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thepancakeboi · 4 years ago

Text

63. “Is this how little you think of me?”

Note: spoilers for today’s (2/2) ingame date in Persona 5 Royal, including final palace details. Especially under the cut.

“I will carve my own path for myself.”

Why do I have to be telling Ren this? Well, when I had decided to come to Leblanc the evening before our deadline, I had expected a calm evening with Ren going over the plan for tomorrow, probably with some coffee. Or maybe we’d go somewhere else. The jazz club comes to mind, or even Penguin Sniper for darts or billiards.

What I hadn’t anticipated was for Ren to be in the middle of a conversation with our target upon my arrival.

I had to speak with Ren immediately before he did something foolish. Sure, the calling card had been given and the plan’s in motion, but I can still see the hesitance in his face. All this time, he had been as steadfast as the rest of us in breaking free from this fake mirage. He had been the one person who had seemed unaffected and knew something was amiss.

Until now, that is.

To hear Maruki confirm my suspicions, that I could be dead in the real world and that Ren’s wish is to “have a fresh start” with me...it’s exasperating. This is nothing more than a setback. Can’t Ren see that this is a trap meant to coerce him to Maruki’s side?

When Ren doesn’t say anything to my words, I continue to assert my position on the matter. “I refuse to accept a reality concocted by someone else, stuck under their control for the rest of my days.”

Ren finally speaks up, sounding distraught as he says, “But then, you’ll...”

Die. I know. It’s better than the alternative: living a life without agency. “So what? That’s the path I chose.” It’s simple. I would rather be dead than controlled again. Once was enough. “All you have to do is stick to your guns and challenge Maruki. Or are you really so spineless that you’d fold over some bullshit, trivial threat on my life?”

He looks stunned that I’d talk so callously about my own life as if it doesn’t matter. Frankly, it doesn’t matter. If I can’t live my life the way I want, then it’s simply not worth living. “Trivi-Goro, this isn’t small potatoes!”

“It is!” I snap, looking away from him. My life is insignificant in the grand scheme of things. It would probably be better if I wasn’t around. I’ve caused enough misery to everyone who was unfortunate enough to meet me in these eighteen years, yet here’s Ren being decidedly stubborn about it. He’s the only reason I’m still alive, even though my disappearance from this reality would be better for everyone else. I clearly don’t deserve this blissful happiness, but Ren thinks otherwise. And it’s infuriating. “Do you really think I’d be happy with this? Being shown mercy now, of all times? I don’t want to be pitied.”

“I’m not-”

“This isn’t something I’m debating with you!”

“Goro...?” Ren hesitantly asks as I shift my gaze to the ground. “Please-”

“Your indecisiveness on the matter is essentially a betrayal of my wishes.”

“I...I’m not...”

I look back up at Ren as he trails off, unable to answer. I’m going to have to press him for one, it seems. If he won’t give me an answer by himself, then I’ll just have to pry it from him. “I want to hear you say it aloud. What do you intend to do?”

After a few seconds of agonizing silence, he finally responds, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I don’t know what I should do.”

I scoff. “You really are that spineless, aren’t you?”

“No!” The only reason I don’t interrupt him is that he looks completely vulnerable right now. “It’s just...Maruki was right. When I thought you had died in...his Palace, I...wasn’t okay. After we stole the treasure, I just wanted to sleep. Everything hurt. I couldn’t stop when we had to defeat Yaldabaoth, but...I wanted to stop. I had to force myself to keep moving. And now that I have you back...I can’t bear the thought of losing you again.”

This is not good if Ren is admitting all of this to me. He’s not the type to tell others about his problems as he doesn’t want to burden his friends. I know how that is, being the same way myself around everyone except him. It’s the only reason I know that about him; it’s yet another similarity between us. The fact that he is sharing this information now...worries me. It means he might be seriously considering Maruki’s offer. I refuse to be the reason Ren falters, after everything we’ve done. We’ve come so far that folding now over something as worthless as my own life would be inane. “Is this how little you think of me? If you truly cared, you wouldn’t even consider accepting Maruki’s offer.”

“I do care!”

“Then why the hesitation? How can you possibly be so indecisive when the answer should be so blatantly obvious?”

“I love you.” Well, that unexpected confession stuns me into silence. Part of me is wondering why he would ever love someone like me, someone who is undeserving of anyone’s love, let alone his. At the same time, I’m hopeful that it’s true. Wait, no. This isn’t the time nor the place for these thoughts. All this could ever be is detrimental, a temptation that I’m afraid Ren can’t resist. “You’re not like the others. Everyone else just sees what they want to see. I can’t be myself around them, so I just wear a mask and show them what they believe I am. You’re the only one who understands me and accepts me for who I really am.”

“Ren, you’re in love with a fake version of me living in some sweet fairytale kingdom full of false happiness.”

“That’s not true,” he immediately refutes. “I love you for you, Goro, flaws and all. I don’t want to give up on you, but if I go back to reality, I...I can’t let you go.”

I jolt as he tightly embraces me as if he’ll lose me as soon as he lets go. He can’t be doing this. It’s only going to make my possible death much more painful. I shove him off of me. “Don’t you get it, Ren? You can’t save me.”

“At least let me try. Maruki’s not evil. He just wants to make everyone happy. Is that really so bad?”

“What the hell’s gotten into you!? He’s the same as Shido!” I snarl. It takes immense mental restraint to stop myself from lashing out at Ren. “His intentions may seem ‘pure’ to you, but a gilded cage is still a prison. He wants to take control of the world and everyone’s lives. And I don’t want to be controlled again.”

“I...”

I’ve had enough of his indecisiveness. He has to make a choice now before he becomes too bogged down by the “what ifs” to decide. “What do you intend to do?” I ask him again. “I won’t wait a moment longer. Answer me.”

“I’m...I’m sorry. We’re taking his offer.”

I stare at him in disbelief, not believing what I’m hearing. Sure, I knew it was possible that he would take Maruki’s offer after what we have learned tonight, but I had been denying that he would be so foolishly sentimental. “Are you serious?”

“I am.”

I search his expression, shocked to find that he’s...he’s actually being serious. He fully intends to accept Maruki’s reality as the truth. And it doesn’t seem like he’ll change his mind. He’s...going against my wishes. I’ve dealt with backstabbing and insincere people in the past, but this? Being betrayed by the one person I’ve come to trust...it hurts. It hurts so much. I’d rather Ren just stab me in the heart with a rusty, serrated knife and let me bleed out. I sigh, not even bothering to keep up false pretenses regarding my feelings. “...Well, I have your answer.”

“Goro-”

I slap Ren’s reaching hand away, turning my back to him so that he doesn’t see the tears starting to form of their own volition. It pisses me off that I can’t even fight against him. His friends don’t have the backbone to refuse him if Morgana’s earlier comment of leaving the decision to Ren is any indication. And, despite my own strength, I know I’m not capable of bringing down Maruki on my own. The only thing I can do now is to accept Ren’s decision. I want him to be happy, I do. Even so, I’m furious with him and his choice. At this moment, I don’t want to see his face ever again. Not that it’ll matter. Starting tomorrow, I won’t have a choice. I’ll be nothing more than a puppet, stuck under another’s whims with no chance to escape. “There’s nothing left I can say. Our deal’s off.”

I stop with my hand on the door. I expect Ren to try and say something, attempting to convince me he’s doing what he thinks is best. Instead, there’s only silence. I turn my head to stare him down. His steadfast, stubborn determination is what pushes me over the edge. If he’s going to hurt me like this, then I have no regrets about driving my own metaphorical knife through his treacherous heart. I won’t get another chance to be myself, so I might as well make the most of it. “I hope you’re happy, Ren. Happy you’re living a lie that you know is wrong. I want you to remember that you’re forcing me into a situation that I don’t desire. I’ve explicitly told you that I refuse to be controlled by another, and what do you do? You stab me in the back with your betrayal because you say you love me. You may call it love, but you don’t love me at all, do you?”

I don’t give him a chance to respond, to deny my accusation and claim that he loves me with all his heart. I’m already out the door, tears streaming down my face as I try to get as far away from Yongen-Jaya as I can. I ignore the door slamming open, Ren desperately calling out to me as he tries to follow. He isn’t able to keep up, and I manage to lose him in the night crowd. There’s no destination in mind. I just want away from here, away from him for whatever length of time I have left before I’m no longer me.

Leaving Leblanc, and Ren, tonight...is the last action I will ever take with my own free will.

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alinaastarkov · 5 years ago

Note

In response to that slayin', hair flippin', finger snappin' answer you just published, would you be so kind as to list moments that reference how cruel Sansa is to Arya? (If you want!)

Thank you so much!!! When I say this ask made me scream with delight!!! I believe this is the answer you’re referring to (if not soz please tell me which it is) and I really had fun with it tbf 😂

I’m very happy to list some of these, because it is so often overlooked. In this instance, I will not be including moments that show how deeply it affects Arya, unless that is present in the same quote, because Arya’s self-esteem and mental health is affected by a number of things and people, and Sansa is only one of those things.

Without further ado, let’s get down to it:

She looked at Arya. “What did you think of Prince Joff, sister? He’s very gallant, don’t you think?” “Jon says he looks like a girl,” Arya said. Sansa sighed as she stitched. “Poor Jon,” she said. “He gets jealous because he’s a bastard.” “He’s our brother,” Arya said, much too loudly. - Arya I AGOT

This is more generic cruelty than specifically to Arya, but it does show how little she thinks of two of her siblings. Especially as she knows how close Jon and Arya are, and she chose to say it anyway, perhaps just to get a rise out of her (which is why I think Arya thought Sansa attracted Septa Mordane’s attention) or simply not caring about her feelings. Unclear, but we can see that Sansa calling Jon a bastard or half-brother (as she always does) is clearly hurtful to Arya who sees him as her brother, and both sisters acknowledge she is more like Jon than anyone else, so it’s hard not to see this affecting Arya negatively.

It wasn’t fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward.

Nymeria was waiting for her in the guardroom at the base of the stairs. She bounded to her feet as soon as she caught sight of Arya. Arya grinned. The wolf pup loved her, even if no one else did. - Arya I AGOT

I know I said I wouldn’t look at how it affects Arya, but this quote in particular is specifically about Sansa. The misogyny of the society is inherent in this statement, as it’s what is making Arya feel inferior, but we know Sansa lords this over her in this quote. Arya even mentions things she is better at, and still thinks negatively because that is all she can do well.

The only thing that scared her about today was Arya. Arya had a way of ruining everything. You never knew what she would do. - Sansa I AGOT

Sansa regarded her scrawny little sister in disbelief. “You can’t look for rubies, the princess is expecting us. The queen invited us both.” “I don’t care,” Arya said. “The wheelhouse doesn’t even have windows, you can’t see a thing.” “What could you want to see?” Sansa said, annoyed. She had been thrilled by the invitation, and her stupid sister was going to ruin everything, just as she’d feared. “It’s all just fields and farms and holdfasts.” “It is not,” Arya said stubbornly. “If you came with us sometimes, you’d see.” “I hate riding,” Sansa said fervently. “All it does is get you soiled and dusty and sore.” - Sansa I AGOT

Here we see how poorly Sansa thinks of Arya, and this is her own POV so there’s nothing to say about bias either. She also disparages one of the few things Arya thinks she can do well, and thinks of Arya as stupid and “ruining everything” which is not kind, especially when Arya’s presence would not affect her time with the Queen. Also interesting that she says this later on:

Be with you, Sansa thought, but she said, “Whatever you’d like to do, my prince.” Joffrey reflected a moment. “We could go riding.” “Oh, I love riding,” Sansa said. - Sansa I AGOT

Riding isn’t so bad as soon as anyone else wants to do it, huh?

One day she came back grinning her horsey grin, her hair all tangled and her clothes covered in mud, clutching a raggedy bunch of purple and green flowers for Father. Sansa kept hoping he would tell Arya to behave herself and act like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, but he never did, he only hugged her and thanked her for the flowers. That just made her worse.

