#ironically the majority of my suicide attempts were before half this ever happened
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
ghostickle · 6 months ago
Text
If there is a god she’s one mean motherfucker for me to only be 21 and already been through death been abused and drugged lost everything to just get some ground back to lose it all again multiple times to have already dealt with homelessness and unable to afford to eat lived in a literal closet am all too familiar with withdrawal and addiction lived with chronic unexplained pain and sickness my whole life
0 notes
kirboner · 4 years ago
Text
The Curse of the Blood God
TW: Gore/blood descriptions, attempted suicide mentioned, major character death, swearing (not much).
WORD COUNT: 2,738
This is a mainly c!Technoblade centric along with c!Philza, other DSMP characters are also mentioned :] (if there are any tags I missed please tell me!)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Growing up, Technoblade was always surrounded by violence. With violence came death, so the concept of it was never unfamiliar to him. Never jarring, never shocking. It happens to those who are too weak to keep fighting, who make stupid decisions or let their guard down. It happens to those who lose, and Technoblade never loses. 
Technoblade never dies.
So, when the tip of his blade pierces through an enemy’s throat, or when their blood spurts against the snow, and they collapse in a heap against the frost- Techno feels nothing. Partially because he doesn’t know them, but mostly because they made a stupid decision and they lost. They challenged The Blade. The Blood God. To Techno, losing a life is like losing a game, a challenge, a bet. 
The L’Manburgians that suffered once he spawned the Wither let their guards’ down. The Butcher Army by challenging him had made a stupid decision, and those he challenged and triumphed against were weak. So, they lost a life, or a few.
Maybe that’s why betrayal hurts him so deeply, why the feeling aches in his very core. Someone has to be close to him to betray him, he has to put his trust in them, he has to care about them. For someone to then betray him, to betray The Blade, is a stupid decision on their behalf. However, that’s not the half of why it hurts so much, why the feeling stings and burns and engulfs him. It’s because he made the stupid decision to put his trust in someone traitorous. Yet, regardless of his stupid decisions,
Technoblade never dies.
Techno has few constants in his life, so he tends to gravitate to those he can control. Roasted potatoes and gapples, a royal gown he stole a long time ago that he wears as under-armor, a golden crown. Small things, items he carries with him as he flees location. However, one other thing remains a constant in his life, something he can’t pack in a suitcase or strap to his back- and that’s Phil. 
His memories of his life growing up in the Nether are a mix of vivid snippets and utter vagueness that he’s had to piece together through whisper and rumour. He remembers fighting with other Piglin half-breeds in The Pit, uncomfortable nights spent unslept on hard nether rack, fractures and purple bruises left blotched across his torso. Gashes that reopened, scabs that refused to heal. The jeering and hissing crowd that surrounded him, as he was forced to rip apart his opponents; orphans just like himself. Losing their parents was the worst thing that ever happened to them, Technoblade being a close second. He could recall the *clink* of golden nuggets pooling at his feet, quickly soaked in the ever-growing pool of his opponent’s blood- this time a larger Piglin boy who laid face down, iron pickaxe lodged firmly in his spine. The crowd cheering his victories and spurring him on. Shrieking for more.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD--
How he left- or rather escaped- the Nether falls into the latter category of utter vagueness. Phil had told him he came across The Pit when trading rare spider eyes on the black market, as he heard the value was higher in the Nether due to the specific spiders only existing in the Overworld. However, upon discovering The Pit he had, in his words, “gotten into a bit of a domestic over it with the ringleader,” which Techno suspected to be an understatement. Phil, apparently, had “completely non-violently, and totally consensually” taken himself and the other half-breeds to the Overworld. Techno, again, believed this to be a massive understatement, as Phil and himself to this day could not enter the Nether without a fight of some kind. 
‘So, what ever happened to the other orphans?’ He asked, throwing a match on their fireplace. Living in a Tundra, while isolated and peaceful, required near constant temperature adjustment.
‘I spent a while rehousing them all across the Overworld, it took around two months to actually find homes for all of ‘em,’ Phil shifted more firewood closer to the hearth. A spruce log, dark and dense. Techno shifted in place, ‘Uh, what about me?’ He wanted to elaborate more on the question, rather than sound like a small child, but didn’t. Phil chuckled, ‘You were different, Techno,’ to this Techno quirked an eyebrow, ‘Different?’ He probed.
‘Well, let’s see... I did try a couple times to find you a family, y’know?’ Techno frowned, ‘Not because I didn’t like you, but because I was worried about you. I have a pretty dangerous line of work, and I thought you deserved a bit of a more stable life,’ Phil sighed. A beat of silence followed ‘So how well did that plan turn out?’ Techno asked sarcastically, earning a chuckle from Phil. His confidence rebuilt slightly. ‘I wanted you to have a constant in your life, but I also didn’t want you to be unsafe,’ Phil looked at the hearth, crackling quietly. ‘The more time I spent with you, I realized you already had a constant, Techno,’ He looked at the kindling, long charred and crumbling to ash. ‘Violence,’ Phil breathed, barely above a whisper. ‘You needed more than just violence in your life Techno- and trust me, I know I’m not always the best example- but I wanted to be that constant’ Phil continued, ‘And I’m glad I made that decision,’ he smiled.
A silence stretched for a moment, a tight feeling developing in Techno’s chest. He got this feeling whenever Phil said something particularly sappy, though the tightness was never painful. It was a pleasant feeling. It was kind. ‘Even if it means you can’t trade spider eyes on the black market anymore?’ Techno deadpanned, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘Oh trust me, the market value for spider eyes has plummeted since the ‘90s, I was just trying to cut my losses,’ Phil smirked, leaning back on his hands. Techno rolled his eyes, ‘Christ you’re old, man,’ he said fondly.
A constant. Phil was a constant. He had been there to mend his tattered gown, tend to his wounds (now shallower, and fewer and further between). He had fought alongside him, brothers in arms, working together in the fight against tyranny. Phil was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, rightfully earning the title as The Angel of Death. 
‘Who first started givin’ you that name, anyway?’ Techno asked, swinging his axe down and splitting a spruce log down the middle, watching it splinter and fall in two smaller heaps. The chill of dawn was warmed little by the sun peaking over the horizon, a reminder of the Autumn season soon to come. ‘What name?’ Phil looked at him, confused before shoveling another mound of snow to make room for their new vegetable patch installment. ‘I know you well, mate, but I’m not a mind reader,’ he chuckled. ‘The Angel of Death- who first started callin’ you that?’ Techno elaborated. Phil heaved another shovel-full, ‘God, it’s been a while since someone’s called me that. I reckon it started way back, before the Antarctic Empire,’ he paused for a moment, his shoulders tense. ‘I remember when I was little, I had a pet bird and I used to let it sleep in my bed,’ Eyes downcast, the air seemed to grow chillier. ‘It was the night before my 6th birthday, and I had a dream that I was standing in a cave, the walls covered in this weird writing I couldn’t read and... I could hear a voice whispering to me, but there was no one there,’ Techno heard him suck in a breath before continuing, ‘It said: you are the angel of the men befallen to you, you are the choice you will wish to unchoose. An unvindicated angel, an angel of death.’ 
Techno’s axe was frozen in place, feeling significantly heavier than before. ‘The bird was dead when I woke up,’ Phil swallowed thickly, before plunging his shovel back into the slush. ‘That’s, uh... heavy stuff, Phil,’ Techno shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well, it was a long time ago now, I don’t really think about it much. It is a bit weird how people started calling me that a while afterwards, though,’ Phil chuckled dryly. Techno blinked, deciding to continue chopping firewood rather than probe the topic. It’s not like he had much of a need to fight now anyways, Techno was perfectly capable and willing to take on the world for Phil. 
From then on, time passed by quietly.
The Syndicate was formed, consisting of his fellow anarchists. Small battles were fought, but nothing extreme. Well, at least the ones Phil participated in. Techno’s bloodshed, however, did not slow. He was never one to insert himself into battles he had no stake in, but he found the “stakes” he held in the battles he fought became less about what he gained, and more so existed for the sake of fighting. Time passed, yet Techno never felt the effects of it.
The same could not be said for Phil, nor his peers. As the years passed, Phil seemed significantly older. The timeless winged angel he knew growing up seemed... ancient. As isolated as they originally were in the Tundra, the people he once knew became even further and further away.
The Winter winds of Snowchester became harsher than what Tubbo’s infrastructure could withstand. The damage to the buildings became too severe, Tubbo and Jack resigning to move to a warmer climate. Tommy went with them, unsurprisingly. Ranboo and Niki left the Syndicate to join them.
Eventually the Egg and its cultists seemed to disappear below the surface. The dead bloodvines oozed a mix of light blue and red when cut, any residual whispers too quiet to make out. Sam wasn’t seen outside the prison anymore now, and new visitors were always refused. George and Sapnap allegedly left Eastward towards a mycelium biome, the looming walls of Pandora’s box an apparently unpleasant reminder for them.
More people disappeared; their reasons unknown to Techno. Some set sail across the ocean in search for something new, something untainted. Some died in smaller territorial battles, or over Casino winnings. Others went to the Nether and never came back. Phil could only fly for short periods of time now, and it took a great toll on his body.
‘So, see anything new out there birdman?’ Techno inquired, brewing a potion of Swiftness II. ‘I saw a gravestone I never saw before, near L’Canyon,’ Phil coughed, slowly adjusting himself in his chair. ‘L’Canyon... I don’t remember anyone being buried there. Who’s was it?’ Techno asked, mildly interested. ‘The hedge stone was too eroded, it could’ve been written in Endlish for all I know,’ Phil paused for a moment, ‘You might be able to read it, you have better eyesight than me, mate.’ Techno looked at Phil, surprised. ‘That’ll be a pretty long journey by horse, we’ll have to load up on supplies,’ Techno muttered, adding another cup of Redstone powder into his brewing stand. ‘I’ll fly us,’ Phil smiled as Techno looked dumbfounded at the fragile man before him. He was pale, the feathers on his wings greyed, his face lined and tired. Techno swallowed, ‘Phil, I don’t think--’ ‘C’mon, mate. Just like old times. If we leave now, we’ll have plenty of daylight,’ Phil interrupted, placing a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. No matter his age, Phil was just as stubborn as always, so despite his better judgement Techno agreed on the trip. 
‘I’m still bringing a map, compass and overnight supplies in case we don’t make it before nightfall,’ Techno announced. ‘Of course, mate. I’m stubborn, not crazy-’ Phil was cut off by another fit of coughing. Techno eyed him nervously, ‘You’re sure you can hold my bodyweight, plus supplies?’ He inquired, dubiously. ‘Course, mate. Don’t stress about it,’ Phil reassured.
As anxious as Techno was, he trusted Phil’s judgement in his abilities. Plus, he couldn’t deny the rush he got from being in the sky. The wind flowing through his hair, the air fresh and crisp. He felt like a child again, riding on Phil’s back across the SMP. Soaring to the heavens at unimaginable speeds. He looked down at the pure whiteness that was their home, fading into dense spruce forestry, slowly becoming pure green Plains. Eventually, the green was abrupted by a deep, grey crater. 
They landed clunkily, more of a barely controlled fall than a proper landing. ‘You okay, Phil?’ Techno called out, standing up quickly, and wiping grass stains off his gleaming Netherite. Phil was further North of him, lying in a crowd of thistles. His body was contorted at a strange angle, ‘I’m ‘right,’ he called, his face wincing. Panic surged through Techno as he got closer, ‘Phil your bleeding, what the hell happened?’ He yelled, grabbing the medical kit out of his backpack. ‘It’s okay, mate. It was gonna happen soon, anyway,’ another labored breath, ‘Just wanted you to see the sky, one last time,’ He coughed, blood spurting across his chestplate. Techno hastily grabbed disinfecting wipes, Phil winced as his chestplate was removed.
A deep gash spread across Phil’s torso, below his ribs. His upper half impaled on a sharp tree stump shrouded within the thistles, his breath growing more ragged. ‘Phil- fuck. We’ve gotta get you off this thing,’ Techno swallowed, beads of sweat forming at his brow. ‘It’s too deep. The branch’s lodged in my intestines,’ he cringed, ‘at this angle, it’ll rip through my lung if you move me,’ Phil whispered, smiling weakly. He was right, the wood was splintered and lodged firmly in his core. Dark crimson blood leaked out from the gash like treacle, almost black and intense in volume. ‘I can- I’ll get healing potions from the house,’ Techno hyperventilated, wiping the disinfected cloth around the jagged and bloody stump. ‘If that doesn’t work, I’ll find a totem of undying-’ ‘Techno,’ Phil cut him off, placing a hand on his face. He hadn’t realized he had been crying until now. ‘It’s at least a 3 day walk back to the house on foot,’ Phil chuckled weakly, interrupted by a another fit of coughing. ‘Then what can- tell me what to do,’ Techno pleaded, wiping the cloth across the gash again and again as the crimson continued to leak out. 
‘Isn’t it painful, watching bleeding only to see more blood?’ Phil sighed, his breathing shallower, ‘It hurts but its undeniable, Techno...’
‘What is?’ Techno rasped, hands shaking.
‘...How good you are at wounding,’ Phil smiled, clasping his hand tightly. 
‘Phil, please’ Techno felt sick, his shoulders shaking. ‘It’s okay, Techno. I wanted this. I wanted to see the sky one more time,’ Phil swallowed, ‘-with you,’ His squeeze on Techno’s hand growing feebler. ‘Bury me at the gravestone I told you about,’ Phil’s eyes fluttered slightly. ‘But- I thought that was...’ Techno trailed off. 
It wasn’t fair. Phil had never betrayed him. He wasn’t stupid- his decision were always calculated. He was careful, he set traps around their base- he didn’t let his guard down. He wasn’t weak, he was an enemy’s worst nightmare on the battlefield. And yet, despite this, he died. Bleeding out, impaled and contorted near the shattered remains of his late son’s country. Phil died, just like everyone else.
Techno was alone. Phil, his constant, was gone. The other Syndicate members had disappeared, Wilbur died with L’Manburg and Tommy had long considered him an enemy. He was desolate and barren, the air felt cold as he sobbed loudly. His hands beat against the ground as he screamed until his throat grew hoarse. For the first time in his life, Techno ached. 
It had been weeks since Phil had passed, Techno felt too sick to eat or drink anything. The freezing nights did little to numb him, blistering days did little to warm him. His muscles did not deteriorate, nor did his legs give out beneath him. Physically, his body was fine. 
Back in the Tundra, his poison potions made him feel nauseous, potions of damage stung at his skin. No matter the mob, or the damage he sustained, he would respawn in his bed. The ache in his chest did not subside with time, the loneliness of the base encroaching upon him constantly. Yet, despite his stupid decisions, or letting his guard down around any mob he faced. Despite his weakness...
Technoblade never dies.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hi so that was an AU i wrote that got way too long lol. Hope you enjoyed! Likes/RBs appreciated :] <3.
31 notes · View notes
marybethsjournal · 4 years ago
Text
Fare You Well, Dear Sean
Summary: Karen finds out what happened to Sean in Rhodes
Pairing(s): Sean Maguire x Karen
Warning(s): kidnapping (Jack), major character death, religion talk, reference to vom!t, vague thoughts of suicide, super vague implication of pregnancy(?)
Word Count: 1749
A/N: To the anon that asked for Karen x Sean fluff, this is not it lol. Yours is coming, but this is just pure sadness
Also, here’s the link to the song from RDR2 that inspired my title: https://youtu.be/S5N-nLY32KA
ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29829786
Today was absolute chaos. It had started out normal enough. Karen had woken to Sean shaking her wildly just like she always did when he actually made himself useful and went on a job outside camp. He thought she cared so much about what he was doing for the day. He hadn’t gotten the hint that she didn’t care. Well maybe she cared just a little… but not much! She knew that he wanted her to be impressed and think that he was some sort of hero, but Karen had a strict rule against getting impressed by stupid men. Especially stupid men named Sean Maguire.
“Miss Jones! Wake up and give your suitor a kiss goodbye!”
“In your dreams, Sean.” Karen mumbled, opening her eyes and swatting her hand at him.
“I always was told I’m a dreamer. My da-”
“No, not today. Too early.” Karen cut him off. Sean’s face fell for half a second, barely detectable, before a smile was plastered on his face again.
“You’re right, it is early. You know what they say, though, the early bird gets the worm! Sad to say that my worm-” Sean was going down a path that Karen did not like the looks of.
“Sean! That’s disgusting!” Sean laughed, glad he was able to get a reaction out of her. Any attention from Karen was good attention, at least in his mind. 
Karen patted the ground next to her, signaling for him to sit. “Where you boys off to today, then?”
