#ill never be able to move on because i have to live with the fact thats how y7 ends when it had the opportunity to be so much better | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cxrdycxps · 4 months ago

Text

God’s Favorite/Devil’s Choice • Ellie Williams

☢️ religious trauma • child abuse (emotional and physical • mental illness • physical illness • emotional trauma • death ☢️

Main Masterlist • Ellie Williams Masterlist

“Momma?” You asked quietly, watching out the window at the back yard. The winter had hit Jackson hard which left the entirety of the town covered in snow and frost. It looked like someone had forgotten to draw in the details of real life.

“Yes, Baby?” Your mother hummed from her spot in the living room, feet up on the coffee table and book in her hand.

You looked down at the water your hands were in and the dishes you had just washed from dinner. You weren’t sure if you should ask but the question was eating you up inside. “Was all that really true?”

“All what, Baby?” Your mother asked. You released the water from the sink and clambered down from the chair you stood on carefully. You returned the chair to the dining table and moved slowly towards the living room, half hiding in the doorway.

“Am I really going to hell?” You asked her softly and she chuckled, patting the space beside her on the sofa. You joined her, climbing up on the cushion beside her.

“I wish you weren’t.” She sighed, pulling you onto her lap and holding you close. She rocked you slightly as you sniffled. “I’ve been trying to save your soul since birth but some people, well they’re just damned.”

You cried into her chest and she rocked you quietly, shushing you. Her hand ran up and down your back slowly and you had almost drifted to sleep when she tapped your leg. “You can’t sleep yet.”

You blinked at her sleepily before nodding, climbing down off her lap and stumbling towards the little cupboard under the stairs. You were five now. You had to say your prayers for an hour every night before bed.

The door to the closet closed behind you and plunged you into darkness. You didn’t like this part. You were afraid of the dark but your mother told you that you had to pray in here. You had to try and save your soul from hell.

///

“Well this just fucking sucks, doesn’t it?” You winced when Ellie dropped herself at your table, her arms crossed. She looked around and then looked back to you. “Why do you sit on your own? Are you the town freak, am I committing social suicide on my first day of school?”

You didn’t want to tell her. In fact you would die for just one friend that your mother hadn’t run away with her Bible rhetoric but you knew this wouldn’t last long. She was rough, always swearing and she seemed to be more world weary than you. Your mother didn’t like you to know a lot about what went outside the walls of Jackson because it opened your mind to sin.

“You kind of are.” You told her quietly. She looked around again at the other tables before shrugging and picking up her sandwich. “Dina is pretty cool. You could sit with her.”

“I’ve never been cool. I was a loser back in my old school and I met my best friend that way. Don’t want to break my lucky streak now.” She spoke with food in her mouth and grinned at you. You winced but couldn’t help the little laugh you gave her. It would be nice to have a friend for a little while again.

“Have you ever heard of Savage Starlight?” Ellie asked and you shook your head. This launched her into a massive spiel on what had to be the greatest comic book ever made and she informed you about all the characters and story lines she had gotten to read.

“‘Course I don’t know how it ends which is fucking annoying but I suppose that’s my little taste to understand how surviving the outbreak was hard. What about you?” Ellie asked and you blinked at her before shrugging. “Got any hobbies?”

“Not really. I got a lot of chores to do after school. I don’t really get time.” You explained and Ellie scrunched her face up. “It’s just me and Momma. I gotta help her out cause she’s not able to get around that easy.”

“Oh. Was she hurt?” Ellie asked softly and you smiled at her thoughtfulness but shook your head. “What then?”

“She’s getting old, she says. So I have to help. That’s my job as a daughter, you know?” You explained and she seemed to be pondering the thought before shrugging.

“I mean I’m an orphan, so not really. Joel doesn’t make me do chores because he’s boring and likes doing them. Says it reminds him of before.” Ellie explained and you nodded. It made sense.

“Were you always an orphan?” You asked and she nodded, sipping at her water. “My pa died before I was born too.”

“Nice. I don’t actually know if my dad died but I’ve been in an orphanage since basically my birth. Joel is kind of like my dad except not, you know?” Ellie asked and you shook your head. You hadn’t really ever had a dad around so you couldn’t really relate.

“Not really but I’m glad you have someone.” You told her and she smiled brightly at you.

“I think now I have two someone’s.” You shared her smile a little reluctantly. Ellie was nice, you knew that made it hurt more when they didn’t want to be friends anymore.

///

“That girl, with the swearing? Is she in your class?” Your mother asked. You were stood at the sink, staring out at the back yard. Summer had come and the flowers you had planted in the spring were all in bloom. You were rather proud of them.

“Ellie?” You asked for clarification but you knew it could only be her. She had been at the Tipsy Bison with Joel for dinner and she had been swearing up a storm. “The new girl?”

“Yes, the new girl. Don’t be daft on purpose, it doesn’t suit you.” You ducked your head focusing on the warm water your hands were in. “Is she in your class?”

“There’s only one class, Momma.” You sighed and heard the sofa creak as your mother stood from her seat. You counted the foot steps it took for her to get to you.

“That sort of cheek is the reason you’ll never get past the gates of heaven.” Your mother snapped and you winced in preparation when she took a handful of your hair and pulled you towards the cupboard under the stairs. “I don’t know why I even try with you anymore. Get in there.”

The closet had gotten cramped with age but still you were supposed to fit in and pray for at least an hour when your mother got like this. She didn’t pray with you but she did expect you to pray out loud without any pauses or noises of shuffling around.

Your eyes would adjust in a few minutes and you would have to find a cramped position in which you could be comfortable because any sign of stiffness or soreness would be seen as a regret for having prayed and earn you another hour.

“I can’t hear you.” Your voice raised in level and you counted the prayers out on your fingers hoping you didn’t miss one. She wouldn’t tell you until after and you’d have to start all over again. Tears of frustration pricked at your water line and you did your best to keep your voice steady.

You hadn’t been cheeky. You were just answering her question. She was so convinced of your damned soul that she took any chance to try absolve your sins immediately after you had committed them. You weren’t sure why you weren’t able to go a day without sinning but you knew deep down your mother was right. You were awful and you would go to hell because you had been lying to her.

You and Ellie had been friends for weeks now and she had understood when you told her that your mother didn’t like you having friends. She never approached you outside of school when you were with your mother and it had turned into one of the longest friendships you’d ever had without her to get in the way.

So you prayed a little harder for your lies and begged god not to remove the first good thing that had happened to you in years.

///

“Joel is teaching me to play guitar.” Ellie told you quietly. You were supposed to be filling out your math worksheets together but both you and Ellie were very good at math and had finished them in the first five minutes. “He wanted to be a singer when he was younger.”

“Is he any good?” You asked, laughing at the idea of big Joel Miller singing the gospel music your mother played for you when she was in a good mood.

“I think so. He’s good at country at least. I don’t know about all those old pop songs that he sings while he’s washing dishes. He just looks and sounds stupid then.” Ellie told you with a grin and you laughed again.

“He seems really fun. Me and Momma don’t have fun like that.” You told her, hand reaching up to sooth your scalp that had been burning. Four times this week she’d dragged you by your hair to pray.

“I wish you could come over to our house. Joel could make dinner and you could see the garage. I basically live on my own.” Her chest puffed out and you were in awe. You’d like to live on your own you think.

“I wish I could too. I could see all your comics and posters.” You sighed wistfully and she bumped her shoulder against yours.

“I’ll just bring them all in one by one for you to see.” She promised and you smiled brightly at her, swallowing against the almost sick feeling you got in your stomach when Ellie was nice to you.

“I know you’re gonna say this is sappy but you’re my best friend, you know that?” You asked her and she laughed.

“I’m your only friend, Angel.” That nickname seemed like it was gonna stick. Ellie had chosen it when she asked why you always paused before eating your lunch. When you had explained that you were praying she had tagged you with the nickname despite your protests that you were far from an angel.

“You’re still the best.” You promised her and she laughed, resting her head on your shoulder for a minute before straightening up again. Ellie didn’t like saying sappy stuff so she chose to touch you in some way instead, it was how she showed she liked someone. “Yeah, I know. You love me too.”

She laughed and pushed you away but you noticed her cheeks turning pink and you knew you had hit the nail on the head. You were her best friend too. You’d never had that before.

///

“Momma?” You climbed the stairs slowly, surprised to not find your mother in the living room when you got home from school. There was no reply to your call and you found the bathroom door wide open along with your mothers bedroom door.

But yours was shut tightly.

You weren’t sure why your heart was pounding as you stepped closer to the door, your hand reaching for the door knob. You took a deep breath and turned it, pushing the door open.

Your room was destroyed, everything pulled out of place, all of your books open and tattered on the ground. Your dresser drawers were overturned on the ground with your clothes spilled everywhere. “Momma?”

She was sitting on the edge of your bed, just waiting and watching your reaction. You looked around again and then back to her for explanation. “Are you okay?”

Your stomach was sinking and your lungs were constricting. She knew something she shouldn’t know and you only had one secret when it came to your mother. There was only one you couldn’t share. Ellie Williams.

“You’ve been very careful.” Your mother noted casually. Like she wasn’t in the middle of your upturned room, like she hadn’t made this mess. “Not even a trace of her.”

Of course there wasn’t. She had wanted you to bring home some of her comics but you had denied her. All the little notes she had written you were tucked away in your workbook in class. You knew better than to think you had that level of privacy at home. “Trace of who, Momma?”

“Ellie Williams.” Her tone was cold and you stayed in the doorway, not daring to get any closer to her when she was like this. It was a long way down the stairs to the cupboard if she got your hair now.

“I don’t know what you mean, Momma.” Your voice shook and she laughed at you. You didn’t know how your mother made such an expression of joy manage to be the exact opposite, cold and unfeeling.

“If I didn’t know better then I’d believe you.” She said and you swallowed, looking around again like you had been careless enough to forget something. “But when Joel Miller approached me to ask could you have a sleepover, promised it wouldn’t interrupt your chores. I had to pretend to know that you’d been talking to his girl.”

You felt faint. Your hand reached out for the door frame to steady yourself when your knees buckled. You had been so careful but not careful enough.

Your mother lifted her hands and settled a long black belt over her lap, smoothing the leather of it with her index fingers. It was your belt and you suddenly had to fight the urge to vomit.

“I always knew your soul was damned.” She sighed like the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. “But I never could’ve guessed to what extent. You’ve broken two commandments.”

“Momma, I didn’t.” You spoke quickly, fear pulsing adrenaline around your body. “I didn’t lie to you. I promise. I never told you that we talked because we sit beside each other in class. We aren’t friends, Momma. She just doesn’t understand that I have other priorities, Momma.”

The words burned you to speak them. It felt a greater sin to forsake Ellie’s friendship than to lie to your mother and when the tears pricked your eyes you knew it to be true. “I’m sorry, Momma.”

“You’ve just lied to me again, haven’t you?” She asked and you nodded slowly. There wasn’t a god on this world or the next that would have you deny Ellie.

“She’s nice to me, Momma. She doesn’t treat me mean the way everyone else does.” You explained through your tears. “I just wanted one friend. Just one.”

“You have one friend. The only friend you need. Jesus Christ who died for your sins.” Your mother stood and walked towards you.

“It’s not a sin to love Ellie, Momma. She’s my best friend.” Your mother froze in place, her eyes narrowed at you. You realized your mistake a second too late. “Not like that, Momma. We’re just friends.”

“Praying ain’t enough for you, child.” She handed over the belt and you stared at it in confusion. You had expected her to hit you with it. Maybe you were too harsh on your mother. “Go on, ten lashes.”

“You want me to-”

“Over your back. You’ll have to take your top of but self flagellation will work better than prayer. Don’t go easy either, if it don’t hurt it ain’t working.” She urged and you stared at her, bile crawling up your throat. “Come on now.”

“Momma, I didn’t do anything wrong.” You sobbed but she didn’t move, watching you with those cold eyes. “Momma.”

“Ten. I’ll count.”

///

“Dude, where the hell were you?” Ellie exclaimed when you took your seat next to her almost four days later. She wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you fought the hiss of pain, leaning into the comfort of her embrace.

You had suffered for this sin, you might as well commit it now.

“Got sick.” You explained and she let you go, looking you over. You knew how you looked. Your eyes were puffy and you were walking with a stiffness that came from being on your knees praying for almost three days straight.

“Damn, you look like hell.” She whispered and you couldn’t help the laugh. Hell was only the half of it. You had been through it all and back again in the last four days and you had made a decision.

You were choosing Ellie. No matter the pain or the punishment, you weren’t going to lose Ellie. You’d rather face an eternity of Hell in the afterlife than choose a moment without her in this one.

“I missed you.” You told her quietly and let your head rest on her shoulder. It pulled at your back but the comfort outweighed the pain you were feeling and so you didn’t move. “I missed you a lot.”

“I missed you too.” Ellie promised quietly, her head resting against yours. “And don’t be mad but Joel totally put his foot in it the other day. He asked you mom why you couldn’t sleep over. He didn’t know it was a secret.”

“Oh.” You tried to keep your voice steady. “She never said anything. Probably thought he had the wrong person.”

“Thats a relief. I didn’t want you to get in trouble over me.” Ellie sighed and the pair of you sat up when class began. Ellie kept her leg firmly against yours though and you were grateful for the comfort it offered.

When lunch came about Mrs Collins called your name and held you back while everyone else went to get food. You made you way up to her desk and she gave you a gentle smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” You promised her. Your mother had told everyone that you had been sick. You weren’t sure why it wasn’t a sin when she lied.

“Your mother told me you got a pretty nasty case of food poisoning?” Mrs Collins asked and you nodded, wondering was this another sin to pray for. “She also made a strange request.”

Your heart dropped and you looked back over your shoulder to where Ellie was waiting for you in the doorway, her back to you both. “Please don’t.”

“You want to tell me why she wouldn’t want you sitting by Ellie?” Mrs Collins asked and you shook your head, tears in your eyes. “If Ellie is hurting you or being mean to you then you can tell me.”

