#only want the characters to exist in a void of just happy things so I can write my fanfiction and make gifsets | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vanya-evergreen · 1 year ago

Text

How to remember.(Chapter 1)

Masterlist

Relationship: BatFam x reader (platonic)

Summary: At the age of 11, you woke up in an other world without any guidance and all the money you once lacked. You were left with only your memeories and your other memories.

You tired to remember, their life, but it seemed like they didn't want you too. So when trying to navigate the intricate sides of an elite schoo, but you always got in trouble when it came to faces and names.

Cw: brief description of gore

No use of Y/n

Wc: 5k+

A/n- Woo first post! Exciting but so nerve racking, honestly have never posted my fanfic before. So, sorry if its kinda rough, had no one to beta, bare with me please. The characters are probably OOC, since I only recently got back into DC after seeing the "do the butts match post?" from the ai voice reddit post on tik tok. But you what that's more fun anyways, right? anyway please enjoy a really really random idea

Tick tick tick tick

The room was quiet, with only a few scribbles of pens or pencils to fill the void. You resided at your desk, hunched over, while resting your face on your hand. Your eyes lazily review the assignment in front of you for the 7th time. You had finished the assignments for the day, with each answer being correct that left you with only your thoughts. Your eye twitched, turning your head slowly toward the window, while slowly moving your head from your hand to the desk. You went through your day just to try and remember, waking up, first 2 classes, all fine. Until, on your way to your current period, you ran into a younger student, probably a sophomore, maybe a junior.

You cringed silently, you were just in your mind, really your memories from both this world and your original world. When you ran into a younger student, you both fell and could only manage a quick sorry before moving on. He was barely getting to his feet when you turned away, you were so stuck in your mind that you couldn’t even offer a proper apology, let alone your hand. You can't help but think back to the faint whisper you heard as you walked away. You made a mental note to find and properly apologize to him during lunch, if you could remember what he looked like, seeing as you only really saw his keychains on his backpack as they jingled when he got up.

Your head started throbbing as you thought too much, you shut your eyes tightly, wiping your mind clean, then opening them again .You stared out the window, trying not to think much, just trying to learn to just exist. Why is existing one of the hardest things to learn? You watch the clouds clash into each other slowly creating an ocean of a scale of whites and grays. You slowly let your mind blank, even just for a moment, it was nice.

You could slowly feel your drifting off, almost like you were disconnecting from your physical body. Until the sound of mindless chatter started up in the back of the room, pencils still wrote, notably faster than before. This means the period was almost up, so that means lunch and trying to find that one guy. You sat up, collected the assignments from your desk, then got up and turned them in. You got back to your seat right as the bell rang.

You picked up your stuff and got out of there as quickly as you could, just to round the corner to be surprised by an underclassman. He had green eyes that made very uncomfortable eye contact with yours. You almost immediately looked away from his very intense glare. You side eye him and see his bag. The keychains.

“Shit” you let out under your breath as you released your present problem. Your eye drifted back to his face, he didn't look all that happy to see you. ‘definitely him’. “Hey man, listen…” you started. You felt genuinely bad about earlier, you could only imagine how big of an asshole it made you seem like.

“Who are you?” his tone was blunt, with a twinge of annoyance.

Your mind stalled, that's not what you expected him to say. You thought he would threaten you or maybe pull the ‘do you know who i am card?’ or ‘I am going to ruin your life’. You felt the hostility he emulated, you felt uneasy. You furrowed your eyebrows, opening and closing your mouth a couple of times. The almost seemingly endless stream of words in your mind were stuck in your throat. “ ___ ___” you choked out with your last bit of brain cells.

“ Where are you from?” His voice shot straight through you. He gave you no time to collect your thoughts from the initial question. Your mind was scattered from how fast questions came at you. The unease in your stomach grew.

“Uh, gotham, like everyone here.” Confusion clouded your already foggy mind , ‘what did this have to do with me running into him earlier?’ “ I am sorry about earlier by the way.” you added quickly with a sorrowful expression, the cloudiness didn’t consume your intention to apologize.

“Gotha, hm, how come I have never seen any event?” he ignored your apology. ‘Okay, that's rude.’ You tried to grasp at whatever you could to respond.

“What events?” was all you could get. You felt like you were going to faint from the speed of his questions. Why did he care so much about what you did, you were just a stranger to him.

“Galas, business meetings…” he listed off different types of high end events, but you didn’t really listen after the first two. Your head was spinning, you had to try and collect the scattered pieces of your mind.

You rushed your recovery, you went from being up in your head for the last 20 minutes to being pulled down, through the earth’s crust, into a cave being interrogated by someone you have never talked to before this. ‘Who the hell is this guy?’

“I am sorry, but who are you?” You interrupted him midway through his next question, ‘that was a great idea’. “Am I meant to know you or something?” Ah yes, your most infamous line. You put your hand on your forehead, trying to rationalize this interaction. His mouth was open, he looked almost offended by your question.

“you’re joking?” he exclaimed agitated, he creased his eyebrows. You had to get out of there.

“No.“ You turn your head to the side, throwing your hands up in the air while turning your upper body away.

“ Well okay then, have you ever heard of the Waynes?” You do remember hearing about Wayne enterprise last time you went to the doctors, like when you first woke up in this world, which was like, 6 years ago, maybe. That doesn’t really matter. You had heard of it.

“The company?” you questioned. He groaned, if in relief or annoyance, that was beyond you.