Sean's face lit up as he sat down next to her, happy to be able to tell of the important job that he was going to go on today, “The Grays need security so naturally they called upon Dead Eye Maguire. Nothing gets past me! I could do it by myself, you know, but I decided to let Bill, Micah, and Arthur on the job. Poor boys needed something to do.”
Karen rolled her eyes at the inflated story Sean just told, but upon hearing that Micah would be there, she felt her instincts screaming that this job wasn’t such a good idea. All of Micah’s plans were terrible, truth be told, but Dutch thought differently, for some reason. “Be careful, alright. I don’t trust Micah as far as I can throw him.”
“Ahhh he’s a bastard but he ain’t got nothing on ol’ Sean Maguire. Don’t you worry your pretty little mind about that.”
Karen sighed, remembering that anytime she expressed any concern, Sean’s ego grew. “Forget I said anything.”
A silence, neither particularly comfortable or uncomfortable, grew between them. Karen thought that for once, maybe Sean was just going to leave her alone and go on about his business. But then he wouldn’t be Sean.
“Can I have my kiss now?” Sean puckered his lips and leaned forward. Karen could hardly find it in herself to not slap him.
“Hell no. Go bother someone else.” She tried to shoo him but he wouldn’t leave, not that she particularly expected him to.
“I know you love me, you should just stop fighting and admit it. I’m irresistible”
“I wish I was resistant to you” 
“You’ve got to stop wishing such pain onto yourself,” Sean paused for a second before remembering something that he apparently deemed far more important than further pumping up his ego. “You feeling better today?”
Karen sighed. No she was not feeling better, not at all. She’d been feeling worse and worse every day since she had first fallen ill a little over a week ago. She appreciated Sean asking but didn’t feel like worrying him (and she especially didn’t want to confide in him about what she thought may be causing his illness). “Maybe a little. I’m fine, I promise.”
“Karen, you puked on my shoes last night.” Sean pointed out. 
“Ugh, okay, maybe I’m not fine, but I will be. I’ll be alright, Sean.” Karen’s tone grew softer at the end.
“I’ll pick you up some cola syrup in town. Maybe that’ll help?” 
“That’s not gonna make me kiss you, Sean.” Karen teased.
“I know. Just want to help, is all.” Sean took Karen’s hand and ran his thumb over her knuckles. “Cause I love you, I really do.”
Karen sighed, feigning exasperation. “Oh alright, come here, you.” She pulled Sean in for a quick kiss. It lasted no more than two second but it was more than enough to make Sean happy.
“See everyone, she loves me!” Sean yelled way too comfortably for Karen. He was practically floating on air, skipping across camp. 
Sean had already gotten up onto his horse before Karen yelled back at him,”I do not, you ass!”
Several hours later, the whole gang had turned to chaos. Something had happened to Jack, he was nowhere to be seen. Karen had thought woefully that when no one was watching, maybe he had tried to go swimming in the lake and had drowned. The thought sickened her. But soon enough, Kieran came forward and said he had seen some men come by and had thought they were coming for a meeting. Since no meeting had taken place, it was then assumed that someone had taken Jack. Karen hoped against hope that he was safe.
Karen, trying desperately to comfort Abigail, barely noticed when Micah, Arthur, and later on, Bill returned to camp. And she certainly didn’t notice that Sean didn’t join them. It wasn’t long after Bill returned, however, that Reverend approached her, a solemn look in his eyes.
“Miss Jones, I need to take you somewhere private to talk.” he grabbed for her hand.
“Are you crazy, you drunk bastard? Jack is gone! We all need to help look.”
Reverend’s face changed to a look of pity, which made Karen’s heart sink. She didn’t know what had happened, but something was terribly wrong.
“You’re right, we need to look for Jack, but I still need to talk to you first.”
“Alright.” Reverend led her over to one of the far sides of camp, next to a wagon. Karen grew more uncomfortable with every passing second
“Karen,” Reverend started, “The boys went into town to see the Grays this morning.”
“I know that already!” Karen interrupted impatiently.
“It was a setup. They shot Sean.” Reverend bowed his head.
“Well where is he? I’ll go to the doctor to see him, right now. I’m sure he’ll want to see me.” Karen rambled quickly.
“No, you don’t understand. He um, well he passed. Bill told me earlier and said there was nothing they could have done.”
Karen backed away from Reverend, her hands shaking. “No, no. That-no” She didn’t know what else to say.
“I’m really sorry, we all cared so much about him.” Reverend awkwardly hugged her. She normally didn’t like physical affection, but she didn’t want anyone to see the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. This couldn’t be happening. Sean hadn’t done anything to deserve this. 
“Bill buried him, nice and proper, he said. I’m going over there now. Couldn’t read him his last rites, but hopefully I can still pray over him for a safe journey to Heaven. I’ve got to at least try. I’d like for you to come along, if you can find it in you.”
“Of course I can find it in me!” Karen cried.This was her last chance to say goodbye and there was no way she was going to pass it up.
Reverend helped Karen up onto the wagon and they went on their way. They sat in mutual silence, save for Karen’s soft crying, for most of the ride. Karen didn’t feel up for conversation, understandably. 
When they were getting close to Sean’s final resting place, Karen finally broke the silence. 
“God, I hope he didn’t hurt for long.”
“Bill said they blasted a bullet straight through his skull, so I’m sure he died immediately. Didn’t see it coming.” Reverend responded, without thinking much over how his words might impact Karen.
“Oh my god don’t tell me that!” Karen sobbed, placing her hand over her face.The sentiment made her feel sicker to her stomach than she already had been that morning. This had to be the worst day of her life, no contest.
“I’m sorry Karen-”
“I think I’m gonna be sick” 
“Hold on, we’re almost there.” Reverend assured her.
A moment or so later, they arrived at a little patch of grass, shaded by trees that overlooked Flat Iron Lake. 
“Sean! No no no!” Karen jumped off the wagon and ran to the grave before the horse had made a full stop. She collapsed in front of the grave and cried harder than she had ever remembered doing in the past.
“I know it’s hard, but he’s in a better place now.” Reverend said in an attempt to console her. “You think?” Karen asked between broken sobs.
“Yes, I really do.” Reverend told her, kneeling down and patting her on the back.
Karen, while sitting through Reverend’s prayers for Sean, recalled how poorly she had treated him. She was the worst girlfriend, or whatever she was to him, in the world. No sooner had Reverend said “Amen” before she looked at the cross, which had Sean’s name engraved on it and began rambling.
“I’m sorry I called you an ass. I really didn’t mean it, I swear. I love you, I can’t believe I didn’t tell you, God I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Karen, he knew. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that he knew that.” Reverend assured her genuinely.
“You promise?” Karen looked back at him, her eyes full of tears and puffy from crying.
“Of course. He’s probably watching over you right now. And I think he’d want you to be strong.”
“I don’t want to be strong. I want to be with him.” In fact, the last thing in the world that Karen wanted to be was “strong”. She was pretty sure she didn’t even have it in her.
“Here, Bill found Sean’s satchel. You can keep it if you like.” Reverend picked up the small bag from the other side of the tree and handed it to Karen.
Karen's hands shook as she opened the satchel. Inside was a wad of money, a half eaten chocolate bar, an unfinished letter he’d written to her that was dated back when he had been taken prisoner by Ike Skelding’s bounty men, an Emerald ring, and the Cola syrup he’d promised her that morning.
23 notes · View notes
aconstellationofmemories · 5 years ago
Text
Of Nightmares and Promises Chapter 2: Gray
Note: This oneshot in Gray's POV, a follow-up to Juvia's oneshot, unexpectedly took me 7 months to complete. More than half of the draft had already been written; I could have posted it earlier with some addition; but I felt that it lacked something. Or perhaps I was afraid, since I was still a new writer back then. In any case, I'm satisfied that my writing has improved tremendously since.
Dedicated to @allie-and-her-fandoms, who was a major source of motivation to write this continuation. Here's a surprise for you girl. I hope I didn't disappoint you.
Next one in this collection of oneshots will probably be Laxus'. Expect some angsty Miraxus coming up!
Word count: 1.5k.
Read this on AO3.
Chapter 1: Juvia
-----------------------------------------------------
Quiet sobs.
The steady beat of the rain tumbling onto the pavement. 
Soft whimpers.
The sorrowful symphony slowly filtered into Gray’s sleep-fogged brain and roused him from his slumber. What’s happening? Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his puzzled gaze instantly landed on the sparkling droplets of water on the window. They slid down helplessly despite the slight friction between their liquid body and the glass panel, leaving behind only disjointed parts of their body in their slippery descent.
It’s raining, he thought sleepily. There was a nagging familiarity about the natural event, almost as though it was teasing him to guess its hidden meaning. However, at such a godforsaken hour, he had neither the mood nor the mental capacity for such trivia games. If the heavens wished to weep and cause a phenomenon known as rainfall upon earth, then they could weep all they wanted. He wasn’t going to give up his precious sleep to spend the night contemplating the mysteries of the universe. Closing his eyes, he turned to lay on his side as he tried to resume his disrupted sleep.
Then it dawned on him.
It was soft, almost inaudible even, but he was almost certain his ears weren’t playing with him – there was a muffled sound of someone crying.
Wait. Rain...
Juvia.
The realisation jolted him awake – any trace of sleepiness now completely gone – and he hurriedly glanced over to the other side of the bed. In a subconscious gesture to either comfort or protect herself, the water mage lied curled on her side in a fetal position. Her face twisted in anguish. “Gray-sama...” his name fell upon her lips in between her strained sobs.
He gently nudged her. “Oi, Juvia.” No use – she showed no signs of waking.
“Juvia tried but she failed,” she whispered, pain lacing each word.
His heart constricted in his chest to see her in this broken state. She was the one experiencing the nightmare, but it hurt him to witness it.
“Wake up and it’ll be fine,” he urged her.
“Juvia is so sorry...”
What was she dreaming to feel sorry for? 
Gray pushed aside the stray locks from her forehead – her skin was wet. It was that moment that he noticed she was sweating profusely. Whatever she was dreaming about, it must be intense to invoke such strong reactions from her. Tears silently rolled down her porcelain cheeks. Despite his attempts to pull her from her nightmare, she was lost to him in a torturous realm – one he was all too familiar with.
“Wake up, Juvia,” he pleaded her. It was killing him slowly to see her tormented and being powerless to do a thing. 
The ice mage prided himself in having a cold, impenetrable heart. Much like his ice creations, it was solid and incredibly resistant to outside influences. Her cries, however, felt as though someone placed a nail on his heart and pounded mercilessly to create fractures. With each broken call for him, the fractures cracked open.
Just like how Juvia once told him that he kept the rain away, he yearned to prevent her liquid sadness from flowing down her face – now and for as long as he can.
Before he knew what he was doing, he leaned in and placed his lips on her tear-stained cheeks. 
Drip.
A tear escaped from the corner of her eye and trailed down.
“Gray-sama.”
Kiss.
His lips caught the elusive tear before it could drop.
“Shh. It’s okay.”
Drip.
No matter how many times she fell apart, he would always be there to catch her.
Kiss.
Down to the last teardrop, he erased their existence with each gentle kiss.
Pulling back, his concerned gaze scanned her face for any signs of distress. To his relief, her features seemed to relax. The iron vise around his heart loosened its grip. His chest immediately felt lighter. 
For the first time since he woke up, he could take a breath without feeling strangled.
Lying back down on the bed, he angled his head to watch her. The warm glow of the streetlamps cast a soft spotlight upon her, highlighting her angelic features. Her sapphire tresses was splayed out on the pillow underneath her head. They reminded him of a curved wave frozen in time. He gently pushed back the stray locks on her forehead. She was ethereally beautiful. His heart squeezed in his chest as he took in the sleeping beauty before him. As someone who only experienced heartache all his life, the ice mage didn’t think he was worthy of someone so beautiful and pure.
All I do is scar her.
His gaze dipped down to her abdomen – to where she sacrificed her life for him. The evidence of her suicide was well covered by her nightgown, but he could picture it all too clearly in his mind. Jagged lines winded up and down to narrow peaks, its almost-circular trek engraved forever on the right side of her navel. 
Gray wasn’t ashamed by scars, nor did he feel the slightest disgust towards them. His own body exhibited the permanent mark of several scars from years of battling as a mage. None of them bothered him; whether they were large or small; wide or narrow; he only demanded that they were visible to the world. 
But Juvia...it didn’t sit right with him for her to have them. Not that he thought they marred her beauty – hell, she was pretty no matter what. It was the history behind the engraved remnants of her sacrifice which troubled him. 
If only I was stronger then...Juvia wouldn’t have had to kill herself.
It was my duty to protect her, to keep her safe. 
He clenched his fist as an avalanche of failure crashed over him.
And I failed in both for Juvia.
For his entire life, all the people dearest to him had been snatched away. It didn’t matter how strong they were; one by one, they ceased to exist on the physical plane on earth. Though the abrupt conclusion to their story played out in different scenarios, they all shared a crucial common factor – their untimely deaths were all because of him.
Involuntarily, the final memories of his loved ones came flooding back – the disbelief, the immense despair, and the hopelessness – they all hit him like a train wreck.
His father, previously the strongest man in his eyes, now lying immobile in the destruction left by Deliora.
Ur’s motherly smile when she bid farewell to him as ice engulfed her mortal body.
Her daughter, Ultear, trading her priceless youth for him to be granted a second chance at life.
Juvia’s lifeless body, cold and unmoving in his arms.
The tsunami of his painful past threatened to wreck him and drown him under in their onslaught. His tensed muscles began to tremble from the effort of controlling the turbulent emotions which the flashbacks had evoked.
You killed them, a voice hissed inside his head.
He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block them out – the memories, the self-defeating voices, the fears – all of them. I’m not there. I’m not there anymore.
When he opened his eyes, his gaze landed on the soundly asleep form of Juvia. Her lips were slightly parted as she breathed in and out slowly. The nightmares had stopped tormenting her. Seeing her resting peacefully – and breathing – calmed his frayed nerves considerably. His ragged breaths began to slow.
She’s still alive. Here, with me.
The ice mage carefully wrapped his arms around her as he pulled her in close for an embrace. Instantly, she instinctively leaned into his warmth and pressed her face into his naked chest. With that simple trusting gesture, her own warmth spread deeper into his chest to envelope his heart.
For hours, he was content to simply hold her in his arms as she slept. She even snored lightly at one point; this he would never tell her. He couldn’t complain, not when the greatest thing to had ever happened to him was lying in his bed.
He didn’t sleep a wink that night.
Not from her snores, but from the thoughts that raced through his mind and the plans he dared to envision – all of which involved a particular sapphire-haired woman. His dreams splashed every inch of his greyscale mental landscape with bright, invigorating colours of spring. Like the plants which grow from the emergence of the sun after the rain, the seeds of his wishes quickly sprouted to form endless possibilities together with her.
In the near future, they wouldn’t just be mere visions his mind conjured up. No – he would make them materialise into the real world.
When dawn arrived with its hopeful transformation from darkness to light, the ice mage was set with his conviction.
I don’t deserve you, but I will become a man worthy of you, Juvia.
Placing a chaste kiss on her forehead, he sealed his unspoken promise to her.
I’ll keep you safe.
156 notes · View notes
frostsinth · 4 years ago
Text
The Bard’s Bounty - Pt. 8
Hey friends. Graphic warnings here. Hinting at past forced encounters and abuse, and potential rape. You have been warned, please read with caution. This story took a darker turn than I intended.
Apologies for the slow follow-up. Work life got busy and I didn’t have time to finish this part. I’ve already almost finished the next two, so I should be able to update more regularly until the end (which will be Part 10).
Parts 1|2|3|4|5|6|7
Iara’s off to face the Bounty Hunter’s Guild and rescue Balam. But will she get there in time to save him?
It was midday by the time I reached the Guild headquarters, and I pulled my stolen mount up short. The large mansion nestled in the center of the thriving port town seemed very still compared to the bustling streets around it. I gritted my teeth, ducking my head lower into the cowl of my borrowed cloak. There was a time when the sight of the mansion filled me with entirely different emotions. Now I wasn’t sure what to feel.
I didn’t have much time, I knew. I had already wasted so much just getting here. Waking up alone in the forest, drenched in blood. My own blood, at least. There was no sign of a struggle. No sign that they had decided to take Balam’s head after all. But I was still filled with a cold dread. Who knew what had happened in the hours I was knocked out. What if I was already too late?
I prayed that the dumb orc had managed to babble his way into a stay of execution. Just for a little while longer at least. Long enough for me to do what needed to be done.
I left the stolen horse in the stables beside the old blacksmith, patting his big flank gently. He was a big, quiet gelding with a calm temperament. And just one more notch on the long stick of my questionable career. I didn’t even pay it much thought. In fact, I added another as I snuck into the forge and grabbed the nearest pair of serviceable weapons. A rough set of freshly sharpened daggers.