“No. She’s my best friend. Please don’t. I’m not allowed see her outside of school.” You explained in a rush, knowing you shouldn’t be sharing this much.

“Okay. It’s okay.” Mrs Collins insisted and you wiped at your face to dry the tears you didn’t mean to shed. “You and Ellie can stay beside each other. I’ll tell your mother I separated you both.”

///

“Only two weeks left.” You and Ellie were sixteen now, sitting with your backs against the school house. Well, Ellie was sitting back, you were a little more mindful of how the rough stone might hurt.

“What are we going to do then?” Ellie still didn’t understand the extent of your reasoning for why your mother couldn’t see you both being friends. She thought that you were old enough now to just make your own decisions.

“Well we could work together right? Your mom can’t stop that. You have to work in Jackson.” That much was true but you knew Ellie wanted to patrol just like Joel did. She had the urge to always be trying to save the world and you knew your mother wouldn’t allow it.

“You want to patrol. I’ll probably end up a waitress or in the greenhouses.” You sighed and ran a hand over your face. Ellie laughed a little and reached for your hand, tangling your fingers together and you paused, staring at them.

Ellie was turning steadily red but she didn’t let go, she tightened her grip and tugged so you’d turn to look at her. “I do want to patrol. But I want to spend time with you more. I can clean dishes or something if needs be.”

You stared at Ellie, your head tilted slightly as you studied her. She didn’t hide from you but she was blushing fully this time. You stared a second longer.

Oh.

“Ellie.” You sighed before laughing. She attempted to free her hand but you held on tighter. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“How?” She exclaimed and it seemed like she had been holding this in for a long time with how it burst out of her. “I know you’re like super religious and most religious people hate gay people and we’re best friends and I don’t want to lose you.”

“Ellie.” You laughed again before reaching out and clasping her face in your hands. You didn’t give her a second, pulling her in and kissing her firmly. “I would walk into hell gladly knowing that I’ve held heaven in my hands.*”

“Oh you’re so fucking gay.” Ellie laughed and kissed you again, her fingers tangling in your hair. Those words should’ve terrified you but you had come to terms with it years ago while you willingly took lashings for punishment. You knew you’d take any form of torture to get to this point.

“I can’t tell anyone. Not yet. My momma will find out but Ellie, I’ve got a plan.” You promised and she smiled, her hand moving from your hair to cup your cheek.

“I haven’t told Joel yet. It’s okay.” She promised, her forehead pressing to yours.

///

You’d had a plan. It had been a good plan. Your best plan yet. Your plan did not factor Ellie and her teeth into account. The small mark she had made, definitely an accident, had given you away. Your mother had always been more than suspicious of Ellie and it seemed that even though a small bruise could be from any number of things it only made sense that it was her when paired with swollen lips and a light in your eyes.

“No.” She held the belt out to you and for the first time you refused it, shaking your head and crossing your arms. Fire burned in your mothers eyes and her jaw clenched.

“You have sins you need to repent for. You’ll burn in hell.” She cautioned and you felt the tears finally fall from your eyes, your bravery slipping away.

“Momma I love her. I’ve been in love with her since before I knew what it was.” You sobbed and she looked even angrier if possible. “How can this be wrong?”

“No child of mine will embarrass me like this before God himself.” Your mother insisted and you lifted your hands in desperation. “I won’t stand for it.”

“What more can you do?” You asked her quietly, desperately. Your love for Ellie wasn’t a flaw and it couldn’t be a sin. You didn’t want to be fixed or cured or healed. Something that felt this pure couldn’t be anything other than a blessing.

“I told you. I won’t have it.” Your mother insisted and you stared at her, unable to understand her threat. “The Lord says suicide is a sin but surely he’d understand I just couldn’t be tainted by your sin.”

“Momma, don’t do that.” You couldn’t help your tears. “It’s not bad. It’s not!”

“It is and you know it. You wouldn’t have hidden it if you weren’t ashamed of your sin.” She told you and you choked back on your sobs. “You knew that you’d never be without sin but to go and do this. I knew since you were born that you were filled with sin but I didn’t think it was cause you were one of them!”

“Momma! You know I can’t change it. I can’t. I love her.” You were choking on the tears and she only shook her head. “You can’t do that, Momma. You can’t.”

“You want me to stay alive then you stop seeing her.”

///

“Hey Angel, you okay?” Ellie asked and you blinked at her before shaking your head.

“I can’t do this. I thought I could but I can’t.” Your back was raw from the amount of repenting you had required the evening before.

“Can’t do what?” Ellie asked, unsure.

“This. Us. I thought I could reconcile it but it’s not something I can allow myself to do.” You told her, tears already flowing down your cheeks.

“What? Allow yourself to what?” Ellie asked. “Be fucking happy?”

“I won’t be happy if I move out of my Momma’s. I’ll never forgive myself for leaving her there.” You told Ellie honestly. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise this before.”

“You can’t be serious.” Ellie stared at you, her face guarded like you were going to laugh and tell her it was a sick joke. “You are serious.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You wanted her to understand but she was too heroic. She would try help if she thought this wasn’t your decision.

“Yeah. So am I for not taking your fucking word for it the first day I met you. I should’ve sat with someone else.”

///

“Saw your girl started patrol today.” You looked up from the soapy water in the sink to where your mother was standing by the back door. You blinked at her, coming out of the daze you had been in. “That ain’t no job for a woman.”

She had been horrible the last few weeks. Telling you all about Ellie’s coming and goings when you refused to leave the house for anything other than work. Washing dishes down at the Bison. Everyone had to do their part, you hated doing yours.

It wasn’t a bad job per se. You could zone out and let muscle memory take over as you scrubbed the plates clean. No one talked to you much on account of your mother and it got you out of the house for a few hours every evening.

The problem was Ellie came to the diner every night with Dina and Jesse. She didn’t linger and you doubted that she even knew you were in the back. But you always found a second to pause when you heard her voice, as familiar to you as your own heartbeat.

“You never had anything to say when any other women go on patrol. Maria’s been doing it since the walls went up.” Your head jerked back with her grip on your hair and her hand pressed to the spot between your shoulder blades causing you to hiss.

“I didn’t ask for your sass.” She warned and you blinked back tears from the pain. “I think you oughta get to praying.”

“I got work, Momma.” You told her and she gripped your hair tighter. Her hand dug into your back, nails pressing deep.

“Better go get the belt then if you’re in such a hurry.” Your mother spat and released your hair. “Every time you talk like that I get reminded that you’re a child of the devil.”

You had a hard time believing that having the devil for a mother would be any different than the Momma you had.

///

It was years before you saw the signs. You had turned twenty one under your mothers watchful glare. She threatened harm on herself if you so much as came home late from work. You wondered why you cared so much that she remained unharmed when you hadn’t been able to lie on your back for years.

It all became clear one night when you followed the noise of her downstairs. She was standing in the kitchen, looking around in confusion. “Baby, what’re you doing up so late?”

She hadn’t called you Baby in years. Not since before you had met Ellie. She claimed that no baby of hers could be full of sin. “Just checking you’re okay, Momma.”

“I’m fine. Just a little lost.” She told you, an airy laugh on her lips. “I can’t find the bathroom.”

She was standing in a puddle.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Dealing with her was both harder and easier after your discovery. Maria let you stay home and care for her when you went to her and explained what was happening. There wasn’t exactly a nursing home you could send her to.

She began to pass through phases, a different version of your mother every time you talked to her. Sometimes you had your Momma back, a sweet woman who told you how pretty you’d grown to be. Sometimes you had your mother, the one who remembered Ellie.

Then one morning, the month you were turning twenty two, you had no mother. She had fallen asleep in her rocking chair and that was where you found her.

You sat with her for a long time. Just staring at her and wondered when it had gotten to the point that you stopped caring about her. Her death didn’t seem to have done anything besides giving you a sense of freedom you had only ever felt once before with Ellie’s lips on yours and her hands in your hair.

You found it within yourself to change her and wash her. She wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to do it. You laid her out in her own bed and then made your way down to the clinic to get a doctor to finally free you from her.

///

You had elected not to have a funeral service for your mother. You hadn’t even attended her burial yourself. No one had liked your mother, not even you. Maria had tried to sympathize with you but you hadn’t let her. She was the only one who tried.

You found yourself moving out of her house and into a small one bedroom cottage Maria had offered up. You returned to the Bison to wash dishes. You lived a boring life without prayers or belts or a constant ache on your scalp from having your hair pulled out by the root.

You could read books and leave the dishes overnight and play music that didn’t mention Jesus. Your back healed up but would forever be scarred but you knew without a doubt that your pain was at an end.

It had ended alongside her heartbeat and you knew for sure it was a bad thing to think but you no longer punished yourself for bad thoughts.

You no longer punished yourself.

///

A knock on the door gave you a pause and you looked up from your book to the living room window but you couldn’t see your front porch from the angle you were sat at. Just the pouring rain that had washed into Jackson a couple of days ago.

You pushed yourself up and answered the door, expecting Maria who came to check up on you monthly to make sure you hadn’t succumbed to madness while being so isolated.

It wasn’t Maria. It was Ellie.

She was soaked, rain water running down her hair and face into her clothes. You couldn’t say anything and chose instead to just stare at her as she left a puddle on your porch.

“Your mom died?” She asked and you marveled in how you had gone from speaking to her every day for almost four years to have gone longer without her words aimed at you.

“She did.” You answered slowly after a few minutes of just the rain for background noise. You continued to stare at her.

“I’m sorry.” You blinked, falling out of your trance at the condolences she offered. You folded your arms across your chest.

“What do you want Ellie?” You didn’t mean to sound harsh but you didn’t want her apologies. You wanted her to leave so you could get on with your quiet life.

“I want to know if she was the reason.” Ellie stopped pretending the second you did, grim determination on her face.

“We were kids, Ellie.” You sighed and she wiped the water off her face and clenched her jaw. “You can’t be still thinking about it.”

“Still thinking about it?” She exclaimed. “I ain’t stopped thinking about you. I’ve spent the last six years wondering if your mom wasn’t around would we be together.”

“Ellie.” You sighed heavily, stepping back from the doorway. She looked panicked for a second and you opened the door wider. “Come in before you catch your death.”

///

You got Ellie clothes to change into and a towel to dry herself off. When she returned to your living room she was wrapped in your clothes, toweling her hair dry. You had lit the small fire in your living room and now you were standing by the window, watching the rain.

“I didn’t know she had died.” Ellie spoke quietly and you looked up at her, releasing a sigh. You took a seat on your sofa, inviting Ellie to sit next to you. “Maria mentioned it in passing while we were at dinner. I came straight over here.”

“She had dementia or Alzheimer’s. One of those. It was bound to happen.” You explained to her and she nodded slowly.

“I know you really loved her.” Ellie sighed and you turned your head to look at her.

“I didn’t. Not really. I had a really tough life with her.” You explained to Ellie and she nodded like she had always known that. She didn’t get to nod like that. She didn’t know the half of it. “I think she had her sickness my whole life. She was batshit insane.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Ellie asked and you shrugged. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t been able to tell anyone. Mostly, you reasoned, you hadn’t known she was sick. How could you tell Ellie that you thought you were the problem? That you were so full of sin even your own mother couldn’t love you?

“It was my problem to deal with.” You told her honestly. “What are you really doing here?”

“To see if your okey. To see if there’s a chance we got it wrong at sixteen.” Ellie turned to face you, drawing her knees up to her chest. You couldn’t look at her.

“We?” You asked, picking at your nail beds and ignoring how close she was, how your body lit up in response.

“Yeah. We. You for calling it all off and me for letting you walk away.” You turned to look at her, incredulous. “I shouldn’t have given up.”

“That’s exactly what you should’ve done. Anything else would’ve made it so much worse.” You told her, pinching the bridge of your nose to ward off the headache you could feel coming.

“I could’ve helped!” Ellie insisted. “I could’ve given you the support you needed.”

“You couldn’t have made me straight!” You yelled, standing up from the sofa. You paced back to the window, staring out at the rain. “I needed to not be like this. You couldn’t have fixed that. She hated me.”

“She was your mother.” Ellie argued and you scoffed, fighting the urge to turn and look at her. “She had to have loved you.”

“She told me she’d kill herself if I went back to you.” You turned then, wanting to see the look in her eyes. The look of disgust because you gave in, you let her control you. But Ellie didn’t look disgusted, she looked horrified. “I came home one evening with swollen lips and this tiny mark on my jaw and she knew what we’d been doing. She told me that if I kept talking about loving you that she’d kill herself to not be stained by my sin.”

“She was sick. She didn’t know what she was-” your hand went to the hem of your T-shirt, pulling it up so that she could see your back. The criss cross of scars that overlapped. Years of torture and abuse. All of it culminating in this. “Angel.”

Ellie breathed that old nickname and you dropped your shirt but she caught it, having moved closer without your knowing. Her fingers ghosted over your skin and her breath came out shaky.

“When did this start?” Ellie asked and you laughed bitterly. “This isn’t a fucking joke. When did it start?”

“The day Joel asked for a sleepover. I told you she couldn’t know. I guess you just didn’t understand why.” She let your shirt drop and you turned around to find yourself face to face with her. “She told me that I was damned at five years of age. She used to make me pray in the dark for hours at a time. When I was twelve she made me hurt myself to repent for the sin of loving you. I never could. I repented for not being sorry instead.”

“I could’ve helped. I could’ve gotten you out.” Ellie sighed, her hand coming up to your cheek. You leaned into her and closed your eyes against the emotions that were welling up. “I could’ve fucking killed her for you.”

“I would’ve taken you up on that. Isn’t the awful?” You asked her but she shook her head, wrapping her arms around you. “I was so relieved when she died.”

“Guess I don’t have to feel bad for feeling the same way. I always knew it was her. Cause this, what’s going on with us, we might’ve been kids but I know what I felt, Angel. This was the real deal.” Ellie whispered against your neck and then you let it happen. You let the tears fall. You held her tightly and you sobbed for everything you could’ve had for the last six years.