“Yes, but what have you heard about the Wayne family?” he looked you square in the eyes, you turned away slowly not really saying anything. You looked guilty. “Nothing?” you nodded assuring his previous statement. Still not meeting his eye, not wanting to deal with that memory for the rest of the day. “How?”

“I don’t read the gossip columns?” You suggested with an awkward shrug and chuckle. You only now realized that there was a wall of students formed around you and him. You definitely had to get out there now.

“What? What do you mean” he was really pissed now, but you didn't even hear half of what he was saying you were just trying to find the quickest way out of here. You looked around looking for an opening within the students. You noticed one right behind him so you had to be quick about it.

“Listen, I am so sorry about being early, I didn't mean to make you fall, really.” you seemed less sincere than before, you were trying to make sure that you didn't seem rushed. “I really didn’t and if it had been any other time I would have made sure that I had offered my hand but I just wasn’t entirely aware. I am sorry, again.” You had made your way around him away around him as you talked, you maintained eye contact with him until you were able to slip in between the students. “Please forgive me, and I am sorry I couldn't answer your question adequately.”

“Wait-” you heard him shout as you speed walked away, trying to blend in with a group of students that were walking down the hallway. He, of course, saw you slip into the group and approached you. You had to think quickly, thankfully there was another group of students that was going the opposite way. You quickly slipped into another group, successfully avoiding him. You could only finally breathe when you made it to the dining hall without running into him again.

You went into the lunch line, trying to just forget whatever the hell that was. You moved through the line slowly, grabbing whatever looked appetizing today. One of the many good things about going to a rich school was that the food was edible. You were grabbing the last bit of your lunch before you felt a cold air run up your spine, you said a silent prayer in hope that it wasn’t who you thought it was. You tried not to look, Maybe if you didn’t look he would leave. You remained calm and walked with your food to the table where you sat with your friends, making sure to make yourself as unnoticeable as possible. You were able to sit down and eat most of your lunch before you felt him approach your table, you could feel a cold sweat develop on your shoulders as you took your last couple of bites.

He gradually approached, carefully looking over everyone trying to figure where you were. Your friends were having a typical conversation, what they were doing that night or where they are going to college and what they are going to study. Until one of them saw him approach. “Is that Damian Wayne approaching us, right now?” that when you realized why he was having a hard time with you early, you couldn’t recognize him or his family, but your friends, who never cared for status and the tabloid’s talk recognized him, or Damian now that you had a name to the face. You straightened up when you heard this.

Your friends looked at you strangely until they realized you were the one he was looking for, and you did not want to be found. They acted quickly. They, as naturally as possible, started to clean up. Throwing away trash, and putting away their food. They even helped you pack up, and as a group you slipped out of the dining hall into a hallway, then out into the courtyard. You would have to thank them later with some homemade baked goods. They really came to your rescue today.

You looked at your phone, 12:45. Lunch was almost over, never would have you thought that you would be grateful for that. ‘Only 5 more minutes’. Your relief was somewhat short lived as you had to now answer their question. “So, what happened?” one of them, Leah, asked flatly.

“Well you see…” You started not really wanting to talk. You looked around trying to procrastinate this conversation.

“Stop putting this off” Another one, Warren, jabbed you in your side with a pencil causing you to flinch.

“Fine…” you sighed feeling defeated, ” So, today I may have, made him fall, but I also fell.” you signed as you talked. you looked down and then back up at Wynn hoping for their pity only to be met with a vaguely threatening look to continue. “And after 3rd period he was waiting for me in the hallway and he asked who I was. I told him my name and then asked who he was because he was asking me a lot of questions.”You smiled with fear behind your eyes. They looked at you mouth agape, no one could be as out of tune with the news as you are.

‘What the hell? Did you even apologize??’ Wynn signed, they were not happy with you.

“ The fuck you mean you didn’t know him?” Leah exclaimed, grabbing onto your shoulders and shaking you very violently, making you feel sick. You knew you fucked up bad when Warren did have anything to say.

“Wynn, I did apologize!! Like 3 times too, and I am sorry I am too busy thinking of other things!” You continued to sign as you talked, trying to defend yourself. Warren and Leah were lecturing you about how stupid your actions were and Wynn was just shaking their head. You started to tune them out when you saw the door open and of course Damian came outside. You quickly got up and picked up your stuff.

“We need to finish our-” he started before being interrupted by the bell ring. Much to your luck.

“Hey, well see you guys later, I need to get to class” you waved goodbye to your friend and signed ‘please don't kill me’ to Wynn, before you ran past Damian to your 4th class, They all exchanged looks with each other before you friends quickly walked away to their own classes. You made it to your 4th period without much trouble, besides a few stares the class went perfectly, boring but fine. The next 2 classes were a mix and repeat of your 4th period, only with increasing whispers every time you walked in a class.

It was finally your 8th class, study hall, you were able to get to your normal spot without much trouble. You were even able to put in your headphones and start working on a rough draft to a machine that you were designing. You sat most of the day up until this point, so your arms always felt stiff. So you stretched your arms, only to hit something. Quickly retracting your arms back to your side, you turned around. ‘FUUUUUU-’ It was Damian. “Heyyyy.” you slowly turned back to your computer in front of you, taking off your headphones.

“Are you gonna avoid me again?” He was looming over you, you could feel the burning on top of your head from the way he glared at you. You shut your laptop and braced yourself for all the questions he was going to ask.

“No.” You shook your head, he sat down across from you. You looked anywhere but at him.

“The events, why have I never seen you?” He went straight to it.