I knew Goda would be in the stables adjacent to the mansion. It wouldn’t be hard to get her out; I doubt anyone in the Guild thought I would be stupid enough to come back for what they thought was just another horse. And no outsider would be brazen enough to steal from the Guild. No, she wouldn’t be guarded or tethered. Likely they had to drag her there by force and were more than eager to pen her for a while. I looked off towards the stables briefly, my heart racing. First though, I had to find Warrick.
On light feet, I made my way swiftly from shadow to shadow. The sun was high overhead, and didn’t leave much room for hiding. But I knew this place like the back of my hand. I knew how to avoid being seen. And a hot, numbing rage spurned me on.
Next, I moved with a small troupe of merchants, who’s carts drifted close to the outer walls of the compound. I stood close to one, unnoticed, until we passed beneath the hickory tree whose long branches hung down over the wall. Quick as a flash, I sprinted out, jumped, and caught the top of the wall with the balls of my fingertips. With a grunt, I pulled myself up and over. All before the cart had passed more than three feet away. Its rattling wares and distracting colors drew any errant eye and covered my ascent.
Ducking behind the tree’s slim trunk, I reached one hand up to my newly dressed side. It stung, but whatever magic Warrick had used on me seemed to have had a strange side effect on it. The wound’s edges were burned through, and it no longer openly bled whenever I twisted or moved. Still hurt like the dickens, but I could work with that.
I heard footsteps and dropped low, watching some green recruits walking past, chattering quietly between themselves. I used the sound of their soft laughter muffled beneath their palms to cover my quick dash over to the side of the mansion itself. Overhead, a window, just a few feet above me. I glanced around, then jumped, catching my foot on the corner of the building and launching myself up.
I managed to hook my forearm, and pulled myself in. My ears rang and I twitched with each little sound. There was a grim, ironic pang in the pit of my stomach as I recognized that the only reason I had gotten as far as I had was because of Warrick’s training. I was the best Bounty Hunter in the damn place, and he made sure of that. My mouth went dry at the thought of the Guildmaster, but I shook off the prickling of my skin and crept down the hall.
Up the stairs, past the bunk rooms. It sounded like the majority of the Guild was downstairs in the basement taproom; at least those who were home. Luckily enough for my purposes, the Hunters rarely stayed at the Guildhouse for long. Just long enough to tally their scores and pick up the next bounty assignment.
The sharp creak of a floorboard had me scrambling backwards haphazardly, shouldering open the nearest door and ducking in. I spun, pressing my eye to the crack just in time to watch Varius stomp down the hallway. The half-elf looked mad; his brow was furrowed and he was muttering to himself under his breath. So caught up in himself, he didn’t seem to sense my eyes watching him.
For a moment, I felt my hand go to my belt. I thumbed the dagger, longing to shove it between the bastard’s shoulder blades. There was a long history between us, and its memory burned me. But I quelled my anger, and let him pass. Next time, I promised myself.
Glancing over to be certain my cover was not blown, I snuck back out into the hall. Down the way that Varius had come. Towards the Guildmaster’s private office.
I didn’t hesitate, aside from a quick glance over my shoulder to be certain we were still alone. Despite the danger. Despite everything inside me screaming for fear of the memory of this place. I pushed open the door, then quickly and quietly closed it behind me.
Warrick’s back was to me, one gloved hand tucked in the small of his spine, the other holding up some papers. There was a desk between myself and him, but not much else. And I felt the hot rage growing in me again. Burning away at the hollow numbness that had filled me just a moment before. How many times had I been in this room? Standing right where I stood now?
None of them were happy memories.
He didn’t flinch at the sound of the door opening, simply sighing and shaking his head.
“Varius, the matter is settled,” He intoned, sounding bored, “Go sulk in the taproom-” I could see a smirk dancing in the corner of his lips- “Perhaps I’ll come find you later-”
He stopped short as the deadbolt thumped into place. Slowly, without turning, he lowered his papers, staring directly ahead out the window before him. I didn’t wait for him to move first; my daggers already drawn, creeping forward on the balls of my feet. Perhaps if I could just manage to catch him off guard. Even the slightest amount. Perhaps then this might not be the suicide mission I knew it was, born of absolute desperation. I watched the hand behind his back slowly clench.
“Honestly, Iara,” He said coldly, finally turning his head slightly to consider me out of the corner of his eye, “I thought you above such foolishness.”
“Where is he?” I hissed, moving ever closer.
A deep sigh was my response, and the Guildmaster shook his head, turning to face me fully. I knew better than to let my guard down. Warrick was at least ten years my senior, and along with being an accomplished mage, he had trained almost all of the Guild members himself. He was not going to be beaten easily. But in that moment, I didn’t care. A wild mirage of emotions swirled around in my chest.
“How disappointing,” He tsked, shaking his head, “You showed such… vigor in your upbringing.”
“Where. Is. He?” I pressed, restlessly spinning the dagger in my hand.
A wicked pointed incisor showed as the Guildmaster’s lip curled back. “You would throw everything you’ve worked for here… for a man? An orc of all things? How unlike you.” 
“Shut up and answer me,” I growled back, clenching my teeth, “Where is he?”
Warrick offered a short, quick laugh, wrinkling his nose as he looked down it at me, now barely an arm’s length away.
“Well, which is it, my dear?” He purred, dark eyes narrowing, “‘Shut up’ or ‘answer me’? I can hardly do both now, can I?”
Hot white rage filled me to the brim, and I launched forward with my right dagger leading. Fast as a snake, his gloved hand shot out, catching my wrist. He twisted, pulling me in close and knocking away my other strike as easily as one might an irksome fly. Sending the dagger spinning across the surface of the desk. Then he yanked my arm back, pulling it behind me and up. I gasped in pain, and he used his knee to deftly spin me, and slam me face first into the desktop. Books and papers scattered everywhere from the force, and I mouthed at the air uselessly for a moment.
I felt his hot breath on the back of my neck as he leaned over me, pressing me painfully into the surface with his weight.
“Tell me, my sweet,” He breathed in my ear, and it sent a shiver of revulsion down my spine, “What made you turn away from me?” I struggled, but he easily subdued my vain attempt to dislodge him. “... Is his cock bigger? Is that what it was?” His lips dragged against my skin as he spoke. “Did he fuck you absolutely senseless?”
I felt him pressing his hips against my ass, and wriggled again, fighting to free one of my trapped hands. To get some semblance of a good angle to attack him again. I found I forgot everything I had ever learned in that moment. He was stronger than me. Older. More experienced. And I couldn’t find any purchase in my mind to begin to think how to fight him. I panted, my heart pounding in my ears. I swore I could hear him smirk, and I rolled my eyes back to look at him as best I could from where my face was still smashed into the desk.
“I always knew you liked it rough… perhaps I just need to step up my game, hmm?”
He kneed my legs apart, and I felt him adjusting himself. At first, I panicked. I felt numb all over. The same weak helplessness. The same shame and terror that had threatened to choke the life out of me every time the bastard had touched me. I felt myself pulling back. Recoiling into myself. Trying desperately to disconnect before it was too late.
“I warned you not to come back. Warned you what would happen…. One more lesson for you then, yes? But don’t worry, my sweet little Iara,” He purred into my ear. He released one of my limp hands, confident I wouldn’t fight back, and moved to slide his hand up the back of my thigh. “Your precious bard is probably already dead. Or wishes he was.”
His words brought up a memory. Just a quick flash of a sweet, lopsided grin. And a soft hum, like the buzzing of honeybees.
I wasn’t fully conscious of the movement. All I felt was cold steel in my palm, and the sudden tightening of my muscles. The painful twist of my arm and the resistance it met as I stabbed the dagger with every last ounce of my strength.
I heard a gargled sound, like water bubbling from a pipe. The Guildmaster’s weight lifted, and I quickly spun. Shoving hard with all my might. Forcing him backward until his shoulders hit the wall and his head snapped back against it from the force of his impact.
Blood dripped from the corners of his mouth, which hung open in dumbfounded confusion. His dark eyes were wide, and he looked between my rage filled face and the dagger protruding from between his fourth and fifth ribs. I took hold of the handle, meeting his gaze as I slowly twisted it deeper. His mouth opened wider, and that same strangled sound came from his throat.
“I’ll ask you one more time;” I hissed, my words squeezed through the narrow slit that was my throat, constricted with anger, “Where. Is. He.”
He opened and closed his mouth, like a suffocating fish. Then sputtered, gasping in one labored breath.
“The Sheriff… Collected-” another gasp- “Ridgepeak Manor-”
I smiled wickedly. “Thank you, Guildmaster,” I pushed the dagger in a little deeper, “You’ve been so helpful.”
I turned, grabbing my other dagger from where it had been left on the desk. His hands flailed at me weakly, but as his blood pooled at his feet, I knew there was nothing he could do. For a moment, I felt wonderful. Powerful beyond all measure. Grateful and free. I turned back to him, considering leaving him to drown in his own blood. The bastard didn’t deserve a quick death, I reasoned.
Then he bared his teeth at me, stained scarlet. His smile was twisted, perverse. And even as he sunk to his knees, his grin sent shivers down my spine.
“I knew you…. were just like me…” He gasped, his voice shaking and thin. His eyes rolled up to look at me. “You…are my most… prized possession… my greatest… legacy...”
I stared at him, grinning like a fool with his own life slipping between his fingers. I knew exactly what he would have done in this moment, had the roles been reversed. Exactly what I had been about to do... I clenched my jaw, squeezing my eyes shut, and shook my head. Making up my mind.
Then I crouched down, drawing the dagger with a quick yank from his side. He gasped, but then I saw the flood of confusion as his blood gushed out faster. As his pain ebbed away. I steeled my nerve and drew in close, bracing his face with one blood soaked hand.
“You don’t own me.” I breathed, then slowly slipped the dagger into the base of his skull.
He shivered once, a sensation that rippled through his entire body. Then the light in his eyes went out, and his body slumped to the floor.
I swallowed hard, walking over to the open window and cleaning the blades on the curtain. There was a knock at the office door, and a muffled voice. I glanced over my shoulder as the knocking became louder and more insistent.
I leapt over the window sill and dropped the few feet to the lip of the roof below. I moved quickly now. It didn’t matter if I was seen. It mattered only that I got out.
I covered the entire length of the mansion in a few minutes, sprinting as fast as I could. I whistled sharply as I approached the stables, and heard the responding whinny from within. Leaping over a very confused street urchin passing by, I tucked into a roll. The sound of smashing wood was quickly overridden by the pounding of hooves against dirt.
As Goda swept out of the stables with a squeal of delight, I straightened and reached out an arm to hook it around her thick neck. Swinging up onto her back and settling myself behind her whithers.
“Come on, girl,” I murmured as she cantered down the street, vendors diving out of the way, “Let’s go get Balam.”
....
UPDATED: Part Nine HERE
51 notes · View notes
deafmatteo · 4 years ago
Text
top surgery — pre-op prep
This is going to be a very long post where I explain how I went about the process of the surgical assessment, the actual meeting with the surgeon, and preparation. 
Disclaimer: my experiences will not be universal. I am very fortunate to be Canadian and live in a country where the actual surgery is covered and I only need to pay for the stuff outside of the surgery such as medication and travel. additionally, my experience of pre- and post-surgery time at the surgical center was altered quite heavily due to COVID-19. things may be different for your experiences or for your character but here’s a general outline! if you have any questions, don’t be afraid to dm or send an anon!
content warning for below the cut: suicide mention, weight mention, substance use, crash dieting mention, 
i. Surgery Assessment: 
In order to qualify for an assessment with the surgeon, you need to have one taken by a different doctor. In my case, there was only one who was able to do the assessment and she worked in an office in a town adjacent to mine. The actual assessment took roughly two hours (spaced over multiple appointments) and it was filled with questions asking my relationship with my gender identity, expectations from the surgery, my personal and familial health history, my transition beyond top surgery—if i have socially come out, if i have begun my medical transition, etc—and the stability of my mental health. Because I was in the process of trying to get medication for my mental health, this was a potential red flag that could have caused me to fail my assessment but because I have not, to the assessor’s knowledge, considered suicide or even thought of it, I was cleared. 
Once I passed my assessment, it was then passed onto the waiting list for the surgeons in my province. I had opted for the general waitlist to get the surgeon who had the shortlist but you are given the option to select surgeons but there is a requirement for certain surgeons. Some will not operate on tobacco smokers, some will not operate on fat people with a high BMI(35+), some will not operate on tobacco and marijuana smokers, but there also some who will operate on all of the above. It personally depends on the surgeon and what they’re comfortable with. Within two months of the assessment, I got a call back from the surgeon’s office and from there, I made my surgical appointment where I would discuss things with the surgeon! 
ii. Surgeon Appointment:
this was done at the surgeon’s office which was again, not local to me. it was very quick and i mean. very quick. the surgeon asked about my expectations from top surgery and what i hoped would come from it and things about my dysphoria and my post-operative care plans. you should have your plan all figured out by this point! they need to know that you will be well cared for! he then took off my hospital gown and took a look at my chest before determining what kind of surgery would be best. I was relatively smalle in terms of pre-op chests but do to the way that my chest had formed because of binding unsafely for over half a decade, i was told that Double Incision was the best & safest option. then i got the option of if i want to keep my nipples or not — i opted for yes. 
with that all figured out, i was given an initial date & time for surgery and that was that! (for myself, my date got changed multiple times because of covid-19 but if it wasn’t for the virus, it would have stayed true to the selected day).
iii. Waiting Game:
okay! now you’ve got all your appointments in order and you’re just waiting for them to get snipped off. now what?
one. research post-operative care! i have researched for many, many years on top surgery but i still researched more constantly. this surgery is a big deal and you don’t want to do anything wrong that could cause further harm to yourself! look at different resources, watch different youtube videos, etc. there’s a lot of information out there that could help ease your post-op anxieties. 
two. get prepared with the stuff you need. the surgeon beforehand will give you some things that they will want you to have before surgery but don’t be afraid to purchase additional things! here’s a list of some of the things i purchased beforehand. 
 PILLOWS. my pillows were shit, flat out. they had no proper support & they just hurt to use so they often were just tossed to the sit for my cat to use. i bought two that provide good support and comfort and genuinely never felt better. this is because you cannot lay on your side or stomach for up to 4 weeks after the surgery and i, personally, am versatile and will sleep any which way. the pillows are to help you stay comfortable and propped up whilst laying in bed or sleeping. 
MEDICINE. get the strongest dose of Tylenol & Advil you can because this will be your pain medication afterwards. (the surgeon will provide over-the-counter ones as well but, if they’re like my surgeon, they’ll ask you to avoid it as much as you can). these will be your life-savers, trust me. 
SUPPLEMENTS. this one i haven’t seen around too much but for me, it was a better safe than sorry option. i already have to take iron supplements for my anemia so i purchased some zinc ones as well! zinc supplements help with immunity and scar healing which is always a good thing to take after a major surgery. the iron can help because your body may lose blood during surgery but it’s not one that i’ve seen people recommend. DO NOT GO OVERBOARD! you know your immune system and how well it will handle injuries. i have had a previous surgery done and due to my weakened immune system, it took me a lot longer to recover than initially anticipated. that’s why i’m going for the zinc supplements. most people don’t! personal preference.
SIX-FOOT CHARGER. life-saver. you can’t do that awkward extend-your-arms as you attempt to charge your phone before rolling over and finally getting comfortable. get one of those chargers that you can comfortable sit in your bed and use because even if you’re not in surgery, better comfort. what’s the worst that could happen?
DRY SHAMPOO & WIPES. for the first week, you CANNOT shower. stinky. be courteous to those with you and don’t be a stinky stinker. you can sit in the tub from the waist down but you cannot get your post-operative binder wet which leaves your entire torso, your armpits, neck, and face that do not see the godliness of the bathtub for a week. the wipes will help wipe away any grunginess and the dry shampoo will prevent your hair from becoming disgusting and oily. trust me. you’re doing yourself-and everyone around you-a favour.
there are additional things that other people tend to buy and like i said, it’s all up to personal preference. if you think it would help you, do it! there’s no harm than can be done by buying something you think would help but you end up not using rather than needing something but not having access to it. trust me, you deserve the utmost care and attention that you can give yourself during this time. 
IMPORTANT!!
do not crash diet. this is when you basically attempt to do any of those fasting diets that basically deprives your body of the nutrients it needs. buddy, you’re about to have a massive surgery. you’re doing more harm than good to your body and you deserve better. and trust me, i tried. and as a person in recovery for an E.D., it is the most slippery slope you can take. your body needs the nutrients to help you heal.
exercise! (not excessively). it makes it easier for the surgeons to work around your chest and can also help with its masculinization. for about a month before the surgery, i would go on a run at least every other day as well as some HIIT exercises. i do genuinely believe that it has helped me in some way in regards to healing but it could very well be me trying to justify the exercise.