///

You were sitting on the sofa, curled up against Ellie’s chest. Her hands softly stroked your hair and you were struck silent by the parallel of your mother doing the exact opposite, hurting you so violently.

“So you gonna cut me loose or keep me this time?” Ellie asked quietly. You looked up at her and without speaking cupped her cheek in your hand and pulled her down to your level. You pressed a sweet kiss to her lips and she smiled. “Not afraid of Hell any more?”

“If loving you leads me to hell then I’ll sit at the table with all the others who gave up the idea of an eternity of heaven for a short time with the true meaning of paradise.”

*Lyra Wren on tiktok

#ellie williams x afab reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams tlou #tlou ellie #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #the last of us #tlou

227 notes · View notes

xoxoavenger · 11 months ago

Text

Try Me

pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

summary: Y/N has powers that can heal any illness or wound through her cooking, which comes in handy when Matt gets hurt.

word count: 2279

warnings: small mention of wounds but not graphic

part 2

12 Days of Christmas masterlist main masterlist

"Matt, oh my God." Y/N said as she walked into the office to see Matt all bruised, a cut above his eye. "What happened?" She asked, walking closer to see it closer. He looked away, but she was already sitting on his desk, moving his glasses away.

"I, uh, I fell down the stairs." He told her, but she just shook her head and clucked her tongue. She reached into her bag to grab the pastry she packed that day. She always packed one everyday just in case, but she didn't think she would have to use it this early.

"Did you eat breakfast?" She asked, trying to keep herself from running a hand through his hair. Because of course she had to fall for him, her coworker.

"No, but I-"

"Come on, Matt." She smiled as she got off the desk, pulling her skirt down. "I can practically hear your stomach growling from here." With that she walked to her own front desk, Karen's old one. Y/N had taken over the blonde's position of secretary, and she was good at it.

"Good morning you beautiful people!" Foggy practically yelled as he walked through the door. The man had way too much energy for eight thirty in the morning. "Y/N, here's your coffee." He grabbed a cup out of the cup holder and placed it on her desk before winking at her.

"And here's your breakfast." She handed him a pastry, because she always gave one to him even though she knew it wouldn't do anything.

The truth was, Y/N had a power. It wasn't one she flaunted, hell, she hardly ever used it, but she practiced it just incase. She could heal people with her food; how, she wasn't sure, and she had only found it out ten years prior, when she made food for her friend. A couple minutes later, the small cat scratch on her friend's cheek was miraculously gone. After that, she continued to test her theory until there was no doubt in her mind that she had powers.

Just like the Avengers.

But she didn't want fame. She didn't want to be in an elite team of super heroes. She wanted the life she had, working with Foggy and Matt and Karen when she was in the office. It was a fine life.

Plus, she was totally in love with Matt Murdock.

"You're telling me I'm not the only one you make breakfast for?" Matt asked, causing Y/N to smile. She looked over to see Matt eating, which made her happy. She was glad he would be healing, and her heart was hurting slightly at the fact that Matt had to live all alone. Obviously he could take care of himself, but she wanted to be able to take care of him, to heal him when he did things like fall down the stairs.

"Fine, from now on, I'll make breakfast for both of you." She smiled as she looked between the two boys.

"That isn't fair! I bring you coffee, which means Matt has to bring you something too. You cannot just give your baking talents out like that!" Foggy complained, making Y/N roll her eyes.

"I'm sure I'll think of something. Until I do, just keep track." Matt smiled at her before going to his work, grabbing his glasses and putting them back on. Y/N stared for a few seconds before going to work filing and sorting.

"Matt," Y/N said in surprise when she walked in the next day. It wasn't surprise of his presence, he had often been in the office first now. Foggy told Y/N that he used to never come in, that Nelson and Murdock had once been done for because Matt never showed up, but he was obviously over it now. No, she was gasping because she was so in shock at his state. He didn't look any better from her pastry - in fact, he almost looked like he'd fallen again.

"Y/N," Matt smiled, but she could tell it was strained.

"Matthew, what did you do this time?" She sat on his desk once more, giving him the pastry. She took his glasses off before he could protest, and looked at his wounds.

"What do you mean?" He chuckled, shying slightly away from her. "I fell down the stairs."

"Twice?" She wiped her finger over some of the dried blood off his face.

"No, I fell the night before yesterday." He told her, wincing as she touched a fresh cut.

"No," She fought back, frowning. "That's fresh blood." She wanted to say that she knew it was new because the pastry should have accelerated his healing enough that he shouldn't be bruising this bad.

"Must've reopened a cut." Matt shrugged, but he made no move to move her hand. She rubbed her fingers over his bruises, hoping the pastry she brought today was enough to help him.

"I'm fine, Y/N. Don't worry about me." He waved her off and she stood, not wanting to annoy him.

"Have you figured out a way to repay me for the pastries every morning?" She asked, trying to find a topic he'd be comfortable talking about.

"Not yet. But, I promise I will." He looked in her general direction, eyes unfocused. She stared, not out of confusion or disgust, but out of wonder. Why would he hide his eyes? They expressed so much emotion, and they were beautiful. He must have sensed her staring, because he quickly felt around for glasses before putting them back on.

"Well, keep me updated." She said as she went to her desk.

"Morning!" Foggy was opening the door a couple seconds later, which put Y/N back in a good mood.

"Good morning, you beautiful person!" She said, referring to his greeting the day before.

"The usual, my fair lady." He said in a strange accent, and she tipped her imaginary hat to him.

"Thank you, kind sir. Whatever would I do without you?" She smiled as he went to his own desk.

"So, Matt figure out what to pay you with?" Foggy asked, bringing out his computer out of his bag.

"Not yet." Y/N shook her head, looking through the company emails.

"I know what he could pay you with." Foggy looked up and smirked at Matt, who began to talk at the same time of Y/N.

"What?"

"Shut it, Fog." Matt had temporarily paused his work, but he got back to it when the conversation dropped. Y/N looked between the two, but Foggy only smirked at her before going to do his own thing.

"Did you forget my pastry?" He asked, making her eyes widen. She had forgotten, and she felt slightly guilty. She reached into her bag to get Foggy's pastry, standing and bringing it to his desk.

"So sorry, sir." She joked, bowing and going back to her work. She couldn't help but sneak glances at Matt all day however, watching his bruise start to fade.

She smiled to herself when she left and his cut was almost fully healed.

She still made Matt pastries every morning, however he hadn't come in with any injuries that she could see.

Until he didn't come in a week later.

The door wasn't open, and even after she tried knocking she didn't hear any movement. So she tried calling him.

No answer.

"Hey Matt, I'm at the office and apparently you're not here, because you didn't answer the door, so if you could just let me know if this is a holiday or something?" She chuckled at the end, but her heart was beginning to pound. She called Foggy next.

"The time hasn't magically warped forward, has it?" He joked as he answered the phone.

"Where's Matt?" She felt bad but she needed to get down to business.

"He's not there?" Foggy began to get worried now as well.

"No, and he's not answering his phone." She told Foggy quickly. "Ya know what, I'm just going to check on him." She said, walking back out of the hallway and going down the stairs.

"Don't worry about it! I'm almost there anyway." He rushed out, but Y/N shook her head.

"I'm coming too." She wanted to help if she could, wanted to be there incase he happened to be injured. Foggy was quiet for a moment.

"Fine. I'll meet you there. He may be sick."

"He's not sick." She said. He had been eating her pastries every day, and she knew that was all someone needed of her cooking and baking to keep away from the common cold or viruses.

"He could be." Foggy pointed out, but Y/N shook her head as she walked down the street. Matt didn't live super far away, so it didn't take long for her to make it. Luckily, Foggy was also pretty close.

"I'll be there soon. Wait outside - the doorman is a stickler. He won't let you in alone." He told her, so Y/N confirmed and hung up. Foggy was there a minute later, and the two walked into the building together, hearts racing.

"He does this all the time." Foggy assured her, but she could tell he was freaking out, even if it was slightly less than her. "He probably just overslept." His voice seemed to give away more than his actual words.

"Right." She nodded as they began to climb the stairs. They got to Matt's floor and walked quickly to his apartment, Y/N banging on the door as soon as she could.

"Matt?" Foggy called out from her side, both of them going quiet to try and listen to what was going on.

"Matt, are you okay?" Y/N yelled, heart getting lodged in her throat as she couldn't hear anything.

"That's it," Foggy reached into his pocket to grab his keys, picking through them to find a key that Y/N assumed was Matt's. She stood back to let him open the door, and the two walked in, their worries for their friend outweighing the fact that they had just actually broken into Matt's apartment.

"Matt? Matt are you alright?" Y/N yelled, following Foggy in. She heard a groan from the living room and rushed with Foggy through the small hallway to see Matt on the couch, only in his underwear. She was about to look away when she noticed that he was covered in cuts and bruises, the blood wet around the cuts but drying down his body. There were at least four thick, deep cuts and dark, almost black bruises.

"Shit," Foggy muttered. He thought that Matt would be bruised from his after work activities, but he was hoping it wasn't this bad. He didn't want Y/N to come with him, but he couldn't exactly tell her no.

"Oh my God," Y/N made her way to his side, assessing the damage.

"I was hoping you'd find me." He muttered as he opened his eyes slightly. "I need your help." He grabbed her hand, shifting with a groan.

"With what? I can't stitch you up! I don't know the first thing about medical aid." She muttered, instinctively reaching up to push his hair out of his face.

"Maybe not," Matt chuckled but then ended up coughing, causing Y/N and Foggy to wince. "But you do know a thing or two about healing." Y/N froze, her heart stuttering. How did he know?

"What?" She whispered, but Matt squeezed her hand. "How did this happen? This is worse than falling down the stairs." She tried to change the subject, but Matt moved in pain again.

"I notice things." He said, as if that would explain everything. Before Y/N could answer, he was speaking again. "Could you make something while Foggy helps me clean up?" All she could do was nod and look in her bag, taking the two pastries she always brought for the boys out.

"If you can get these down, it'll help, but I'll make some soup." She smiled at him and got up, squeezing his hand before letting it go.

"What is going on?" Foggy whispered to Matt, making him chuckle slightly.

"Let's just say Y/N's soup is special." Matt closes his eyes and tries to ignore the pain while Y/N works. Foggy looks between them quickly.

"What the fuck does that mean?" He cries, making Y/N chuckle.

"It's alright, Foggy." Matt has a tired smile, one that worries his friend.

"You need medical attention." Foggy tries to convince Matt, who just shakes his head.

"Try to eat the pastries!" Y/N calls from the kitchen.

"What the fuck are pastries gonna do?" Foggy screams, wanting to rip out his own hair.

"Foggy, how many times have you gotten sick in the past six months?" Matt asks softly.

"That has absolutely nothing to do with you dying on the couch." Foggy gets up to grab a cloth to wipe at the blood on his face.

"I am not dying." Matt mutters with the roll of his eyes. Foggy returns and gets him to shut up by wiping at his mouth.

"The soup just has to heat up." Y/N comes out of the kitchen and kneels next to Matt. "Foggy, can you run to the store to grab some bandages?" She asks, taking the cloth.

"When I get back, you guys are telling me what I'm missing." He says very seriously before he walks out the door.

"How did you figure it out?" Y/N whispers, wiping his blood away with one hand and his hair out of his face with the other. "How did this happen?" She changes her question while shaking her head.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He muttered, causing Y/N to scoff.

"The food I make can heal people. Try me." She smiles.

"Well, you know Daredevil?"

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @one-sweet-gubler @thefandomplace @punzoquack @mcueveryday @icequeen1371

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #daredevil x reader #daredevil imagine

223 notes · View notes

metamorphiacreations · 2 months ago

Text

i want to talk about Jjajang Cookie and cultural disconnection

bc its not the focus of the story but its important for her as a character

hi welcome back to Meta rambling at 3am again akandn

The dish of jjajangmyeon or black bean sauce noodles (which sounds so fucking good, i really wanna try some) was brought to Korea in the late 19th century by way of Chinese migrant workers and stems from the Chinese dish, zhajiangmian or fried bean sauce noodles

i saw a post from @/walnutcookie where he mentioned that unlike most other cookies, Agent Jjajang doesnt know how to make her own dish, Cream Puff Cookie knows how to make cream puffs, Latte Cookie knows how to make lattes, even Tanghulu Cookie's whole thing is going back and forth between hot and cold baths because thats what you do to the fruit to make tanghulu, but Jjajang has never made jjajangmyeon until she starts running the noodle shop and even then she doesnt get the hang of it until Olive (who ill call Oli for this post) shows her how to make noodles.

this could be interpreted as Jjajang representing children or descendants of immigrants that have one way or another, lost touch with their culture. the chances of it meaning to be that deep are honestly 50/50 because on one hand the story is a hardass of a government agent does average life work to track down aliens but at the same time the story so far has constantly brought up going back to your roots and homestyle nostalgia. in fact the reason the restaurant blows up in the first place is because Jjajang learned how to play to the aliens' favor by making the noodles taste like home to them.

the franchise doesnt need to say it out loud because its so obvious but a cookie's main ingredient is integral to their living and for a lot of cookies, that ingredient is like 98% of their diet. so the fact that Jjajang up until this point had been eating instant noodles rather than proper jjajangmyeon probably wasnt good for her.

we can see that slowly but surely she starts becoming more happy and comfortable making noodles and even catches herself taking pride in her work, although she tries to bring herself back to reality afterwards. she is a secret agent, not a noodle chef! but i wonder if she realizes that she's finally able to find some connection to her ancestors. given the dishes history, it would make Jjajang canonically Chinese Korean but she talks like she never had the chance to partake in her Chinese heritage.

i myself am afro-dominican. 2nd gen american born or however you say it. my great-grandmother, grandmother and great aunts moved from DR to New York and without getting too personal, i dont feel confident in my knowledge about Dominican culture. i dont know about the history of my country, i dont know about our clothing styles or anything specific but i do know about our food! we eat it all the time! i love sancocho, i love mangú, i love platanos in general. food just makes me feel connected to DR even though ive never been (yet!)

call it projecting or whatever but i feel like Jjajang is the same way, shes happy making noodles because it brought her closer to her family roots and even if that wasnt the intention with her character, i still think its a great aspect and wonderful, quiet plotline.