“I don't think I am famous enough to go.” You shrugged, he raised an eyebrow at you suggesting that you were lying. You were ticked off by this. “ Listen, If I have gotten an invite, I have never seen it.” You folded your arms.

“ How did you get into this school?” You didn't really have a clear answer to this one, “I have heard about how you could never recognize people who are from well known families in Gotham, and some that were even famous by themselves.”

“A trust fund.” That was your typical go to answer, but in all honesty you didn't know. While you had some memories, a very limited amount, of this body's life, they were almost all blurry. None of them were really clear, but you could feel what they, the other you, were feeling. You could make really rough assumptions. Like you knew you had a mother (or a female figure) that you loved, and somewhere along the way she got remarried and you had step-parent up until she died. You could feel the way the memories would cause a physical reaction so you tried not to think about it too much. “And I just have never really had the mental space to pay attention to that, plus faces and names aren’t my thing.”

He wasn’t satisfied with your answers “So what? You just don't know anything about the world?”

“No, of course I pay attention to the crimes in Gotham, and the people that handle them.” This wasn’t a lie, you did pay attention to that, you even knew their names, a big honor to have, in your mind at least. You were a huge fan of them, even before- you know.

“Hm.” He slouched as he contemplated your answers, while resting his hands intertwined together maintaining eye contact with you. There was silence between you two, it was too long. You restlessly tapped your fingers on the table while resting your head on the other hand, watching him. Waiting for whatever comes next of his seeming never ended questions, but he seemed to be stumped.

“Is that it?” You broke the silence “You have everything you need to know. Right?” You straighten your back, now sitting up right. He only continued to stare. Internally you rolled your eyes before you put one of your headphones on.

You opened your laptop, quickly glancing over the blueprint for the machine. You were getting bored of this. you looked blankly at your computer screen. ‘I wonder what I can find about Damian's family.’ What a dangerous thought to have. You, with a renewed vigor, quickly opened a new search window and started simple. ‘Wayne family’ you were overwhelmed with the number of results. 2 billion. 2 billion. You understood why Damian was so shocked now. That was just for the family too; you count the profiles, 9.

First, you clicked on ‘Thomas Wayne’, you were somewhat familiar with the name. You read about the tragedy of how he died, you knew this story, you watched a true crime video on it a couple of years back. You felt it was only appropriate to make your way down the family tree so you clicked on ‘Bruce Wayne’. Of course you could assume he was Damian's father. There were links to articles about some scandal of his or how his business was doing. You read a bit further only to find out that the man adopted a lot. Like, you had wondered how he had 6 children but guess that was your answer. You were about to click on Damian's profile only to stop.

“What exactly are you doing?” So he didn’t lose his vocal cords. You snapped out of your trance by his voice.you realized how funky what you just did was.You felt a bit like a creep now, searching up his family in front of him was not the best idea.

You coughed clearing your throat “Why do you care?” You tried to keep an even voice.

“You were staring so intently at your computer that it almost looked like you were planning something.” He leaned back with his arms folded.

“Well,” You closed your search tab later, planning on continuing to research (basically stalk) them later. “I am working on a machine.” You ignored the underlying implication that you were possibly evil. You pulled up the blue prints and math for the machine and turned it around to show him.

“What does it do?” His glare intensified.

“It’s meant to be a multi-dimensional portal, of sorts.” This was the truth. “It's more of a concept than anything.” This was a lie. “I have to make this for my engineering class, we have an assignment where we make up a theoretical invention and try to come up with a way to make them real” Another truth.

“Interesting,” he became more vigilant, yet interested because of your words. “And have you figured it out?”

“No, and if I did it probably wouldn’t work,” much to your dismay. “This assignment is more about how well we can explain our logic than the actual realism of it.”

“Oh,” You couldn’t tell if he was more relieved or disappointed. “Well you must enjoy the class if you are putting this much work into it.”

“Yep ,” you said through slightly gritted teeth. You didn’t mind the class, in fact you would’ve loved it, if you were still in your original word. “I guess.” You smiled tightly, turning your laptop back around. “So what about you? Do you have a favorite class?” Your smile shifted from tight and sharp to curved and soft, this was classic. You did this when you were trying to shift the attention away from something you didn’t want to discuss. You could almost see him relax, ever so slightly, but still he’s coming around. Maybe.

“Art” his arms were still folded, but his eyes didn’t seem so analytical or hostile. While it wasn’t a lot it was better than what you had gotten out of him from most of the conversation.

“Really, would you be willing to show me some of your pieces?” you asked ever so politely.

“Why would I show you?” And there is the defensiveness.

“Because I showed you my blueprints.” your smile faltered for a moment only to return within a second, you looked back to your laptop.

“Right,” his arms were more loosely folded. “Still I don't have too.” his arms tighten back up again.

“That is true,” you nodded in agreement, “but I wouldn’t mind seeing them, but that's your choice.” You weren’t going to force him to do anything, it wasn’t your job. He was quiet. You peered over your laptop to see what was going on. He looked at you, eyes wide, arms barely folded. He looked like a cat after finding something interesting. “What?”

“Nothing.” He returned to his vigilante mood. You shrugged it off and continued to work on your draft. He continued to observe you, you continued to work. You both stayed this way for a while’ it was like you were in a mental battle with him, a really one-sided one. You didn’t really have any intention of resuming the conversation.