Then it turned out the purple flowers were called poison kisses, and Arya got a rash on her arms. Sansa would have thought that might have taught her a lesson, but Arya laughed about it, and the next day she rubbed mud all over her arms like some ignorant bog woman just because her friend Mycah told her it would stop the itching. She had bruises on her arms and shoulders too, dark purple welts and faded green-and-yellow splotches; Sansa had seen them when her sister undressed for sleep. How she had gotten those only the seven gods knew. - Sansa I AGOT

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody. This Mycah was the worst; a butcher’s boy, thirteen and wild, he slept in the meat wagon and smelled of the slaughtering block. Just the sight of him was enough to make Sansa feel sick, but Arya seemed to prefer his company to hers. - Sansa I AGOT

Here we have an instance of Sansa thinking of Arya as “horsey”, so why are we trying to deny she called her that? She also looks down on all the people Arya makes friends with, which shows her classism and how low her opinion is of her sister and her sister’s friends.

Sansa couldn’t help but smile a little. The kennelmaster once told her that an animal takes after its master. She gave Lady a quick little hug. Lady licked her cheek. Sansa giggled. Arya heard and whirled around, glaring. “I don’t care what you say, I’m going out riding.” Her long horsey face got the stubborn look that meant she was going to do something willful. “Gods be true, Arya, sometimes you act like such a child,” Sansa said. “I’ll go by myself then. It will be ever so much nicer that way. Lady and I will eat all the lemon cakes and just have the best time without you.” - Sansa I AGOT

More of Sansa delighting in her sister’s misery. More of the “horsey” face. More Sansa telling her sister she isn’t wanted, which is something Arya is already deeply afraid of.

She was almost in tears. All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs. Why couldn’t Arya be sweet and delicate and kind, like Princess Myrcella? She would have liked a sister like that.

Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. And Jon’s mother had been common, or so people whispered. Once, when she was littler, Sansa had even asked Mother if perhaps there hadn’t been some mistake. Perhaps the grumkins had stolen her real sister. But Mother had only laughed and said no, Arya was her daughter and Sansa’s trueborn sister, blood of their blood. Sansa could not think why Mother would want to lie about it, so she supposed it had to be true. - Sansa I AGOT

Now, I’ve joked with my siblings about one or more of us being adopted, but I’ve never genuinely believed it, going so far as to ask my mum if it was true. This is worse, though. Sansa knows the kind of social ostracism and classism bastards are subjected to, and she genuinely wants that for her sister just to make life easier for her.

A bright bud of blood blossomed where his sword pressed into Mycah’s flesh, and a slow red line trickled down the boy’s cheek. “Stop it!” Arya screamed. She grabbed up her fallen stick. Sansa was afraid. “Arya, you stay out of this.” “I won’t hurt him … much,” Prince Joffrey told Arya, never taking his eyes off the butcher’s boy. Arya went for him. - Sansa I AGOT

Arya swung at the prince again, but this time Joffrey caught the blow on Lion’s Tooth and sent her broken stick flying from her hands. The back of his head was all bloody and his eyes were on fire. Sansa was shrieking, “No, no, stop it, stop it, both of you, you’re spoiling it,” but no one was listening. Arya scooped up a rock and hurled it at Joffrey’s head. She hit his horse instead, and the blood bay reared and went galloping off after Mycah. “Stop it, don’t, stop it!” Sansa screamed. Joffrey slashed at Arya with his sword, screaming obscenities, terrible words, filthy words. Arya darted back, frightened now, but Joffrey followed, hounding her toward the woods, backing her up against a tree. Sansa didn’t know what to do. She watched helplessly, almost blind from her tears. - Sansa I AGOT

Joffrey made a scared whimpery sound as he looked up at her. “No,” he said, “don’t hurt me. I’ll tell my mother.” “You leave him alone!” Sansa screamed at her sister. Arya whirled and heaved the sword into the air, putting her whole body into the throw. The blue steel flashed in the sun as the sword spun out over the river. It hit the water and vanished with a splash. Joffrey moaned. Arya ran off to her horse, Nymeria loping at her heels. After they had gone, Sansa went to Prince Joffrey. His eyes were closed in pain, his breath ragged. Sansa knelt beside him. “Joffrey,” she sobbed. “Oh, look what they did, look what they did. My poor prince. Don’t be afraid. I’ll ride to the holdfast and bring help for you.” - Sansa I AGOT

Now, I do not want to get into more crap about the Trident incident, but all of this is very telling, especially as it comes from Sansa’s POV so there is no bias. After watching Joffrey hurt an innocent boy, Sansa not only tells Arya to stay out of it and let the boy be mutilated, when Joffrey starts threatening her sister with a sword (remember, Arya only has a stick at best) she thinks that they are both ruining things. In this very dangerous and volatile situation where she should be defending her defenceless little sister, she not only blames them both, but is only annoyed because they are ruining her date. And then, she tells Arya to leave Joffrey alone. It’s pretty whack and I’d feel resentment too if I was Arya. And then, she abandons Arya and seemingly doesn’t care because she wants to be with Joffrey (remember that Arya goes missing for four fucking days) and opines about what they did to him, as Joffrey wasn’t the aggressor.

“They were not the only ones present,” Ned said. “Sansa, come here.” Ned had heard her version of the story the night Arya had vanished. He knew the truth. “Tell us what happened.” His eldest daughter stepped forward hesitantly. She was dressed in blue velvets trimmed with white, a silver chain around her neck. Her thick auburn hair had been brushed until it shone. She blinked at her sister, then at the young prince. “I don’t know,” she said tearfully, looking as though she wanted to bolt. “I don’t remember. Everything happened so fast, I didn’t see …” - Eddard III AGOT

We know she knows exactly what happened. This is a lie. Plain and simple. I don’t blame Sansa for this - we would probably all be her confronted with this intimidating situation - but that doesn’t make it any better for her sister.

That was when Sansa finally seemed to comprehend. Her eyes were frightened as they went to her father. “He doesn’t mean Lady, does he?” She saw the truth on his face. “No,” she said. “No, not Lady, Lady didn’t bite anybody, she’s good …” “Lady wasn’t there,” Arya shouted angrily. “You leave her alone!” “Stop them,” Sansa pleaded, “don’t let them do it, please, please, it wasn’t Lady, it was Nymeria, Arya did it, you can’t, it wasn’t Lady, don’t let them hurt Lady, I’ll make her be good, I promise, I promise …” She started to cry. - Eddard III AGOT

I feel for Sansa here, but she didn’t need to throw her sister under the bus, again.

The last fortnight of their journey had been a misery. Sansa blamed Arya and told her that it should have been Nymeria who died. And Arya was lost after she heard what had happened to her butcher’s boy. Sansa cried herself to sleep, Arya brooded silently all day long, and Eddard Stark dreamed of a frozen hell reserved for the Starks of Winterfell. - Eddard IV AGOT

Sansa’s eyes had grown wide as the plates. “A tourney,” she breathed. She was seated between Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, as far from Arya as she could get without drawing a reproach from Father. “Will we be permitted to go, Father?” - Arya II AGOT

“I don’t care about their stupid tourney,” Arya said. She knew Prince Joffrey would be there, and she hated Prince Joffrey. Sansa lifted her head. “It will be a splendid event. You shan’t be wanted.” Anger flashed across Father’s face. “Enough, Sansa. More of that and you will change my mind." - Arya II AGOT

So, she blames Arya for Lady when it wasn’t her fault (seemingly out loud to Arya’s face seeing as this is coming from Ned), distances herself from Arya and then insults her at breakfast. Me and my sister fight, but not like this.

That was when Arya missed her brothers most. She wanted to tease Bran and play with baby Rickon and have Robb smile at her. She wanted Jon to muss up her hair and call her “little sister” and finish her sentences with her. But all of them were gone. She had no one left but Sansa, and Sansa wouldn’t even talk to her unless Father made her. - Arya II AGOT

When Prince Joffrey seated himself to her right, she felt her throat tighten. He had not spoken a word to her since the awful thing had happened, and she had not dared to speak to him. At first she thought she hated him for what they’d done to Lady, but after Sansa had wept her eyes dry, she told herself that it had not been Joffrey’s doing, not truly. The queen had done it; she was the one to hate, her and Arya. Nothing bad would have happened except for Arya. - Sansa II AGOT

Again with the blaming when she is fully aware it was not her fault. I admire Sansa’s growth through the series. I enjoy reading her AFFC and TWOW chapters. But boy, did we truly start at the bottom.

She knew her father was still angry about that, but it wasn’t fair to blame Joff. That would be like blaming her for something that Arya had done. - Sansa III AGOT

Ironic, isn’t it?

“What did Gregor do?” Arya asked. “He burned down a holdfast and murdered a lot of people, women and children too.” Arya screwed up her face in a scowl. “Jaime Lannister murdered Jory and Heward and Wyl, and the Hound murdered Mycah. Somebody should have beheaded them.” “It’s not the same,” Sansa said. “The Hound is Joffrey’s sworn shield. Your butcher’s boy attacked the prince.” “Liar,” Arya said. Her hand clenched the blood orange so hard that red juice oozed between her fingers. “Go ahead, call me all the names you want,” Sansa said airily. “You won’t dare when I’m married to Joffrey. You’ll have to bow to me and call me Your Grace.” She shrieked as Arya flung the orange across the table. It caught her in the middle of the forehead with a wet squish and plopped down into her lap. “You have juice on your face, Your Grace,” Arya said. It was running down her nose and stinging her eyes. Sansa wiped it away with a napkin. When she saw what the fruit in her lap had done to her beautiful ivory silk dress, she shrieked again. “You’re horrible,” she screamed at her sister. “They should have killed you instead of Lady!” - Sansa III AGOT

Sansa is the aggressor here, telling blatant lies, and it’s a bit of an overreaction to a stain on a dress.

“Arya started it,” Sansa said quickly, anxious to have the first word. “She called me a liar and threw an orange at me and spoiled my dress, the ivory silk, the one Queen Cersei gave me when I was betrothed to Prince Joffrey. She hates that I’m going to marry the prince. She tries to spoil everything, Father, she can’t stand for anything to be beautiful or nice or splendid.” “Enough, Sansa.” Lord Eddard’s voice was sharp with impatience. Arya raised her eyes. “I’m sorry, Father. I was wrong and I beg my sweet sister’s forgiveness.” Sansa was so startled that for a moment she was speechless. Finally she found her voice. “What about my dress?” “Maybe … I could wash it,” Arya said doubtfully. “Washing won’t do any good,” Sansa said. “Not if you scrubbed all day and all night. The silk is ruined.” “Then I’ll … make you a new one,” Arya said. Sansa threw back her head in disdain. “You? You couldn’t sew a dress fit to clean the pigsties.” - Sansa III AGOT

The one time Arya tries to apologise and make amends, particularly by putting herself out there and offering to do something she hates to fix it, and Sansa says that.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Sansa pleaded with him. “I don’t want to go back.” She loved King’s Landing; the pageantry of the court, the high lords and ladies in their velvets and silks and gemstones, the great city with all its people. The tournament had been the most magical time of her whole life, and there was so much she had not seen yet, harvest feasts and masked balls and mummer shows. She could not bear the thought of losing it all. “Send Arya away, she started it, Father, I swear it. I’ll be good, you’ll see, just let me stay and I promise to be as fine and noble and courteous as the queen.” - Sansa III AGOT

“It won’t be so bad, Sansa,” Arya said. “We’re going to sail on a galley. It will be an adventure, and then we’ll be with Bran and Robb again, and Old Nan and Hodor and the rest.” She touched her on the arm. “Hodor!” Sansa yelled. “You ought to marry Hodor, you’re just like him, stupid and hairy and ugly!” She wrenched away from her sister’s hand, stormed into her bedchamber, and barred the door behind her. - Sansa III AGOT

Again with the unnecessary insults that prey on insecurities Arya already has. Especially seeing as Arya is trying to cheer her up.

“I’m not like Arya,” Sansa blurted. “She has the traitor’s blood, not me. I’m good, ask Septa Mordane, she’ll tell you, I only want to be Joffrey’s loyal and loving wife.” - Sansa IV AGOT

Sansa found herself thinking of Lady again. She could smell out falsehood, she could, but she was dead, father had killed her, on account of Arya. She drew the knife and held it before her with both hands. - Sansa II ACOK

There are about 3 Arya mentions in Sansa’s ACOK chapters, and one was negative. And this is all while she thinks Arya is dead.