#cookie run #metas stuff #cookie run ovenbreak #agent jjajang cookie #jjajang cookie #crob #i actually love her so much you dont understand #out of all the characters released in the past few months #kingdom crob or otherwise #jjajang feels the most like a real person #and that makes her great

74 notes · View notes

val-cansalute · 10 months ago

Text

PICKING UP THE ———- PIECES -———

ch. 6

ch. 1 ch. 2 ch.3 ch. 4 ch. 5

don’t be a piece of shit

cw - set in jackson with an unclear timeline, no mentions of joel or jj, kind of half proofread, profanities, depictions of mental illness, graphic situations, CUNNILINGUS 🤰, mdni

Seconds, which blur the line between moments and hours, drag by, yet breaths still come in sharp, ragged gasps.

Your chest still feels heavy, bearing the lingering weight of the memories that overwhelmed you, and the stale, dust-ridden air of your old home still churns maliciously within your rib cage though you’re far from it now. Nothing is proving helpful in satiating your ravenous lungs.

Her hand is already soothing tender circles into your back before you can register it and the violence of your inhale softens.

“Shimmer?” you repeat, words veiled by winded breaths.

“Yeah, that’s right,” like it’s second nature to her, Ellie moves her calloused hand so that it’s splayed across your thumping heart to gently ground you and the room stops spinning so frustratingly.

Your focus shifts to her touch, to the warmth that radiates from her palm.

“It’s kinda fuckin’ impressive you managed to go so long without learning any of their names,” as always, her voice is a quiet rasp, intimate and gentle as a smile plays at her chapped lips.

In contrast, your gaze is intense and, somehow, distant. It makes Ellie’s stomach twist with anxiety.

“Wasn’t planning on staying.”

“… Right. Well, you should probably learn them now.”

You’re back in Jackson – not in your home, but in Ellie’s decrepit hybrid shed, which somehow managed to outdo your actual house by miles.

What your home lacked, hers carried in abundance; warmth and soul, with pictures and posters scattered across the dulled walls and memories laced through the trinkets lining each shelf. It was alive with the force of her affection.

Coming back invited the questioning gaze of the townspeople, but your mind was too tired to pay it any mind, or to pay the fact that she was leading you away from your house any mind either.

“The place you went to... You used to live there? I, uh, saw a carving of your name and your brother’s, I think it was, in the fence. Soren, right?”

“Yeah… Me and Soren…”

“… Listen… Why did you do it? You didn’t wanna be there, I know that much. You were... fucked up, to say the least, when I found you. I don’t understand.”

“I don't know… I don’t want to be safe; I don’t deserve to be safe-”

Your heart beats sporadically at the sudden overbearing guilt inside you, the source of which you can’t trace back to a specific moment, and your breath hitches in your throat so you can't meet her worried eyes. There are so many actions you cannot justify at all, save for the fact that there was a massive remorseful compulsion to do it. For Soren, even though you know, deep down, he’d never have wanted this, you know you did it for him. You’ll never fully be able to explain why, or why you ended up going back with Ellie without argument.

“Hey, I'm here." her soothing voice cuts through the dense anxiousness in the air and, for a moment, the fog clears - the sight of her softened face, so endearing.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Her eyes are so beautiful; it's so easy to forget what you were even thinking about when you dive into them.

"You- fuck- you know that’s stupid, right? Of course you deserve to be safe, y/n, how could you not deserve that?"

You’re a fraud. You had everyone fooled, thinking you had morals, but you can’t let her believe in a falsehood. The words burst out like rust-ridden water from a burst pipe; so explosively that she jerks back slightly, eyebrows knitted in worry.

"Because I’m bad person! You don’t know me, Ellie! I killed him! I fucking beat him to death! I am so fucking disgusting!"

"You-"

"Oh my god, Ellie, he was just a fucking kid! And he was terrified! Terrified of what would happen if he let the infection take over and terrified of hurting me! Fuck, and he begged me to do it before he turned, but I couldn't fucking do it! How could I?! And then I beat him to death as soon as he came for me, because I am a coward, and when it came down to it, all it took was a little scare for me to hurt him so fucking badly... God, Ellie, it didn’t have to be like that; it shouldn’t have fucking been like that but I’m so selfish… He was all I had left… Without him, I’m nothing… But I fucking deserve it. I deserve all the shit that comes my way. And I have to take it. All of it."

Somewhere amidst the fire, she grabs your shoulders and pulls you closer,

"Y/N, no. Deep down, you know that's not true. He was just a kid but -fucking- so were you! You were just a kid, and it's not fair that you had to fend for yourself! It's not fair that you and your brother had to live like this! It's not fair that he got infected, or that anyone did, and it is not your fault that your choice had the consequences it did when you were panicked and desperate and young. It is not your fault it happened the way it did. This world... Nothing about it is fair. Even though I can’t replace him, and I don’t know you as well as him, I care about you and I want to be around you. And I know for a fact that you are not a bad person, and I fucking know that. You are not a bad person. What happened back then was not evil, it was tragic, not evil. You can’t forget it, and you shouldn’t! But your brother would never want you to be stuck in this awful cycle. He would never blame you like this. Shit happens, we do things we regret and life doesn't go the way we plan, we lose people we love, but we move forward. We have to. And you are not alone, not while I’m here, you can never be."

Her words are harsh and sharp, to get through to you, nicking little chips at the edges of your iron-strong resolve. For the first time, you let yourself consider it, and the strength of your guilt’s hold loosens up just a bit.

Through pooling tears that threaten to fall and the lump that sits tight in your throat, you reach out your arms to bury your face into the warmth of her shoulder, and push your shaky, cracking voice out.

“I miss him so much… I can’t stop thing about it… I can’t stop feeling like this…”

Ellie immediately collects your draped body into a fervid hold, trying desperately to cling onto the rare openings you allow her.

“It’s gonna be okay. Just give yourself time. Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise you.”

6 MONTHS LATER

The Tipsy Bison’s doors are held wide open, but great gusts of wind are no match for the laughter, clinking of glasses and constant hum of conversation within.

Somewhere amongst the bundles of life, you are sat at a rickety table beside Ellie, Dina, and Jesse, and are fitting in like a puzzle piece beyond all capabilities of your imagination when you first arrived in Jackson.

Jesse’s eyes held fast to Dina, who’s head was thrown back in a wholehearted cackle over something relatively insignificant. You were all slumped in your chairs with great big grins, flushed faces and strands of hair clinging to your clammy necks, in high spirits.

Your heart feels full. For the first time, you can go out and laugh freely without the intense gaze of your overwhelming guilt or constant, racing thoughts of Soren. Panic attacks lie dormant for longer than you’d ever dreamed of.

Ellie’s gaze reaches you, and the way your heart swells with all-consuming affection is mutual. You can tell from the way she looks at you, all warm and admiring.

For a second, the sight of the people behind her falls away and you are the only people left in the room, in the world. Here, you are with people who care about you, want to be around you. Here, there is a sense of belonging that you hadn't felt in a long time.

After a moment, the pink-tinged apples of her cheeks fatten with a sincere, toothy grin, hazy eyes squinting as they flit down to her glass, and you notice that the number of people here has actually dwindled.

“Oh shit, everyone’s gone, I didn’t even realise.” Dina mumbled, scanning the room. Jesse lazily rose from his chair, stretching as he looked back at her,

“We should probably get going too, huh. I'll see you two tomorrow, then.” He nodded over to both of you before huddling together with Dina and drunkenly walking off.

You look back to Ellie; she’s leaning back in her chair, legs spread in a way that brings on certain feelings, raising her glass to her parted lips and her eyes never leave yours.

You watch her swallow the last traces of whiskey and set the glass down before tilting her head at you with a smirk. You’re both drunk, warm, fuzzy, tingly.

Her eyebrows raise before she gets up and leans over, and whispering,

“C’mon, babe,” into your ear.

As you stroll back, you’re met with the refreshing cool night air and you can’t help but feel a sense of contentment, hand in hand with Ellie, watching her ramble on. Your hushed giggles carry through the empty paths.

When you arrive at Ellie's place, stumbling through the door, you collapse onto her bed. This place has become more of a home than your real home; you’re almost never not spending the night. Among the clusters of trinkets and piles of clothes, your belongings have found a place, as well as the acrylic image of your face amidst her paintings.

Candlelight, the room is bathed in the soft orangey glow, casting shadows that dance and flicker across Ellie’s grinning face. You cling onto her dearly, intertwining your limbs with flushed cheeks and gazing up at her longingly, light and airy.

You settle into a comfortable silence with your bodies pressed against each other while she stares up down at her rough palm as you trace, with gentle and loving touches, the lines engraving it, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten.

She pecks your cheek,

“Are you sleepy?”

You look up at her with a sly smirk,

“No. Are you?”

“Nuh uh, you know what I’m thinking?”

“Oh, I know exactly what you’re thinking?”

You rise from your spot, nestled into her side, taking the hand you were playing with and entwining your fingers as you hover over her. The look on her face is mellow yet excited, her hands already reach out for your waist, already making your body feel hotter.

“You gonna show me, babe?”

She pulls you closer so you dive into the soft crook of her neck, sensitive with trails of tingling skin where you place kisses, desperate to feel the warmth her body emits, desperate for her to feel so incredibly real to you, for her to overwhelm your senses. You’ve never been infatuated quite like this before, never felt quite so comfortable with the love you hold for a person. But with Ellie, it’s simple, easy, comes naturally to you. She’s so many things, but, especially a sanctuary. A sanctuary weathered by the storms of your past but still standing firm.

“Mhmm, I’m gonna show you, Els.”

Ellie’s slumped at the head of her dingy bed.

Her body is bare and her muscles are tensing with each desperate, visceral movement, glowing with a thin sheen of sweat and slick,, as she kneads her fingers into the fat of your ass and meets your lips hungrily.

You hold onto her freckled face, looking down at her fucked out, beautiful eyes. They’re just begging for more after giving it to you for so long, consolidated by the sparkly feeling of her grinding up onto you,

“You’re so hot,”

“Oh, am I?” you mutter, pushing her back against the mattress and watching her eyes widen while chuckling to yourself,

“Wha- Alright, jesus fuck,”

You crawl off her lap with deliberate sexuality, pushing her legs apart abruptly. She clambers up onto her arms but you push her back, watching her tits bounce as she collapses,

“Shut up, El,”

“Oh, I see how it is, you aren’t fucking around anymore. No more mr nice guy, no funny busin-”

“Dude, fucking stop, you just, like, made me un-wet,”

“Oh shit, gotta get serious.”

You smack her thigh gently.

She grins and folds her arms behind her head, her eyes never leaving yours as you lower yourself in front of her pussy. Yours narrow ever so slightly when she grabs the back of your head and pushes it into your mouth, moaning at the contact of your lips with hers.

It gets you warm, placing a kiss filled with genuine love on her puffy clit before borderline making out with her pussy,

The sight of her eyes rolling back as her jaw goes slack has you begging for more, so you run your tongue up from her slit before lapping at it like you’re starved and watching her go cross-eyed from the sheer pleasure.

You can’t help but dip a finger a finger or two into her dripping hole, wanting nothing but to make her feel good, for her to come undone on you, slick smeared over your mouth, nose and chin, dripping lewdly down your palm.

You watch her body convulse, mattress cover clinging to her sweaty back as it arches up off the bed and her legs pull you in graciously.

You rest your head on her thigh and relish in the sight for a moment before she’s looking back into your eyes and urging you to come up so she can hold you, and also to stop breathing onto her clit because her “legs might spasm and strangle you or something,”

You laugh and lay your head down on her naked chest to hear her heart thump within her, in the tender embrace of the arms she holds out for you.

“Els?”

“Hmm?”

“Remind me to take those really fluffy socks I have home with me later. So much stuff is here now, I keep getting annoyed whenever Im actually home for once.”

“Sure, I can do that, if I don’t also forget.”

“Great.”

She lulls your eyes into a soft close with the feeling of her stroking your hair, and as she watches you exist, she realises she’d like to do that for longer. So, she leans into your ear and whispers,

“Hey, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you just… bring all your stuff to my place, you know, move in with me?”

You raise your head from her chest (she immediately misses the warmth) and meet her eyes, face slowly morphing into an adoring smile which she reflects, before placing a kiss on her forehead and then locking your lips with hers.

PLEASE READ

a/n - last chapterrrrrr ahdgstihaveahugepenisdtyf, banners by cafekitsune and saradika-graphics, my condolences to anyone who has read this bc i kinda hate it but thanks anyways. im not gonna write anything for a while after this (except for this one req thats been sitting in my drafts for an ungodly amount of time) because of the situation in palestine and the upcoming global strikes. i dont want to think abt a game made by a zionist who embedded zionist propaganda into it and donated money to israel most likely earned from the game. upwards of 30,000 palestinians, 11,000 of which were children, have been murdered by israel since october. yeah, for now, it’s only gonna be palestine-related posts. please, please do not buy the remaster, im begging you. its just a remaster, im pretty sure we can all go without it.

181 notes · View notes

lovelessrage · 3 months ago

Text

Loveless Characters: A Starter Guide and FAQ

[PT: Loveless Characters: A Starter Guide and FAQ]

Sometimes I feel like those Youtubers that only upload twice a year. Anyway, onto some disclaimers.

I am one person. Please assure you are gathering from multiple sources when writing ANY character from a perspective you’re not familiar with. Even if you’re confident, everybody has blind spots, and that’s okay, it’s just a fact. Second, I am not a proofreader by trade or by hobby; I can answer questions, I can go over scenarios, but I cannot go through your manuscript or Google Doc. I live with chronic fatigue and pain, so it’s just not feasible; I’ll do my best but you have to give me some leniency here. Seek out other loveless folks for that, and make sure you pay them. Third, I can’t cover everything; there will be stuff I miss that other people will point out, hence why you shouldn’t ever look to exactly one source.