The silence was very welcomed. It allowed you to get your work done, you would’ve been done in 30 minutes if he didn’t show up. The silence was interrupted but the sound of a zipper opening. You didn’t look up from your laptop; slowly a sketch book came into your peripheral. You glanced at it, with a bit of hesitation you reached for it. Closing and sliding your laptop to the side, replacing it with the sketch book. you opened the cover and started going through the sketch book carefully. While had only shifted the conversation to get the heat off of you, you were nicely surprised with his talent.

The sketches in the beginning were good, in quality. They were all of different gorey situations, from a man having his head torn apart, to a woman with her skin falling off, it said something about his childhood, but that was his therapist's job to decide what this said. The theme changed after a few more pages of graphics images, which had become much less violent. There were first a few of just some plants, they were nice but not as nice as the first bug you saw, you could deduct that he had real references to base them off of. You flipped through the page, seeing pages full of multiple individual sketches, to pages of only one, fully detailed, landscapes. WIth some gore but it was far fewer than before .

You could see his improvement. They were good to begin with but they were too focused on the bigger image, they were missing something. You felt like he figured whatever he was missing, this was shown in the recurring dog, Titus, or that's what he labeled the drawing. You flipped through a few more pages, mostly animals and plants, until you saw the first human sketch that wasn’t a subject of a horrific act. You had seen the face only 20 minutes prior, it was Bruce Wayne, but he wasn’t wearing his playboy smile, he wasn’t even smiling. It was only a headshot but you could tell he wasn’t present in his mind. He was wearing a thoughtful look, a distant look.

You looked over the page more carefully now, there was still an overall theme of live studies of plants and animals, with some small landscapes, but there was new addition with people now, they were all labeled with their names, you roughly could recalled some of them from early search on his family, they were greatly detail, they all seem to show some sort of part of their personality, their real personalities. Not the public image they upheld but who they really were. You felt like you shouldn’t be looking at this, but you think he would’ve stopped you if he didnt want you seeing this. You turned more pages, he had improved a lot, he had not only found what he was missing, but more. Every drawing and sketch, you left no drawing unseen.

You stopped at one page, it was a full page dedicated to a family portrait, or a sketch of one. The portrait was the formal ones you were used to. They were casual clothes, no one was looking straight forward. No poses, no one sitting, nor was their hair combed neatly. It looked like just a family out and about. They all seemed so close, it seemed to be more of a wish than a reality but you were not close to him so maybe it was his reality. You looked over the page a final time before turning to the page. The rest of the sketchbook was architecture and landscapes with sprinkles of animals that you assumed were his pets. The talent he had was special, you would honestly tell him that he should pursue art, even if just on the side.

You slid it to Damian. “You have some real talent.” You expressed with a calm tone.

“I know.” He stated as if it was a known fact. You choked on the air in your throat trying to hold back your laughter. He held a blank expression, he wasn’t cocky, if he was he would be smiling.

“I am glad that you see it,” You look at your phone, 5 minutes before school ends, “I always get annoyed when people try to deflect praise.” You closed your laptop and put it into your bag. “I think it's a waste of time, it's just an attempt to seem humble” you secured your bag to your back, “but that’s kinda hypocritical of me to say, don't you think?” The bell rings.

“Yes it is.” he agrees, nodding his head.

“By the way, what class did you skip to talk to me?” There was no way he had study hall this period.

“Well,” he paused. He just stood there not really wanting to answer you, you chuckled. He wasn’t happy that you laughed at him.

“Alright, good to know. Anyways, have a good day.” You walk away, still chuckling. before leaving through the door, you turned back, looking at him “Feel free to show me more art if you ever choose to.” You gave him a wide grin as you span around on your heel and continued to walk away with the typical bounce in your step. You didn't see his reaction, but it didn’t matter. You were able to get away from him without him asking you anymore questions you wouldn’t have been able to answer.

The hallway was crowded, a sea of students were either trying to head home or back to their dorms. You got through it quickly as you had taken to the window method, where if you see an opening in between students, you take it. Something seemed off today, well more off than normal. You didn’t pay attention to that. You made it to the front of the school and found your driver waiting for you, you waved and smiled before getting in and heading home.

Damian wasn’t sure how to feel about this, or he couldn’t pinpoint how he felt. You were so nice but he was suspicious of you. I mean, wouldn’t you be too? You were rich enough to go to Gotham academy. Which was known for being a school for the elite, yet he couldn’t connect you to any of the elite families. You also didn’t know any other elite family, especially the Wayne's. A founding family of Gotham, and always had something going around on the news. It's like you just dropped on to the face of the earth randomly when you were 11.

He had already pulled your file from both cityhall and the school. Your school record was almost squeaky clean, only one instant of a fight that was deemed not your fault and bullying targeted towards you. Your city record only showed that you were an orphan with no listed legal guardian and that you have lived in the same penthouse for almost 7 years, near old Gotham. “No named father and mother is dead” he read his notes out loud. “What the fu-”

“Master Damian.” Alfred was standing in the doorway with a steamed suit for this weekend's gala. “Excuse the intrusion, I just came to put your formal suit away and say that Master Bruce is ready for patrol.”

“Thank you Alfred,” Damian gathered the pages, straightened them, and put everything into a file. He placed it to the side for later.

“Also,” Alfred continued to speak as he hung Damians suit in his closet. “I got a call from the school” Damian stopped and looked at him. Damian’s eyes followed Alfred as he walked towards the door. “Master bruce doesn’t know, yet, but I wouldn't recommend doing that again” Alfred warned him as he shut the door. Damian was glad Alfred would keep his secret, even if just for this once.