LISTEN TO THE SURGEON. seriously. no amount of text-posts, no amount of youtube videos will ever overpower the advice your surgeon will give you. please, just listen to them. they’re the ones performing the surgery so they know what is best for you.
27 notes · View notes
jackdawyt · 5 years ago
Video
youtube
Following on from Tevinter Night's release, I've taken up the bold task of dissecting EVERYTHING noteworthy that relates to Solas throughout all of the fifteen stories in this spectacular novel, and believe me when I say, we have so much to talk about!
(SOURCES LINKED IN THE VIDEO, OTHERWISE, THIS WOULD BE TOO LONG).
We'll start by exploring what we found out about Solas's Agents & Allies!
Since Trespasser, we've known that Solas has a network of agents working for him behind the curtains. However, in 'The Dread Wolf Take You', we discover the length of Solas’s spies has greatly increased. Many of the Dalish Elves truly believe in Solas's cause and have joined his fight and even the Ancient Elves have been acquired for his schemes.
The Ancient Elves decorate themselves in fine sentinel armour, appear bare-faced with no vallaslin, some of them have Dalish accents like Abelas, while others sound more Ferelden, like Solas. They are very much ferocious and hostile to anyone who will get in the way of Solas’s plan and they also use verbiage like: “The Dread Wolf guide your soul to peace, brother.”
So, what’s their mission? Well, the Elven God’s expanded network of agents are chasing down every single source until they find the red lyrium idol, the idol is somewhat required for Solas's plan of action to bring down the veil. It’s unknown what will happen once he acquires it.  
In ‘Half Up Front’, we witness an Agent of Fen'Harel in the flesh. She is an elf who pretended to be a wealthy human taking control of one of Solas’s schemes. She declared that she “acted freely for The Dread Wolf, to bring back what was once there's, and what must be there's again.”
Her plan was to trick and frame an Altus thief into stealing a (different) powerful and dangerous artefact that was "integral to Fen'Harel's plans."
The agent was seen wearing an unknown symbol that relates to the Dread Wolf, Solas seems to have built a dress code for his spies. Upon inspection, we now have a way to distinguish Solas's spies if they decide to wear this symbol.  
Irian, the Elven companion in ‘Half Up Front’ calls Solas’s agents - cultists, exclaiming their genocidal plan, and that they tried to recruit her at one point. Showing that not all elves are sympathetic to Solas’s plan, but many of the Dalish are secretly recruited for his scheme.  
This is once more emphasized when the main character, (the Altus Thief) heard rumors that dozens of elves have gone off to heed the call of “some god."
The artefact that Solas's agents were looking for was supposed to be piece of the Black City called "Dumat's Folly."  
However, the artefact that was discovered in 'Half Up Front' was revealed to be ingenue, not the real ‘Dumat’s Folly’. The ingenue device still had power, it would allow a mage to draw magic into the object, store it and when full, it became a bomb which was used to destroy the Qunari Ben-Hassrath's new darvaarad.  
The agent of Fen’Harel; acting on behalf of Solas, tried to create and manipulate a calamity feud between the Qunari Ben-Hassrath and Tevinter kinsman, if each party had discovered that an Altus thief attacked Qunari lands using this bomb, it would cause immediate chaos for all of Thedas.
Fortunately, that wasn't the case, and when the Agent of Fen'Harel was found out, she had taken a suicide pill and died immediately before further interrogation. The same happened when the Qunari Ben-Hassrath captured another agent of Fen'Harel. Suicide is the only way out when an agent is held captive - the perfect means of keeping Solas's scheme as secret as possible.  
On top of Solas’s agents, he has acquired a spirit/demon army under the guises of the Dread Wolf. They serve him, not bound to his will, but because they want to. In fact, Solas has decreed that if anyone binds a spirit to their own will, or uses blood magic, then your life is his. We’ll touch on this hugely in the next topic.
So, not only does Solas have highly strategic agents working in the field for him, but he’s acquired spirts and demons in the Fade, unbound, unlike anything we’ve ever seen before.  
I think the juiciest potatoes we have on Solas’s allies is that while Solas is focussed on destroying the veil, his agents are very much creating havoc for the rest of Thedas, trying to start wars by setting up certain groups, taking over any location where the red lyrium idol was rumoured to be, and immediately killing themselves if ever taken captive.  Not to mention avidly recruiting throughout the elven groups, and the hordes of spirits and demons that will appease his will.  
Solas’s network of agents is expansive, the elves are slippery, manipulative and smart, while the demons are brutal and terrifying. They will make for some worthy adversaries when we come across them in the next game.  
Moving forward in our investigations. Since we talked about Solas’s allies, let’s delve into the rivals of Solas that became apparent throughout Tevinter Nights, the factions that may be on our new protagonists' side of the battle, come Dragon Age 4. We’ll start with the Qunari.  
Since Tresspasser, The Ben-Hassrath have followed suite to Solas’s plans, and now they know the most about Solas's movements across Thedas, according to Charter. This means they are a huge rival against the Dread Wolf, as they continually disturb and intrude on the plans Solas has.
We have discovered throughout Tevinter Nights that the Qunari are currently divided, the Antaam are invading the south, forcing countries under the Qun’s government, whereas the Ben-Hassrath are fully focused on Solas’s efforts, and stopping him.  
Gatt, one of the quote: ‘leaders’ of the Ben-Hassrath shared that the Ben-Hassrath are currently a neutral party in Thedas’ war effort, even as their brethren Antaam invade Tevinter and Antiva.
Whereas The Ben-Hassrath are on the case with tracking down Fen’Harel, the Antaam peruse invading. However, the Antaam still are very much interested in chasing after Solas. In ‘Genitivi Dies In The End’, an Antaam female share their interest in discovering Solas’s true name.
They believe that with Solas “true name” they could exploit his weaknesses and defeat him.  
So, the Qunari as an entity are very much hostile towards Solas. And as you’d expect, Solas has made himself aware of the Qunari threat, regarding their current invasion. In ‘The Dread Wolf Take You’ disguised as a Bard, Solas stated that the Antamm will crush and capitalise over everything east of Vryantium, and northern Antiva as well.
Solas is very much aware of the Qunari forces and their hostile intentions. Which makes them a worthy ally for our next protagonist without a doubt. Question is, will they play nice?  
We’ll move on to the next rivals of Fen’Harel - The Mortalitasi and Tevinter.
I’ve bundled these two factions together because they’ve both targeted by Solas particularly. As I mentioned before, Solas has decreed that if anyone binds a spirit to their own will, or uses blood magic, then your life is his.  
When the Mortalitasi bind spirits in the Grand Necropolis, and Tevinter mages use blood mage, according to the Mortalitasi mage in ‘The Dread Wolf Take You’, this undoes the work that Solas has planned for the Fade, and the ritual that has been set in motion. Therefore, he has made himself clear to both groups that this magic will not be tolerated anymore.
From what we can understand, perhaps both types of this magic are what need more of - to attempt to stop Solas’s ritual in the Fade. Meaning that Tevinter and Neverra are going to be worthwhile allies, so, having either of them on our side could force the victory we seek against Solas.
Whereas Nevarra’s Motalitasi has been outlawed as a whole by the Dread Wolf. All of Tevinter’s lands used to belong to the Elvhen, Solas’s plan will bring a redemption of the elves, restoring which was once there's, henceforth, Tevinter’s territory is theirs for the taking! If anything, the people of Tevinter are the ones who are in the most danger unless they join the fight against the Dread Wolf. So, that’s their incentive to help our next protagonist.  
Not to mention, the Tevinter Siccari are the Imperium’s best network of spies. strong and formidable, surely, they too would make for worthy allies in the Imperium.
Moving on, one of the most enigmatic rivals of Solas that was pointed out in Tevinter Nights are ‘The Executors’, although we still don’t know much else about them, we gain an understanding that they mutually seek a demise to Solas and his plan.  
What’s most interesting about this shady organisation, is that before the Executor in ‘The Dread Wolf Take You’ could speak and share their knowledge on Solas’s movements, in disguise, Solas silenced the Executor and killed them when the group was arguing. Solas sees them as a threat to his plan, either they know something that can rival him, or equal his power, or some other intriguing factor that Solas finds intimidating. Out of every agent in a major faction of Thedas, Solas only killed the Executor, which is most mysterious.
Ironically, Solas goes on to say that the Executors’ are dangerous. And that Charter should proceed with caution when dealing with them.  
So, there’s definitely something more to the Executor’s that Solas truly fears, or sees as a threat. In my opinion, this makes the Executors the most crucial ally to be had in defeating the Dread Wolf. If they even want to ally and work with us - that’s going to be a good question going forward.
Following on from the Executors, let’s shuffle to the last, but certainly not least rival that awaits Solas based on Tevinter Nights, and that is, of course, the Inquisition. (or what’s left of it). Since Trespasser, we know that no matter what the Inquisitor chose in the end - remnants of the Inquisition still remain to pursue and catch any scent of Solas.  
This small group of spies has been specifically tailored towards the plot of Dragon Age 4, this explains why in ‘The Dread Wolf Take You’ Charter is taking the charge, seeing to all matters that concern the Dread Wolf, hence she’s gathered all of Thedas’ best spies to delegate the Wolf’s ongoing plan. The Inquisition is still heavily involved in chasing after Solas, even if the Inquisitor isn’t present at the moment.  
And judging Charter’s actions, we know that the Inquisition are sharing and gathering as much knowledge on Solas as possible with other factions in Thedas. Connecting bridges and making allies for the war to come.  
Charter mentions Vaea, Ser Aaron and other Inquisition agents that are behind the scenes in the comic books working to find the idol. Showing that their network of spies has grown, and continues to grow.
Vaea and Ser Aaron were also mentioned in the story ‘Herold Had The Plan’. In which Vaea spoke on working with a renowned Lord of Fortune, and her journey to Tevinter. As we know, working on behalf of the Inquisition.
And at the end of ‘The Dread Wolf Take You’, Charter nods to the fact that the Inquisition still runs on the motive of what the Inquisitor decided they’d do with Solas in Trespasser, whether that be to attempt to redeem Solas or stop Solas.
In Genetivi Dies In The End, Remnants of the Inquisition send 3 writers on an expedition in the north of the Silent Plains, to find the history of the elven pantheon. They uncover Elven tomes in an elven Library beneath the Imperium, sending their research to the generals of the Inquisition. Their findings are sent to Varric Tethras.  
Finally, in ‘Luck In The Garden’, Dorian and Maevaris Tilani are making waves in Tevinter, located in Minrathous, they both helped severely in defeating an evil, ancient monster in the sewers of the city. Dorian even managed to hire employed servants instead of having slaves, so he’s certainly doing well, and endorses the Inquisition.  
It’s been made very clear throughout Tevinter Nights that there’s still plenty of Inquisition involvement going forward. I still hope we can witness the Inquisitor in the flesh one day, but we’ll hopefully see soon enough. It is awesome to see how many factions truly oppose the Dread Wolf, going forward, it’s going to be a matter of - can we actually build enough influence and defuse enough situations to have many of these factions work together to defeat an ultimate evil? I’m optimistic.  
With that, we’ve touched upon Solas’s allies, and those who would not see him succeed, let’s look at what Tevinter Nights showed us about the character of Solas, and how he’s changed since the last time we saw him.  
Firstly, Solas can now kill people while they sleep, even dwarves. We discovered in Trespasser; he can freeze multiple people at the same time. But now we know he can freeze Executors (whatever they are) and even golems, who’re already stone!  
Solas lies! A lot in his fake bard tale. It’s hard to tell what’s true and what is not. I personally believe that the Bard’s tale spun by Solas was a complete ruse, with only a few aspects of the truth that I’ll touch on.  
The table was booked under the name ‘Gauche’. Which is an Orlesian name, the fake name that Solas had taken for his disguise.  
It’s safe to say that Solas is desperate going forward, I mean come on, he’s dressed as an Orlesian Bard with a blonde wig, jewellery, rings, the whole shebang, and he’s mimicking an Orlesian accent.  I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures. Anyhow.  
Under his ruse, he shared witnessing prominent faces throughout all of the Dragon Age games, like Isabella, Amund the Avvar, Sebastian, Tallis, The Divine, and a most intriguing Warden Commander. Whether he met them or not, doesn’t matter, I feel that all Solas is doing here, is proving to Charter that he knows about significant characters in the Dragon Age, that he’s made himself aware of each of them as potential threats.
This could mean that not many characters will be returning as companions in the next game, or even cameos, because as we know, the Inquisition is looking for people that Solas doesn’t know, so we can have a chance at defeating him.  
And, thanks to Charter, he knows about the comic book agents who’re looking for the idol in Tevinter, which puts them at a huge risk. Fortunately, none of them were mentioned by name.  
Out of disguise he’s tired and sad, and knows that many oppose him and that they are not fools. Telling the Inquisitor what he intended to do in Trespasser was a moment of weakness.
He admits he’s prideful, hot-headed and foolish. He says to tell the Inquisitor that he’s sorry.
Changing the pace, in ‘Callback’, a Regret Demon finishes the eighth Fresco panel in Skyhold’s Rotunda. The demon was attracted to, and born from the regrets Solas had while he stayed at Skyhold with the Inquisition.  
Originally, the eighth panel was only drafted out by Solas before he left Skyhold, the initial impression of the fresco was that it showed the mighty battle against Corypheus and the victory of the Inquisition. 
However, what the Regret demon reveals is something far more ominous. It appears the Fresco shows an outline of a beast stood over a stabbed dragon; two figures painted on either side of a pane of glass with confused forms. The beast is shown to be a horrifying wolf, having absorbed the dragon’s power, stood crooked over all.  
This, of course, relates directly to Solas having taken Mythal’s power at the end of Inquisition, and rising as the Dread Wolf thanks to Mythal’s sacrifice. This fresco explains the entire end credit scene, and why Solas needed to absorb Mythal’s essence. As we know, just before Solas took her power, Mythal placed a piece of herself (or an Old God) into an eluvian for safekeeping. So, perhaps she isn’t truly gone.  
Regardless, that explains how the Dread Wolf has risen since Inquisition’s events, he is truly a haunting and terrible creature.  
In his Dread Wolf form, Solas can speak, quite frighteningly. A lingering question I have is, does his mouth actually move as he articulates as a Wolf? Or is it more like his voice is a presence like Mono in Princes Mononoke?
The Dread Wolf has taken residence in the Fade where spirits and demons serve him willingly. He has a ritual for the Fade that has been set in motion, however, he requires the red lyrium idol to continue this ritual further, plus surpluses of lyrium in order for it to work.
The red lyrium idol is still quite the mystery today. However, we do learn a few things about the idol in ‘The Dread Wolf Take You’ that may help us understand it more.
Most people, (like you and me) believed that the red lyrium idol was forged it into Meredith’s massive sword, and so, when Meredith went crazy with power and almost destroyed all of Kirkwall, her sword exploded, and so did the idol with it. At least, that’s what we thought, however, that’s not the case.
According to the Carta Dwarf, a Dalish Elf came to Kirkwall asking for help in retrieving the idol, he claimed that he ‘”learned of this in a dream and that an old legend of his people says that the idol is in Meredith’s body and that if he gets it out, he can free his gods or something like that.”
Before Kirkwall’s Carta Dwarves could silence the elf for good, he pulled out a potion and said it would soften the raw lyrium, so they could retrieve the idol safely.
Using the potion, they retrieved the idol from Meredith's chest. The Carta Dwarves killed the Dalish Elf, and then proceeded to sell the idol to Tevinter contract by the name of ‘House Qintara.’  
An agent of Fen’Harel impersonating the head of House Qintara, traded the red lyrium idol to House Danarius for information. This was not something Solas would have approved of, the agent was later killed by the Qunari invasion on the city. This was discovered in Dragon Age: Deception.  
A mage from House Danarius made their way to Nevvara's Grand Necropolis with the red lyrium idol for an ultimate ritual to push the Qunari forces back north. Using blood magic, bound spirits and the red lyrium idol, the Mortalitasi and Tevinter mage attempted the ritual, upon impact of the red lyium idol, it revealed a ritual blade.  
The ritual (accidentally) summoned the Dread Wolf’s attention, as he killed the Tevinter mage and ordered his demons to attack the Grand Necropolis. A noble’s son grabbed the red lyrium idol, with its ritual blade either shattered or retracted and ran off into Tevinter.  
I personally believe that Solas lied about the idol’s whereabouts, and everything he said in his bard’s tale, therefore I think he actually doesn’t have the idol and is still looking for it, that’s one of the reasons he came to the meeting in the first place – to have a better understanding where the idol went since Nevarra.  