With that out of the way, let’s get the ball rolling. We’ll start with definitions, plural, and explain these various experiences briefly.

Loveless has been commonly defined, although not limited to, one of four major definitions; we can label these with these shorthands.

Unloving (entirely or partially)

Disconnected

Rejection

Politically/Socially

There’s nuances between all four and beyond them, but I feel these categories are easiest for our explanation - we’ll get into some of those nuances below.

The Unloving (entirely or partial)

[PT: The Unloving (entirely or partial)]

This person uses the label because they, wholly or partially, do not feel love. While identifying as loveless because you don’t feel love seems straightforward, why do so if it’s partial? There’s a few primary reasons I tend to see. Sometimes, the attractions someone does not feel love in are more significant to their identity or experiences than the ones they do feel love in. This can be because of societal pressures, such as not feeling romantic love alienating someone due to its prevalence, or someone who does not feel familial love seeking to reclaim and find pride in the absence of that feeling. Regardless of how little love someone feels, from only one spectrum to all of them, anyone using it because of a literal lack of love falls in this category. Individuals who are riding the partiality line may also use the label loveless-spec, or use spec- labels alongside the loveless umbrella.

Disconnected

[PT: Disconnected]

This person uses the label because they either feel disconnected from love due to societal pressure, indifference to the emotion, or because of a mental disorder/illness or other disability. Disconnection that is societally caused can, for example, be a loveless asexual disconnected from the idea of love due to having it be so heavily associated with sex that they no longer feel attached to it. Indifference is self-explanatory, but also has its own nuances; someone can be indifferent because it has never mattered to them, or because experience has shaped their opinion in the present, such as not finding much enjoyment in being loving, or having mixed feelings after a toxic relationship.

Mental illness and disability is its own can of worms, due to how many there are, as well as the limitations that come with not being able to discuss every comorbidity. I can only speak from certain angles, but overall, if you do not have the disorders you are trying to represent and/or aren’t loveless yourself, if you plan to go this route, proofreading is not a luxury, it is a must. Get that second opinion before moving further.

Rejection

[PT: Rejection]

This person uses the label because they are rejecting love, or feel rejected by love. There are plenty of reasons that someone may reject love as a concept, many of which overlap with reasons for disconnect. The expectation can be too heavy, the societal implications can be unsavoury, or someone is radically indifferent and wants nothing to do with it. Rejection by love is immensely common, especially within various marginalised communities. Several groups, such as the disabled, people of colour, trans and GNC individuals, and aspec individuals have their unique love experiences devalued, othered, or otherwise made out to be less than and evil for not fitting into eurocentric, white, ablebodied, cis, etc. ideals of what love is. Because of this, rejecting the complex of love, especially one used specifically to villainise things you cannot change or communities you are a part of, can lead someone to use this label.

Politically/Socially

[PT: Politically/Socially]

What is being politically loveless? What’s that mean? It’s much more simple than it can seem, and many people will agree with these principles, even if they don’t choose to use the label to identify those are their stances. The people that use this label do see identifying with this label as a declaration of their political opinions and goals. These goals include love neutrality, which refers to making love as an emotion completely neutral and not necessarily a force of good, and decentering of love in society, meaning removing it as a necessity for all and dismantling the idea that it is what makes us human.

While I’m on this topic, I should say that if you are representing characters coming from this perspective, you should do actual readings on the kind of discussions around these topics and various loveless perspectives on these ideas. If you’re going to write about a political movement, read about those politics; ask people their opinions if they’re willing to give them.

Now that we’ve defined lovelessness in a basic sense, there’s even more variation in between all of these because of the fact that people often identify as loveless (something). This does not only have to be loveless aro, and can extend to loveless aces, apls, afams, asensuals, aqps, loveless allos (this one gets passed over a lot, unfortunately), and many, many more. Of course, there are also people that identify solely as loveless in the same way someone who is non-SAM would. All of these are important experiences and deserve their time in your writing or artwork.

Common Questions and Hypotheticals

[PT: Common Questions and Hypotheticals]

Q: How do I write a loveless character without making a manifesto’s worth of explanations?

[PT: Q: How do I write a loveless character without making a manifesto’s worth of explanations?]

You should write a person first is the simple answer! Your character has opinions, experiences, and a way of speaking I can’t predict for the purposes of this post. How they interact with the world and their unique perspective will influence how they describe their own identity, or how little they talk about it in general. Although, I can throw a bit of a bone, and bring up two of my own loveless characters for examples of what this can look like:

X Goldfinch is a teenager, someone who is relatively online, and due to their angel status has the language to describe their experiences.They are a person who identifies as loveless because they do not feel any love whatsoever. They would directly call themself a loveless aroace, and describe this as an emotion they’re just never experienced or felt. It is very direct, succinct, and uses modern language to do this.

O’Leary is an alien that is entirely emotionless, with no attachments whatsoever and no concept of human standards of emotions or their identity labels. Due to this, he would describe himself simply as detached, as this is what most species would view him as. He would not give further information, nor would he use the labels a person would recognise, but the experience is identifiable through similarity.

These are two different experiences within the same realm (not feeling any love at all), with two different ways of describing or identifying with those feelings. These are some of the considerations to keep in mind. As for how to describe it in a narrative sense, simple!

Trust your audience gets it. You can explain, simply, why this character is loveless if you like, or simply mention they are loveless as part of a character introduction. Cut the justification, just let it be and explain as much as is narratively cohesive. Sometimes, that is just saying the word and reinforcing it later. Other times, it’s a first person exploration that can go on for a few paragraphs. It’s situational, but I promise, cutting the fat of needing to assure your audience understands this doesn’t make them a hideous monster (if it isn’t plot relevant) will make for much less to chew on.

Q: What about social connections for my characters? What can I use?

[PT: Q: What about social connections for my characters? What can I use?]

Anything. Everything. Social tolerance and relationship tolerance varies immensely. However, do want to note this is not an excuse to see this question as ignorable. Think about what your character would prefer, and remember a solitary lifestyle is not necessarily a tragic one. We don’t tolerate discrediting any loveless experience as “too loving to count”, but we also don’t tolerate using this as an excuse to avoid writing social repulsion. Nuance, nuance.

Q: Writing a loveless person in a relationship is okay, sure, but how do I actually do that respectfully? What about a loveless parent?

[PT: Q: Writing a loveless person in a relationship is okay, sure, but how do I actually do that respectfully? What about a loveless parent?]

I include this because I have been asked in the past about what a loveless parent would do for a child, and the simple answer is to kill the idea in your head that lack of love necessitates a worse relationship. There are plenty of reasons someone may enter or exit a relationship, loving that person or otherwise. Overall, keep in mind that love is not the only emotion a person can feel, and neither is care. You may feel positively toward someone or simply want to keep them around because you enjoy them. You may have just always wanted a partner, and have found one that is accepting of your love being one sided, or potentially have a loveless partner that is interested in a loveless relationship of some kind (we need more of these, honestly). While most people can get behind this concept from other aspec dynamics, there is still the question of the major sticking point: parenthood.

While not easy to answer, I see it as this: love is taught. It, as a concept, is not innate. The emotion is, the feeling is, but not love as a word, as an expectation. If you teach a child love is their value solely to deprive them of it, that is abject cruelty. However, assuming a loveless parent would introduce love simply to take it away from their child is anti-loveless rhetoric. It’s assuming an immediate abuse situation where there does not need to be one. The simple fact is, if you want a healthy child as a loveless person, you simply raise them that they have more value outside of being loved, that you are invested in their wellbeing, hobbies, and feelings, and that you will be there for them regardless. Love discussions can come when the child is older, but there is no harm in being a no love household if that child is aware they are safe, supported, and able to rely on you as any child should be able to.

Simple answer, you can work around love pretty easily, it’s just that most people have no interest in teaching this to you, especially for innate loves. There’s pathways through all of this that are, again, just fine. However, this isn’t to say you can only write a character that has it all figured out. A loveless parent struggling at first with their plan of action for a new baby or adopted family member, or a loveless partner trying to express their feelings without setting off their love repulsion, are all interesting facets to explore. The solution is not sanitization, but thoughtfulness and sincerity, as well as not demonising this confusion or testing period.

Q: What about nonhuman characters, I hear a lot of people are tired of those?

[PT: Q: What about nonhuman characters, I hear a lot of people are tired of those?]

Some, yes! I, personally, relate most to nonhuman characters, mostly because someone is always trying to force love normativity onto them and if that isn’t my day to day life, I don’t know what is. Is it okay to do, as in, is it morally right to only make human loveless characters? Personally, as long as you are conscious, getting second opinions along the way, and watching your bias (as well as not making all your loveless characters nonhumans), I don’t see an issue with the concept itself. It is often the execution, with the undercurrent that these other species are backwards, limited, or never measuring up to humans due to their lovelessness (see: every tragic robot character ever) that will create controversy at your door. If you are solely focused on the nonhuman part, and not the messaging, you’re missing the point by a mile.

Q: What should I not do? What should be avoided?

[PT: Q: What should I not do? What should be avoided?]

The least easy to answer question, which is why I have dedicated an entire section to tired tropes, salvageable stereotypes, and the impact of a limited scope. Of course, all of this is subject to debate, and you are unlikely to get the same answer twice when asking opinions on some of these things. Personally, I think you should ask anyway. Not to get the answer you like best, but to understand why opinion varies so much. If you understand the roots, you can form a consensus much easier than tallying your responses for yes and no.

Let’s get into the divisive section!

The Stereotype Shuffle: Reoccuring Cast Members and Their Issues

[PT: The Stereotype Shuffle: Reoccuring Cast Members and Their Issues]

#1: The Mean Hermit

The hermit is so pissed off by society and all their snuggling, cuddling, loving, and singing, he has decided to isolate himself from the world at large, and retreat to his barren cave, wooden cabin, or otherwise sullen hovel to bask in his hate and misery for all eternity. The love grinch, as one could call him, is a staple of the friendship is magic or love triumph all storyline, where he either must be remedied and healed from what has broken him so he may love again, or be defeated and driven away further. He may serve to steer the protagonist wrong, or make him question his beliefs and their foundations.

Do I have a soft spot for this blatant stereotype? Perhaps. It does not diffuse the harm it is capable of, however. While I think the idea of a loveless character living alone in a swamp is conceptually awesome, what follows is a discussion of the politics surrounding the lonely hermit. He is often billed as broken, or a figure that should not be listened to; he is a corruptor, an agent of doubt and tragedy. If you plan on making your loveless character as detached as he is, there’s a few ways to go about tackling this.

Is he angry because he is annoyed, or because of some innate jealousy and hatred of joy? It’s not necessarily bad to indulge in the hater lifestyle, but as a loving writer, you should question why your thoughts lead you to a loveless person existing to create misery and discord for others. Why must he be an agitator, or one that needs to be so heavily silenced? What critiques could he actually be making beyond hating ponies and cupcakes and birthday hats? If you plan to write a plain, hateful guy, he better not be the only representation in your story, and the other representation better not be looking to the camera to say “hey, at least I’m not like this guy!”. Using the mean hermit to push how your other characters are more normal or acceptable because they are more accepting of the status quo is lazy at best and anti-loveless at worst. Let a guy hate, or make him into an actual important character beyond the test of faith; after all, if he’s testing faith, does that faith happen to be love normative?

There is also the Occam’s Razor of simply having a character be happy to be alone, or exploring the nuance between jealousy and what a person can and cannot have. Personally, I would never recommend the latter for your first outing. Loving people too often ride the line and fall on the side of a trope I will get into later. There’s a difference between a loveless person writing from experience of their shame journey, and a loving person doing so because it is the only way they can think of making a character sympathetic.

#2: The Villain, or Big Bad

She’s evil, she’s a terror, and she’s a loveless aplatonic! Shock and terror course over the crowd as they slowly realise she is childless, partnerless, and prefers a nonfriending lifestyle! But, what’s this on the horizon? It is the writer, coming with an editorial note, specifying her lovelessness is separate from her awesome, evil abilities! All good then, right?

Well, maybe! It depends on your narrative and your placement of loveless characters overall. Even if it has nothing to do with her villainy at hand, perhaps she is seeking to destroy all apples or something because she cannot stand them, for example, is her villainy still rooted in loveless antagonism? Is her heart of coal listed as a reason she cannot be redeemed, her separation from the world a sign of her wickedness? Or, does this make up a regular facet of her life that the heroes don’t really have an interest in? Perhaps the main characters are loveless as well, or part of their adventuring crew is. Perhaps, she is a commentary on how society drives the loveless to anger and then recoils when they lash out, representing a loveless person embracing the monster they are made into. Perhaps, she is as redeemable as any other villain, with her lovelessness not impeding this process. Perhaps you are writing a comedy, and her loveless life comes up in a side gag about her continuing to live while she waits for the arrival of the hero at her castle.

Overall, the loveless villain is overplayed, yes, but I don’t think it’s doomed to be a dud when put in the right hands. With this particular situation, I would recommend asking plenty of questions, assuring you understand your narratives and themes, and watching for undercurrents that can shape your intentions. Take any advice or criticism you get in stride; while some may be perfectly fine with this setup, many other loveless people are bracing for the worst, or may not trust you to execute. Go forward with this in mind.

#3: The Sympathy Vehicle, aka the Loveless Pain Parade

God, this one. I hate this one. There’s your bias disclaimer; there is nothing I hate more, no trope I detest seeing more in the manuscript of a loveless person, than the disaster that is the sopping pile of wet loveless antagonism within the Sympathy Vehicle.

This character is sad. This character is really, really sad. They hate being loveless, they hate themself, and they want you to know this every time the topic is brought up. They exist to be a repentant figure, something for loving characters to feel good about saving, or inspiration porn for the loving consumer about how even the loveless can beat the odds.