Damian heads down to the Batcave. He was still annoyed, he hated how easily he could let his guard falter so easily around you. You were too nice to a practical stranger. He thought, no, he knew that there was something up with you. There is no one still this decent in Gotham, not in the city where they needed a rich family to handle their criminal problem, or where there seems to be a S-level threat every couple of months. You simply could not exist in a city like this.

He passed many large frames with paintings, he never really paid attention to them, like he would be now. There were points where there were smaller frames with photos and he looked over at just the right time to see a very familiar face. He stared for a moment before continuing to walk but much faster now. After he was suited up, he met his father as he was sitting at the computer.

“Damian.” Bruce greeted him, still reading over files pulled up on the screen. Damian to a quick read over the files, it was a missing boy’s case. Probably kidnapped and being held for ransom or maybe because her parents did know something they shouldn’t.

“Father.” Damian replied. He eyed his father, he wanted to ask straight up but he knew his father would easily hide his reaction if he did so directly. So he waited for the question he typically hated disliked answering.

“How was school today?” Bruce was never the most attentive father but he tried, this was one of his few ways of trying to stay in tune with his children's lives. Damian would always say mostly the same thing ‘unchallenging’ or something along those lines. But tonight was different.

“Fine, but I met this person today,” Damian said.

“Oh really” Bruce raised an eyebrow and turned his chair around to face him, Damian has never mentioned meeting someone before. “Who are they?”

“___ ___, they are a senior.” Bruce tensed for a second at the mention of your name. That was all Damian needed to see from him. Bruce, of course, regained his composure within milliseconds.

“Hm, good to hear” Bruce almost mumbled. “I hope they are nice.” He turned back to the computer. Damian was a bit smug about getting that reaction from his father, what a long night it was going to be for Bruce.

334 notes · View notes

deceit-and-knowledge · 1 month ago

Text

ooc: whilst sage and truthless have their gay awakenings

I am a creature. Golden cheese interaction/meeting but smilk can't stick to a fucking plan 😧

SUGGESTIVE WARNING (It's a freak for freak relationship what are you expecting?

TLDR: pure vanilla has a meeting with golden cheese about shadow milk, she's kinda against the relationship, shadow milk provides great reasons as to why her fears are correct 😭

ft art from blog owner himself. Note: he's an adult before I get those inbox messages. Secondly if some of the art seems poor quality it was like nearly 2 am when I finished the art for this so I was getting TIRED.

pv: ...I can't find him...ugh.. I hope he shows up.. *sits down at a long table, setted up for the meeting*

*sits at the table fidgeting in his chair due to discomfort from his wings*

gc: *walks in*

pv: ah! Um golden cheese cookie! Hello my friend..

gc: soo.. is it true?

pv: huh.. is what-

gc: *flings a hologram over to him that has the latest gossip and news to him, all major headlines discuss king pure vanilla cookie and his new girlfriend* is it true?

pv: golden cheese cookie.. i-

gc: is it..?

pv: ...well...yes and no.. that's why I wanted to meet with you..

Allow me to explain..

You know shadow milk cookie.. the beast of deceit... the one that helped me realise parts of my self I denied.. and helped me realise my true compassion for those around me.. and myself....

gc: yes.. I'm aware who that is..

pv: ...I am.. living with him, I took him into my care when he showed up on my doorstep.. desperate for friendship and forgiveness which I gave to him.. he doesn't wish to seek redemption or forgiveness from others but only I, he only cares to make me happy.. I hope it you understand that..

gc: he doesn't want to... Not be evil is what I'm getting..

pv: not quite, despite his denial of redemption in my care he's ironically become softer and kind. He lies less and is more truthful.. like I've rubbed off on him!

gc: it seems he's done the same to you.. *addresses pvs eye hair, wings, halo, slit eyes and clearly visible fangs*

pv: a-ah.. well... you see um the hair and facial changes I cannot explain.. we did briefly share a soul back in beast yeast....I assume it occured then..

But the wings and halo are a much different tale.. a hard to explain one... But it's not bothersome!

gc: so you and shadow milk cookie live together and are friends.. if the news serves me right, you are more than "just friends"..

pv: ....y...yes... Mistress condensed cream cookie is shadow milk cookie.. she is my girlfriend...and he is my boyfriend.. he gave me a heart felt talk as he asked me out..

That kiss at the jampie diner in the cremé republic was our first proper kiss I did out of sheer jealousy and craving to claim him as mine...

Which is embarrassingly out of character for me.. I didn't intend to make "us" so accidentally public.. it's too late to go back now.. I'm sorry you had to find out this way.. I wanted to tell you sooner but I was afraid of your reaction.. I was... terrified to lose you.. you reacted badly over white lily cookie which I understood.. I am quick to forgive that's a flaw of mine, I'm aware of.

However my forgiveness is what lead to me being with the man I genuinely love and desire..

gc: mhm.. but are you sure he loves you. He could be very well just using you for your soul jam or even... your body..

pv: golden cheese cookie- why.. would you suggest that..

gc: you have to admit pure vanilla cookie, you're an attractive man. But most cookies who go for looks only want one thing..

pv: I can assure you he does not care for looks.. I understand you're worried and clearly don't approve of our relationship but he makes me feel happy, he fills a void white lily cookie couldn't..

I'm not forcing you to approve of us, you really don't need to, but don't expect me to communicate much with you.. I don't need my boyfriend to feel immense tension if he dares to exist near you. I love him and I love you, you're my great friend and ally. You both mean alot to me but I've spent many more years with one of you and you're not it..