Lommy had called her Lumpyhead, Sansa used horseface, and her father’s men once dubbed her Arya Underfoot, but she did not think any of those were the sort of name he wanted. - Arya IX ACOK

Sister. Sansa had once dreamt of having a sister like Margaery; beautiful and gentle, with all the world’s graces at her command. Arya had been entirely unsatisfactory as sisters went. - Sansa II ASOS

Again, she thinks Arya is dead, and this is still how she sees her.

Her name, she had to know her name. “Arya Underfoot. Your sister used to call you Arya Horseface.” “It was me made up that name. Her face was long and horsey. Mine isn’t. I was pretty.” - The Prince of Winterfell ADWD

I know Jeyne said she made up the name, and I know you’re all gonna say that means Sansa didn’t use it. But it doesn’t matter that she made it up, because that doesn’t mean Sansa never said it. Arya and Theon, who has no bias or reason to lie, admit that. It seems pretty clear to me.

There are one or two positive mentions of Arya in Sansa’s thoughts, but that’s not what this ask was about. I hope I answered you nonny and thank you for the kind words!!

EDIT: forgot to add the link at the start. fixed now!

#asoiaf #neve has mail #arya stark #the night wolf #again i've got people complaining i use the sansa tag even though my last answer was not negative at all #so i will not be tagging her here #i will on the next one though so bite me

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rookthorne · 2 years ago

Text

okay I am READY FOR SOME FORCED PROXIMITY

LESGO

Hanging from the top of the A-frame roof that covered the small square surface was a makeshift chandelier that Bruce put together, with five light bulbs. One in the center that provided a soft, amber glow in the space for you to see what you were doing, surrounded by four smaller bulbs that correlated with the different sides of the wall. Green was East, Blue was West, North was Yellow, and South was Red. He had managed to create some sort of sensors along the trees that made them light up if someone walked through the invisible barrier.

Damn. He smart. 😳

“We haven’t had an issue other than a walker here and there. It’s pretty rare thanks to the protection of the fog and the Bog.”

really? 🤣

You grimaced. “You couldn’t have thought of a better name for the Bog that didn’t rhyme with fog?”

try saying it 5 times fast! spoiler alert I can’t

Sarah frowned. “I’ve actually never used both words in a sentence back to back like that. It’s pretty terrible.” The two of you laughed.

an understatement if I ever saw one 🤣🤣🤣

Clint only chuckled, shaking his head as he stood up. “What’d you do to piss her off?”

no she’s playing matchmaker, Clint! 👀

Instead of a chuckle, Clint snorted. “What a fuckin’ piece of work.” He sighed. “Do you want me to switch with you? You can take second shift and I can be here with Buck-”

no I want Beefcake all to myself

I should also tell you Col that whenever I type ‘beef’ in my phone it corrects to Beefcake. thought you should know.

Clint’s eyes flashed behind your shoulder, but you were too riled up to notice.

OH NO

“And yes, part of me wishes he could see that I’m not going to burn this place down and that I would gladly die for anyone here, even his grumpy ass. But that’s not going to happen and we all just need to move on and let him despise me for everything I am.”

HE’S RIGHT FUCKING BEHIND YOU GIRL

Bucky’s jaw was locked shut, eyes on yours for a moment before going to the ground.

hi Beefcake 🤭

Clint cleared his throat, making his way to the ladder. “Have a good night, you two.” He muttered a good luck as he started climbing down.

Bucky didn’t say anything for the next four hours.

yikes…

Just kept staring in the same direction, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. And you found yourself continuously staring at him, eyes flickering over to view his side profile glowing underneath the illumination from the light above.

is she drooling, I think she’s drooling because I’m drooling

For some reason, you found yourself suffocated by the proximity. He was less than five feet away, and you were certain that if you moved your foot over by just a few inches it would connect with his leg. The idea of touching Bucky at all made you want to set your skin on fire. Your head pounded, the air constricted from your lungs, you couldn’t see straight because all you could think about was how close you two were. Think about what would happen if your boots touched, if he shuffled a few feet closer, if he leaned in and-

oh she’s got it’s so damn bad. poor thing.

BEEFCAKE YOU GOTTA KISS HER AND PUT HER OUT OF HER MISERY

“Are you okay?” he asked, brows furrowed with annoyed confusion and your eyes widened at the realization that you had most likely been staring at him for way too long and he could no longer ignore it.

oop

But when you turned to him, you quickly thought against it. Not because he had his normal pissed off at the world expression, but the complete opposite. His jaw had relaxed, his eyes had softened. For the first time since those few good moments you shared before shit went to hell at the Bog, Bucky appeared to be at peace.

Beefcake you’re not brooding… whatcha doin’? 👀

The second Sam was up the ladder to relieve you, Bucky shot up without a word and climbed down.

BUCKY YOU GET BACK UP THERE AND BE A GENTLEMAN

Please don’t take this time from me, you thought out of nowhere.

girl

just run up

and

KISS HIM

You shrugged. “Who would have thought that people would want ray guns during a zombie apocalypse?”

uh I would want one

blast the fuck out of the zombies

and any mean fuckers

like your old boss

“Definitely,” you said. “You know where to find me…bonus points if you rescue me from watch.”

BUT YOU JUST SAID YOU DON’T WANT THAT TIME TAKEN AWAY

or is this a facade? 🤔👀

“Also, I totally offered to take his spot if he was too miserable and he said no without even pausing to think about it,” Peter added.

hmm 😏

He pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded. “Yeah. Everything’s fine. Just…wanted you to know.”

You stared outside the wall, doing a quick scan for any unusual activity. Once it was deemed safe, you dug into your pack and pulled out the book you spent hours looking for while browsing the library, nearly buzzing with excitement at the idea of four uninterrupted hours of reading.

but what about staring at Beefcake

“Are you reading Twilight?”

FUCKING WHAT?!?!

That still exists?!?! 🤣🤣🤣

and that is why there’s an apple as the picture??

“I didn’t, because I have taste,” he said. “But Becs - my sister - went through a phase and tried to drag me along every step of the way.”

oh Bucky, I feel your pain 🤣

“You’re telling me that the CGI baby and the weird blue filter used in the first movie didn’t immediately compel you to binge read the entire series?”

NO IT PUT ME RIGHT THE FUCK OFF 🤣

That’s when it happened.

The greatest moment probably of your entire life.

Bucky Barnes laughed.

It was a chuckle that only lasted a beat, but it wasn’t something hidden behind a groan of a scoff like before. You had caught him so off guard that he couldn’t help but let out a deep, grizzly, baritone sound of amusement.

oh my goodness YES GIRL YES

YOU BROKE THE BEEFCAKE

“The werewolves definitely almost pulled me in, but then one of them imprinted on a literal baby and I was quickly turned off by that.”

lol same Buck same

“Fuck yes, that’s such a good one! And it’s on the shelves. We could do a book club and everything.”

OMG THIS WILL BE SO COOL

In a flash, you witnessed Bucky’s eyes lighten with excitement and then immediately switch to a dim, lifeless gaze. “No.”

BEEFCAKE YOU ASSHOLE

IT’S AN AWESOME IDEA

“What’s your favorite book?” he asked just as you got to the part where Bella had basically jumped Edward in the meadow.

that’s my boy 🥰 he’s coming out of his stoic shell!!

“Don’t worry,” you said, “I’m sure I’ll find it by the time you’re done going through the Twilight Saga.”

you’d have better luck torturing him tbh

You sighed dramatically, opening the book back up. “You’re no fun, Beefcake.”

He groaned.

You smiled.

ah look at them 🥰

Even with your eyes glued to the page of your book, you could feel him glaring at you.

“Just suck it up and read it,” you said, still not looking at him. “You can thank me later.”

With one long, dramatic sigh, Bucky picked up the book and sat down, opening up to the first page.

Beefcake is the biggest drama queen omg

“Look,” Bucky started, waving the book in the air. “I just don’t understand why she’s so in love with this dude!”

neither Buck, neither.

That was when Sam climbed up, brows already furrowed from hearing actual conversation being shared between you two as he made his way up the ladder.

Sam be going like-

He got to the bottom, and stood there until you stepped onto the ground before walking alongside you.

wow 👀

“It’s called love, Beefcake! Sometimes you do dumb shit like go into the middle of the woods with a vampire who is over 100 years old and really wants to drink your blood!”

You looked over just as he clenched his jaw before grumbling something incoherently.

oh no 🤣

“Youcanbringitwithyouwhenyou’redone.”

BEEFCAKE 🤣🤣🤣

Bucky smiled back, crystalline blue eyes locked on yours for three glorious seconds.

PROGRESS PROGRESS PROGRESS

Baby steps.

YES YES YES

oh my GOD BEEFCAKE SMILED

HE SMILED

my scientific discovery I found actually IS REAL

this is the best result EVER from forced proximity.

EVER.

Awake My Soul • 5

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

WC: 4.2k

Summary: It’s been 5 years since zombies first began their invasion, and despite everything you’ve been through, you’ve managed to survive up until this point. Now it’s time to face your must dangerous challenge yet….the grumpy, untrusting, fiercely protective Bucky Barnes.

Chapter Note: Forced proximity time!! Y'all might hate or love me for this and honestly I cannot wait to hear what you think LOL. Enjoy ;)

Series Masterlist / Series Playlist

You got to the lookout station fifteen minutes before your shift started, climbing up the ladder to the treehouse-looking structure they built by the front gate.

The original brick wall was wide enough for anyone to walk along, but this post served as the central spot for those on watch. Hanging from the top of the A-frame roof that covered the small square surface was a makeshift chandelier that Bruce put together, with five light bulbs. One in the center that provided a soft, amber glow in the space for you to see what you were doing, surrounded by four smaller bulbs that correlated with the different sides of the wall. Green was East, Blue was West, North was Yellow, and South was Red. He had managed to create some sort of sensors along the trees that made them light up if someone walked through the invisible barrier.

“The color you’ll most often see is yellow, and that’s usually when it’s one of us returning to camp,” Sarah told you when she gave you the rundown of the watch post earlier that day. “We haven’t had an issue other than a walker here and there. It’s pretty rare thanks to the protection of the fog and the Bog.”

You grimaced. “You couldn’t have thought of a better name for the Bog that didn’t rhyme with fog?”

Sarah frowned. “I’ve actually never used both words in a sentence back to back like that. It’s pretty terrible.” The two of you laughed.

Clint was there when you made it to the top of the post, playing around with his bow.

When he looked up, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Need something?”

You shook your head. “I’m here to relieve you.”

This time, his brows shot up. “You’re on third?”

“Yelena made me switch.”

He paused. “And Bucky still has this shift?”

Your nostrils flared, and after a beat you nodded.

Clint only chuckled, shaking his head as he stood up. “What’d you do to piss her off?”

“Nothing!” you protested, crossing your arms. “She says it’s going to help us bond or whatever.”

Instead of a chuckle, Clint snorted. “What a fuckin’ piece of work.” He sighed. “Do you want me to switch with you? You can take second shift and I can be here with Buck-”

“No, no.” you held a hand up waving off the gesture. “I appreciate the offer, but you do enough around here and I need to start earning my keep. Besides, she’s not wrong. Bucky may hate me for the rest of eternity, but if I’m going to stay here I gotta get used to it.”

He shook his head, gaze turning sympathetic. “Just give him-”

“Time,” you finished for him. “Everyone says that.” Annoyance rose within you. “It’s been a month, Clint, and the concept of me breathing the same air as him makes the guy angry. I put the people he cares about in danger, and I gotta own that if I want to be part of Shield.”

Clint’s eyes flashed behind your shoulder, but you were too riled up to notice. “And yes, part of me wishes he could see that I’m not going to burn this place down and that I would gladly die for anyone here, even his grumpy ass. But that’s not going to happen and we all just need to move on and let him despise me for everything I am.”

Your breathing was heavy, but you had finally picked up on the fact that Clint wasn’t mindlessly staring past you, his focus was on something.

Someone.

Dread coursed through you as you turned, knowing full well who was standing behind you.

Bucky’s jaw was locked shut, eyes on yours for a moment before going to the ground.

Clint cleared his throat, making his way to the ladder. “Have a good night, you two.” He muttered a good luck as he started climbing down.

You stood there in silence for a few seconds, and since this was your first watch and you had no idea what you were doing, you were forced to remain there and wait for instructions.