This is, unfortunately, one of the most common, unintentionally bigoted takes I see all the time from well-meaning loving creators who think they are doing us a favour with this being their only representation. To clarify, this experience of heartbreak is real, it should be represented, but it should also be done respectfully, delicately, and with a loveless person on board. None of this is present in the Sympathy Vehicle. They exist to be saved from themself, to cry to the audience about how horrid being loveless is, and to act as an unrelenting expression of loveless pain only solvable by a doting, loving character. The Sympathy Vehicle does not find community, go on a journey of self acceptance, or even truly get through their crisis. All of it relies on a loving society counting them as an exception, as fitting within the loving mould, and all so a loving audience can feel better at the end. None of this is done in the service of catharsis for a loveless audience, or truly exploring what causes these experiences in the first place. In fact, the Sympathy vehicle often exists in settings, dynamics, or societies where other nuances of love are completely acceptable or normalised, even encouraged to explore. So, here is my question.

Why does your fictional society hate loveless people? Why does your fictional small circle, your fictional small neighbourhood, your fictional forum or internet community? Who is teaching the Sympathy Vehicle they are wrong or monstrous, and why is nobody challenging this in your accepting circle? Why does nobody discuss it? Why are they left to wallow alone and forgotten? Why, in your utopic scenarios, must the loveless still suffer? Why was your first thought writing a loveless character to put them in a world that has taught them only hatred, rejection, and malice, when all your other characters can find peace?

There’s a reason I solely trust loveless people to write about this, or to draw from their own experiences. Sorry if you don’t like this take, but it’s where I lie on it after seeing dozens after dozens of loveless headcanons, original characters, and narratives solely centred on selling lovelessness to be gawked at and never comforted.

#4: The Apathetic/The Snarker

Ah, the gay best friend of the aspec community, it’s good to see you again. Hopefully I do not need to explain why making your loveless character a sidekick to subject the main romance or friendship to while solely making quippy remarks or giving relationship advice is a bad idea. Ultimately, having a snarky, sassy loveless character is not the issue, but reducing them to essentially be a windup doll for the loving cast is. We’re more than a punchline or cutaway gag to do your “get a load of them!” bits with.

#5: The ‘Stereotype Defier’

Annoying, but brief, this character solely exists to be the counterbalance. They have no character outside of being perfect, acceptable, and enjoyable. Palatable is the Defier’s middle name, albeit one of many, the others being “don’t cancel me, I made a good one”. If you see the advice to not limit your loveless characters to stereotypes, and your first response is to make this guy, scrap the whole thing/ You’ve severely misunderstood. The problem is not the presence, but the standard. Making a character solely so you won’t get a callout post does not make you accepting, it just shows you took away the wrong message and did not understand what you were taking in. Please, please write a character to be a character, not “another one” to stand around do-gooding.

#6: The Under-researched Cultural Experience

This one will upset certain people, but I’m here to tell you this with no frills: why are all your loveless characters so American, specifically white American? This character has only ever looked at it from a USAmerican perspective, all of their experiences line up with those norms, but the written character is from a country or culture where these norms are entirely different or just nonexistent. What gives?

Well, in my opinion anyway, at least coming from a Canadian, you tend to notice that aspecs from regions such as SWANA, Latin America, South Asia, and even from certain communities in the US, such as diaspora and African American communities, entirely have their necks stepped on. There is plenty you can find on experiences with romance, family and friendship normativity, how the expectations change, and how culture will impact those experiences online. I, personally, can't speak on them; it’s not my story to tell. It’s my task for you to seek out alternative voices so you actually write accurate characters. Do your research before you slap on broad strokes.

Loveless POC and loveless people from around the globe deserve good representation that actually takes cultural considerations in mind.

#7: The Serial Abuser

I’m not entertaining this one. Not happening.

If you make this, do not expect people to take your word or hear you out. If your story is actually a tragic tale of the cycle of abuse, I honestly do not care. This should never be your first outing, and even past this, loving people, do not use this trope. Not for headcanons, not for OCs; there is a level of trust going on, and an expectation of good faith that comes with allowing certain stereotypes to be used. This, however, no matter how smothered in nuance, disclaimers, and loveless pride hashtags, will end poorly. I am not going anti-nuance, or anti-loveless villain, but I am anti-”blatantly bad idea”. Avoid. Do not attempt.

Whuff. Over the controversy hill, onto bigger and better, right? Well, we’re at least into the part that is more discussion-oriented, going over concepts to keep in mind, the main debates around loveless character creation, and why it causes such hesitation.

A Loveless Life: Reality into Fiction

[PT: A Loveless Life: Reality into Fiction]

So, past all the other discussion, really… What IS it like to be loveless? This is not easy to answer succinctly, let alone entirely. While I can lend my own experiences and observations, I cannot speak on behalf of others. There will always be someone who agrees, someone who disagrees, and someone in the middle. However, for the benefit of this post, I will share some personal thoughts, as much as I am comfortable with, anyway.

Lovelessness is often, although not always, living a double life, online and offline. You do not always know who you can trust, who will or who will not judge, and what they will do if they discover this about you. I have known people who have lost friends, had relationships dissolve, or otherwise seen the negative impacts of an unaccepting society meeting a non-conforming individual. However, I have also seen endless grace, patience, and willingness to learn. I have seen people come together as a community to support each other, protect and uplift our own, and speak up for each other. I have seen allies hold the line and refuse to leave us behind in their conversations. For every antagonistic anon, every anti-loveless post, every argument over the status of your identity, and every lost relationship, there is opportunity for growth, betterment, and change.

Loveless life is complicated. In current society, no matter where you go or who you talk to, it will not be easy. There are expectations everywhere, and the world wide web makes people especially vulnerable to attacks they cannot defend or insulate from. Many loveless people from a young age are learning to be defensive first and foremost, or to stay in the closet from their peers. At the same time, many more people are finding the label and their peace with it. Many are willing to fight for that acceptance.

With all this in mind, do I necessarily want this to be emulated in media? Not really. Handling it accurately would be a treat for sure, but at the same time, it is upsetting how in settings for escapist fantasies, the loveless cannot escape these standards. I would like a mix of both, with both accepting situations and the realities of loveless life. This necessitates creating more loveless stories overall, which I am all for. I hope someday I will be able to point every loveless person to a book or TV show with their experience or label in it, proud and happy, even if circumstances are not.

Changing The Narrative: Who’s the Real Inflexible One?

[PT: Changing the Narrative: Who's the Real Inflexible One?]

I think to myself, or talk about it with others pretty often, why are loveless characters so hard to write for loving people? However, it’s my recent thought that this question is flawed, because of one principle component carried with it: the onus is put on the loveless identity for its difficulty. Realising this, I proposed to myself a new question: why do loving people have such a hard time adapting? Why do loving writers and artists struggle to understand so often?

Again, Occam's razor: loveless antagonism, anti-loveless rhetoric, and all other names it goes by, is everywhere. Including, and almost especially, in the aspec community, as well as the loveless community itself. These principle beliefs of what it is to be human, what is normal, what is just and moral, are so ingrained and tied to love, they aren’t even questioned or thought of as ideology. It’s almost as innate as breathing. So, the question of how not to be loveless antagonistic is proposed, seemingly simple and straightforward, but oftentimes never shared in detail. People will reblog posts about spreading kindness, not hate, or appreciating loveless voices, but rarely will they actually take the steps towards not being anti-loveless. So, how do you become flexible? How do you become the solution? I can give you my answer, based on what I would like to see, but there is endless possibility in this question. Recognition of the issue is only step one.

What I would like to see is further reading of loveless perspectives, ideas, theories, and broader acceptance and discussion of these principles. If you want to sit at the adult table, you need to leave your cutlery at the kid’s table. You can’t pick and choose what parts of loveless antagonism still suit you just fine, such as platonormativity, and then agree the rest of it should go. You need to fully let go and embrace that you can be wrong, and you can change. You are not beholden to old opinions, even if they are “community consensus”. This includes, even if it is important to you, recognising love is not necessary, love is not inherently moral, loveless people are all around you, and loveless people are complete as is. And, for all that is holy, stop remixing the question of “what makes us human?” unless it’s for your anthropology final; it’s a silly question, no, it is not love, and trying to find this grand singular answer will lead you in circles. If I hear it one more time the next instance is getting met with a punch.

As well, accept loveless people as peers, not zoo animals. We are not your research project or knowledge dispensary. We are people with lives, and people who get tired. While answering questions isn’t bad, and neither is asking them, respect you are not owed an answer or the time of strangers. We do not need to explain ourselves to you, and if we do, it is a favour. Do not force yourself on people, do not request personal details, do not become one of those people who tags vent posts as “writing reference”.

Overall, show respect, open your ears and eyes, prepare to be wrong. Prepare to screw up and get corrected. Prepare to try again anyways. Prepare for research and put yourself out there. Prepare to let go of the anti-loveless safety blankets.

A Final Disclaimer: “Care” and the Acceptability Crisis

[PT: A Final Disclaimer: "Care" and the Acceptability Crisis]

Care does not equal love.

You’ve likely heard this line a million times, and while it is true, it’s important to remember care isn’t an inherent human trait either, and it should not be treated as a redeeming catalyst for your feel-good twist. Care, just like anything else, is simply an emotion, a way of relating to people. You do not have to care to do good, to be good, or make a positive impact. You do not need anything in you but the want to do a good thing, for whatever reason, to do a good thing.

Breaking the barriers of what makes people inherently worthy, human, and moral, includes removing all emotions as an inherent human qualifier or moral superiority mound, and recognising them as impulses and reactions like anything else. Care is not necessary. Don’t come into my notes with it, last time I’ll talk on it, putting it on the table. Up to you to internalise.

Loveless people need no disclaimers, no frills, no appeasement compromises for loving comfort.

So, What Next?

[PT: So, What's Next?]

I’d recommend reading a few things before you go. It’s a short list, I promise. First off is the principle writing on lovelessness, I Am Not Voldemort by K.A. Cook. You’ll see this essay cited 6 times over for good reason; it's the blueprint of loveless writing. As well, you can check out this post by @loveless-arobee on the same topic as this post for a second opinion discussing a few things I did not cover here/did not go in depth on. As well, check out blogs like his for loveless discussions and thoughts. There's always learning opportunities and ongoing discussions to be found when you look to loveless bloggers.

With all that said, write. Draw. create. Find a passion and use it, and recognise care and love do not make or break an individual. What makes an individual is them being on this Earth, or on your fictional little planet, making their impacts as they go along in life.

What makes humans human? I don’t care.

Thanks for reading!

#loveless aro #loveless #loveless ace #loveless apl #loveless afam #loveless atertiary #loveless allo #loveless aromantic #loveless asexual #loveless aroace #loveless aroallo #loveless aplatonic #loveless afamilial #aspec #loveless spec #lovelessspec #loveless characters #character writing #scowl corner

62 notes · View notes

rinininamiluv · 20 days ago

Text

I can’t stop thinking about how Ian was frank’s least favorite child meanwhile he was Monica’s favorite child and honestly that’s one of the only qualities about her that I like. Now don’t get me wrong I will never condone parents having favorites among their children but having a favorite child is the least fucked up thing Monica could have and have done to those kids.

And I can’t stop thinking about one little detail in Episode 9 of season 1 that proves this. The scene where Monica and Roberta told them that they want to take Liam with them and get custody for him and Fiona started going on about how unfair and down right wrong that was after Monica abandoned them and after how much blood sweat and tears Fiona put into raising each one of them and now she suddenly wants to come back and take one of them away from them and they one they care for and love the most at that? And then she started calling out the kids names and stating how well they’re doing in school all thanks to her (Fiona) and not Monica.

But the detail I noticed is that as she called each one of their names and their success in school we saw no reaction from Monica until Fiona got to Ian and mentioned that he was promoted into ROTC and tested out of English. You can see that Ian being able to live his dream affected her and how proud she was to hear she literally gasped and her mouth was trembling from the new set of tears and emotions she was feeling. And everytime I see that scene and I notice this it hits me so hard.

Maybe it’s because I love Ian so much and he along with Mickey are my favorite characters makes everything about Ian a big deal for me. And I’ve never really seen anyone mention this little detail before and I feel like it should be and it’s an important piece of evidence of why I think Ian is Monica’s favorite. And it just justifies Ian’s soft spot for his mother and why he found it the hardest to let go of her and move on from her death the hardest (except for frank ofc or idk maybe more than frank) and why he cared for her so much. And ofc we can’t run from the fact that the two of them understand each other more than the others in the family did. They both are part of the lgbtq+ community and they both struggle with the same mental illness (although I still think it was wrong of Monica to make Ian believe he should break up with Mickey because Mickey wouldn’t understand him).

And I really have no one to talk about this to because none of my friends have watched this show so none of them would understand what I’m rambling about right now and this is the best place to ramble about this on.

Also one of my favorite scenes has to be when Monica got Ian out of jail after that mfer Sammy called the cops on him and they went to get something to eat and Ian noticed Monica staring at him and he asks her “what?” And she replies with the most genuine smile I’ve ever seen on her “you’re a so beautiful. You’re and beautiful, beautiful man. I did great making you.” And I couldn’t agree with her more.