That means that the red lyrium idol is still somewhere in Tevinter with this noble’s son and it’s yet to be discovered by Solas. So, perhaps the Inquisition, or any other opposing force may have a chance to grab the idol before Solas does. 
And that puts an end to everything I discovered regarding Solas throughout Tevinter Nights. Thank you for sticking through this for so long, I really do appreciate it. In summary, Tevinter Nights has sparked so much for the future of the next Dragon Age game, as you can tell, we have more of an idea of where the plot is going next. I feel ‘The Dread Wolf Take You’ acts as a small prologue for Dragon Age 4, as it opens up the next narrative in so many ways as discussed throughout this video. Of course, I have just started the Tevinter Nights content, we’ve got plenty more videos to go!  
Be sure to let me know if there’s anything I missed that relates to Solas in this novel, tell me your thoughts on Solas’s plan going forward - where do you think the red lyrium idol is, and do you believe that everything Solas said in ‘The Dread Wolf Take You’ was a lie? Let me know down below.  
55 notes · View notes
sooibian · 5 years ago
Text
Elude (1)
Moodboard | Prologue
Main Characters: Kyungsoo x Reader (ft. Baekhyun)
Genre: Dystopian AU
Warnings: Mentions of death, murder, illness and suicide
Tags: @squishysoo-12
Word count ~ 1400
A/N: Kinda unedited, sorry! Please let me know your thoughts.
***
You gradually opened your eyes to a rectangular room. It was just adequate enough to accommodate a small table besides the single bed you lay on. On the table stood a battery powered fan and a carefully placed wooden cup of ginseng tea. There were three open shelves affixed to the opposite wall for all your belongings. On the adjacent wall, a pathetic excuse for a window fitted with thick iron bars. Your servant's quarter was devoid of any plug points, ceiling fan, iron nails, sharp edges - for obvious reasons. You had only gone from one prison to another. At least you had the room all to yourself.
You took another glance at the wooden cup. There was a note underneath it.
That was quite an entrance -B
You felt a faint throbbing in the back of your head. Flashes of events from earlier came rushing to you.
Realization hit you like a truck. You froze.
You were in treacherous waters. This house belonged to the man you hated and feared the most. The sheer proximity to him filled you with a sense of dread. No one must find out. But then again no one would find out. Your father succeeded in keeping your identity a secret. As far as the world was concerned, his daughter died in the same car crash that took his wife. You were merely the daughter of two ordinary fisherpeople. The kind the world didn't care about. And to your credit, you had mastered the art of obscurity.
You read the note again.
B?
Byun Baekhyun!
Byun!
Commander Byun was the President's right hand man - second in charge. He had played a major role in thwarting the Rebellion by having several spies on his payroll, eventually causing the Rebels to lose faith in each other. He was the man who had saved the President's life during the Rebels assassination attempt. Not by the showcase of his bravado, but by deceit.
Commander Byun had lost his wife in an illness at the time of the Rebellion. The event didn't weaken him in the slightest. It turned him into a bigger monster instead. Baekhyun must be his son. You wondered how he dealt with it all. The loss, the fear, the chaos.
You were swimming among sharks. And nobody was to be trusted. Your father had taught you to be smart. You would quietly accept any punishment they gave you for fainting, lie low and go on about your job as any other servant would.
You glanced at the teacup again. Unable to remember the last time you had ginseng tea. Although it had gone cold, you relished every sip of it. As if it was your last.
***
The news of your fainting episode had spread like wildfire. It had earned you a nickname in the kitchen - Princess. Your poor partner was stuck with 'Sloth' since the past two years.
"Set these plates on the dining table, will you Princess? Be careful about it", the head-chef ordered.
The volley of taunts and jibes had just begun.
The mahogany dining table, although elegant, seemed a little ostentatious. But then again, what about this place wasn't a gross display of wealth.
You set the three plates in order as instructed. One for the President at the head of the table. One for his wife and the other for their son.
Like any other family, there were stories about this one, too. Apparently, in her younger days, the First Lady was betrothed to a high ranking officer in the Army. The officer died under mysterious circumstances within a week of his engagement. The President had married her almost immediately after, in a hush hush affair. Speculations galore over her decision to marry a man almost twice her age. Some called her a gold digger. Still do. While many called it a moment of insanity.
Their son mostly flew under the radar. His name is Doh Kyungsoo. He is in his mid-twenties. And he’s being trained to be his father’s successor. He has a regimented daily routine. There are hardly any photographs of him in the public domain. Except the ones from the National Day parades. In the pictures, he's always sat next to his father. Dressed in the same black generals uniform, minus the maroon stars, his expressions unreadable. That was all there was to know about him.
You heard footsteps approach from behind, heading towards the kitchen, as you sat straightening the table covers and mats. You didn't bother to turn around. Dinnertime wasn't for another hour at least. It must be your partner making useless trips from the kitchen. Probably trying to get rid of her nickname by overcompensating. The thought filled you with rage. Half of the population was left to starve in detention centres and here you were, along with a small army of people, fussing over a dinner for three.
"Good evening, Imo! Mmm....smells delicious as always"
You heard a gentle but masculine voice coming from the kitchen. The kitchen staff was all women and none of the soldiers or guards were allowed to visit.
"Kyungsooya!", you overheard the head chef squeak, "where were you all this week? Promise you won't disappear on me like that again! I've been so worried! Imo has been cooking all of your favourite dishes! Oh my God, son....you look so frail! You haven't been eating well, have you? You have to fill up on all that I've cooked today, okay?"
Kyungsoo merely chuckled affectionately over the head chefs fretting.
Her sugary sweet tone towards a dictator's son made you want to gag.
You realized that you'd already started off on the wrong foot. And now you'd broken another unspoken rule by not greeting him when he walked past you. You rushed inside the kitchen just so that you could make amends.....it was your turn to overcompensate.
You hurried to the kitchen, stole a quick glance at Kyungsoo, not meeting his eyes and bowed down almost in reverence. To your utter surprise, he bowed back!
He seemed nothing like the man you've been seeing in the newspapers or the State controlled news channels all these years. His otherwise shrewd and stoic expressions looked much softer sans the uniform and the glaring spotlight of manufactured story-tellers. The thick round glasses gracing his face made him seem like the friendliest person to ever exist.
If this was an act, he was pulling it off with immense conviction.
You pretended to do something around the kitchen, picked up a few rag cloths and walked out. And all the while you felt Kyungsoo's eyes lingering on you.
***
The head-chef had a small garden for everyday herbs she used in the kitchen. Every morning you were supposed to water the plants and make sure they didn't die before you did.
"Morning, Princess!"
You recognized the owner of this voice and groaned internally.
You stood up only to bow down to him, "Good morning, Soldier Byun"
"It's Baekhyun for you", he said with a cheeky grin.
A small smile was all you could manage in response.
"You should come see my garden sometime", he said excitedly.
"You keep a garden?", a quizzical smile spread across your face. You just wanted to get this conversation over with. But didn't want to seem disinterested.
"Yes, but it might be a bit too.....bit too refined for your taste. Anyway, I have a question for you. Do you know what's the most important thing big mansions like these have?"
"A good staff to run the place smoothly", you said almost immediately regretting it.
He chuckled, "Correct, but the answer I was looking for is trapdoors"
Your face fell. Whatever his plan, you didn't want to partake in it.
"And there's one right underneath your bed", he thrust a small locked black box in your dirty hands.
He was now dangerously close to you, his voice down to a whisper "A little something from my garden, and I want you to hide this there"
"What...what happened to the girl who worked here before.... before me", you blurted out.
"I killed her", his nonchalant reply disturbed you. Also made you wonder whether this was some kind of a distasteful joke.
"But you have nothing to worry about, Princess. As long as you do exactly as I say"
A look of pure dread clouded your face.
He let out a small laugh and smirked, "Don't worry about it too much. Just follow my lead"
47 notes · View notes
thetriggeredhappy · 7 years ago
Text
i haven’t had the opportunity to speak about parkland and the March for Our Lives and the Never Again movement yet due to events happening in my own life, but today and now is a good time. in particular, i’m going to say a few things regarding my username.
“TheTriggeredHappy” is a username I’ve had for... a few years, I think going on four now, and I spent a long time thinking about possible usernames before I eventually chose this one. there’s layers to it--the juxtaposition of “triggered” and “happy” being ironic, my own history of anxiety mixed with a few things in my past that can be considered triggers, my forced optimism despite my struggles with mental health, and of course the phrase “trigger happy” that, when paired with my icon, produces an image of the vague suicidal ideology that’s plagued me for a very long time. I’ve said it before and I will again--I am not making “lol triggered” jokes with this username, and if I am, then I’m making fun of myself as well.
what does this have to do with anything? well, gun control has always been tied to mental health. there’s one aspect of gun control that is heavily tied to mental health that I consider quite often: suicide. how many more people would successfully commit suicide if they had a gun instead of overdosing? how many people DO successfully commit suicide with guns? one of the things in my past that qualifies as a trigger involves the attempted suicide of someone incredibly close to me, and one of the only reasons it didn’t happen is because they were scared it wouldn’t work. but if they had a gun instead of the method they were going to use...
look. there is no excuse for any civilian to have a semi-automatic or anything that could be readily modified to be semi- or fully automatic. there is no excuse for any civilian to have a gun that carries more than six to eight rounds--what the hell would they need more than six or eight rounds for, outside of hurting a lot of people very quickly? hunting? if you need to shoot more than six rounds without having time to reload while hunting, full offense, you fuckin’ suck at hunting. the system for background checking is fucking preposterous, the wait time for background checking is preposterous, and the fact that in so many states you need zero formal training to possess a gun is preposterous.
to summarize, I stand with the children of Parkland, Florida. because that’s what they are--they’re children. children who are braver and stronger than I can ever hope to be, because when the country asked them to sit quietly and mourn their losses, they said no. children who are smarter and more determined than half of our nation’s legislature, because they knew they couldn’t wait on this, and so they didn’t.
I cannot express with words how sorry I am that I can’t be at any of their marches. I want to be there more than I can say. but know, each and every student standing in those major cities, protesting because it’s the only legal action you’re allowed to take against the country that has failed you time and time again, that I’m standing right there with you. I stand with the children of Parkland. I stand with the children of our country.
don’t give up. never again.
3 notes · View notes
kai-keda · 7 years ago
Text
Vin’s Curse: Chapter 1
A/N: This is easily the darkest story I've ever conceived. And I've read darker, don't get me wrong, but still, a major warning is in order.
Trigger Warning: Attempted Suicide
Not just the mention of it, I mean it actually happens “on screen” so to speak so PLEASE if you're sensitive to that topic do not read any further. That's why this is rated M.
The Aftermath
Goten walked solemnly down the street. He knew where he was going but he was still in a daze. It was as if he were on autopilot.
“You’re thinking of her again, aren’t you?” his girlfriend asked him mere moments ago as they sat together on a park bench.
“Yeah” he answered guiltily. “Can you blame me?”
“Goten.” Marron started to speak before looking down. Goten knew what was coming but he was trying to fight it.
“After she went insane and almost died, you haven’t been the same. You’ve been thinking about her constantly.”
“I’m just worried is all.”
“You and I both know it’s more than that. It’s been nearly a year. Tomorrow we can bring Trunks back and it’ll be like it never happened. Everyone else has moved on. Why haven’t you?” She glared at her boyfriend and he winced.
They both sat in silence for a few moments before she smiled and stood from the bench. “It’s okay. You go to her.”
His eyes grew wide and he couldn’t stop a smile. “Really? You’ll let me go?”
Marron frowned before sighing. “Goten. I’m breaking up with you.”
Goten winced and his blood went cold. Actually, no, he felt fine. He expected to feel miserable but…
“You’re okay with that. Aren’t you?”
He nodded slowly. He was. He was perfectly fine with it. How come?
“Goten, I’ll say it again. Go to her. She needs you more than I do right now.”
Goten stood up, gave his ex one last kiss and then started running in the direction of Capsule Corp. He had this aching feeling that he needed to rush to be by her side.
He started running only by now he was slowed down. Down to a walk and that’s how he got here. “Okay, so that’s what happened before but what happens next?” He said to himself as he ran through the pieces of the past hour.
Suddenly his blood really did turn cold. He set a hand on his heart and squeezed at his shirt, eyes wide. Something was wrong. He could feel it.
He started running again before arriving and flying up to Vin’s bedroom window.
He knew it seemed weird but they did this to each other ever since they were kids. Sure, catching her changing now would be different than when they were children, but he wasn’t one to worry about what ifs. Especially when his stomach churned this bad.
He looked through the window and glared, the dusk sky made it hard to see. He could sense Vin’s ki so he knew she was there but still, it was weak, and the familiar smell of iron that was strong enough to make him taste it made him nervous. Once his eyes fully adjusted and he saw what was happening, they grew wide and he forced the window open.
He flew to Vin’s side and lifted her from the ground. She was covered in blood. Stabbed in multiple areas. He tried to sense the ki signal of a stranger to find out if this was a break in but when he heard her mumble in her dazed state his froze.
Slowly turning his face towards her he whispered softly “what?”
“Let me die.” he heard her say. He swallowed something in his throat before glaring and tightening his grip on her.
“No.” He said sternly, holding her and flying out the window and towards the sky. He would get Dende to heal her. The last thing he wanted was a hospital to keep him away from her.
He may not know a lot but he knew from a friend in school whose brother was sent to the hospital after an incident like this that they wouldn’t let visitors see her. So no hospitals. No government workers of any kind. Nothing that would separate them. Not now.
He brought her to Dende and without explaining anything asked for him to heal her. Dende silently agreed before getting to work. Goten starred as he watched the stab wounds disappear. He prayed he was wrong about what caused this but something in his heart told him it was true.
“Goten.” Dende asked.
“Hm?”
“What happened to her?”
“I - I don’t know.” his eyes darted from side to side. Why did he have to answer that question?
“Come on. Don’t you have any idea? If someone could manage to sneak up on Vin in her house, think what they could do to Bulma if Vegeta’s still asleep.”
Goten swallowed. “Bulma and Vegeta will be fine. This was… Vin she…”
“Tried to kill herself.” Vin answered, sitting up. Dende’s eyes widened.
“Oh - Vin, you mustn’t! All life is precious and must be held at the highest regard!”
Vin yawned. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She rubbed her eyes. “My life isn’t, though.”
“”Vin you - !”
“Stop Dende.” Goten interrupted. “Being yelled at isn’t going to help her.”
Goten looked down. He understood what she was going through. He felt it after he was told Gohan was dead back during Buu’s attack.
Vin stood up and wiped her clothes off of the dust that she could wipe off, acting as though the blood stains didn’t exist. “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna go jump off The Lookout.” as she walked by him, Goten grabbed her by the wrist.
“Wait.” He said.
“Hm?” Vin turned to him. “Goten, why do you care anyways? I killed your best friend. You’re supposed to hate me like everyone else.”
“Stupid - you’re my best friend, too!” Her eyes grew wide and he winced. Maybe calling her stupid went too far. He shook his head. No, this was the truth. Maybe telling her how she made him feel would help. Then again, that just seemed self-centered. How do you help someone who wants to die?
“Vin, you’re… you’re as much to me as Trunks is. Trunks can come back with the Dragon Balls. You don’t need to worry about that stuff. Just move on. Your aunt and uncle forgave you, didn’t they?”
Vin looked down.
“Didn’t Vegeta tell you about him doing the whole majin thing before?”
“Yes. But he didn’t feel the way I feel. That’s all me. I’m a failure of a Saiyan for having these thoughts.”
“You’re half Tech-Tech, aren’t you? Don’t they have feelings like this?”
“Tech-Tech’s are pacifists. I’m a failure as one of them, too.”
Goten groaned. This was so difficult. If only there was a cheat sheet, a “How-To” article, on how to comfort suicidal friends.
Without knowing what else to do, he hugged her.
“Vin, I know this is selfish of me to think this could help you but, please, don’t kill yourself. If not for your sake, but for mine. I…”
Vin tried to push him away but he was having none of it. In fact, he held her tighter. “I’m not letting go, I’m not letting you out of my sight, until you promise that for me you won’t hurt yourself.”
“Goten…” she continued to struggle only she was reminded that without Kazam’s magic she was weaker than him.
“Vin. Listen to me. You’re not allowed to die until after you grow old… with me.” Those last two words were whispered and he felt a blush. When Vin finally stopped struggling, he pulled away and stared in her eyes.
“Vin, I’m sorry I never realized before how you felt about me. I’m dense. And Marron, she was just a fling. The real reason I don’t want you to kill yourself is because I wanna be selfish and get to hold you every morning, noon and night.”
Vin shook her head and pushed Goten away. “Listen to yourself! I killed Trunks and almost killed you. If it wasn’t for your stupidly strong dad everyone would be dead right now!”