“So…” you started, and that seemed to break Bucky from his spell.

He cleared his throat, moving to one of the corners overlooking the outside of camp. “You can sit wherever,” he mumbled almost incoherently, leaning his back against the vertical wooden post that made up a piece of the wall.

You ran your tongue over your teeth, then walked over to the corner across from his. You stared at him for a moment, waiting for further instruction. When none came, you simply followed his lead and kept your focus on the outside.

Bucky didn’t say anything for the next four hours.

It was torture.

You cleared your throat. “‘M fine.” Your gaze went back to the trees as your face burned, and through your peripherals you watched Bucky follow suit and turn toward the outside.

There was a moment that his thumb started tapping against the wood to some unknown beat, and you nearly spoke up to ask what song he had stuck in his head.

It would be the worst thing you could ever do in your life to speak up and put him back in his grumpy state.

So with that, you returned your focus on keeping watch, eyelids growing heavy as the night sky slowly transitioned from black to a deep indigo,then to a soft purple glow as the sun began to rise.

The second Sam was up the ladder to relieve you, Bucky shot up without a word and climbed down.

Sam looked from the ladder to you, a single brow raised. “That bad, huh?”

You sighed, slowly moving to stand, your muscles sore from being in the same position for so long. “Honestly? I thought it was going to be much worse.”

He huffed, then rested a hand on your shoulder. “Look, I told Yelena that this would just be on a trial basis. If you want off this shift-”

“No, Sam,” you said, shaking your head. “You all have done so much for me, the least I can do is suck it up and sit in silence with Bucky for a few hours a day.”

Please don’t take this time from me, you thought out of nowhere.

All he did was nod in response, then moved to settle himself for his shift.

You watched Bucky make his way across the camp.

Instead of going to the bunks to get some sleep, he walked into the middle building.

Was he really going to get a workout in after being up all night?

It’s not like it was the time that he normally went to the gym. That slot was usually in the early afternoon after he had gotten some rest and eaten.

Weird…

You, on the other hand, happily and slowly trudged toward your room and passed out as soon as your head hit the pillow, a soft tapping of an unfamiliar beat playing in your mind and lulling you to sleep.

“So there’s this charge they created for the rifle. It’s this crazy blue color and disintegrates anything in its path.” You grimaced as you remembered the sight of ten walkers being turned to dust. “It was like an icy blue flame. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

You looked between Bruce’s contemplative look and Peter’s wide eyes before looking back at the very amateur drawing you put together for them.

Bruce ran his fingers along the center part of the device, his other hand wrapped around the lower part of his face as he considered the development of such a weapon.

“Holy shit,” Peter finally murmured, “I can’t believe that made a ray gun.”

You and Bruce both stared at Peter for a moment and he blushed, focusing his attention back on the diagram.

“I remember hearing them talk about getting the charge to a certain temperature to generate such a concentrated amount of heat. And that all of those things worked together so that it wouldn’t even make a sound-”

“Because of the frequency created by the force of the heat,” Bruce continued, writing a few equations on the paper.

You nodded. “I just have no idea how they created that charge mechanism….sorry I can’t be more help, Doc.”

Banner shook his head, taking off his glasses to look at you. “Y/n, this is amazing. I would have never come up with something like this.”

“Yeah, like we’ve played around with a bunch of stuff, but who could have thought that tech like this could exist?” Peter added.

You shrugged. “Who would have thought that people would want ray guns during a zombie apocalypse?”

Peter laughed and you winked at him.

“We definitely have a lot to work with to try to replicate this device,” Bruce continued. “Would it be okay for us to come back to you with any questions when they come up?”

“Definitely,” you said. “You know where to find me…bonus points if you rescue me from watch.”

He chuckled. “Heard about that. Things going as terribly as expected?”

You rolled your eyes. “I mean, he hasn’t said more than a dozen words to me in a week, which I guess is better than him yelling at me four hours a day.”

Bruce’s lips turned down in deliberation. “Honestly, that seems pretty promising.”

“Also, I totally offered to take his spot if he was too miserable and he said no without even pausing to think about it,” Peter added.

You felt warmth run through you at the admission, and you couldn’t stop the corner of your lip from turning up.

Bruce pointed a pencil at Peter, brows raised and he smiled at you. “See? What’d I tell ya? Give it time and he’ll come around!”

At that, you grimaced. “Maybe, but I wish time passed faster than a glacial pace when we’re sitting there not doing anything for hours.”

“Why don’t you bring a book with you? Or a journal if you prefer writing.”

You gaped at Bruce. “You can do that?”

“Of course! We have a library at our disposal, and we have the light over the post for a reason. As long as you look up every few minutes to check that everything is clear, there’s no harm in it.”

“Fuck yes,” you groaned, head tilting back to the ceiling for a moment before looking back at Bruce. “You just made everything….so much better. Thanks, Doc.”

He smiled. “Anytime.”

You smiled back before looking at the clock on the wall. “Shit, I gotta get going guys, before Lena decides to punish me with burpees for being tardy.”

Peter scowled. “What are you still doing here? Go! Before it’s too late!”

The two of you laughed as you made it out into the hallway.

“Hey, Y/n!” Bruce called, and you turned to find him jogging over until he was right next to you. He turned around to make sure Peter wasn’t paying attention and when he looked back at you, you suddenly felt nervous. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything?”

You swallowed back the nerves, forcing a smile and keeping your voice casual. “Of course, Bruce. Everything okay?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded. “Yeah. Everything’s fine. Just…wanted you to know.”

You nodded back, trying to ignore the panic building at the possible meaning behind his words. “Gotcha. Well, thanks Bruce.”

“Anytime, Y/n.”

He turned away and headed back into the lab, leaving you there to deal with the unspoken tension lingering in the air.

That night, you started with your normal routine of relieving Clint a few minutes early and settling into your corner.

It had been years since you had been able to do something like this. Before the invasion, you would spend entire weekends holed up in your room by the window escaping into a world found between the pages of the various tomes you found either at your town library or the personal library your parents had amassed over the years. Then, there were occasionally quiet moments while traveling with your parents and the Eternals, but you could only carry two books with you at a time.

Whenever you found an abandoned bookstore or library, you traded one of the books for a new one for you to read over and over and over again until you basically had it memorized.

The second book, though, was one you would never let go of. It was the one you kept with you ever since the invasion, when your family was forced to run from your home.

You couldn’t help but grab the book from your nightstand, your favorite comfort read, one you knew you could never part with.

Not unless you were forced to.

Not unless you were kidnapped and the small number of items you had were taken from you.

When you escaped from Hydra, you had nothing but a single dagger. It took days of scouring different spots for new weapons and supplies.

And whenever you found an abandoned bookstore or library, you desperately searched the shelves for one title.

It was never there.

And unfortunately, after hours of looking through the Brookfield library, it wasn’t in their collection either.

You hoped you would find it eventually.

Until then, you had plenty of other stories to keep you busy.

Bucky climbed up the ladder quietly, and though you didn’t look up at him upon entry, you could see through your peripherals that he paused and stared at you for a few moments before claiming his usual spot in the corner next to yours.

The relief of having some sort of distraction from his silent existence and close proximity nearly made you want to cry as you turned each page, following Bruce’s orders and checking to make sure no alarm was off and that you couldn’t hear anything approaching.

As usual, there was nothing to be alarmed of. The only thing you could see was Bucky’s head turning in your direction every minute on the dot, as if he were counting the seconds until it was deemed appropriate for him to look over again. And the only thing you could hear was the chaotic tapping of his thumb, much different from the beats he created in his mind.

He was restless.

And then, suddenly, not even thirty minutes into watch, he spoke.

“Are you reading Twilight?”

You looked up from the page to find him openly staring at you now, his brows knit together at the realization.

“You know Twilight?” you asked, answering his question with a question.

He scowled, looking away as if already done with the conversation.

For you, however, it had just started.

The corners of your mouth twitched up. “Have you….have you read these before?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but did turn his gaze back to you. Rather than looking pissed, he just looked annoyed.

You could live with that.

“I didn’t, because I have taste,” he said. “But Becs - my sister - went through a phase and tried to drag me along every step of the way.”

An ache formed in your chest realizing the existence of a sister, who wasn’t here at camp and that could really only mean one thing.

This wasn’t the time for bummers, though. You were determined to get him to say at least ten more words to you tonight.

“So you’re saying you’ve seen the movies.”

His lips pressed into a thin line and you scoffed.

“You’re telling me that the CGI baby and the weird blue filter used in the first movie didn’t immediately compel you to binge read the entire series?”

That’s when it happened.

The greatest moment probably of your entire life.

Bucky Barnes laughed.

And just as Sarah said over a month ago, it was contagious, and you breathed out a small laugh yourself in wonder.

Somehow it got even better, because then he made a fucking joke.

“The werewolves definitely almost pulled me in, but then one of them imprinted on a literal baby and I was quickly turned off by that.”

You nodded. “The whole Nessie thing was a bit of a mess, I’ll admit. But that’s what’s so good about it! It’s bad….but also amazing.”

All you got in response was a grunt of acknowledgement, and you felt a newfound boldness to keep going.

“Okay then, if you’re not a Twihard, what’s your favorite book?”

There was a pause.

“Please tell me it’s some cheesy romcom,” you said.

He glared at you again, once again without any true malice. “The Hobbit.”

“Fuck yes, that’s such a good one! And it’s on the shelves. We could do a book club and everything.”

In a flash, you witnessed Bucky’s eyes lighten with excitement and then immediately switch to a dim, lifeless gaze. “No.”

You swallowed, caught off guard by the emptiness in his voice.

It was more conversation than you had ever dreamed of having, and you knew that if you ever wanted to have it happen again you would have to know when to stop pushing him.

For now, hearing his voice, his laugh, seeing something other than disdain in his eyes, it was enough.

The next evening, Bucky decided it was time to continue the conversation.

“What’s your favorite book?” he asked just as you got to the part where Bella had basically jumped Edward in the meadow.

You looked up to find him staring outside the wall, but then he slowly turned his head to you when you didn’t respond.

“Is it Twilight?” he asked with a cocked brow.

You hummed, shaking your head. “Top ten for sure, but no.”

Silence. “So…?” Bucky urged.

“Ella Enchanted,” you said finally, closing the book and positioning your body to face him.

He frowned. “Never heard of it.”

“It’s a kids book,” you replied. “And a stellar movie with Anne Hathaway. But it’s been my comfort read since I was, like, ten or something. I even took it with me when we had to leave after this-” you waved your hand around, “-started to happen.”

Bucky nodded in understanding. “Do you still have it?”

You shook your head. “Lost it during the Hydra shitshow.”

“Is it in the library?” he pressed.

Another shake of your head and he nodded again.

“Don’t worry,” you said, “I’m sure I’ll find it by the time you’re done going through the Twilight Saga.”

He scowled, an expression you realized you loved way too much. “There is no way in hell.”

“Come onnnn,” you whined. “For the book club!”

The right corner of his lip twitched. “No way.”

You sighed dramatically, opening the book back up. “You’re no fun, Beefcake.”

He groaned.

You smiled.

The next day, you went to the library to grab New Moon.

When Bucky got up to the watchtower, his eyes landed on the copy of Twilight resting in his corner.

Even with your eyes glued to the page of your book, you could feel him glaring at you.

“Just suck it up and read it,” you said, still not looking at him. “You can thank me later.”

With one long, dramatic sigh, Bucky picked up the book and sat down, opening up to the first page.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from grinning like an idiot.

“Look,” Bucky started, waving the book in the air. “I just don’t understand why she’s so in love with this dude!”

He had been going on for at least five minutes now, you just sitting there listening to him ramble.

“Sure, he saves her from those guys in the town or whatever, but then nearly kills her by driving like an idiot-”

“But he has super enhanced bat senses!” you argued, fighting to keep your face serious.

That was when Sam climbed up, brows already furrowed from hearing actual conversation being shared between you two as he made his way up the ladder.

Bucky ignored Sam and glared at you. “Okay, but what about other cars on the road? I saw that scene play out in the movies. They had to weave and bob around vampire boy and totally could have caused an accident!”

He stood up and you followed suit, giving Sam a nod and a little shrug as he continued to stare at you.