The love and understanding we have is different and incomparable to any other cookie I've met. It's special and feels amazing.. I feel warm and fuzzy inside just thinking about it...

Really..wa..rm..

...h-huh

...wh..what..why do I suddenly feel...so..str..mmh..!

gc: are you okay pure vanilla cookie..?

pv: ah..haah.. *panting* ...i.. I'm alright! My wings are just awfully sensitive.. I'm sure you've heard the extremely awkward news of me making a rather...embarrassing noise..in the diner.

gc: yeah.. there's loads of rumours about it.

pv: the sensitivity seems to be worsened by my nerves.. but no bother! Let's just pretend I never did that, please..

...um.. d-do you understand where I'm coming from...

gc: I understand.. *sighs* I do wish you found love in a cookie that isn't hard for me trust but if he's truly different now like you say I suppose I'll make an exception....

Reluctantly.

pv: understandable.. I apologise if I'm maybe forcing your hand..

gc: you aren't .. it's just.. are you sure, really.

pv: I'm sure..

gc: whatever makes you happy..i don't want to create more of a rift between us..

pv: alright ..

...um.. how are you..?

gc: I'm okay.. I've had a tough week..

I'm..

pv: ...huh..?.. ..!?

.... what's....wrong with me..? I feel...that...again..

This is so...odd.. what's g-going on..

gc: are you even listening? Earthbread to pure vanilla cookie!

pv: h-huh oh sorry.. I must've spaced out, how rude of me.. my apologies..

gc: tch.. and yeah my wings are a me-

pv: ...I feel so..warm.. like someone's hot breath is breathing down my neck....

...ngh~.. what's .. wrong with me..all of a sudden.. this is so embarassing..right next to golden cheese cookie too..

..I hope she doesn't notice..

gc: you're not listening.. do you even care? You have wings too now this is important information!

pv: h-huh- ....sorry.. I'm just...a bit distracted..is all

gc: what's so distracting...

pv: my-..

Wings...! A-ah.. m..mmph *pant* ugh.. oh goodness I am so SORRY for that..

gc: what's gotten into you!?

pv: I'm so sorry my wings are extremely sensitive..

i really wish I could control it..

Now it feels like someone is.. rubbing my thigh..

....I feel so.. tingly ...

...

...it's like they're... moving... mmph-! ....

..h-huh..wh..ghk-!..

...i..

...what..what is..happening to me.....

gc: pure vanilla cookie are you alright, you can't seem to sit still, this isn't like you....

pv: I'm f-fine.. i-i.. I'm just..catching my breath.. and I'm just..so..e-excited to see you! We haven't..s-spoken in awhile..!

gc: hm...okay...

But I have a question from hollyberry cookie.. have you eaten lately..?

pv: not today.. but last night I ate so much I felt sick.. I am... g-going to be truthful with you.. I am... hungover..

gc: oh-

pv: y-yes.. so I don't particularly have an appetite today.. in fact shadow milk cookie has actually been checking up and making sure I eat...

gc: oh really..?

pv: really!

gc: so he's not as bad as I thought..

pv: see he does care about me!

You can tell hollyberry cookie I'm alright! I'll be speaking with her and dark cacao cookie next week.. this week was rather busy as I've been accepted as "step master" by shadow milk cookie's minions. They're really like his children but I think he's afraid to say it...

its quite adorable that he-

i... need the um..I need the restroom...p-pardon me, I-I'll j-just be a minute m-my.. my....apologies golden cheese cookie...! *runs off*

gc: .... Odd...

....

Ugh.. what's with him!?..

s: *chucking away the voodoo doll* why hello goldie~! It is I! The cookie you don't like!

gc: *grumbles*

s: I heard the whole thing~ it's really cute how you think you can sway his decision, whaat~? Are you jealous?

gc: I'm not.. I'm worried for my FRIEND because he's dating a BEAST.

s: aww girly being so vehemently against something that literally doesn't affect you, what are you a twitter user?

gc: what..?

s: how callous of you! What about HIS feelings? Why do yours matter, are you that greedy greedy selfish? Losing your treasures once shouldn't make you think only "me me me" matters. He's happy so get over it. Instead you fought him over it! Loves love goldie, but you'll never get that.

gc: what do you mean.. I have a boyfriend..

s: who's that? Is it maybe, a little isty bitsy possibility that you're a HYPOCRITE! *pulls out of a photo of gc making out with bspice, it's a real picture*

gc: w-where- did.

s: my minions are VERY good at getting dirt on any cookie. How would pure vanilla cookie feel of you were judging him for something you're LITERALLY doing..

So how about we strike a deal!

I won't tell pure vanilla cookie, if you teach him to fly.

gc: you vile be- ...huh.. you don't.. want anything for yourself?

s: what could I possibly want from you? You're just a useless birdy to me.

I want my angel to fly. He deserves it! Angels shouldn't be bound the earthy plane. They should be able to fly and spread their wings. You know how to fly so teach him and I won't use my little black mail.. is that a deal?

gc: ....deal...

s: thank you! Hahaha! Finally I'll see my angel soar!

I'm glad you understand!

pv: *returns* u-um.. my deepest..apologies g-golden cheese cookie.. I must..um.. go change..

..It would...appear I um.. made a little mess....of myself..

gc: ?????????

s: pfft?

pv: *walks past shadow and and glares at him with his many eyes* come with me. Right now, we NEED to talk.

s: are you blamin' me for your accident? It's not my fault you didn-

pv: I know it was you toying with my body.

you, me, talk, now!

