feel excruciating#life is too much and death is worse so why couldn’t my mum who’s strong willed said no to my dads family and not gotten married period 🧍♀️
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Hi guys! Yujatea here! If you enjoy my work, I’d like to please ask for a moment of your time to consider helping this family I’m supporting! Shaima is a mother of four children, Abdul Rahim, Walid, Majdi, and baby Amal. Shaima is struggling to support her children since her husband disappeared, and needs urgent help with providing food and resources for them, especially as winter sweeps through Gaza! This family’s fundraising campaign (@familgazaamal1) is completely vetted and I’m trying to use my platforms to raise awareness on their behalf. I’ll be opening my commissions to raise funds for their campaign so keep your eyes peeled! I’ll also post their fundraiser link in my highlights as well! Thanks guys! Let’s do our part to reclaim kindness and uplift each other!
Here's a message from the family:
In Gaza, where conflict looms over daily life, children’s dreams remain a ray of hope. Abdul Rahim, a young boy, dreams of becoming a famous artist, using his drawings to tell the world about the beauty of his homeland. Walid, on the other hand, dreams of playing football in a big stadium, representing his country despite the obstacles around him. Majdi, a cat lover, dreams of becoming a kind person and helping children. Majdi, who dreams of opening an animal shelter to care for animals in Gaza. Even in the midst of war, these children cling to their dreams, believing that one day, despite the difficulties, they will achieve their goals. Their dreams are not only about personal success, but also about shedding light on a world filled with darkness. These dreams symbolize the resilience of Gaza’s children, showing that hope and determination can survive even the most difficult circumstances.
In the heart of the ongoing war, Shaima lives with her four children, constantly struggling with pain and waiting. Her husband, who was once the source of security and happiness, left a long time ago, facing the challenges of war far from them. Every day, Shaima makes earnest efforts to keep life going despite the hardships. She strives to provide food and shelter while trying to instill hope in the hearts of her children, who are still waiting for their father’s return, a father they know little about other than his absence. Her four children, despite their young age, carry great hopes in their hearts. The eldest, who everyone sees as the "little father," dreams of their father returning to embrace them as he did in the past. The youngest, on the other hand, wakes up at night searching for his father's voice, wishing for his return to feel safe again. Shaima's dream is every mother’s dream in this war: for her husband to return safely so they can live together again in peace and security. She dreams of the days when her husband filled their home with joy, and she prays for the end of the war so their family can reunite once more. Yet, amid the destruction and tears, hope remains their strength. Shaima knows that her patience and resilience are what keep the family going. Despite the difficult days, she continues to resist, dreaming of the moment when her family will be whole again, with her husband and the father of her children back home.
#palestine#save palestine#palestine fundraiser#gaza fundraiser#family fundraiser#fundraiser art#art fundraiser#from the river to the sea#palestine will be free#free palestine
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I think something a lot of other people can relate to is the way that you get so conditioned to discomfort that you stop registering it.
I remember sitting at the table with my family, eating dinner as a child. I’d try to eat, because of course I was hungry. But sometimes the flavor or texture was so repugnant that it moved into a category of Not Food.
“Two more bites before you can leave the table.”
“I can’t,” I’d say, trying to explain the impossibility.
But because I was a child they heard, “I won’t,” and made me sit at the table. I’d sit in dull agonized silence, bored and hungry for hours until bedtime when they’d give up. I’d hate myself for not eating and my parents for forcing me to sit there. The few forcefeeding moments ended in vomit.
They’d say, “If you don’t eat this you can’t eat a snack later,” and I moved past trying to communicate my discomfort into accepting that I’d just be hungry.
That state of affairs didn’t last, because my parents realized nothing could force me to eat so they catered to my palate, worrying they’d starve me. But the message stuck. If you can’t do anything about a situation, just accept the suffering.
A few years later my mother called me off the playground to ask, “Are you limping?”
I shrugged. My feet had hurt for a long time, but that was just the way things were now. My mom pulled my socks and shoes off and gasped. The soles of my feet were covered in huge painful planters warts.
“Why didn’t you say anything?!” She demanded but I could only shrug at her. I’d learned a long time ago that saying things about my discomfort didn’t matter, so now I had no words. Sometimes things hurt and sometimes they don’t. I simply accepted and did my best.
Now as an adult trying to learn to improve my own conditions can be hard. If I make food that I can’t eat I’ll force myself to sit at the counter still, full of guilt and self loathing, trying to will myself to eat it.
At first I needed my betrothed to gently take it away to present me with something I could eat. Now on my own I can usually admit that it’s not happening before too long and get something else, but I still feel guilty.
Laying in bed at night waiting for my betrothed to finish getting ready I let out a huge sigh of relief when they turned the lights off.
“Why didn’t you turn them off if they bothered you?” they asked the first time it happened.