Bucky, on the other hand, continued to talk as he made his way down the ladder. Usually, you would wait for him to race down and run away as quickly as possible, but since he apparently wasn’t done with this conversation, you decided to follow right behind.

“Okay, whatever, he drives like an idiot and tells her that he basically has anger issues and basically that he’s dangerous for her. And in the movie, she like made him follow her into the woods by the school, which was already dumb. In this, though? He drives her to an isolated place a mile into woods where it would take weeks for someone to find her body? And she’s still all heart eyes?”

He got to the bottom, and stood there until you stepped onto the ground before walking alongside you.

“It’s called love, Beefcake! Sometimes you do dumb shit like go into the middle of the woods with a vampire who is over 100 years old and really wants to drink your blood!”

Bucky shook his head, not stopping as you passed the middle building which had been his normal pit stop after watch. You felt something inside you ignite with excitement, trying desperately to keep your cool even though a part of you was certain that you had fallen asleep during watch and all of this was a dream.

“I can’t believe I let Becca read these when we were younger. I basically gave her the go-ahead to seek out dangerous, blood-sucking bad boys.”

You laughed. “Well, at least now you know to be on the lookout for any pale man who asks you to go to an abandoned field so he can confess his undying love for you. But it’s clear that you hate the book, so just know I appreciate you giving it a try and I’ll return New Moon back in the library when I’m done.”

You looked over just as he clenched his jaw before grumbling something incoherently.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Youcanbringitwithyouwhenyou’redone.”

You bit your bottom lip and smiled, slowing your steps to a stop as you approached the front door to the bunk house.

“You got it, Beefcake. Anything to keep book club alive and well.”

Bucky smiled back, crystalline blue eyes locked on yours for three glorious seconds.

And then they widened, his lips turned down, and he looked to the ground as he cleared his throat.

“I should go,” he said sternly, turning on his heel and storming over to his usual destination, the gym.

His body tensed more and more with each step he took, and you saw his hand clench so tightly you wondered if his palms were bleeding from his nails digging into his skin.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, memorizing the look of his smile from just a few seconds ago.

Baby steps.

Chapter 6

#Lana’s loves #rookthorne’s reactions #Awake My Soul #favourites

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hereendsthelesson · 3 years ago

Text

The Sage of Falsities Travels to Casternium

It was the day that Emmet Surrjo died that the Sage of Falsities and his close friend The Fissure King began their journey to Casternium.

Neither man was particularly ecstatic about making the voyage, but both agreed that Emmet deserved better than to be buried in a foreign city under an alien sky. They walked under a sun that seemed to perpetually brood and a moon that was without glow. The Sage of Falsities traveled with his crooked staff and The Fissure King with his gleaming rapier; both with naught in their countenance but pure and determined purpose. They traveled and the world passed them by.

It was on the day that the moon blocked out the sun and caused the shadow to fall across the Fields of Larenth that the two men met with the pilgrim.

"Good morning, sir!" The Fissure King boomed.

"It's always mourning with the people on this road," the pilgrim sighed, "Nothing here but complaints, grieving, and sorrows."

"I shouldn't think that a man of your sort would have such a crummy outlook," The Fissure King replied, "Especially when seated on such a magnificent perch."

And indeed it was a magnificent place to be located. The man sat overlooking the path and could see the splendorous things scattered across the landscape. Waterfalls cascading into rivers and ponds, rocky outcroppings twisting and bending into every imaginable shape, trees and bushes twining in verdant growth; all this and more was visible from the pilgrim's lookout.

"How would you know about the nature of this place when you only just arrived?" asked the man, "I tell you, this place is terrible. Around the corner, the path splits in two. One of the routes winds through sharp turns and crags, every step of it appears perilous but it is actually quite safe once you get going. The other path appears to be easier to all those who approach it: gentle descents, wide roads, and cooling shade; but on that path lives a murderous beast who mauls every person who passes. I have taken it upon myself to warn all those who pass by about this beast, and I am never met with any thanks. Either they believe me, become angry over having to take the apparently harder path, and scream at me for the perceived trouble or they go down the path with the beast. Those ones usually don't return, but the few who do curse me for not trying harder to convince them not to take that path. All of this is blamed on me."

"So you are right that the view is magnificent here, but the atmosphere is bogged down by those who reject my aid and those who blame me for it."

"You are so upset over the lack of thanks others bequeath you," The Sage of Falsities snickered, "Yet all men know this same feeling and can bare it without so much whining."

"In any case," The Fissure King added, "We wish to rest someplace for the day, and this place should serve as well as any."

"I'll be back this evening then," said the pilgrim with a wry smile, "Perhaps you'll find yourselves changed men."

"Begone, pilgrim who makes no pilgrimage! Make use of thyself!" shooed the Sage of Falsities. The pilgrim walked off as The Sage of Falsities and The Fissure King both sat upon the overlook and relaxed. It was not long before a group of men came up along the path. Spotting them, The Fissure King remembered the pilgrim's words and said:

"Up ahead, take the harder looking path with the rocks and crags. The easier looking one has a vicious beast upon it!"

The men looked at him in astonishment and then laughed in his face. They continued along the path making lewd gestures and then faded out of sight. It was not long before terrible scream and yowling sounds of terror and pain were heard coming from further along the path. A short time later, one of the men came hobbling back up the path, scared out of his wits. Upon spying The Fissure King and The Sage of Falsities, his fear turned to anger. He lashed out at them for not adequately convincing he and his friends from going down the accursed path.

The Sage of Falsities glared at him and said, "I remember us warning you and you running off while laughing at our advice and performing rude gestures. Your misery is on your own head!"

They exchanged some further heated words before the young man hobbled off again, cursing under his breath. More men came along and were advised not to take the beast's path, yet these men didn't listen either and the survivors again came hobbling back and cursing The Fissure King and The Sage of Falsities. This pattern continued many times over, until the two companions spotted a single figure walking along the path.

"Please traveler," The Fissure King pleaded, "Don't take the path that looks easiest ahead! I swear to you, there is a beast that has killed scores of men in the past few hours alone waiting on that path! I beg of you--"

It was then he noticed the figure walking towards them was the pilgrim they had met earlier. The Sage of Falsities jumped up and snarled at him:

"All day we have warned men not to take the path that would lead to their deaths, and all day we have watched them die. The ones that didn't die only came to hate us and blame us for their own idiocy! You knew that this was going to happen, for you sit here every day! Why did you let us sit here and experience this?"

The pilgrim just snickered at the Sage of Falsities and reassumed his spot upon the overlook.

"You think you would have learned, but it's clear you learned nothing," he said as he sat down.

The Sage of Falsities retorted, "All I've learned is that pilgrims who don't pilgrimage do nothing but cause their own problems. You could come down off that rock any time."

The Sage of Falsities spat at the pilgrim's feet, grabbed the shoulder of The Fissure King, and stormed off along the path; the laughter of the pilgrim resounding after him.

"I thought he was a nice enough guy," said The Fissure King after a few moments of silence.

"Smarter than most we meet," The Sage of Falsities agreed, "Especially when compared to those who didn't follow his advice."

"Which advice?" asked The Fissure King, "The one about not going down the wrong path, or the one about not sitting around all day to tell people which path not to take?"

"Neither," said the Sage of Falsities either trying to save face after finally understanding the lesson or, having understood the lesson all along, trying to bring up a point he believed more important. "I was speaking of the one about beauty coming at a cost."

Here Ends The Lesson

#short fiction

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 7 years ago

Text

Hard Times | June Goals Update

So it’s been another month. Somewhat scary to think that time flies straight over your head, and doesn't ever stop...

Anywho...

*If you would prefer to not read my struggles with bipolar disorder and in particular, the depressive side of it, feel free to skip past this ramble!*

Hey People of Earth!

I’ve had a month. It opened shitty, ended shitty, lots of shitty things happened in between. In regards to June--damn, how shitty it has been.

I have tried writing this post on its own for around a week now. And every single time I try, I end up trashing the draft. Last night I decided not to trash the draft, and post it today, but I’ve somehow trashed the draft.

Again...

So. I've sort of been severely depressed since the start of the month... Oh boy...

If you don't know, I was diagnosed officially as bipolar on May 31st of this year. I kid you not, the very next day, I fell back into this terrible depressive rut I haven't been able to escape since.

I’ve been waiting three years for someone to just validate the feelings I've had--I’ve been desperate for someone to tell me what my doctor told me on May 31st. I was convinced that hearing those words, hearing that diagnosis would make me the happiest person in the world, and I think it’s the disappointment that stemmed from not having that that just choked me this month.

I don’t know why hearing so hey, Rachel, yo, you’re actually bipolar sent me into the deepest, darkest hole I have ever existed in. Because I’d been waiting so long to hear those words. Past Me was positive everything would be better after I heard those words. Past Me always thought everything would get better after hearing those words, but things have only gotten progressively worse.

I’m diagnosed as bipolar, and I can’t tell you how hard that has been to swallow.

I’m sincerely sorry for missing blog posts, and promising I’ll come back, and then never coming back. I’ve literally torn myself apart because of this... But, I’ve lived like a ghost this month, and doing anything has been so painful.

I went from high to low in the span of seconds, and I can’t leave.

I want to get into how it feels to be bipolar, and to cycle into these moods so frequently. Of course, this is only my experience with this disorder. Others might not experience this like I do.

So for me, shifting from high to low feels like someone is punching me in the face, and will not stop. I hate going from okay one moment, to so low the next. It’s so frustrating to me. Ask my family or friends--it’s fucking frustrating for them too because do you know how difficult it is for someone to see you having the time of your life one day, and then being in such a dark place the next? I hardly understand this. I can’t imagine how those around me feel. Switching from high to low feels like I’m a failure, and I cannot stop failing, because of all things, I can’t control my own brain, even though I feel like I should have that right. I’m not strong enough to control my brain--it controls me. Switching from high to low makes me feel so stuck. Like I’m struggling in quicksand, but there is no way out. You feel defeated by yourself, even though you shouldn't have a competition within yourself . But that’s kind of what goes on with me every time this happens. My body and soul go to war, when that should never happen.

I feel like to a point, while I emphasize honesty in my blog posts, there’s a line I draw. There’s a point where I fear if I talk more about this, and talk more about the fact that every single thing I did in June was torturous, people will not want to listen. I don’t want to bog people down. But this affects my writing life so much, and in turn, will affect you.

Imagine one day, you’re on top of the world. You have everything you could ever want. You are successful. You feel great about yourself. You are in the best state you have ever been in. Now imagine, the next day, you witness something so upsetting, you spiral into the deepest rut you’ve ever been in. You don't want to keep going. You’re choking on your own life. You feel hollow.

This happens to me. Every day. Every week. Every month.

I wish I could be more positive about this... I miss my positivity so much.

I can’t remember if I’ve talked about this on here before. But January and February are always the worst months I ever have to experience. Jan and Feb of 2015 were emotionally draining, but I didn’t know why, so I moved along as they went. Jan and Feb of 2016? A little harder to get by, but I did it, with a little help from ALL THE BRIGHT PLACES. Jan and Feb of 2017? Completely different ball game. I’ve never fought so hard to stay here.

Until June…

I always said that if I didn’t have a diagnosis before January and February of 2018, I’d probably not survive beyond then.

I didn’t know I was capable of feeling that pain in a completely different realm of time.

June isn’t the winter. June is sunny, and bright, and where all the happiness should stem from. There are flowers outside. The sky is blue. Everything is beautiful. June isn’t supposed to bring misery like January and February. June is supposed to be breezy and light, and the cross into summer vacation. But I just exited the hardest month I’ve ever had to live through. And I hate that I’ve said that statement somewhere around 8 times in my life, and I’m hardly even sixteen.

I can’t tell you why I’m so depressed. I can’t explain it. I can’t tell you it’s because something bad happened in my life. Because nothing did. Nothing happened. Nothing should have changed.

Gah. I didn't want to have to say all of this. But I know if I don't know, I never will.

So welcome to my off day. Or my off month. I guess.

So now that all of that's been said, let’s get into these insanely ambiguous goals, shall we?

1. Hit 80k in FOSTERED #5.

HIT 90K BABY.

2. Outline more of ALANNIS, and like maybe try to finish it, though I mean this isn’t going to happen, so yeah, just work on it pls

Didn’t even touch the thing. lol sorry.