“Well, Vegeta would’ve killed you if Dad didn’t get there first.”
“Yeah, and he should of! I don’t want to be alive anymore, can’t you get that and you suddenly saying all that sweet and fluffy stuff makes me sick!”
Goten wondered if Vin knew she was crying. She must have with how many tears there were.
“It’s not like you, Goten! It’s too - too perfect to be you! You have to be making fun of me!”
He grabbed her arms and kissed her suddenly, remembering the romance parts of those comic books he used to read.
He expected her to calm down but instead she pushed him away with strength he wasn’t expecting.
“Stop it! You can’t just demand me like that! I’m not some hysterical crazy woman in distress waiting for a kiss to calm me down!”
Dende spoke up after a long silence. “You are acting pretty hysterical.”
Vin started to breath heavy, sweating as if losing a lot of oxygen.
Goten’s eyes widened. If only Trunks was here. He was always the smart one. He took all these special first-aid classes that Goten made fun of. This was.. It was a panic attack, wasn’t it? Oh man. He made her have a panic attack. Maybe confessing that he wanted to be with her was too much. It was probably bad timing. Oh man he didn’t know what to say anymore. How could he fix this?
He couldn’t.
1 note · View note
madegeeky · 5 years ago
Text
Giftening 2020: Obligatory Vote for These Post (spoiler version)
Want the non-spoilery version? Seriously, though, super spoilery for main plot points for a lot of these. Skip the ones you don’t want to know about.
Ones with * are my nominations, so you know where my biases lie. :P Ones in bold are my top pick for the categories. I did not include things that don’t need the boost (like Utena).
ANIME 
Aggretsuko - A tv show about an unassuming shy red panda woman who works in an office building and deals with the stress of it by going to karaoke and screaming out death metal. The show largely deals with her making friends with two women who she admires and a dude who likes her. The dude who likes her is actually a geniunely interesting storyline because at the end of the first season (which I’ve not seen beyond), he basically admits that he’s built this image of her in his head that isn’t real and he wants to know the real her. (Which, fuck yeah.)
Fushigi Yuugi* - This is a story about two teens who used to be friends fighting over a man which is literally the antithesis of everything Jet is. And yet, Jet watched the whole damn thing. Watch her squirm as she has to deal with that in a liveblog format. You can get a preview of some of that in Doc’s liveblog of it that she did for Jet.
NON-ANIME ANIMATED
Archer* - This is an animated parody of James Bond made for adults. It's offensive as fuck because Archer, the titular character, is a James Bond stand-in and that character can also be offensive as fuck. In fact, one thing to appreciate about this show is that all the characters are shitty, awful people and the show never attempts to excuse their shitty, awful behavior. Plus, it's one of the few shows where half the main characters are women. I am a tiny bit hesitant to rec this for a liveblog due to the offensivness however, as far as I can tell it's not popular on tumblr, and those are generally the ones that cause the most trouble so... 
Daria - The story of a misanthropic teenager, her family, and her best friend. The characters are specifically meant to appear to be tropes before slowly being unveiled as three dimensional people. It's got a dry sense of humor that I think Jet will enjoy. I actually didn't know until years after I watched this that it was a spin-off of Beavis and Butthead (which I hated) so don't let that dissuade you. 
LIVE ACTION
Crazy Ex-Girlfriend - I haven't seen past a certain point because it starts going super deep into exploring depression and that is one of my main triggers for a depressive episode, so I cannot speak of later eps. However, this show starts out funny and silly and evolves into a show exploring how toxic the main character actually is and how unhealthy her coping mechanisms are. It's amazing to see a character type whose actions are usually excused or written off as funny instead be specifically called out as being awful and toxic. (It was a Shit Show is still one of the best songs I've ever heard and Mr. Geeky and I sing it to each other whenever shit hits the fan.) 
Hannibal* - If you know of Hannibal, you know the basics premise is that of a man who eats people and is chased by the FBI. The writing in this is some of the best writing I've ever had the pleasure of seeing in a piece of media: it's subtle, smart, and trust its audience to follow along without having their hand held. However, what's really great about the TV show is that it's not afraid to do its own thing. It constantly fucks with your expectations and deconstructs and explores tropes in ways I've never seen before. I haven't seen the ending yet but I highly doubt it's going to end in a place where Silence of the Lambs will happen. The acting is fucking great and even though Anthony Hopkins gives an amazing performance as Hannibal Lector, after seeing Mads Mikkelsen play him there's no going back to Hopkins. In general, if you're looking for something original (which is ironic considering it's based on a book and there are several movies) and smart, I cannot recommend this enough. 
Russian Doll* - (Doc, please skip this one, as in 5 years when you're done with Two Storms, this is one of the things I'm considering nominating should I ever win a liveblog again.) I don't really know how to explain this show because it's so fucking weird and is so focused on character and ideas that the plot is both super simple and extremely complicated. It's a story about a woman who starts to relive the same day over and over again except, instead of the typical thing where it starts over when she falls asleep, it's only until she dies (so sometimes she lasts for hours, other times for a couple days). However, almost immediately there are signs that something else is going on, that something outside of the main character's repeating day, something has gone horribly wrong. (Count the fish.) It's a very thoughtful, character-driven show, more about exploring ideas than plot which I, personally, didn't mind at all. Another one I highly recommend overall with much less blood and gore than Hannibal.
Xena - IT'S FUCKING XENA PEOPLE! Okay, but just in case you don't know what the show is about is through cultural osmosis, Xena is a show about a woman who used to be a truly horrible murderous bitch and her continual attempts to make up for the wrongs she has done. The main relationship in the show is between Xena and her (girl)friend, Gabriel, and although the show can be ridiculously silly (time is made up and history doesn’t matter!), it also explores deep, dark issues. One of the best things this show explores is the idea of redemption and forgiveness and that perhaps nothing Xena does will ever get her those things.
LIVESTREAM
Crank* - Jason Statham plays a man who has been given a poison that slowly cuts off his adrenaline, meaning that eventually he'll die. He has to do increasingly ludicrous things to get his adrenaline pumping overtime to make up for it slowly being cut off. It's one of the most fucking bananas thing you'll ever watch but is just a bunch of fucking fun. (CW: Public sexual assault. I only mentioned because it’s a scene that last for a bit. It's a complicated scene so I won't get into it here but send an ask if you want more details.)
Dale and Tucker vs Evil* - Dale and Tucker, two hillbilly best friends, are going into the woods to fix up their vacation home when they stumble across some college kids. Random circumstances make the college kids think D&T have kidnapped their friend and so they decide they need to attack D&T to get her back. Hijinx ensue. I don't want to say much more because there's a moment that is, to this day, still one of the funniest fucking things I've ever seen, largely because I did not see it coming.
GAMES
Doki Doki Lit Club - This is a game about games. You play a guy in a dating sim. Your first playthrough everything seems normal enough. You join the literature club, meet and talk to girls, and then one of the girls commits suicide. And then game restarts and the girl who committed suicide just... doesn't exist anymore. Your replay the exact same days but it's as though she never existed. Things only get weirder from there. This game does a great job of turning dating sim tropes on their head, as well as exploring games in general. (Content warning for a lot of things. Let me know if you want more details.)
Slime Rancher (stream) - There's really not much to spoil here. You play a woman who is in charge of a ranch full of slimes. There's some messages you'll find, left by the old owner, telling story about their romance. There also some messages between you character and a deliberately gender-ambiguous significant other. And that's about the closest to story you get. Otherwise it's just catching and ranching slimes.
Subnautica* - Fucking fuck I love this game. When this game first starts it appears to be your typical survival game with no real direction other than what you want to explore. But then you find an alien structure. And you realize that your spaceship didn't randomly crash. And you find out that there's no way get off this planet except to explore deeper and deeper and find out what the aliens were doing on this planet. A genuinely beautiful story, told mostly through entries in data pads and voice messages left behind, this ending is one of the most moving ends I've ever experienced and I never ever would have expected to be able to say that about a survival game.
We Happy Few* - In this alternate universe, the Germans invaded Britain during WW2 (although, through exploring the world, you learn that the differences started well before that). When the story starts up, the Germans have left Britain behind and Britain, for unknown reasons, appears to be cut off and/or abandoned by the rest of the world. The majority of the country is constantly hopped up on a drug called Joy, which is specifically used to help them forget something horrible that happened in the past. (I have theories.) The story starts when your character goes off his Joy and gets kicked out of society. There's a general sense of unease about everything and the more you learn the more that unease grows. The art style is great and the world building fascinating.
MISC (there’s nothing spoilery here but it feels weird to not have it)
Interactive Horror Story Livestream - Doc has talked a bit about this in at least one of her Xmas streams and it sounds amazing. Not only is Jet hilarious with horror stuff but knowing Doc’s writing skill, it will be something that we’d never want to miss.
Bean Boozle When Failing a Hard Game* - I am a sadistic bitch, I admit to this, and I love watching people eat Bean Boozle, the jelly bean of horrible flavors. One of my favorite videos content creators has done is playing an incredibly difficult game and then being forced to eat a random one every time they fail. 
0 notes
christophercori · 7 years ago
Text
Starting Over (And over, and over)
03-06-17
It feels as if the last 6 years of my life have been narrated by the theme of “starting over.” As a hopeless optimist. I’ve always been inclined to look at my repeated run-ins with turmoil, both external and internal (but all largely self-created), as opportunities for new beginnings. At this point in the game however, I find myself coming to grips with a probably healthy dose of realism and I’m finally ready to admit how terribly fucked-up these past few years have been.
As I embark on this emotionally trying journey of reflecting back on all of the peaks and valleys which have lead me to where I am and where I may be going, I daydream of writing this as if from some point in the future-a successful and proud version of myself. But the “reality” of the situation is that I am incarcerated and more or less nerve-wrecked, awaiting the day when I am released to the “streets”, to start over once more. While I can’t wait to move on from this place, there’s no denying how nearly paralytic it is, processing multitudes of divergent visions of possible futures and how it’s all going to come together when I get to it. Sure, I’m very confident that it’ll all shake out in my favor, as I am very in touch with my talents and capabilities. I have a strong support network and some incredible like-minded friends and mentors, but still there is that element of unrest and uncertainty which, at times, can be absolutely suffocating Before we get ahead of ourself here though, we’re going to take a trip back in in time.
So where does the downward spiral begin? Somewhere toward the latter half of my teen-age years, I think. The year is something like 2011, but we could probably go back even further. I would have been about 19 going on 19, and this feel like a decent enough place to start our tale. By this point I’ve already had one stay in the Psych Ward at South Nassau Hospital in Long Island after an intense LSD experience, but I’d ironically classify that misadventure as part of the “good times” before things really started to go south for me. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that I don’t know what happened to me; how I “fell off”, or lost my mojo, but we’re getting to it, I promise.
So, it’s almost spring 2012 and we’re coming out of what was for me a very fun winter and holiday season (details to be added in the expanded version). In spite of my recent dismissal from a temporary office job at an advertising firm, which I was really praying would become permanent, I’m still having the time of my life, gallivanting out on the streets of NYC with an eclectic group of misfits like myself. After many nights of hard partying, dropping in on various “New Age” events and “breaking night” for days on end, it’s almost spring and I’ve been unemployed for a few months. I’m not totally broke, I’m staying with my father and he’s not putting too much pressure on me, but it all comes to a screeching bait as I come home at dawn after a long night of riding around in the back of what turned out to be a very expensive cab ride, over the duration which we made pit stops to visit various characters around Brooklyn and Queens while tripping on magic mushrooms. It just so happens that this particular morning I’m also to supposed to take a ride to Philly with my Dad and while he doesn’t comment on my 7am return home, he does make mention of my disheveled and fatigued state, being fairly exhausted and irritable from the comedown off the nights Indulgences. I somehow interpreted this to be part of one of his many efforts to control my life, and proceeded to fly into an impulsive, violent frenzy. My already fragile psychological state fertile ground plenty for any rebellious feelings I was already harboring and it probably did not help that only moments earlier I had ingested a synthetic stimulant, commercially known as Vyvanse, in effort to replace the sleep I had foregone. Needless to say, none of this did much to work in my favor, and in fact, I could not regret the proceeding events any more.
So, here I am delivering a swift “fuck you” to my Father, storming downstairs to the 2nd floor apartment; slamming the door and locking it behind me. Not after a beat or two, my Father is on my heels, trying to make his way in after me, demanding I unlock the door which I am refusing to do while simultaneously snarling, screaming and cursing.
Eventually, be shoves his way in with a few forceful slams of his shoulder, only to he met by me in the midst of a complete meltdown, kitchen knife in hand. I’m not going to sit here and try to convince you that I’m not “crazy”, but in the moment, I had formed in my mind that my Dad had become some major threat, some evil controlling extraterrestrial who I needed to keep from doing I’m-not-sure-what to me.
As he makes to cross the threshold to meet my psychotic knife wielding self, I find myself summoning strength from the depths of my being to toss this man, like a sack of potatoes and hold him up against the wall by the throat with one hand and the knife very close to his face with the other. Fortunately, he made a huge fuss and called out loudly enough for our tenant, at the time, to call the police, who arrived quickly due to the station’s location literally at the end of the block. As they were coming up the stairs to evaluate the situation, I released my Father, ran to the kitchen and turned up all of the burners on the stove, thinking I’d somehow go down in a blaze of glory or at least make a big enough mess in doings so, and that I most certainly did in the end the policemen got the better of me. Once handcuffed and after speaking to my father, they shuffled me into the awaiting ambulance and off to St. John’s hospital for a psych eval. There it was determined that I needed some time to cool off and be experimented on like a guinea pig, while the doctors gave me the privilege of sampling a whole Easter-basket of coma inducing psych meds. After a 72 hour hold I was transferred to Mercy Medical Center in Long Island where I’d spend the next 6 weeks fucking unappreciated suicidal Lesbians and mid-life crisis-ing housewives.
I connected with some other wayward youths and interacted with some true “crazies”, but in the end my Insurance ran out and my Father had to threaten to sue the hospital to get me released. Apparently, they were trying to push the Idea that I was a lot more ill than I actually was instead of acknowledging that I was, originally, simply freaking out on drugs, not hearing “voices” or receiving “secret messages in the newspaper”. My oppositional defiance at the time probably didn’t help, nor did my apparent anger and threats to the supervising “shrink” for keeping me locked up and experimented on, when all I really needed was some good sleep and sobriety.
Sadly, leaving the hospital was the real beginning of a decline for me, as those zombifying medications they put me on kick-started what would turn out to be one of the most excruciating and debilitating depressions of my life. This would go on to last for a better part of the remaining year and cost me dear friends, a relationship and a network of invaluable connections.
Soon, the summer came around and by then I was several months into sleeping most days away, avoiding eye contact and conversations about what I was up to and had pretty much resigned to burying myself under unanswerable philosophical questions, mainly to the tine of “when am I going to snap out of this?” and “will I ever feel happy, or even OK again?” I tried to find some work in my neighborhood and was briefly employed a hipster shit-head who thought he was the first cool person to ever discover my neighborhood (which had been amazing eons before he dragged his ratchet ass through) who happened to run on of the concession stands, serving food and drinks on the beach. Of course, the genius of this guy led him to hire way too many of his equally too-cool-to-fucking-exists friends and found himself having to make up some lame excuse as to why he had to let me go.
This did little to improve my condition or build my confidence and I walked away feeling burned and even more adverse to dealing with people; especially those who seemed to have no idea, sympathy or at least consideration for what I was going through. Much of the rest of the summer was spent on my porch watching happy people go by, longing to be in their shoes and envying them just the same; reading old paperback novels which I dug up out from underneath years of stored junk in one of the spare, unoccupied apartments where my father kept his tools. Somewhere along the lines I made an attempt to volunteer at a local outdoor “festival” at the marina in my neighborhood, but I was far from “in the right place” for it. I had been out of the loop with the cast of character who I knew would be there and the whole time I was working the grill to cover my mission I was sick to my stomach that someone would recognize me and try to start up a conversation, outing me as being less than my normally exuberant self. After my shift, I wandered down on of the “Boatel” piers to smoke some pot with the kids who were also volunteering and make an attempt at conversation. I was totally out of sync with these people. They were still flying high on the “magical mystery tour” and I was back down on earth, consumed by anguish and totally lost. “What’s happened to me?” I often asked during this period. At some stage I was passed a sandwich baggie full of what looked like some very ill cared for magic mushrooms (I knew what healthy ones looked like, having grown them myself), I decided to go along with it, in spite of knowing that I was absolutely not in a good place to be partaking in such indulgences.