“I didn’t even know it was bothering me until it was gone.”
Assessing my physical state now to see if I can improve it is something I’m still relearning but I’m relieved to finally have the space and support to do it.
#ramblies#autism#as an afab kid I didn’t get diagnosed but given my poor social skills and general vibes it’s astonishing I wasn’t#I didn’t learn to implement social masking until way later#also those warts too months to get rid of cause they were too big to burn off#they had to be scraped down slowly after baths#vomiting
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dr who is a strange show
#so I finished 13’s run like two weeks ago? and I’m about to finish 9#and it’s just kinda interesting how like simultaneously continuous and disjointed it is#10 was the doctor I’d seen most of before I started watching it myself so that was who I knew the doctor to Be#but now I’ve watched 13 and. she’s kinda It#and having watched 9 he definitely feels like an early incarnation which is interesting I think bc 13 is just so tired of everything. 9 isnt#like he isn’t NOT tired but he’s not hit 13 breaking point#also like. watching 9 has been fun bc it’s constantly like ohhhh so THATS where they were getting that from#stuff that like I’d seen in 13 that I didn’t remember from 10 but no she didn’t make it up that’s a callback#I don’t have particularly coherent thoughts if you were wondering just this like. swirling mess of how these people are the same person#it’s also just rlly strange to me that we’re not gonna get more 13 now like that’s It her run ended#and it might be because 9 is so clearly Done and he’s got one season that I didn’t have a chance to get as attached#and I didn’t ever sit down myself and watch 10 I just saw chunks so it doesn’t feel like he’s done yet#(but also I mean he did just come back. there is that. strange show)#yeah idk. I’m sure if I ever watch classic who it’ll be a similar case of seeing the echoes like. retroactively I guess#very appropriate to watch the time travel show incredibly out of order. debating whether to watch 10 or 12 next#unrelated but I wanna see the lupari again I can’t believe they gave us dog people and then took them away so quickly#karvanista my beloved I’m so sorry for what they did to you it was too big a thing to just leave hanging there in the narrative#but hey. time travel show.#I also rlly like what 9’s season has done with all the recurring plot threads like it Felt like it was building to something all the way#god yeah I just miss 13. it felt like they’d only just started getting into the stuff they could do with her and then it’s just Over#I feel like that might be the point of the doctor. unclear. will report back#luke.txt#doctor who#OH HEY THIS POST DELETED BUT ITS BACK NOW#just finished 9’s last episode and yeah it fucked
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I’ve seen it coming years away, but it still always manages to make me bleed a little bit more when I am reminded I AM being left behind, watching everyone I know go on ahead of me because why the hell would they hold themselves back like that? I wouldn’t want them to, but it still hurts to be reminded that I’m still stuck here for the foreseeable future, that there will be no collaboration, it’s up to me and kitty and only us. I’m still in the same place I was when I graduated high school. I don’t see a way out yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever have enough money on my own. It’s depressing being reminded of it all. I’m not ready and I should be. I’ve wasted so much time, how am I going to catch up and not feel decades behind my peers? I don’t hate myself or my body (I can’t afford to do that again) but a lot of times I wish there was something different about me that made it so I had the same ease/difficulty doing things that others did, that I could form habits like most people can, that I wasn’t so exhausted mentally and physically all the time. It’s mortifying to be left behind. I’m happy for them, and I hate that it’s soured by my own problems and tinged with selfish resentment that it’s just me and my twin against the world.
#I guess it hurts more when you find out someone you thought you were getting out TOGETHER with has moved on without you.#one day maybe I’ll be able to have something to offer my friends beyond myself. it isn’t anytime soon#it won’t be like this forever. I refuse to entertain that. but it still hurts to see that it won’t be with anyone else#that I’ll be leagues behind others. sometimes I wonder if they secretly look down on me or pity me#or think less of me. I wish they wouldn’t. but it’s probably hard not to when I’m so far behind them#the plans I’ve made with others will always fall through because of me.#‘alone’ as in its just me and kitty against the world#we had all these wishes and dreams but they were just that. and I don’t bregrudge them for leaving fairytales behind.#i don’t want to burden them with that. and I don’t want them to stay where they are either.#I guess I just thought I had more time. idk when I’ll stop falling for that#I feel like I’m chained to the floor. my wrists hurt from trying to break it. I’m going to have to saw trap this shit.#this drawing I left in my sketchbook YEARS ago manages to haunt me every time I look at my friends#it’s ended up as true now as it was then.#I’d meant it as a vent art that I didn’t fully believe as much as I just felt. but more and more it’s telling me it’s true#one day they’ll be so far ahead of me it won’t make sense to stick around someone like me.#kitty and me will be our only friends in the world all over again eventually.#I don’t blame anyone for not wanting to hold themselves in bad environments just to wait on us. but it still hurts to lose them#it still hurts to be left behind again.
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