3. Upload another video.

Guess who didn’t do this. Guess who has a video ready to upload just sitting on her computer. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Actually, I do. (Reference above, lol)

(I will get this thing up when I feel a little better I promise!)

4. Read a book yo.

Didn’t do this. Also because of the above. Sigh. I did start THE HATE U GIVE and it’s amazing thus far. I’m around 100 pages in, and I love it.

5. Finish another character portrait.

If there’s something I did this month... Jeez...

I did a lot of art this month, man... So I mean, if there’s a silver lining to anything, it’s that... I actually just finished one of these an hour ago. I’m not going to show you one of them because I’m not digging the final outcome that much.

I finished this AWESOME painting of Emily from the FOSTERED books AKA the character who looks different every time I write with her... lol. (Did I just call my own art awesome? Uhm, well I say awesome because @sarahkelsiwrites drew the sketch, I only painted it in. So yes.)

I don't like complimenting my own work, but um, I think I have substantially (and quite miraculously) improved my abilities to shade using the painterly technique.

I actually did my first digital painting using the painterly technique earlier in the month.

Here I bring you, ‘Angsty Ben’

LOOK AT HIS EYELINER

LOOK AT HIS BLEACHED HAIR

LOOK AT HIS LIP RING.

LOOK AT HIS ANGST PATCH JACKET

LOOK AT HIS STROKES FANBOY T-SHIRT

THE SURF CURSE PATCH KILLS ME

WHO ELSE SEES THE CLIFFORD IS A DISAPPOINTMENT PATCH ON THE BOTTOM LEFT.

LOWKEY WHAT A FUTURE 17-YEAR-OLD BEN LOOKS LIKE.

Hahahahahaaaaaaa

I know. This is the best thing I’ve ever created. Ha. So this cheered me up. Awesome.

Obviously, it’s not entirely finished, though I’m just stopping here at this point, because it was really only here as a test in shading.

My point here, is that I think there’s quite a large improvement in shading...

@sarahkelsiwrites did an amazing job on Emily’s sketch, so huge thanks to her! I have a speedpaint for this, so it’ll be up at some point in time... Harrison is actually supposed to be next to her, buuuuut he’s giving me trouble, so... (He will be completed at some point in time also.)

AND NOW LOOK HOW LIT THIS IS

@sarahkelsiwrites drew me the most AMAZING portrait of Lonan, and I die.

If you don't know, the name Lonan means blackbird, and the meaning of his name, though never stated in the books, is a huge point of symbolism in the novels...

This is the sketch she drew (excuse the world’s shittiest scan):

(It’s shitty a) because the paper is kind of way too big for the scanner, and b) because haha my scanner is shitty)

BUT CAN WE JUST.

And then I, around an hour ago, went in and added colour...

AHHHHHHHH

Sarah said she’d eventually like to do a digital painting of this as well, so I’m just so stoked... THE SYMBOLISM IN THIS DRAWING ACTUALLY MURDERS MEEEEEE.

Cuz yanno, birds are supposed to be in cages, but LOOK AT HIIIIM.

In other news, I finally have an idea for book five’s cover...

Bless you, Sarah. Bless. This thing makes me so happy.

I also have a speedpaint for this. So yeah. Onslaught of vids coming your way the minute I start feeling better.

6. Complete that huge edit on FOSTERED #5.

YAAAAAS. I did this. In school. Like a boss. If you don't know, I like to go back and edit my novel every 10k words or so, and accidentally eventually let the usual 10k turn into 30k... So to continue writing, I had to make a bit of a large edit, and I did it! I think it happened in a day or so? So it was a lot less arduous than anticipated.

7. *Maybe* re-visit I’M DISAPPOINTED. Just maybe. If it won’t drive you nuts. Or at least look at the query and fix it up a little.

I thought about re-visiting I’M DISAPPOINTED. lol. Does that count. (More news on what the heck is happening with this book in my writing update which should be up at some point in time..)

8. Write at least 100 words in the I’M DISAPPOINTED short story.

I didn’t do this. I was supposed to edit what I had. I have it all formatted and everything. But I never printed it out... So then, I just never wrote anything...

Ahhh well, look at all the amazing art above, lol. I’ve done more, but I’m saving all that stuff for later when they’re all cleaned up and stuff.

So those were all my goals and stuff. So I mean, even though I had the shittiest month ever, I still managed to somehow get a lot of things done. I’m addicted to work. This is a problem.

(Oh by the way, another goal I hit this month... You know how I said a while back that I wanted to get a 97% average this semester? Well... uh. I kind of did. 97.25% to be exact... yeaaaaaahhhhhh I should stop...)

So here are more goals:

1. Hit 100k in FOSTERED #5

2. Outline more of ALANNIS, and like maybe try to finish it, though I mean this isn’t going to happen, so yeah, just work on it pls

3. Upload another video.

4. Read a book yo.

5. Finish another character portrait

like come on

6. Write at least 100 words in the I’M DISAPPOINTED short story.

pls.

Some exciting things happening in my life right now:

- I’m seeing Ed Sheeran in concert this FRIDAYYYYYY

- I might be seeing Precious Kid in Pennsylvania. Possibly.

- MY BROTHERS MET PRECIOUS KID

- I’M SEEING FLIPPIN SURF CURSE IN CONCERT AT THE END OF AUGUST

- Also going to Mexico

So many things are happening, man...

Because this post started out as the world’s biggest bummer, I want to maybe help anybody out there who needs some comfort by sharing a couple of things that’ve made my past month less terrible.

Daughter performances have been the only thing keeping me going at night when I can’t sleep. My insomnia hasn’t left me alone for this entire week. After trying everything I know of (come on fam, even my favourite ASMR vid doesn’t work), I’ve resorted to watching performances of one of my favourite bands.

Elena writes beautiful songs about her own sadness. She does it in a way that brings me so much comfort. And while all that I go through is ugly, Elena uses words that make it sound beautiful, and in doing so, make my pain less hurtful.

I’ve never seen them perform their song Made Of Stone live, so finding this performance was absolutely amazing. I love that she expresses thoughts I’ve had myself. It makes me feel like hey, I’m not the only one. Someone gets me. This song does that very well.

See, this is why I love music.

youtube

You’ll find love kid, it exists

I also love

youtube

This one really helped sooth my mind a bit. Which is nice. :)

This post really helped me when I was in a really suicidal rut a couple nights ago: https://themighty.com/2016/08/if-you-want-to-die-read-this/

^^^ I love this post.

On a little bit of a lighter note, Paramore’s Hard Times hits me where I need it.

youtube

If you’ve been a long-time follower, you know how much your girl loves Paramore.

THIS SONG.

Lyrically, it’s one of the saddest things Paramore has put out. But they’ve paired it with this funky beat that’s so ironically happy… And guys… The accuracy in representing depression… Oh my lord…

Hard times Gonna make you wonder why you even try Hard times Gonna take you down and laugh when you cry These lives And I still don’t know how I even survive Hard times Hard times

And I still don’t know how I even survive… <<< this hits my heart so much

I sing this part with no chilllllll.

*this brings me so much happiness*

Paramore was the thing that got me through that second terrible Jan+Feb beyond ATBP, so this is somewhat fitting…

This video by Dodie is the thing that pushed me to not give a shit if this seemed too bitter and pessimistic. She really made me feel that if I feel bitter and pessimistic, I should be real about that.

youtube

I’m not actually a fan of hers (I just don’t watch her vids, though I probably will now), but I’ve seen this thing pop up in my recommended since it came out, and I finally watched it last night. I love this video.

Also just kind of a simple one, but my sister helps too. Like loads. So far, she’s been the one to make me smile and laugh, even when I’m in the actual middle of this muggy period.

Maybe you don’t know this about me, but I’m a die-hard ASMR fan (if you suffer from insomnia, this is my secret to sleep), and CarolineASMR’s 24/7 livestream has been giving me life.

Whenever I’m just very down, and need something to do, I listen to this. And it’s always there. Which is so great for so many reasons. I wasn’t going to mention this one because I didn’t think it was that much of a help, but after going through my YouTube history, I realize that I’ve relied on this livestream so much this past week…

(If you ever need ASMR recs, hellooooo)

(START WITH BRIGHTGREYASMR THAT’S ALL I HAVE TO SAY, YOU’RE WELCOME. THIS video is the only one that kills my insomnia around 90% which is AWESOME)

So all of these things have contributed to making my life a little easier. I wanted to share them with you to hopefully bring some light into your life, if you’ve been going through some hard times too. Just know that at some point in life, this suck will ease. I don’t know if it will ever get better, and I won’t say that because I know I don’t even like when people say that to me. But you’re literally going to keep kicking ass. Even if all you’re doing right now is existing, you are still worthy of every single moment you have. I know I don’t have hope right now, so I can’t tell you to just have hope, because sometimes, being hopeful isn’t always easy. I hope you find your hope, and I hope I find my hope. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m all ears.

That’s kind of the end of this post... Thank you for listening, if you made it this far. Thank you for letting me express myself when I need to. I hope this serves as a bit of an explanation for my MIA-ness. I’ll try to be back as soon as I can. You guys are sincerely the best.

See you in the next one. :)

--Rachel

#Writing #goalsupdates

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fountainpenguin · 8 years ago

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Once Act 2 of Origin of the Pixies is over, I can finally delete the Google Docs file for it. For kicks and giggles, here are some deleted scenes that have been sitting at the end of the Acts 1 and 2 document all this time-

H.P. talking biology with Mr. Thimble:

Four and a half centuries after that, just before I was to begin my real work as an employee in the family business of Wish Fixers rather than Ambrosine’s unpaid little tagalong, I returned to Spellementary School to seek something from Mr. Thimble that I had never wanted in the months following my nymphhood: His advice.

My timing was perfect, as it tended to be. I arrived as his latest batch of students was filtering out for recess. He crouched on the floor with a dustpan full of pottery chunks and crumpled flowers (someone, it seemed, had finally put that twisted orange and brown monstrosity on the bookshelf out of its misery).

"Someone broke your vase?" I asked as he stood.

He shrugged and started for the waste bin. "One of the will o' the wisps brushed it with her wing. It doesn't matter- they were just daisies." Then he glanced over at me for the first time. “Ah. Fergus Whimsifinado. You look more like your father every day.”

Mr. Thimble considered this. “If you want to say you’re a pixie, then I see no reason why you can’t. The early will o’ the wisps and brownies began in a similar way. Here. You remember this old collection of tablets, perhaps. I would suggest you find some blank ones and create a copy for pixies, containing information such as wing design, particular magical abilities, sexual tendencies, and aggressive behaviors that outsiders ought to be aware of.”

I stared at the heap of tablets with my stomach curling in and out of knots. I wanted to be called something, but I didn’t want it that badly. I thanked him for the tablets and even began my work, but I lacked the attention and drive for it. The project was shelved.

This scene was originally going to appear after the lunch conversation with Ambrosine in “Love Struck Out”. In this early draft of the story, H.P. wasn’t so bogged down by feelings of “not being a real fairy” and “my mutation makes me ugly”, and he was actually going to call himself a pixie from the get-go. He approached his old school teacher, requesting to fill out the tablets to get his species placed in the school textbooks. Because of course he can do that.

I felt like this concept took a LOT out of the story, though, which is one reason why the scene was tossed and I went back to the drawing board (other reason being, it disrupted Chapter 3′s flow). I did really want to make a joke about him hating paperwork in his youth, but after ditching this scene I never really had the chance.

Also, you may notice that the mention of the vase was moved to “The Art of Starting Fires” instead. I was pretty proud of how it was written, and designed the Wish Fixers scene around it (after tweaking the scene as necessary to fit Karowel’s personality, of course). Fun Fact: In Act 4, H.P. owns a vase that looks exactly like this one even though he called it ugly in his youth.

Academy Party:

Sparkle wiggled his brows. “Are you sure you don’t want a sip? It’s orange.”

I studied the drink, then brought it to my lips. “Maybe just one.”

It runs in the family, the sugar addiction. I was at the top of my game one moment, leaning back in my comfortable seat and surveying my kingdom with fingertips pressed together. Shortly thereafter, Polly was leading Sparkle and I down the hall by our ears, both of us with our words bumping together like raindrops. I find it necessary to state, however, that soda is no longer a weakness of mine and should not be expected to work against me again.