Sorry golden cheese cookie I have to cut our meeting short.. my step minions are sick..

gc: um.. okay??

Ooc: despite everything the meeting actually went well because gc does accept the relationship in the end (even before smilk called her out on her hypocrisy)

73 notes · View notes

colorfullyminded · 9 months ago

Text

TLDR

Okay I cannot believe I'm about to go off like this, but this has been bothering me for awhile, and it's only making me more spiteful. I have been enjoying the influx of Billford art lately. Amazing, great wonderful. What I have Not been enjoying, is the absolute vitriol the Billdip fans have been getting since the influx of TBOB. I was a billdip shipper for awhile. Hell I was a billdip shipper when I was a Parapines shipper-- I liked shipping Dipper with boys. I was also like 14 or 15 at the time. Obviously, if you follow me now, you'll probably notice what my main ship for Dipper is. I grew out of Billdip, and moved on to Pinescone. I have been shipping Pinescone for 10 years. However, not once did I go around saying "Lol, glad I matured and became a better person and shipped something healthier", nor did I post in the billdip tag, condeming people for a fictional ship! And saying mine was better because it was less problematic.

"I'm really glad people stopped shipping Bill and Dipper together. Bill is a 1000 year old triangle demon, and Dipper is 13--" Stop. Repeat what you just said.

"Bill is 1000 year old triangle--"

Repeat that last word to me. "....triangle?" TRIANGLE! I'm sorry what?! This ship is already completely wild enough. You're getting mad at this fictional age gap-- AND BILL IS A FUCKING SHAPE! A FUCKING SHAPE! This ship was weird from the moment GO! And Billford isn't any better. IT'S STILL A SHIP WITH A FUCKING SHAPE! And you're going to sit on your high horse and look down on the Billdip community. On top of it-- they have an age gap too! Bill is still thousands of years old or whatever-- however long it's been, who knows? And Ford was in his 20s or so when he met Bill. That's still a huge, ridiculous age gap-- that Bill could easily use and manipulate; which he did....and then also caught feelings and became a sad ex, but that's beside the point~ Both of these ships are still insane. And again, the bigger thing I think people are just ignoring about these ships--is that Bill is a TRIANGLE! THREE LINES CONNECTED TOGETHER! And this is the hill you're going to die on? ...Cause apparently it's mine. First of all-- as many people pointed out-- Ford Pines did not exist until the second half of the final season. People couldn't ship Fordbill because there wasn't any Ford to introduce.

"Well, even before Ford, I never shipped Billdip! I always disliked it." ...Okay, that's totally fine. Not everyone needs to like or agree on the same ship. Lord knows there's probably people who don't really care for Pinescone either. There's a lot of popular ships that I can't stand. But I'm don't go into a ship tag I don't like, screaming to a void for self validation. I don't go around mocking other people for ships that they had in 2014-- or even still today! It doesn't matter! I did that when I was a kid-- and then realized that was rude, and it was better to just ignore the ships I didn't like and enjoy the ones that made me happy. And grow a community of kind, like minded friends. And listen, I am all for safe spaces and being able to block things that make you uncomfortable. I am not saying people who find the BillDip ship uncomfortable to be idiots or babies or overly sensitive-- or anything like that. I think if something makes you uncomfortable, that is okay and I think it's perfectly fine to blacklist a tag that you don't want to see. I also think it's imperative that people tag things as accurately as they can so people looking at your work can know if one of your pieces has a thing that they don't like-- and therefore can avoid. What I don't appreciate is the fanhate for this ship that is sprouting up like weeds. You can not like something, you can be disgusted by it (I have my Gravity Falls ships I can not stand, nor do I feel comfortable with), but attacking real people for a FICTIONAL SHIP-- two characters who are drawings on a piece of paper and can not be affected mentally, physically or emotionally by fanwork; who still retain the same shape after everything we put them through-- to the point that you send death threats, or threaten to Doxx, or just harass relentlessly, I have always found that more childish and disgusting. You are causing real world pain to people. Me fucking up Dipper Pines is not going to do anything to him-- because he doesn't actually exist. He's a cartoon character. I could squash him and stretch him in Wonka's taffy machine--- I could throw him mock speed at a wall and watch him explode on impact-- but he still exists. He's not dead; I can pick him up and dust him off, and If I wanted-- I could decide that eh, 'Not a scratch on him'. And I'd be right. Because he is a cartoon character, and I am just a fangirl. I can not change anything about him-- I have no ability to make anything I headcanon canon. And even if I was the original artist-- it doesn't change the fact that Dipper would still be nothing more than a creation. A construct of shapes; he can not be hurt or traumatized in a way that leads to real life consequences-- because he is not real. I am not a cartoon character. My friends are not cartoon characters. Artist and Writers who stay in their lane...are not cartoon characters. If you hurt us...it will linger. It will leave a scar. If you can not tell the difference between Fiction and Reality, then I think maybe media might be too much to handle-- and I think you need to really reevaluate yourself.

And just to vent some other things that i keep seeing that are frustrating: You can't claim the twins are only 13-- and then on August 31st go "Happy 20-something Birthday Mabel and Dipper!" And then proceed to drop a picture of them as adults. Well which is it? Do they age or not? Because Gravity Falls showed them canonically aging. If you think the twins age-- then you can't suddenly turn around and go, 'no you can't ship them-- Dipper is a child!' but you drew him as an adult. So sorry, it looks like you can't draw the twins grown up anymore. You claimed they're 13, so better draw them 13 forever--. Aged up stories and works exist for a reason, especially for a fan who grew up on the series. The characters might have grown up alongside them. It's not unlikely for a person to ship Billdip when Dipper is much older.