Shortly after swallowing them, things got weird and I felt the overwhelming urge to get the fuck out of there. All of my insecurities about not really feeling like I should be there in the first place were now amplified a thousand fold and before I could run into familiar, now while super-fucked up, I knew I had to split as fast as I my legs would carry me. I staggered over to my bike and left behind the cambro I had borrowed from my grandfather without so much as an afterthought. Somehow, I managed to book it through a neighborhood which now seemed ready to swallow me whole, to the beach where I would fling myself down on the sand, hyperventilating and crying out to whatever God could hear me, to make it stop. Unfortunately, the feelings of absolute terror would not subside for several hours and when I did finally make it back into my house and up to my bedroom, I would spend the remainder of those horrific infinite hours jumping at ever creak and squeal of our ancient wood-framed house. At every slight tremor and strong wind, I was certain I heard my Father’s footsteps coming down the stairs to confront me and admonish me for some thing or other, only to discover me wrecked, yet again, and beat the shit out of me, or throw my ass out on the street This never happened of course (at least not on that night) but, over the course of those endless hours of inner torment, I was certain it was about to come to life at any given moment.
It could probably do without saying that I had experienced the worst trip of my life on that night and when morning finally came and things started to feel even a little bit “normal” I swore to myself that would never do even a little bit “normal”, I swore to myself that I would never do psychedelics again. While I haven’t since that memorable moment, my feelings have changed as I have found my way back to myself in recent times. I’m sure this may come off as a little confusing, but as we carry on, perhaps it will come to make a little bit more sense.
I don’t want to get too off topic here but, I’d like to clarify that I have a deep respect for psychedelics and have since concluded that they should he used very carefully as a religious sacrament, a tool for philosophical research, or scientific experimentation. I however, learned the hard way, in so much as they are not suitable for recreational purposes. There are other out there who may disagree with me and other who will also subscribe to this ideology, and I don’t want to paint the wrong picture here.
As a teenager, I completely and irresponsibly abused these sacred “tools “ Given the opportunity to do it all over again, or when I revisit these things again in the future, I’ll do things a lot differently from how I’ve done them in the past. I absolutely recognize who in my case, my impulsive use of psychedelics or any other substance for that matter, led me to some dark places and cause sometimes irreparable damage in my life or at least some great turmoil – Turmoil being a major theme of this body of work and something l’m trying to keep out of my life moving forward. All of this being said, let us return to the somewhat chronologized chain of events from the past, leasing up through to the now and possibly beyond.
So, I want to apologize in advance if this segment causes any confusion for y’all. It probably should have been placed before the marina festival scene, but hopefully some gracious editor will fix it all up in the final incarnation of this epic tale. Petitions for forgiveness aside, it’s still summer 2012 and I’m toiling in obscurity, barely keeping myself from taking a long walk off a short plank and at some point I’m in Brooklyn with my partner In crime Mike, who is attempting to snap me out of my funk by taking me out on the town. We start off at a warehouse living space with a couple of other cool scenesters who are “on the level” and end up on a quest to Bensonhurst to pick up mushrooms for everybody, from a deal who also attempts to sell us crack-cocaine, and proceed to spend the rest of the night having a hilarious and hallucinogenic time trying to make it back to the place we started out in, which lead us to spin circles around it, ending up in every other neighborhood than the one we needed to be in. Our travels consisted of a hodgepodge of foot and subway travel, and at various times we’d give up or stop to light a garbage can on fire.
Eventually, we post up in a perk to watch the sunrise and enjoy what’s left of our “visions quest”. I catch the tail end of some beautiful geometric visuals and I find myself wishing I were along so I can enjoy them in their entirety, instead of being strung along by my fiercely determined companion who can’t seem to accept that our intoxication is the cause for our inability to properly navigate. Just as I’ve nearly managed to convince my friend to just chill and “be here now”, we find ourselves walking through an industrial neighborhood whose street are lined with 16-wheelers. To me, they look like some type of intergalactic shuttles.
It’s then that I decide to become a truck driver. If I can’t do anything else, at least I can get paid to travel across the country in search of myself. Days later I announce this to my parents, sans psychedelic influence, and they agree to pay for me to take truck driving lessons towards my Commercial Driver’s License. When it comes to anything that might make me some money and keep me out of trouble or make me feel better in a healthy way, they can turn out to be very supportive folks, contrary to the enemy I’ve felt they’ve been at various points.
Now, before we get too far ahead of ourselves, or any further out of order, it might not hurt to mention that- somewhere between my psychedelic epiphany and the parentally sponsored truck driving lessons, I take a trip to Miami with my then-girlfriend of nearly 4 years. She was 2 years older than me and we started dating while she was graduating and I was still attending the same high school. We had been through a lot together and I guess after so much, she had more than enough of my wild and crazy antics, and contrasting deep, dark periods of hopelessness.
And so she waits until what couldn’t have been the most inopportune moments in history, to break my heart, tear it out of my chest, stomp on it, light it on fire, and then toss it into the river to shit and piss on it thereafter. I mean really, who in God’s name waits until they are on vacation in Miami to break up with their significant other? I mean, are you fucking kidding me? I don’t know what this girl was thinking, but it couldn’t have been in any more poor Judgment, or in the very least, bad taste. Mind you, she could have waited till the plane ride home, like any street wise floosy would have done, but no. She lets the cat out of the bag on the second night of what’s supposed to be an epic getaway where we fuck and party our faces off creating memories for years to come, or so that’s the fantasy I was always sold about “doing it right” in the sunshine state. Anyway, we’re two days into our beachy getaway, I’m already halfway to jumping off a bridge in my fragile state that summer, and she decides to not only hit me with “I don’t think this relationship is right for me anymore”, whining about how she’s never been with anybody else, but that she’s already got somebody lined up to explore with! Oh, the audacity! As if the news couldn’t I already be bad enough. Imagine that. You’re experiencing the most unprecedented depressions of your life thus far. you’ve isolated yourself from just about your entire social network and thus have no support system in sight to lean on, and you find yourself on the ideal dream vacation, miserable with the absolutely most insensitive and common sense deficient bimbo, who you thought was supposed to be your intelligent, compassionate girlfriend, but has now chosen to break up with you on day 2 of your 6-day long excursion. She carry’s on to make no effort to fake it for the rest of our stay and refused to cut It short because it would be a “waste of money”.
Jeezzus Christ! I mean I know that at the time I was a broken, sad little hitch boy, but come on! If I could go back, I’d slap myself. Why didn’t I “man up” (whatever that means) and get the hell out of there? Shit, if I was anywhere near as strong as I am now, I would have grabbed my things, found another hotel room and myself balls deep in some new broad, faster than two shakes of a lamb’s tale (how fast is that anyway?). But, no. That’s not how this story goes, I’m ashamed to say. Nuh-uh. This sorry motherfucker rides out the next days drinking himself into oblivion and having mediocre pity sex with a girl who’s made it clear she’s no longer in love with him. How pathetic. It’s here, at this point of out epic where I firmly believe we find one of the major influences for a following series of unfortunately catastrophic events which would also revolve around mtysle and other young women with increasing volatility and regrettably, violence.
I guess the trauma of being so violated by someone or anyone who I would make myself so vulnerable too, resonated deeply enough within me the first time around, that I would go on to not only promising myself I would never be so emotionally effected ever again (at which I failed), but would also respond to the disappointment, disillusionment, and general manipulations and trickery of women, specifically of the youthful persuasion with greater retaliation, each time. I want to make it clear that I do not intrinsically hate or have disdain for women at all. In fact, I can’t get enough. I may even be addicted, but I’ve found that I need to stay away from a certain type of whacked out, New-Age, “male-hierarchy” hating, so-called feminists, who love to be nasty sluts in the sack, but then think it’s OK to turn around and play the victim, as if the world owes them something for being born female.
No I probably shouldn’t be so harsh on the young and inexperienced. They, themselves can’t truly be held accountable because they’ve been brainwashed by this backward ‘‘politically correct” (excuses me while I vomit) popular culture, but damn, where have all the elders gone? Who’s raising these bitches? Ooh wait, I know: this is what you get when you cross an oversaturation of mass-media with the mind-control of the nauseatingly ultra-liberal universities who’ve overtaken our nation, who now apparently think they are above free-speech. All that however, is a can of worms for another day and we ought to be getting back on track. The short version of it is that these confused “young-ladies” can’t really be held to a fault because it’s society overall who has dropped the ball. This philosophical understanding though, doesn’t make their actions OK or the pain they cause any less real, but there’s more than half a chance I hurt them in some, or plenty of my own ways just as well. After all it takes two to tango, and it’s rarely that either party is entirely guilty or innocent. It’s usually a mixture of both on either end.
In my case, it’s taken foolishly repeated run-ins with toxic relationships and overboard reactions to finally “get it right” on some level. I may still have a way to go yet, but I can tell you how I handled each rejection or separation with increasing stubbornness and vengeful retaliation was exactly the wrong way to handle these situations. Does this make me a psycho by nature? Probably not. A little unstable. There’s a good chance. Or maybe I’m just an extremely sentimental and sensitive individual who processes emotion with incredible gravity and has a more difficult go of it, keeping them in check and mastering these aspects of my character in ways that work to my benefit rather than my detriment.
Had I a stronger network of friends to bounce things off of and let me know I was “buggin” or to help me see the “signs” and avoid a lot of sorrow, I probably would have saved myself a whole world of trouble. Unfortunately, this has not been the case during these years during which, for whatever reason, I had buried myself under a blanket of isolation. Whether it was a result of chasing people away, losing touch, or just dealing with shitty people who never cared for me in the same way I cared about them in the first place, I’m not sure. Another theory as conceived by my Father sounds something like me not slowing down enough to patiently let the right friendships mature and blossom at a rate which was comfortable for them.
After much reflection, I have come to see the truth to his words, insomuch that my hyperactive, lightspeed ahead nature can indeed work against me.  I’ve since come to see that it could be a combination of all of the above, and more influencing my social dysfunction, but I’ll have to favor my Dad’s assessment, complimented by a dash of my own summation of “caring for the wrong people’ or at least those who aren’t capable of reciprocating the depth of my love. This basically cuts out a majority of my self-centered materialistic generation as candidates, limiting me to the few select individuals who have been in my life through thick and thin. These folks are largely between the ages of 35 and 60, and while I’d be a liar if I didn’t crave some like-minded homies closer in age to myself, I’m at the point of just accepting it for what it is, while retaining a sliver of hope that my “peers” are out there somewhere. There’s been times when I’ve become very discouraged and have resolved to throw all expectations out the window in order to avoid further run-ins with disappointment, but I’m doing my best to maintain a more optimistic outlook; keep the dream alive, ya know? And speaking of dreams, I was just thinking about the irony of how I used to pride myself on “making dreams come true” and while this may have been the case at one point or other, it seems like my recent history suggests that I’ve been regrettably stellar at bringing nightmares to life, with me acting out as the main character, naturally. I aspire to break this cycle, and while I feel I’ve grown passed it, traversing as much ground as I’ve been, only time will tell.
Anyway, and all anecdotes aside, which I can almost guarantee we’ll come back to again and again as we go, I do believe there was some story telling afoot and I’m thinking that it may do us well to get back to that.
2 notes · View notes
official-wanderer · 8 years ago
Text
FAQ
Tumblr media
“Well hello there Newcomers! I bet you have a lot of questions, so let me give you a basic run down...”
What's a groupverse?
“Well, to put it plainly, a group verse is a little corner of the world where some like-minded muns can get together and spend some time playing out a scenario, as decided by the mods who put the whole thing together in the first place.”
What's a murderverse?
“A murder verse is... Well, you ever heard of a game called Dangan Ronpa? It’s one messed up series, let me tell you. Some crazy person locks a bunch of teenagers into a highschool and tells them the only way they can get out is to literally get away with murder. ‘Course, teenagers aren’t exactly the type of people to just pick up a knife and start swinging, no matter what people say. So the “headmaster”, that is, the one orchestrating the whole thing, sets up a series of “motives” to get the prisoners in a killing mood. These motives can be broadly applicable or eerily specific. But in either case, they’re usually something that scares the people it applies to, or otherwise tempts them with something, in order to get them to snap and kill someone else.”
“If I had to break it down, it’d probably go something like this.”
— “You get imprisoned. Maybe through some fancy and elaborate kidnapping scheme. Maybe they just put up a sign for a fancy wine tasting convention. The point is that a bunch of folks get trapped in some kind of building, and the only way out is to off someone else and get away scot free. Simple in theory, but difficult in practice.”
— “Something the Warden does pushes you over the edge. These something’s are called motives, and they can be any one of a bunch of things. Maybe you’re pushed to kill for the benefit of your own skin, or the safety of those inside. Maybe the sicko’s started threatening the people you care about on the outside, and the only way to keep them safe is put someone in the ground. The reasons vary, but the point is that, whatever the motive is, SOMEONE’S gonna see it as something worth the next guy’s life.”
— “Now, as one would expect, following a motive worth killing over, someone gets killed, and the guilty party tries their best to deflect the blame. Maybe just by covering their own tracks. Maybe even getting up the gall to throw the blame at someone else, if they’re feeling particularly clever about it. This cavalcade of Shakespearian bloodshed is what’s called a “Body Drop”. And, at the end of it, three ‘lucky’ people will chance upon said dropped body. And our illustrious Pilot, or really anyone in charge around here, will call over the rest of the cast to come see where the body was found. Grim, sure. But you’ve gotta get everyone up to speed somehow don’t ya?”
— “After everyone gets on the same bloody page, the whole thing transitions over to the Investigation. This is where the muses on the floor get a chance to play detective and try to solve the murder. Searching for evidence around the place in order to form theories and try and give their best guess as to who the murderer really is. It’s not exactly Holmes and Watson, but at least the group’s trying.”
— “After everyone’s done wearing tweed hats and sucking on their corncob pipes, we move on to the Trial. Here, everyone gathers in the “court room”, whatever shape that may take, and tries their best to figure out who’s responsible. This whole thing usually involves the case being half-finished, with the whole thing seeming off, until some big and crucial piece of the puzzle gets revealed. Like some kind of courtroom drama, except with wilder accusations and even more nervous sweating.”
— “After the Trial, we start Voting. This is when every muse sends an ask to the group blog with a vote against some other muse in the cast, with every vote being an attempt to vote up someone to a guilty verdict. Now, if you’ve got too much of a conscience, or too little a spine, to cast your vote, you can freely abstain from the process. But abstaining isn’t exactly without its own problems. If too many people decide not to vote, and the majority fingers the wrong muse, the murderer gets to walk on out of place, scot-free. This is even worse than you’d think for the misjudging jury, as things are bound to get worse for the rest of the cast from then on. After all, the voting may go by unbiased, but the hosts are nothing if not vindictive to the people who let the killer walk free.”
— “Now, if the muses thought hard enough, and managed to finger the right person with the crime, we move right on over to the last step of the process: The Execution. Here, our murderer gets their just desserts, getting offed in a horrible, gruesome, and often pretty ironic way. You’d think that’s a pretty satisfying end, except for the part where everyone else is forced to watch.”
— “Now, after that, everything turns back to some semblance of normal. The prisoners go back to their prison, and the disgust and horror dies down to something slightly adjacent to peaceful, till the whole thing starts over, and the cycle begins anew.”
— “Not exactly my personal idea of fun, by any means. But hey, I’m not about to judge. My only job is to serve liquor, clean glasses, and run a tab. I’ll leave the murder parties to the lot of you.”
What's the difference between Newcomers and Veterans?
“It’s not exactly rocket science, but I might as well be a little more specific. Veterans are people who were in the inn for at least a little while before Pilot went and locked the way out. So, they’ve at least got a partial lay of the land, and know where everything is, for the most part. They’d know other Veterans, at least in passing, and they’d probably know some of the constant faces around here, like your’s truly, or the girl who works in the Archives.”
— “They’d also be the first to realize that something’s gone wrong. Namely that their special powers, whatever they were, either got themselves neutered or outright removed after the door went and locked. To them, Pilot was nothing but a rumour, with most people thinking she didn’t actually exist. A fact which I myself have and will continue to swear by.”
“Now you Newcomers on the other hand. Y’all are up sh*t creek, and you don’t even know what a paddle IS. They don’t even have the whole place mapped out in their head. They didn’t have time to understand the old rules before Pilot went and overthrew them. It doesn’t really matter at the start. Everyone’s in the same awful boat for the most part. But who knows? Maybe a distinction like that might end up being important later? What do I know? I’m just a barkeep.”
How do special powers work here?
“Well, before the doors locked, everyone basically had free reign with whatever powers and/or abilities they had back home, save those that would’ve let them leave the place before the door came to their stop. But, after the game started, everyone’s powers either got themselves heavily weakened, or just plain removed. After all, it wouldn’t exactly be an oppressive atmosphere if you felt empowered, now would it?”