Although this snippet has some merit, I removed it from “School’s In - Not Much of a Musical” because I realized I didn’t want to timeskip the entire party (I played with the idea of having two parties at first). After this, I wrote the second “party” as something rather boring. H.P. was just playing snapjik with Sparkle and Polly in the basement somewhere. Brown walls and quiet people in the study area, yep. There was... no excitement whatsoever until Ambrosine showed up. It just seemed like the kind of place H.P. would hang out.

Then I remembered he’s canonically a rave-lover and grinned a wicked grin.

H.P. meets Pip

I jolted upright, wings flared. “What the- Ow!”

A blue and black shape hovered above me with a horrified stare etched across her entire face. “Of all the places to spill my hot spaghetti sauce, it had to be on a fairy in diapause.”

“What?” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. “I wasn’t… what?”

She bore no crown, and her bat-like wings were feathered along the edges. An anti-cherub, then. She stared at me, stiff, with a bowl of pasta in her hands.

I took a few steps, but swayed heavily and began to sag. “Take it slow, big fella,” she said, tailing me. “That’s it. Keep walking forward. Forward.”

“I know you’re trying to walk me off a cliff. This is where I live. I know this valley.” I rubbed my entire face with my palm. “Was I seriously in diapause? The last season I remember was the Winter of the Scarred Caribou. What year is it now?”

“Autumn of the Flightless Bird. That would be about…” She tipped her head. “Twenty thousand years, I think?”

I blinked several times. “You remember that?”

She coughed into her fist. “Years are kind of my thing. It’s in the job description. You learn to pick them up. Anywho, no one wants to hear about my boring life.”

“Hey, I’d be more grateful in your position. You would have been eaten by predators if I hadn’t waited around until some angels found you and decided to give you a proper burial.”

“They buried me alive?”

“It wasn’t their fault. You still had dust on you and you looked pretty dead.”

“And that was twenty-thousand years ago.”

“Yep.”

“You’ve been stalking me for twenty thousand years, and you’re only just now waking me up.”

“Yep.”

“Why are you like this?”

“I dunno? I come around this area every century or so to listen to that fluttery sound of your core deep underground, and I finally got curious and just decided to do it.”

I checked myself over through bleary eyes, but all my clothes were still in place, well-worn by the elements and damp with ice.

“Identify yourself, or I shoot you with a seven-day blindness hex.”

“Easy, easy!” she protested, flapping her wings.

“Who are you? Why are you here?”

These diapause ideas were scrapped because of the conflict with Baby, You’re a Rich Man, when H.P. tells Sanderson he met Pip about five hundred years before he was born. I used Mortikor to wake H.P. from diapause instead.

The first one was definitely supposed to show Pip’s quirkiness. In that version, H.P. fell into diapause in his little cave, and she snuck in to rob him. Hot spaghetti sauce is, evidently, warm enough to wake someone from diapause. The other three all take place outside in the snow.

H.P. trying to communicate with humans

“You want me to paint?” I tried to infer. I dipped my fingertips in the red powder, then stared at the wall. What to draw? I had never painted anything before, or if I had, it was when I was very young and the memories had been shuffled beneath millennia of more important work.

I looked at Tall, and then I knew exactly what to create. First, I drew two crude angels, to symbolize the concept of ‘more than one’. Then, more carefully, I drew a third figure floating over their heads, with wings spread. After setting my paints on the floor, I faced the pack again. Shiny had her head to the left, but no one really seemed to get it.

“Pack kills animal,” I said pointing to the picture that Tall had drawn. Moving my finger to the next, I pressed, “Pack gives food to the fairy and cares for them.” The third image, “Fairy lives happy life.”

They weren’t getting it. How were they not getting it?

Oh, well.

I stared around the cave. Then I took up the feathers that had been plucked from the meat, and tucked them into my hair. I took up a large bone like a wand. I brushed clumps of purple dust from my left shoulder down to my hand, and clenched my fingers before they could begin to wriggle back up.

One chance. One chance.

I threw my handful of dust to the floor and silently pleaded for them to shoot up white sparks (It was only a small amount of dust, after all). With a sound like a ping, they did. I leapt into the air as I flared my wings, and held.

I clung to my wand. They seemed to understand. They respected me like I was the greatest. I was a king.

“Okay. For my first order of business, I require an escort to Great Sidhe.” I pointed out the cave and started to leave it, but after a minute of hovering outside the entrance, I came back. “Escort? Why is no one moving?”

The first and third are okay, but I’m not fond of the second. Anyway, like the scenes with Pip, these take place in “The Wanderings of the First and Alone”. I timeskipped them all instead because they weren’t necessary for the chapter, and I was having trouble making them all flow together anyway.

Additionally, I wanted the first time H.P. is seen naming something to be when he names Sanderson (Hence why the story points out he never named his pet fish or the living cardboard boxes). I also played with the concept of H.P. sticking with this group of humans for decades, observing their mortality, but that idea was quickly discarded when I realized it would give him parental experience, and I wanted Sanderson to be the first child who truly looked after.

Social services are trash

The word- it was the wrong word. That word didn’t belong in conversation.

“Dead!” she exploded, visibly resisting the urge to sink her thumbs into my windpipe and strangle me. “The Fairy Elder’s orders! They’ll kill him to prevent the continuing spread of-”

I flashed for the door before she finished, tying the ribbons of China’s coat with all the wrong loops only to tear them apart and redo them correctly. I barreled through two streets, swerving around more than one magic carpet and knocking half a dozen Fairies to the cloudstones.

Originally, H.P. went out to lunch after dumping Sanderson on social services in “Grand Father”. However, he shouldn’t have friends at this time, so I couldn’t figure out how he ended up talking with this lady. Or how “I just illegally abandoned my son and I feel great” could come up in conversation.

In the final version, he goes to the post office instead, and finds out from the Keepers that Sanderson was on the chopping block. The final version works well because it’s a good way to remind the audience that the Refracted exist, and it shows that despite everything, H.P. feels guilty about dropping off Sanderson with little fanfare, and so brings him the scarf.

The draft version was a little too panicked and emotional considering that technically, Origin IS supposed to be written for the pixies and H.P. wouldn’t normally let something QUITE like that slip in. I mean, for the sake of storytelling, I haven’t been writing the way I imagine he truly would, but that’s why he has an editor whom he hates.

I’ve been waiting for the right time to bring the magic carpets up again, but I think I missed my chance, so that might just end up a Frayed Knots thing.

Anti-Sanderson meets Sherri

The door opened, and a slim figure headed across the grass for the showers with a bucket in one hand and rag in the other. A damsel. A cherub damsel. Anti-Sanderson looked at me. “Watch this.”

He went bouncing and sliding down the tree, ricocheting off a tangle of branches, and at the bottom ran over to the cherub. "Can I help you carry that, twizzlerbit?" he asked, and she let him with a smile.

The pair had nearly reached the showers when the cherub made the mistake of holding her eyelids shut, or perhaps darting her gaze away, and Anti-Sanderson lunged for her face. She screamed against his lips and slapped at him with her hands and snapping wings, but with his arms wrapped around her, even the yoo-doo doll struggled to tear him away. As the cherub scrambled off, we all dropped to our knees. We knelt there, hands behind our backs, glowering at one another, until finally Venus stormed in and grabbed the offender by the elbow.

"That's it. I have hit the roof with you. You can spend the next five hundred years in solitary confinement."

I REALLY like the phrasing of jumping down the tree, but had to toss it due to the scene change to the ballroom in “Snowflake”. Shame.

(By the way, Sanderson was mentally nine in “Bells and Whistles”, and is mentally eleven by this point in the story. Once he hits twelve, he’ll be mentally twelve for a looong time until his lines catch up with his mental age. After that, he’ll start aging with his line count. So I guess aging with lines is like a puberty thing? That makes sense to me. Let’s do that. Pair it with a wing moult and other features like an adam’s apple or something, yeah.)

H.P. meets Wanda

“Wanda Fairywinkle.”

“You’re the damsel who traveled back in time to kill the dinosaurs.”

She took the folds of an imaginary skirt and curtsied.

That’s it. That’s the scene. That’s as far as I got before I realized I would MUCH prefer to write “Rain Dance” instead, and I didn’t want to accidentally write myself into a corner.

This scene, and the next one, would take place during the war.

Chatting with Schnozmo

Robin leaned across the table. “They say some lunatic called Doubletake snuck a cú sith into the camp.”

I sipped my coffee. “That in itself was against the Fairy Elder’s orders, isn’t it? Poor sucker didn’t stand a chance, I suppose.”

“I dunno about that. Maybe.” He shrugged. “All I know is, people are sayin’ how Doubletake got himself sugar-drunk and killed Shiverwand. Just stabbed him right in the back, no warning or nothin’. His own bunkmate, while he was sleeping! Got the dust everywhere. How’s that for juicy?”

I rotated my mug between my fingers. “And the cú sith took him on the grounds of dishonorable killing?”

“Sure did! The mangy yellow thing snapped his soul up before you could steal a peach cobbler off a windowsill.” Robin slapped his knee and leaned back, both hands wrapped around the edge of the bench between his knees. “Wish I coulda seen it. Two words: Night patrol reeks. Anyway, they say Doubletake’s body’s new driver is a charming fellow. So, if you wondered.”

“Thank you.”

He flashed his jagged teeth. “Hey, that’s what the Hooded Robin’s here for.”

“And Doubletake in the cú sith’s body?”

“Got away into the trees. They’re trying to round him up. I dunno if they’ll try to get him back in his own body, though. I mean, he was a loopy fellow. A couple years in hot fur might cool him down.”

Mmhm. Originally, H.P. didn’t take Sparkle with him when he left the Academy at the end of “The Fallen Angel”. The rebellion in “A Grain of Truth” didn’t even exist. I’m still trying to decide WHAT H.P. and Schnozmo are going to talk about during this scene, or if the entire scene needs to be removed.

Additionally, the soul-swapping scene worked well for Chapter 6, because it drives home exactly what fairy dogs can do, and justifies H.P.’s reactions in “School’s In” and “Bells and Whistles” sooner rather than later.

Anyhow, those are the deleted scenes, and they’ll be deleted for real when I finish the Act 2 finale and discard this document!

#Origin of the Pixies #ridwriting #Deleted for reasons #I'm wasp dad trash #Original draft

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suiciderealestate · 7 years ago

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Today I am making an agreement with myself to stop giving any kind of flying fuck about what other people think, especially the specific brand of idiot I often surround myself with. My life is my life, my work is my work, what I do is for me alone and really no one else. If I have something to say I’ll say it, and I’ll say it in really any way that I want to. I don’t need a specific voice. I don’t need a specific style. I don’t need to seek or give false approval. Things like that do little to serve me and today I am accepting that there are people in my life I have strung along in ritual and who also no longer serve me.

Lately I have been drinking — a lot. In fact, at this very moment I am somewhat intoxicated. Over the course of the day, I consumed a bottle of rum, but I’m still not really satisfied. I want another bottle of fucking rum so I can pump this bullshit out and get on with my life. I guess I need to make a confession, on the off chance the relevant members of the peanut gallery will read it, and if not, it’s here for posterity’s sake.

I have spent years in myriad unhealthy relationships. In fact, almost all of my relationships are unhealthy. Now, when it gets to that point you kind of have to wonder to yourself: Are all of my relationships unhealthy because I myself am a toxic individual? Probably. I definitely don’t think I’m pristine, but the thing is that even people who are toxic to some aren’t necessarily toxic to others. It’s all about that glorious immune system that renders you unfazed by another’s corrosive influence. But in some cases, the toxicity of two people builds into a chemical reaction that creates a unique kind of poison, one that doesn’t kill you, one that doesn’t get you high, but one that fogs your mind enough to make you think you like it and convinces you that it’s a good idea to keep drinking.

I often tell myself that I say what I think and speak the things I feel, but lately I feel that I’ve been less of that person. I have, time and time again, chosen to spare people’s feelings, with some exceptions that I have been routinely castigated for but for which I am still not sorry. It should be noted that when someone pushes you down the stairs, they should not remain your friend. That is called insanity. And no, I was not the one who was pushed down the stairs. I was the one who pushed that bitch down the stairs.