But that’s me rambling about what’s been on my mind for hours now :)

#shameless #ian gallagher #monica gallagher #gallavich #frank gallagher #fiona gallagher #ian gallagher is amazing #Monica favorites ian

32 notes · View notes

magicaii · 6 months ago

Text

The fact that when tsukasa tenma experiences something highly traumatic he instantly zeroes in on what he did wrong to end up in that situation, drills into his head how to avoid experiencing something like that again in the future, and immediately tries to forget the event ever happening because it’s not only a reminder of his failure but the memory would also cripple his self value enough to hinder his ability to be the person people expect him to and move forward with a new lesson learned to avoid being traumatized again. The problem with this is that you can’t forget your trauma, because then you’ll never be able to fully process what happened to you and recognize what effect it has on your life and outlook. Tsukasa is never able to do this because he does his damndest best to completely erase the memory. When someone has trauma, it’s a completely normal response to come up with a strategy or solution to deal with the damage you’ve been dealt, whether it’s simply withdrawing from those feelings inwardly or acting outwardly in a way to make sure it can’t hurt or affect you again. The problem is that these aren’t healthy patterns, and you’re supposed to get help so that you can acknowledge what happened and move PAST it. Tsukasa is so adamant to pretend shit never took place that he is stuck in this horribly unhealthy phase with terrible mechanisms to get through it all, and since he never processes his trauma has even taken it to the next level by piling it on and on every time something new happens. Saki forced herself to smile because of me? I can never disappoint someone again. The audience didn’t enjoy our play? I said I wouldn’t disappoint people anymore, so I can’t believe I did it again, I have to double down now. The troupe broke up and it’s my fault? I let them down as a leader, I need to take on every burden by myself so that I’m the one solely responsible for everything and I will make sure nothing goes wrong again. Thing is, all these feelings are valid to a certain extent, there’s nothing wrong with not wanting to disappoint people and feeling remorseful when you make them upset. It’s just not good when you’re basing all your worth as a person on how well you live up to peoples standards. He’s so fixated on how well he “performs” that his behaviour becomes EXTREMELY erratic when he is faced with his own failure. Sometimes he straight up lashes out or retracts, both so different from his usual demeanour that people are utterly taken back to the point where even if they are concerned about tsukasa they find it hard to say anything because it’s almost like dealing with an entirely different person. I don’t know how to wrap this up but he’s so mentally ill and I feel that people overlook it a lot because he’s also a comedic character.

#this was in my drafts for so long #tsukasa tenma #wxs tsukasa #project sekai #wonderland x showtime #pjsk #prsk

67 notes · View notes

tonybicyclestark · 1 month ago

Note

could we get a drabble about them post Dr. Strange?? 👀

SOOOOOOOOO this ended up being longer than a drabble. I didn't know what to write cus the post Dr Strange era is still WIP but uh... this happened and now it's almost 1k. HELP

"Are we seriously going to live in this creepy weird old house of your new cult now?" Tony asks. He's lying on the couch in what seems to be the sitting room. Then again, the rooms change so often Tony doesn't really know if any of them are permanent fixtures. The Clock swats at Tony's head affectionately at that quip. Both it and Stephen know Tony doesn't really mean it. If Tony had any ill will towards the Sanctum, he'd have never been allowed in. Husband to the Master of the Sanctum or not. "It's not creepy and we don't have to stay here, as long as I have a passageway linked between here and where we live." Stephen replied nonchalantly as he floated in midair, trying to read. "Great! Problem solved then. We have the compound." Tony replies. Stephen stays silent. "Oh come on Stephanie, give me something here." Tony retorts.

"You know how I feel about the Compound."

"Yea yea, you hate the fact that it's so far outside the city - away from the NYC views and the killer commute." Tony says, recalling the same argument they've been having ever since the Compound was created years ago. "But counterpoint, you don't have to travel every week to Metro General anymore and you have portals anyway so what's the big deal?" "The big deal is that it's not home Tony." Stephen sighs. "And you think this is? I love you Steph, so much baby, and I'm super proud of all that... magic sorcery things you do now but can you really imagine me living here? With the bots?" Stephen ignored him. "Oh come on, the bots and Cloakie will probably set this entire place on fire before we even fully move in." "The Sanctum is protected against fires among other things." Stephen diverts.

"That's so not the point. The point is -"

"The point is that we have a perfectly great home waiting for us, right here in New York City, that has all the space we could need and is within walking distance to the Sanctum." Stephen finishes, closing the book and floating back down to the floor.

"The Tower? That's what this has been about? You want to go back to the tower? The one that was attacked multiple times by various bad guys because it's literally a beacon for trouble? That tower?" Tony asks bewildered. He'd always thought everyone was on board with the move away from there to upstate New York.

"It was perfect for everyone. The team had their own floors, location was as central as you can get here, we had space for family rooms, games rooms and a fully stacked Med-bay and did I mention that everyone loved living there together?" Stephen emphasizes.

Tony was confused at that, and Stephen could see it. He sighed and explained, "The team agreed about the Compound because they thought it was the best choice strategically but no one wanted to leave Tony. It was our home."

Tony tried to process what he was hearing.

"Clint retired fully because the Compound was too far for him to keep coming back to from the farm. When we were still at the tower, he'd still been a part-time Avenger. Steve loved being able to go on his runs at Central Park and I know he misses it as well. It's home Tony. I know we left and you sold it but - I don't think for a second any of us liked leaving it." Stephen explains gently. He's very aware of how quickly this conversation could be interpreted as him and the rest ganging up on Tony. "But previous arguments still stand. We need the compound for training, especially for all terrains and outdoor field training." Tony spoke as his mind already spun with ideas for re-purchasing the tower and getting everyone's things in order.

"Well, it doesn't seem like much of an issue when I have portals now does it? I can always set up a permanent portal to the Compound." Tony looked up at him in slight awe. "You really thought this through huh? You guys really want to go home?" Tony asked.

"It's home Tony. Everyone wants that. No one ever wanted to mention it to you, that's all." "I'll deal with that later but for now....I guess I'm begging Pepper to help me buy my tower back." Tony concedes. "I'm the one telling the rest though. You're not getting all the credit." Stephen laughs joyfully. Things might have changed much in the past year since his accident, but this... the feeling of home...that's still the same as always.

Tony smiles at that laugh. "You sure this is what you want? That it won't interfere with your duties as a Wizard?" Tony clarifies once again. Instead of getting annoyed Stephen just smiles and says, "Yes Tony, I'm sure." He agrees. "Besides, the tower rests on the main ley lines connecting back to the Sanctum. It's a perfect conduit for the mystic arts."

"That really a thing?" Tony questions, pausing in his emails to Pepper.

Stephen smirks a little and says, "Why do you think it attracts all that trouble and theoretics? Definitely not for that ugly design."

#ironstrange #mine #earth-2010 #post dr strange #ficlet #how the FUCK DID THIS GET SO LONG #ANON YOU SPURRED SOMETHING I CANT BELIEVE IT #did i really write 900 words of just domestic banters and family feels? yes yes i did

27 notes · View notes

insomniac4000 · 7 months ago

Text

If you Loved Me- A ChrisMD Fic

From my Wattpad

Sometimes if you love someone you have to let them go, you never understood that phrase until it came a point in your relationship with Chris that it was obvious it was no longer going to work. His channel was keeping him busier and busier and flights to the mainland were happening more frequently, it was only a matter of time until the question came up but you knew you couldn't go with him.

"But I've found a great flat, it's on the ground floor it has two bedrooms your mum can stay," Chris pleaded as he looked into your eyes, they were brimming with tears, this wasn't a journey you could go on. Your mother had been ill for as long as you could remember and she was only getting worse, degenerative diseases did that but she could live for another twenty years with round the clock care or she could die tomorrow, you couldn't leave her and couldn't ask her to leave her home. All the specialist equipment was set up for her here, she had a sister who would help, she had the carers she knew and recognised.

"You say it like it's easy. She can't get on a flight you know that." Your mum's muscle disease had now rendered her bed bound, she had been for six months now. There was no way to get her to the main island even she wanted to.

"We can find a way, boat? I'll pay for a private ambulance and then..." You cut him off, with your eyes flooded with tears you hugged Chris tightly before painstakingly pulling away, your heart ached, more than it had ever done before, more than when your dad left when you were ten. He couldn't hack it anymore, it had only been you and your mum since and it had to stay that way she needed you.

"Chris. This is your dream, not mine. I need to stay here I'm sorry," you whispered. Chris gasped sharply knowing what you were doing but wanted to fight it every step of the way. You had been together since you were fifteen, you were twenty four now these kind of romances were so few and far between.

"My dream is being with you."

"Don't. You've let me hold you back for this long, you need to go and I need to stay here. I love you but we're at a crossroads now and we've got different paths." You had always felt guilty every time Chris ended a shoot early or came back from the mainland early because there was an emergency with your mum. You couldn't do that to him anymore.

"Please don't do this," Chris whispered his eyed now spilling with tears, he grabbed your arms tightly but not to hurt you as he went to kiss you. You turned your head away and shook it, knowing if you kissed him you wouldn't be able to let him go and you had to. Instead you placed a kiss on his cheek and told him you loved him and you were proud of him for following his dreams. You turn turned on his heel and left his house, leaving a very heartbroken man standing in the doorway to his room.

Of course Chris did go, him being able to collaborate more only made his channel grew. In fact he ended up moving in with a couple of other content creators George Clarke and Arthur Hill with yours and Chris's old school friend Arthur Frederick not far away. The four collaborated a lot, along with some other people and whenever you got time you watched some of their videos. You tried to make a point not to watch him a lot, you still loved him and as much as this is what he needed to do it was hard to hear jokes about all the dates he went on.

The truth was Chris went on so many dates because he was desperately trying to find someone but no one matched up to you, every single woman was measured to you and none of them made the cut, he told himself he just had to keep looking.

He was currently making a video with Arthur, George, Harry and Theo when Arthur who was on his phone like usual gasped.

"Chris, Chris I think you need to come and see this," Arthur bellowed as loud as he could in his usually soft voice.

"Arthur I don't care about chess," Chris moaned as he dropped the football by his feet.

"Chris please." Arthur looked so serious that Chris couldn't help but run over, he looked at the screen and his face dropped when he saw a message from Arthur's mum saying that your mum had passed away. Chris got his phone out of his pocket and saw a similar message from his mum, with the additional info that the funeral would be Friday.

"What do I do?" Chris asked.

"What's happened?" Harry enquired, walking over to the Jersey pair.

"Y/N's mum's died." Arthur announced sadly, he then turned his attention back to the small man who was running his hands through his hair. "I think you need to go."

"You're right." Chris nodded, that smart little nerd was always right. Harry then placed an arm round his friend, along with Arthur he was the other person who knew how much that girl meant to him through his time visiting Chris and doing videos in Jersey.

Back in Jersey you were coping but only on the surface. The funeral arrangements were keeping you busy enough to stop yourself from losing it completely, to an observer you were doing very well getting your head down and organising everything. The truth was your mum had her wishes laid out years ago so you knew what to do. People who knew you a bit more noticed how quiet you were, Chris's mum came over with a cup of tea and a cake from your favourite bakery plus some home made pasta bake so you didn't have to worry about cooking. She was always sweet to you, even after the breakup if she saw you round the island she'd always stop for a quick chat, making a point to not mention her son as she knew you were hurting too.

It was the day before the funeral and you sat there in your living room, it was yours now but you didn't want it you just wanted her back. The doorbell went and you sighed before getting up from the cream sofa walking to the door, assuming it was someone checking in on you, your aunt or some more flowers you opened it not caring you were still in your PJ's at two o clock in the afternoon. There on the other side of the door was the only other person you had wanted to see again apart from your mum. You hated yourself for thinking about how good he looked, his hair was now natural and curly and he had sprouted now facial hair, it suited him. Completely forgetting you two hadn't spoken in two years you broke down into tears and fell into his open arms. He wrapped them around you as tightly as he could without hurting placing his head on yours as you sobbed into his shoulder.

"Shhh it's okay. I'm here now." Chris soothed, his voice sounded like angels singing it had been so long since you had heard it not being through a screen. Chris had arrived in Jersey that morning, he caught up with his mum who had told him the how and when's, suggesting that she could really do with a friend to speak to as her mum's health had worsened so much since Chris moved that you spent all of your time caring for her and most people your age had moved on with their own lives. He held you there for a few minutes until you calmed down and the cries turned to small sobs.

"Did you want a cup of tea?" Chris asked, you nodded only realising you had barely drunk anything that day, you weren't taking proper care of yourself, it was too easy to forget to eat, or drink, or change you looked down at your attire.

"Please. Sorry for the state of me."

"You never need to apologise for anything. Ever." Chris's words gave you some relief. Him letting you know that he wasn't mad at you for everything is all you ever wanted to know.

"Place hasn't changed much," Chris mused when the pair of you were sipping on your tea, he even bought out a pack of biscuits from one of the cupboards.

"Dunno what I'm going to do with it now, or with my life." The house belonged to your grandparents who, knowing their daughter was ill left it to her and she now in turn had left it to her daughter. All you have known for years is looking after your mum, you had a job in a book shop but it was part time, the owner knew you and your mother and was very understanding to your situation giving you time off and flexible hours. You would have gone to university but couldn't leave your mum, you put your life on hold for her which was why you wouldn't let Chris do the same for you. It took everything in Chris's power not to say to come back with him, now wasn't the time you needed him to be there and he was.

He sat next to you at the funeral, held your hand he looked up at you encouraging you to go on as you read the eulogy. He had his arm around you as you watched the coffin get lowered for the final time. He stayed in your spare room for three nights, making you breakfast every morning and dinner every evening until he had to go back to film.

"There is no pressure but it wanted a break you can come and see me," Chris offered before he left. You nodded and did think about it seriously, he called and messaged you every day to check in on you and after a month of you wallowing you decided to take him up on the offer messaging him back 'I think I'm ready for that little holiday.'

"Chris, there's another girl at the door for you!" Arthur Hill bellowed from the front door, George smacked the back of his head. In his conversations with Chris the past few weeks he knew you were different.

"I thought he was picking you up at the airport, he's just filming with..." George started to explain when Arthur and Chris came into view.

"It's so nice to see you again," Arthur smiled before bringing you into a hug.

"I got an earlier flight," you smiled at Chris and almost fling yourself into his arms, they felt so safe to be in.

"I feel like a right knob now making you lug that thing around across London."

"Oh it was no bother." You'd take anything to see Chris again sooner.

"So how long are you around for?" ArthurTV asked when you were all sat around the sofas with pizza later on that evening.