“Now, this does mean that all you muns out there get to have de facto control over what powers and abilities your muse or muses got to keep after the doors locked. But keep in mind what exactly this game is supposed to be. This is a killing game, kids. And that means that your normal powers and abilities aren’t exactly functioning, well, normally. They would be heavily limited, working improperly and against your full control, or be just plain not working in the case of some of you. Again. Oppressive atmosphere and themes of disempowerment. Kind of the point here.”
“To give it a good rule of thumb, if the power your muse might have would stand to make them unkillable, or even noticeably harder to kill than the average person, then tone it down till it stops doing that, nixing it completely if you have to. Now, exactly how you deal with this ultimatum, again, is up to you. But if your muse comes out the door too powerful, the big three upstairs will ask you to weaken them more, for the sake of those playing. This is a game, after all. Yes it’s designed from the ground up to be unfair, but we’re trying to make unfair in as equal a way as possible. It wouldn’t be fun otherwise.”
What if one of the prisoners tried to commit suicide?
“A suicide will be treated like a murder. But, and I cannot stress this enough, run it by the mods first completely before you do it. It’s a death, and just like every other death, it needs to be cleared with us first. And you should also be mindful of triggers if you consider doing it. Suicide is a touchy subject at the best of times. And, even in a situation as grim as this, it’s best to make sure everyone’s okay with something as unpleasant as that before you go through with it. Especially with how common a trigger it is in general.”
What if my muse carries weapons or had the ability to magically summon one?
“If they could magic it out of thin air, or it was somehow attached to them before the game started, a muse just plain doesn’t have it. End of story. If it was summonable, you can’t summon it. If it was attached to you, it’s either gone, or doesn’t work anymore. Weapons you had carried on you at the time of the game’s start were silently confiscated by Pilot then and there. Though, depending on the item in question, it may not be immediately noticeable to those who had it happen to them. But, again, that’s on you to decide.”
What supplies does my muse have?
“Anything you walked in the door carrying. But, keep in mind, anything Pilot thought could have been reasonably used as a weapon was removed alongside anything explicitly dangerous. Now, be reasonable with this one. If you aren’t sure whether or not something would qualify as a weapon, clear it with the mods first. It’s one of the many things they’re there for.”
“Pilot has also been gracious enough to give every tenant in the in inn 400 credits to spend at the marketplace. You can earn more of these credits by working jobs. Whether they’re for other players, or something Pilot, or someone else on staff, has you do. And please, if you have any ideas on what something like that might be, ask the mods first. Again, this is kind of the crux of their job.”
“You also get the wonderful free gift of a magical journal to keep by your side. The journal itself has infinite pages, though it only ever looks to be about a hundred pages thick.”
“Every fellow pris- ah, tenant in the inn, has their own “Chapter” in the book, with groups also being possible. Since, you know, infinite pages. Anything wrote by one person in a chapter appears instantly in the corresponding chapter of the other book or books involved. Getting to a chapter is easy. All you have to do it think about the person or persons you want to talk to, and open the book, and the Chapter you want will open up in front of you. Handy, isn’t it?”
“Also, if you actually want to use the journal as, well, a journal, it also has an infinite supply of blank pages you can just freely write in at the journal’s front. Because, quite frankly, it would be kind of silly if it didn’t.”
How long does it take for an app to be processed?
“Well, I’ve got good news for you. Applications, no matter what, are auto-accepted. As soon as you send your application in, you’re free to post in the tag. Don’t worry about the processing. The mods’ll get you on the Masterlist eventually.”
What is the tag for this verse?
“Ah, probably ought to clarify that. It’s “ v; hapless wanderers “
If my character has a magical companion, would they still be around?
“Nope. They’re gone, in one way or another. For example, a Miraculous user would have their Kwami locked inside their Miraculous. A Link’s Navi just plain wouldn’t be there. Etcetera. The specifics of the how and why are up to you. But however it works out, they aren’t there. Unless, of course, the companion is present as a second muse. But again, that’s its own process.”
What happens if the wrong person is executed?
“Well, first and foremost, that means the murderer, lucky homicidal duck that they are, gets to go free. On top of that? Weeeeell, let’s just say Pilot won’t exactly be overly pleased with everyone’s giant failure. And believe me, she’s the kind of person to be very... deliberate, in showing off her displeasure in a situation. But you’ll live.”
What's in the Market Place?
“Well, the place was a potluck made by various Wanderers over the years before everyone got trapped, so it really is a little of everything. ‘Course, the whole place is staffed by monsters now that the doors are shut. But don’t you worry, they won’t bite. At least so long as you pay the full price. Trust me, these are the kind of vendors you do not haggle, and the kind you NEVER try to shortchange.”
Does food/drink cost credits?
“Heck no. The name’s Barkeep, not Salesman. If you want something to eat or drink, consider it on the house here at the Wanderer Tavern.”
“Okay, yeah. I kind of lied when I said my job was to run tabs. But come on, tell me you’ve never padded out your resume once or twice.”
What kind of books are there in the archive
Tumblr media
“!”
Tumblr media
“Uh. Arc? You know this is kind of my gig, righ-”
Tumblr media
“Shush it, eyepatch. I’ve got something to say. What kind of books? What KIND of books??? I’m sorry, but books, ESPECIALLY those found in my Archive, do not simply have “kinds”. My Archive is a vast, nigh-infinite repository for every imaginable permutation of literary work or dissertation. Every genre, every sub-genre, ever sub-sub-genre. A massive coalescence of fiction and non-fiction. The likes of which the whole of the multiverse has never se-!”
Tumblr media
“Yes. The answer is yes.”
Tumblr media
“...Buzzkill.”
Tumblr media
“I take offence to that. Buzzes are half of my job.”
Tumblr media
“It wasn’t meant as a compliment, you fur-lipped oaf.”
Tumblr media
“Get out of my bar.”
Tumblr media
“Wha- Hey!”
1 note · View note
galimatios · 7 years ago
Text
t/a rambles 1
back on my bullshit part 1
... should look into the tactics ogre games for novel inspo bc my novel is also a political drama ... UNINTENTIONALLY actually id call it a coming of age story in rhe new adult genre since mc is probably 23-25 i have so many feelings about the novel ugh i love my ocs so much and i put them all om opposing sides for this novel the most complex relationship i have in it i think is alex and his mother or rather prince kreutzer in this au queen elaine and her son prince kreutzer .. god its so fucked up bc kreutzer loves his mother- he was largely isolated as a child and his mother was always so loving and sweet and they were so so close but the prince never knew of the shit his mother did as queen she is a tyrant she must have lost a child once. a princess, i think probably to the king who she may have ... overthrew or usurped maybe but regardless of that shes in power now and because she lost a child she became overly protective of kreu and consolidated her power heard of a plot to infiltrate her kingdom and assassinate the son of the previous tyrant king (?) and she just fucking ruled with an iron fist because she has so little trust in the goodness of people that she thinks the only way to achieve good is to force it and as a result she kills anyone who steps out of line thus making the people resent her deeply but to kreutzer shes his mother his loving and doting mother who does all she can to protect him the novel actually starts um after the queen is assassinated h a its not her story but shes a big part of it even after her death bc a big portion of the theme is like coming to terms with the complexity of individuals no one is all good or all bad and kreu starts out unable to understand this he has a very black and white view of moralitt like his mother at the beginning on his coronation day theres an assassination attempt made on him but he gets whisked away by the court jester after that a coup is staged and rebels take over the country and the prince is forced to hide with a traveling circus that the jester brings him to where every performer... is a fugitive or criminal! and thats where his personal growth really begins bc he learns abt these people and realizes his world view was wrong people are complex people do bad things... for just reasons and vice versa esp Keith who makes a major appearance in the novel his entire bg story takes place outside the novel as well hahaha but its a lot after a raid on his village, hes orphaned along w his little sister who is ill so to make ends meet / buy medicine he does literally every fucking crime under the sun starting off with petty theft and scaling up to murder literally sacrificing every last shred of innocence he has for the sake of his ailing sister who... dies anyway! and im thinking, tbh, its a fantine/cosette/thenardiers type sitch where this quack doctor is basically scamming him except instead of fantine dying cosette does anyway thats where he fucking hits rock bottom he could handle things as long as he had someone to fight for you know he was alright with it bc his sister was there, his saving grace but when she dies hes all alone thats probably when lydia finds him i imagine he would he on the verge of suicide or at the very least dying of self imposed starvation and neglect but honestly probably suicide julie's death on top of the crushinf weight of all the crimes hes committed the innocence he lost, the lives he took its just way too much and hes just a naive kid lydia finds him and takes him back to the circus takes care of him gives him food and water and shelter and slowly tries to reach him slowly teaching him that there is still life to be lived that he is so young, and it is far too soon for him to lay down and die that he should live for his dead family, because that is what they would want to keep their memory alive in his heart and he begins to come around slowly starts doing chores for the troup then he finally sees one of their performances acrobats and the trapeze and the glitz and the glamor its the first time in years where he ... wasnt thinking about his dead sister or his trauma he asks lydia to teach him how to "do that" he says while pointing at the stage and so she does and ever since then hes taken up performing full time as a .. daredevil type act doing outrageously dangerous things for the thrill of it it excites him, the risk he loves to see how close to the edge of death he can walk without falling and it fuels him makes him enjoy being alive again and he's.. happy god by the time you meet keith in the novel he's just this happy go lucky teen with this smugness about him a kind of dangerousness belying a sweet exterior he's all jokes and laughs at this point and you'd never be able to tell what he went thru at first glance or at all really bc honestly, at this point he honest to god is okay lies and dirt - Last Thursday at 6:00 AM he... doesnt need anyone's pity. he doesn't need anything but the feeling of being alive now and one of the major points of the novel is prince kreu's relationship with him... bc at first they really clash and kreu is just... he's a fucking criminal and all of then deserve to hang keith plays this off w jokes at first but kreu keeps being antagonistic bc he just cant believe a criminal like him is getting away without punishment but then one day keith snaps at him knife to the prince's throat dangerous, cat like eyes, the usual smile on his face no where to be found you're right. i'm a thief. a liar. a criminal. a murderer. i'm all those things. but i'll tell you one thing, prince: i'm not worthless. he pulls the knife away and walks off leaving the prince stunned after this lydia talks to kreu explaining that maybe he shouldn't judge keith so quickly hinting that the circumstances of his life were... not ideal when i first found him, he was already half dead. perhaps not physically, but in the eyes. you could see the reaper in them. hhmgmgn i need to think more abt the circumstances around this scene ah keith must have been looking for a good place to die
the music from the circus reminded him of better days, when he played songs with his family. i imagine him.. outside the tent, somewhere obscured and there's music flowing from its interior... he's tired. he sits down against a barrel and he's been starving, exhausted... letting sleep take him away on the songs from the circus back to a time he used to be happy...
lydia fines him and shakes him but his eyes look glassy and he's unresponsive
he's taken poison must have been something from his former days working as an assassin something he saved for himself just in case and that's when lydia takes him in and nurses him back to health she's a water mage w healing capabilities so she's able to do it and i imagine at first keith is hurt, angry why am i still alive? i im fucking myself up in the feels i hate this THIS ISNT EBEN IN THE FUCKINF BOOK IT ALL HAPPENS BEFORE IT KEITJS NOT THE MAIN CHARACTER HERE BUT IM SO FUCKED UP ugh after kreutzer learns a bit abt keiiths origins he actually thinks a lot. and tries to make amends. apologizes to keith who doesnt say anything much he's sitting, eyes away from the prince, fiddling with the knives he uses for his performances
"a raid took my parents away. illness took away my sister."
"i did a lot of things for money. most of it i'm not proud of. but i would have done anything to save her... you know?"
"you've got someone you love too, don't you?" kreutzer thinks of his mother. the surrogate brother who disappeared on him and never returned "i do." "then, you get it." after this they start to really bond almost as siblings.. which is really funny bc kreutzer doesnt need to be protective of keith keith can MORE THAN take care of himself but its new for kreutzer to feel.. responsibility for someone else like this he was always the one protected before keith laughs at this a lot what're you trying to do? be my big bro? but secretly he ...really likes having family again as idiotic as kreutzer is ofc lydia has always been there for him but as a surrogate mother an older sib is new and.. kind of nice in canon modern au they really are basically bros LOL actually cousins via mothers but alex/kreu goes to live w keiths family after his mom (lain) dies so they essentially grow up like brothers i didn't even get started w the fucking mess that is alan and kreutzer alan goes by calisto also and he hes the court jester but he was trained from a young age as a snake in the kings court he was supposed to kill the prince when the time was right but alan and his dumb fucking gay ass FALLS IN LOVE WITH HIM INSTEAD spoiler alert: its unrequited btwn alex and alan is NEVER requited in ALL aus its because alan ... doesnt love himself at all. he has no sense of... purpose or identity alex can never love someone like that but either way he becomes the prince's personal servant and entertainer and this idiot falls for him the naivete he displays, the timid stateliness, the unfitting title of prince bestowed on his shoulders- kreutzer is far too soft to be the leader of this kingdom and alan increasingly has the desire to protect him even as kreu grows older and more skilled in his studies there is always the anxious trepidation they also grow up together from around ages 11-present at the time of the novels start god alan loves him so much it hurts me but its so one sided alex loves cyrus in modern au ): alan could never be more than just a phase tbh poor guy alan and his low self esteem and depression the worst part of this thougg is that because alan feels aimless and without purpose when he falls for kreutzer he ... finally has his OWN cause to fight for and he takes it to the extreme betraying everyone that trusted him to do his job for the sake of a man who wont ever love him it bites him in the ass too bc i kill him off as a catalyst for other stuff h ahahahhahahahahahahaha not just kill him off but horribly because HE FUCKING BETRAYED HIS ENTIRE SIDE THEY ARE, UNDERSTANDABLY, PISSED Alan is so fuckong flawed hes a fuckinf mess and i love it ugh im thinkijg of another scene in the novel once kreutzer gets captured bt the coup rebels he actuallt submits himself voluntarily bc keith gets kidnapped and used as ransom keith tells him hes a fucking idiot keiths life doesnt matter dont fucking come for me! but kreu doesnt listen obviously and they torture kreutzer bc i love suffering and after that they make him listen in a mock trial to the testimonials of all the people hurt by his mother death to the queen! death to elaine of koel! all the horrible stories of lives unjustly cut short because of his mother it breaks him because he loves his mother so much but she's done all these horrible things he doesn't know what to do how to make amends the damage was done and he takes their wrath their scorn and anguish and i'm sorry as if sorry could ever fix anything but it is his burden to carry, his punishment to suffer in place of the queen ironically this makes lilya have a change of heart she was infiltrating the queens court just as alan did and she is directly responsible for her death her assassination, i think or the king's? either way shes part of the rebel forces and she DESPISES the queen good fucking riddance as far as she's concerned that woman made her life hell(edited) so she can rot in it for all lilya cares for but seeing kreutzer there bloodied tortured sobbing broken and taking the punishment doled out to him without so much as a word of protest(edited) she thinks... this... isnt right this is wrong. because kreutzer was not responsible for the sins of his mother as much as people want to blame him, take out their anger on him lilya was at first all gung ho about ending the royal bloodline lies and dirt - Last Thursday at 7:02 AM but she reconsiders this moment feels something tugging at her this isnt right
she remembers her sister back at the circus— lydia. who she always loved dearly but clashed with, leading to her abandoning the circus and joining the rebellion.
retribution is deserved, but should it be served? what then makes us different from our oppressors?
or sth like that so she rescues kreutzer takes him back to the circus. and reunites with her sister after so many years after that ik not entirely sure what to do w the novel LOL bc i know there has to he a big battle bc the rebellion forces begin to quell opposition like how the communist regime in other countries started in ernest bc people felt oppressed but then they went too far and started culling the middle class so then kreutzer leads his own rebellion force against them to take back the country then once he wins he uses his kinghood to dissolve the monarchy and embrace democracy instead asking lydia to lead hes much too tired to lead, and she is much better suited for it but hm inhabe to think more about that entire segment after this he takes over lydias spot in the circus as its owner and organizer and with keith he spends the rest of his days helping people just like keith also they properly mourn alans death it takes forever for kreu to come to terms w his mothers assassination and crimes he probably never truly works it out but he begins to be able to recognize that she is both the tyrant queen and his loving mother that they do not cancel eachother out, that they are not mutually exclusive they are one in the same UGH IM SO UPSET I WISH ID FUCKING WRITE THIS BC I WANT TO FUCKING READ IT the message i wanna convey is like people.. are complex, imperfect, and the systems they create are also subjected to that but everyone does things for a reason. no matter what that reason is and i want lydia to address this too when she becomes the new prime minister of koel a democracy is not perfect, because man is not perfect. there will be hardship, mistakes made along the way. but together we can grow, improve, and learn about one another— and better our society for it. and i believe anywhere injustice goes, justice will always follow(edited) sth like that ig
0 notes