It’s ridiculous to me that these things can procrastinate the way they do. Like when I was drunk and she made me drive myself home because she didn’t like that I was infatuated with a racist. A good rationale, one that I ultimately got over, but let’s speed up the reel — to the night she was the designated driver and I was the blackout idiot on Xanax who was made to drive home because her bisexual lover made out with me in public, right after I made out with her. I slept that night at the club for probably the whole time we were there, but then later in the evening when they were fighting and I absentmindedly kissed, I don’t know, his hand? I was allowed to drive myself home, at which point I momentarily passed out in the car and ran off the road.

When I talked to her later, it was made out to be nothing. I was acting up. This and that. I was so fucked up I didn’t even know I was passed out at the club for an hour or more. I had no idea. I thought it was just three or four hours chock full of me being ridiculous, but when I found out the innocuous truth, I guess I was a tad miffed at what happened, that someone would be so self-absorbed they would let me cast my life to the winds of fate, no strings attached.

Later on, she realized that some friends of mine were mad at her, because obviously I had a few things to say about it, trying to sort my emotions, attempting to determine if I was being ridiculous. When confronted with the situation, she said something along the lines of, “Whatever happens happens. I’m not going to apologize.” That was what set the tires to a screeching halt until it came to be crunch time. Boyfriend viciously headbutted her in the face after what was I guess a trivial argument that involved a dispute about somebody not leaving.

There was blood. Pictures were taken. An Instagram-Facebook witch hunt was launched. I decided not to care. This here is not poetry, but I guess it’s time to lay out some honesty for this honesty-starved online diary, because I guess I’ve just committed myself to turning the other cheek and moving on. And for those curious, photos of the phallic empress litter this repository. But, as I said before, sometimes moving on with the albatross still hanging around your neck is an endless fool’s errand. I took the boy’s side online, in the form of a Facebook comment, because up until that point the only bouts of feckless insanity I had thus far witnessed came from the queen of the ocean deeps, not him.

I won’t say I’m not crazy. I certainly am. Both of us bond over one thing more than anything else: We are both subject to the same romantic delusions, that always end in tragedy. But is that really anything to base a friendship off of? To hold out for an oasis of mutual misery and bicker during the oscillating moments of unmatched happiness and sadness that invariably constitute the in-between? I’m not really sure. All I know is that I haven’t forgotten what happened. Both of us see the other as having committed a wrong, but neither of us really feels sorry for what we did. She doesn’t feel sorry for potentially sending me on my way to my (maybe) death while she haunted an idiot’s dick, while I don’t see how defending said idiot in public when it comes to the whims of a flighty plus-size siren is really all that deplorable.

But people have their own feelings about these situations, and I guess I just decided to move on. I usually do. It’s a problem. With boys, friends, this, that and the other, I tend to just try to get over it. No use in holding grudges. But in the back of my mind I feel the psychic weight of all this drama. I am not innocent. Nobody is innocent. But at what point do you put a stop to the tedium? These days we exchange art with each other that neither of us care about, share dreams that neither of us truly believe in, talk hot air to each other, taking turns, like fleshly diaries chatting at the other without ears to listen. It’s just taking turns to talk, taking refuge in the other’s propensity for perpetuation in the grand scheme of delusion when things get rough.

But when I look into the future, I don’t know what the real purpose is of such a relationship, if not to bog me down and incite jealousies and resentments. Always there are these settings up of reasons to hate each other. I can feel it in the casual exchanges: a Facebook add, a passing comment, an uninformed fuck. We joke that we’re old enemies from a past life. Of all the fantasies, that feels most real. Our hatreds leaked into the next world and now we’re tangled up with each other in a bramble of our own punishment. Every now and then it’s nice, but there is always a distance, a dependance, on both ends, that doesn’t feel right. Sometimes it feels sinister. Often it’s so redundant it ventures into boredom. Calling for reasons we can’t really pinpoint, talking about nothing — it sounds like a lovely friendship, but the real spikes of energy are always evil, and when we come to the other side of it we just tell ourselves that maybe it made us stronger, strengthened the toxicity of our acidic solvent.

And in this, factions have developed, tangential disdains, objectionable affinities. There are sides to this endless drama and the hostility that underlies it, bubbling up, lashing out. There is always the jealousy, the resentment, the entitlement, the deep-seated desire to get revenge when the opportunity presents itself. Do you understand? And even though I have refrained from taking advantage of such an insidious, persistent impulse, afterthoughts linger like regrets that make me feel like maybe, just maybe, I should have tossed out the holy water and stolen sweet Sylvia’s playthings if only for a moment in the screen room. Maybe I did it once before. Maybe it’s a cute fantasy that we entertain as an adhesive to our strange, magnetic, miasmic bond. All I know is that honesty henceforth will have to be the best policy. And if honesty proves a sharp stone that cuts into the soft skin of this relationship’s sinew, then cut it to ribbons, because I don’t care.

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opalmothnightingale · 7 years ago

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Trauma Taint

2- 7- 18 -

I don’t like to be too well versed in psychology, which tried to bring its boxes and use them on me, if you fit the box, good... If you don’t, we’ll try to pretend you do... We’ll tell you that you fit this box therefore you have all these symptoms and behaviors and problems, even if you say you don’t. We know your experience better than you.

And because you fit this box you can’t have these experiences, because people in your box don’t have that... And I went from therapist to therapist, and a psychiatrist as well... They all had this condescending box blindness of “I know your reality and you must be lying about your experiences” kind of thing going on..

I know I don’t use correct exact terms when it comes to psychological labels but psychological labels are not nearly as concise and accurate, scientific nor all encompassing as they pretend. It’s almost like these kind of old time snake oil salespeople... We have your remedy and if you dare say you don’t need it or it doesn’t work, too bad...

We will claim our expert experience and knowledge and others will bow in awe to our product, our experience, our prestige as doctors. Though in this case the remedy is the box, the box with all the treatments dictated to go along,... accordingly,... sending a fat chunk of money into the pockets of the diagnosers....

I might not be experiencing trauma but I have read enough about it to know that I think I experience trauma issues... I don’t like to put the official label of what it might be usually... But sometimes I want something more technical and accurate sounding even if it’s not accurate. So I prefer switching between weird sounding terms like “trauma issues” and inaccurate names such as “trauma”, which might not be accurate, but might be...

I don’t respect science enough to bore my mind with the tedious details of whether my labels are exact... All I know for sure is that science often hasn’t helped me despite their overconfident pushy opinions and advice and methods they say will help me... Some people aren’t helped by science but science won’t shut up and sit down for those people, oftentimes but just continues to insist it knows how to deal with everyone’s problems that fall under their area of expertise or specialization (in this case, mental issues...

Psychologists and those who adore and bow to them insist it’s my problem and my fault that psychology hasn’t helped me... And if I say the available therapies don’t help me, it has to be because I’m too close minded and haven’t tried hard enough or searched long enough into the field of miraculous psychology).

Ugh. How boring and exhausting and wasteful of my precious resources to fight such tedious debates and be put on the defense when I know enough about myself and don’t have to prove my experience to anyone.

But what I can see is it’s trauma related... That is all I know for sure and all I feel I need to know right now.

I’m not saying science and psychology has nothing more that could possibly be of value for me, but I’m not saying that of new age, religion, nutrition, energy medicine, holistic therapies, etc, etc,... As well as kundalini mysteries, prayer, divine intervention, realizations at the mental level and,... from there, changes at the emotional level because the mental level isn’t affecting me so much now that I see it in a whole new way...

And physical therapies too,... Body based actions that stem straight from my intuition on what to do physically to deal with traumatic related feelings...

And then, imagination too... Aspects of self I cal up..

And I have a few inklings and know some of this already is considered new trauma therapies in psychology... But they want to say that you have to go to a doctor to be treated, or a therapist but I want to say so often I can do just as good or better at home. I went to college, took sociology and several psychology classes,...

And so... Yeah I know a few things about how qualified you really are or are not based on a degree at a good college. With some things, not so much.

It makes me very tired. I have read plenty of books that therapist might use as well, only to find them so lacking for me, compared with my own ideas and experiences of what works for me... Adding little to nothing to my coping skills when it comes to my mental health issues...

So this is just a venty post or more of a disclaimer, perhaps...

I know I am perhaps inaccurate when it comes to psychology but this is just my personal chronicle of spiritual related things, including my mental health trail through the dark and murky and black of nights treacherous and frozen dead, rotten swampy and desert and all those places I go, hard to put in words...

I think it’s a triumph for me I’ve had trauma extract flavoring my days... It’s like trauma winds, trauma rain, trauma pain, trauma hail, trauma tornadoes and trauma wreckage and rotten mirey bogs...

But it’s not full on all the way trauma all the time... It’s just trauma aftershocks, trauma pockets of toxicity that were buried and being revealed again sending up their stench drenched fumes on me, making me go into spins, reeling and confused and miserable and agonized..

But if it was full of trauma it would be much less full of healing... Instead it’s trauma shaped, trauma flavored, trauma interspersed,...

Just, trauma embroidered, but with lots and lots of healing things and realizations and space from the trauma to seize those realizations, make them real, mend them to my side...

... And to so become a new woman, with new parts of me now accessible that were cut off, or immobilized or numb, now usable, or getting there...

I would might like to write of things that helped me with the healing of the trauma feeling stuff too... But I’ll see... I will see how if I feel that is the best priority, top priority, heaviest priority or first priority... or not... Exhaustion and the continuing surfacing realizations and healing methods are getting my attention..

And much of those realizations there are not related to the trauma in a big huge, obvious, tightly bound manner, but they are indirectly, through long tangled strands...

The trauma webs and cords and binds tangle and they strangle me... Through so much, taking so much down in their ropes that bind aggressively, stupidly, violently, angrily, disrespectfully, disowningly... Making me to see that I’m wanted to be, buried in a box, wrapped in ropes, hurled in a lake, forgotten, unwanted, give up, die, go away, die unknown, murdered...

So it feels the trauma might say to me...

Go away and die a slow endless living death without being able to speak a word... That is what we want of you, say all the people who added their mark to the trauma wreckage, marking my whole body, mind, emotions and heart, and soul...

But much of the realizations are just the aftershocks that permeate across my whole world...

That is the only part of trauma, the fact the trauma leaves my whole world terrorized and insane, debilitated, dissociated, fearful, unable to think,... Till I find ways to comfort it, infuse it with energy, guidance, healing, faith... The feeling of sudden, secret, surprise escape... Dissociation... disorientation... dislocation...

Place and time, inner child, teen, inner lover, inner supplicant to the divine, inner lover of the divine, inner worshipper and devotee... And inner self lover, inner god who accesses her own miracles and sees it all falling into place that I know everything will be ok...

More and more I know and see, it will all be ok, every single thing accounted and prepared and cared for, now that I have seen the power of loving spirit and loving higher self and the power of alignment... And the power of guidance and intuition... And am accessing these things, so well...

Now that I’ve made a life with my daughter, inner childhood, childhood found, joy and freedom, lightness, airiness, fire, true self, joy, creativity, sensory nature...

Wrested from those who negated, belittle and push it to one small box of the warehouse of linear, methodical and productive, efficient, materialistic life they live...

But I can’t bear the burden...

So I have found a new life and world and as long as I can keep it maybe I can gradually heal and free myself from all the illnesses, lacks, negations, delusions, traumatic reactions and dissociations, memory failed, precious insights lost, buried insights in piles of all the insights of all the healing I need to do, so heavy burden in my already so slow, tired, overburdened life as it is...

But I think I hope, I will get there... So gods will you help me get there? And if not well maybe this life is a practice life, to prepare for the healing that will come in some other form or some other realm or life maybe...

I just want at least that much dignity and joy to call my own, instead of seeing my life as one big endless tragedy... Not too light and cheery a tune about me, but not too apologetic or sorrowful or regretful a song either...

Sweeping it under the rug of “so sad”, “so sorry”, blah blah,...

just only someone else’s mere tragedy. Their tragic life, that I can make a kind and sympathetic comment about... I am not just a tragic story for them to feel sorry for. There is joy and meaning and it’s all that is worth holding on to,... Or all that is worth focusing on ... Yes, when to focus on anything but the joy or meaning is only for the purpose of healing myself, not any pity or philosophy about my misery, please... Pity drags me like a stone, and I have no room for such a ridiculous beast of burden.

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