"I don't know, whenever I get fed up I guess, I just needed a break," you explained and Arthur nodded sadly. The expression on his face was the same look everyone else gave you, sadness, concern and pity. The only person who didn't look at you like that was Chris, he only had care in his eyes.

You had been to London a handful of times before but there was so much you wanted to see and Chris took you to everything. You laughed together, you cried together but you had realised how much this break was needed and how much better it made you feel but it got you thinking, was it the break or was it Chris? You stayed for three weeks but eventually life needs dealing with.

"I need to make sure the house is still standing at least," you explained to Chris as he watched you pack your bags.

"You can always come back whenever you want. Have my key! I'll get another one cut," Chris suggested and you couldn't help but laugh at his almost childlike optimism.

"You know I sit there in that house and I hate it. It's nothing but bad memories. It's her house, not mine and I just sit there and think about her, watching her deteriorate, thinking about all of the things I missed out on because I stayed."

"Like us?" Chris said softly. Up until now neither of them had bought up their past but Chris couldn't hold it in any longer, these past few weeks had taught him he wasn't prepared to let her go again, there was nothing stopping them this time.

"I had to," you reminded him and yourself. You still stand by what you did, it was the right thing to do at the time.

"I know. You're grieving I'm not going to be an arsehole and jump on you when you're down but. I never stopped loving you." Chris walked to you and gently caressed your cheek with his thumb, it was something he often did before he kissed you and he did, it was very short but incredibly tender.

"I love you too." You whispered bringing him in for another kiss. Guess what they said was also true, absence really did make the heart grow fonder.

#chrismd #chris dixon #chrismd x reader #chrismd fic

60 notes · View notes

amtskind · 2 months ago

Text

why was gregor samsa unbothered?

recently, someone on reddit asked the question "why does gregor seem unbothered by his transformation into a vermin, and instead thinks about trivial problems". i tried myself on my interpretation of said fact, and decided to post my answer here as well:

to some degree the insect-metaphor is not to take literally, as it often happens in literature. think of kafka's original wish, not to print any insects on the book's cover.

first, let's establish the samsas' life: gregor is the family's only financial income after his father failed his own business and had many debts to pay off, so all the samsas are depended on him. some may even argue, they exploit him, since the whole family is fully able to work (as seen after his transformation) and yet decides to make gregor work for him all alone. we don't know, if gregor does realize that, if he denies it for the sake of his sanity - or if he really doesn't notice. he thinks positively about his family.

gregor carries a lot of responsibility, he doesn't want to fail, because he cares for his family.

but other than work and family, gregor's life is incredibly limited. no friends mentioned, no love-interest in sight (but the desire referenced through the picture of a woman in his room).

his transformation into a vermin with bug-like features could be a metaphor for an incident, that made him unable to work and fall into isolation (like an illness). as gregor was almost a farm-animal in the literal sense before, he now lost all his use, making him useless and an "unnecessary burden".

try to picture the scenario, that you wake up - for example, without your limbs or without your speech. you may freak out or feel alienated by yourself, but in the first place you will miss your former life - your routine - your "use in society", as harsh as it sounds.

gregor's indifference towards his "new form" shows, that living as a "bug" per se isn't that hard. he hopes, people would accept that, just as he does. but society - in this case his family and colleagues, don't. they despise him, hide him, isolate him, just like some people do with those, who they view as deviant or useless.

gregor could have adapted to his new life, if his family let him - but the samsas didn't - and the hierarchy turned, the family grew and moved, but without gregor. and when gregor accepted, that he will never live his life "nomally" again (not necessarily as a human, but simply enjoying the same things as he did before - like his family's company), he crawls in the corner to die. in some altruistic act, to not be a burden to his family anymore. kafka shows us, how vile and fatal isolation is.

the insect-metaphor as a whole paints the picture, how unlivable gregor's life was already. his exploitation via. work isolates him from the outer life and he is unhappy about it. but as always, gregor tries to deny it, maybe for his own comfort - to at least think, this life is worth living. but despite everything, deep down he knows he is full of sorrow and stress. his transformation was the final mirror to his life, that pulled him (or moreso the reader, as gregor still hangs onto hope for the bettering and love for his family) out of the disillusioned view, that things were normal.

gregor clinges onto his routine, his past - oh so "happy" life and general altruism - and as always, puts himself last, not minding his horrific state.

in the end: what could he have done anyway? the protagonists of kafka are a subject to an enigmatic, unknown rule or power, which they don't question any further. sometimes, you aren't in control of your life. "it is what it is."

#franz kafka #kafka #german literature #literature #my interpretation #the metamorphosis #die verwandlung #gregor samsa

27 notes · View notes

mxtantrights · 8 months ago

Text

Bounded by blood and shadow (17)

azriel x magic!fem!reader

Kynas looks…ill. And not just because you loathe the sight of him. He looks pale and shaky. Something was already not right with hi, but this is a whole other level. He looks at you and smiles wickedly.

He has both your brother and Azriel on their knees. No about controlling their blood to make them pliant to his will.

Your brother.

He looks bad. Bruises, some fresh and some old. Blood from a slit lip. His clothes are all muddied and stained with blood. You can’t believe the sight in front of you. Your brother, ever the warrior, down on his knees. First born, Emperor.

Azriel looks like he’s struggling the most. Fighting against the blood hold Kynas has on him. Which isn’t easy, the fact he’s able to do so shows how strong he is.

Now that you have Kynas here, it’s better to get this all out in the open. Figure out what all of this mess was for, why so many people had to die for him get your attention. Why he had you brother. Why wanted to come back when there was nothing here for him in Sangri.

“What do you want?” You ask.

Kynas lets out a dark laugh, “What I want isn’t something that you can give me. But tonight isn’t about that.”

Azriel struggles a bit too much and you can see the blood leak from his nose. Kynas is enjoying the sight because he grabs him by the back of the neck and shakes him around. He’s messing with him, he’s messing with you. All of you.

“You want to come back? You want to take your revenge on me? What? What is it?!” You shout.

Kynas lets go of Azriel.

“I think you’ve out done yourself this time. I mean, I can smell you on him.” Kynas sneers.

“Enough!” Your brother shouts.

You look at him. He’s straining really hard. His face a different shade. His breathing—it doesn’t even look like he’s breathing at this point.

Kynas unfurls a blood blade of his own. Placing it right at your brother’s neck. You take a tense step back.

“Put that down!” You yell.

Kynas cocks his head and edges the knife further, causing blood to trickle down your brother’s neck. Your eyes go wide. You want to stop him. You want to kill him right here and now. But you can’t. You can’t do that when two other lives are in the balance. Both of which need to be saved.

“You will take care to remember your place with me.” Kynas says.

All you can think of in this moment is that if you make a move, one if not both of them are dead. You can’t move. You can’t move an inch.

Amren takes the blade to Rhysand’s office. Everyone trickles in one by one—except for Nesta and Cassian who come in together. They all surround her.

“What’s happening? Is it the brother?” Nesta asks.

“It just started shaking. I wasn’t using it.” Amren answers.

Elaine looks around the room, antsy, “I told you! We should have never left him there!”

“Elaine if you can’t keep a calm head about this you need to leave.” Morrigan says.

Elaine crosses her arms over her chest, a pout on her lips. Nesta rolls her eyes and focuses back on Amren. Amren, a creature she’s known for such little time, but still understands one thing about her. Amren knows no fear. And looking at her right now all Nesta can see and smell is fear.

“You think she’s in trouble.” Nesta deduces.

“And that means Azriel is too.” Rhysand adds.

“He would no doubt be right by her side.” Morrigan says.

Then Morrigan looks to Elaine, who seems struck by her comment. At this very moment she didn’t care. Elaine running around with this fantasy in her head that she could have Azriel when Lucien is her mate was one thing. Then you came along, and Azriel felt the bond snap into place and Morrigan thought Elaine would get it through her head. But she’s still living in the fantasy.

Morrigan looks back at Amren.

“I’m the only one that can go and check it out.” Amren says.

Cassian nods, “I’ll take you.”

“We’ll all go.” Nesta says.

“No it’s best if some of us stay here.” Feyre speaks up.

Her eyes right on Elaine. Amren nodded along. Cassian holds out his hand for Amren to take. She takes it. And the two are gone instantly in a cloud of darkness.

“You’re wrong, he wouldn’t follow her into trouble. He hardly knows her and she isn’t his mate.” Elaine says to no one in particular.

Morrigan looks around the room, thinking of the words she wants to say. None of them were going to speak up. Not Feyre, Not Rhysand. They let it linger for too long. She can’t let it stand any longer.

“You need to wake up. He is not yours. He is bound to her. Even if she doesn’t feel anything, he will. For the rest of his life. He will act on instinct and negate every single logical thought he has to save her. That’s what you do for your mate. You would know that if you actually talked to yours.” Morrigan argues.

Elaine’s expression shifts to anger, “How dare you say that to me!”

“No, it’s true.” Feyre agrees.

Elaine turns to her sister now, “You’re agreeing with her over me? I’m your sister!”

“And it’s because of that I have been careful, and gentle. But it’s enough now. You need to let this fascination with him go.” Her sister speaks clearly.

“It’s not fascination! We have a bond.”

“It is nothing compared to the bond he has with her, even if it’s one way.” Rhysand pipes in.

Elaine looks around the room. She scoffs and stomps right out of it. Morrigan looks right to Feyre.

“I know that was hard for you.” She says to her friend.

Feyre sighs, “It had to be done.”

You hope Amren gets the message. You let the blood blade seep back into your hand. Kynas smiles at the show of disarmament. You hate every second of it.

“I want you to take down the wards.” Kynas says.

The wards? Why did he want to take down the protection barrier? He’s already inside. And if he weren’t, it’s not like it would be a problem for him to get access. Just because he was exiled doesn’t mean he couldn’t come back home if he really wanted to. What was his end goal here?

“If I take down those wards we all lose our protection.” You reply.

“Protection from what? I mean, have you not been warming the bed of the lord from a fae court?” He asks you straight out.

“He is my friend.” You answer bristly.

“Ah, and if I smell him will he reek of you like this one?” He juts his chin to Azriel.

You shake your head, “Why do you want the wards down?”

Kynas smiles, “Good question, which will be answered in due time. For now we should move this to some place better suited for the festivities.”

You watch in real time as he snaps his fingers and both your brother and Azriel are gone. In a cloud of dark smoke. It almost looked like winnowing to you. But that can’t be—Kynas isn’t fae.

He drools over your faltered expression.

“My darling wife, we have much catching up to do. Come, join me in the throne room.” He says.

Then he himself is gone too. In the same way. You take two seconds to think. Your chances of stripping his powers just got more complicated. Killing him might be your best option. You take off down the long hallway and turn left. What you’re not expecting is to be met with the feeling of so many people. You can feel all of them.

You skid to a halt when you see them. All of the towns people, walking down the long hallway way and into the throne room. You look around the crowd as you maneuver around them. How did they all get here? There was no confusion as to why—Kynas. But how did he manage to get them all inside the palace this quickly?

Someone is calling your name from the front. You look around frantically because you know that voice. Semaj finds you quickly. His tiny hands wrap around your middle. You kneel down to his level.

“Your bother is back! I can’t believe he’s throwing us all a party.” The little boy says.

Your skin goes cold. None of this is your brother. This is all Kynas, and none of them know that. You grab onto Semaj’s shoulders.

“Semaj I need you get out of here. I need you all to leave, right now.” You say hurriedly.

Semaj looks at you. No doubt questioning why you wanted him to leave a party. But you look him in the eyes with a serious face. You have never liked at him like this before. Semaj nods his head and runs away from you. You see him darting over to as many people as possible telling them to turn around and go back. Some don’t pay him any mind, but there are others who do.

The last time you see Semaj is when he’s leading other people back down the hallway, to the entrance of the palace.

You have to nudge your way and shoulder some people to get into the throne room. When you do you can only get past the door. You see all three of them. Right in the middle of the parted crowd. Your brother standing up straight, still being controlled a few feet from his throne. Kynas at then bottom of the Dias, a scroll in his hands. Azriel at the corner of the room, facing everyone.

“Kynas!” You yell.

He turns to you with a smile, “Now that we have an audience, bring the wards down.”

Everyone in the room stops and looks at you. You meet the eyes of a few of them. They look numb. He’s controlling them. That’s why Semaj wasn’t able to convince more people to stop walking in here. All of a sudden a scroll appears in your hands. Before it has the chance to fall out of your hand you grab it. You unravel it quickly, it really is the scroll to take down the wards. He wasn’t lying about that.

You look up at him once more. Kynas stands there, still as a rock. But his hand, his hands moves the slightest inch. And you see both Azriel and your bother flinch.

You look back down at the scroll. If you give him what he wants, he’ll only ask for more. But if you don’t, you’ll sign the death warrants of Azriel and your brother. You’ll have to find out what else he wants because you couldn’t risk either of them. You bring to recite the words. The wards didn’t require blood to take them down, but they did require blood to put them up. You can feel it very subtly how the usual static that comes form the wards turns into silence.

Kynas lets out a laugh at that, “How easy everything is when you just do as you’re told. If you were like this from the start, things would have been different.”

“Let all of them go.” You say.

Kynas shakes his head, “I’m not done, and I don’t take orders from you.”

Amren had taken off a while ago. Cassian had been waiting for her right by the edge of the wards. Leaning against it actually. When all of a sudden he almost fell over.

Realizing that the wards he had been leaning on no longer exists he grows worried. He sends a message to Rhysand. In seconds Rhysand and Mor show up. They both look at where the wards should be and back at Cassian.

“If it’s down then we should go and Azriel is not here, then we need to help.” Mor says.

Rhysand nods, “Where’s Amren?”

“Probably halfway there already. I’ll fly there, winnow you in after I recon the place.” Cassian says before taking off for the skies.

A gust of wind blows Mor’s hair all over the place, Rhysand’s too.

“I hate it when he does that.” She says.

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel fic #acotar imagine #acotar fic #blood and shadow

62 notes · View notes