And on that note, for people who are like 'well older billdip is fine-- it's just people shipping him during the show that deserve to die.' Okay... and like I said, this rant is coming from a recent influx of Billford shippers spitting on Billdip shippers. You know? The TOXIC Old Man Yaoi!

You're still shipping something that is problematic. You are still shipping something twisted and wrong. And I am not judging you. I am here for this divorced arc. I am thriving. But you can't just pick and choose what is and isn't okay. And let me first off explain; if there is something that personally triggers you about a toxic ship, and you want to avoid that-- again, perfectly understandable. Perfectly reasonable. You are the makers of your content space. And I am not judging anyone for that. I want people to be safe. I want people to have a good time in fandom spaces. I want people to not have to deal with the things that upset them or frighten them, or disgust them. But you can not say one is fine, and one is not. They're both bad! They're both toxic. In real life, these ships would both be charged with serious crimes! And yes, there are some crimes that are worse than others, and if you asked me what I thought was more problematic-- I'd say Billdip-- but both of these ships are extreme, and severe in their problematic content. You are still consuming problematic content. If it's a personal thing, that's fine; avoid it. But don't sit there throwing stones from your glass house.

156 notes · View notes

dingodad · 3 months ago

Note

You're not the first person I've seen imply that mind control in Homestuck doesn't actually make the characters act against what they would want anyway. I don't think Tavros wanted to jump off a cliff, but he did want to fly and I guess unfetered of a sense of personal safety, he'd try it? But a character can't want anything, so maybe since they don't have minds to control, mind control is just a narrative tool to make things happen with characters that would normally not do those things?

it is pretty central to Homestuck's philosophy that characters only ever act in accordance with their intrinsic nature. I'm hesitant to even use the words "mind control" in relation to Homestuck at all, because things that we identify at a glance as mind control are almost always better described as what I have previously called "psychic stimulus". Gamzee and Dirk are not at the whims of Lil Cal; rather, Lil Cal represents a part of themselves which stimulates them to act upon urges they already feel. similarly, Gamzee's own powers can only amplify fears that a character already has, and as such we can make similar guesses as to how Kurloz does what he does. this is why I think alchemy is such an important symbol in Homestuck: the really clever alchemists of centuries pasts understood that you could never change the fundamental nature of lead to make it into gold; rather, the essence of gold already exists within lead, and alchemy is merely the process of bringing that essence out.

the same principles drive the comic's command-and-response dynamic: while the readers (slash exiles) were free to suggest what a character should do next, it was never in their power to make anyone do anything. each character would respond to a command in a way that communicated the person they already were.

Vriska is an interesting case, and in some way seems like an exception (as she often is) - but the important caveat with her powers is that she can't mind control humans. she can control chess people because carapacians have always largely been blank game pieces for the audience to project what they like unto - they're free game. and while she can control some trolls, it's worth noting that all of the more important troll characters are basically immune to her psychic manipulations. the fact that she can only control "weak wills" is almost like an acknowledgement of the fact that she can only control people who aren't really characters - the main cast will always be free to act upon their own wills.

but I think you're right that she doesn't have absolute carte blanche to control minor characters, either. someone suggested to me once that the incident with Tavros had her tapping into the death drive or "call of the void" that all people have, which is one explanation; I think what's especially important to remember, though, is that her psychic powers were not the only tool she used to engineer that accident. as Tavros' clouder, she had already engineered a situation where Tavros had no choice but to either pit himself against unbeatable enemies or flee over a cliff! her psychic powers are ultimately just one of a variety of tools she uses to engineer situations in her favour, and she uses the existence of these powers to make herself seem omnipotent. which is exactly what she learnt to do from her mentor Doc Scratch, who also proudly claims omnipotence but is still limited by the personalities of his game pieces; he could never make Vriska do bad things, but he was very good at engineering situations where she had no choice but to act on her own instincts to lash out and hurt people. from inside, the narrative webs they weave just seem inescapable.

I think you're kind of touching on something with the idea that characters "can't want", though I don't know if it's necessarily quite that straightforward. characters are slaves to their own personalities, and while we like to think that our personalities lead us to make decisions that benefit us or make us happy, it's just as easy for us to make decisions that align with our own values but still have negative consequences. so it's less a question of whether Tavros "wanted to jump off a cliff" in that exact moment, and more a matter of whether we think it's in alignment with Tavros' personality for him to risk severe injury in order to avoid a confrontation with a mob of impossible enemies. we should treat the question 'why did the character react to this psychic stimulus in that way?' the same way we treat questions like 'why did the character behave this way in this timeline but another way in that timeline?'

or maybe Vriska really is just a special girl who gets to do things to trolls that the Condesce isn't allowed to do to humans.

#homestuck

55 notes · View notes

howlsofbloodhounds · 6 months ago

Text

Anyway here is my aimless, ‘analysis’ on Color and why he lives, why he may seem focused on Killer, but also why that’s just his character to be outwardly focused on others and rarely allowing any bits of his internal self to slip through, likely because he just doesn’t genuinely think of himself outside of anything involving the six human souls and their needs, and doesn’t really expect others to be much interested in him either. He views himself as easily forgettable and replaceable, even as it’s the things he fears and dreads most.

I’m typing as I think so I’ll probably clean it up later if yall don’t understand.

But he also fears failure. Failing to save people, failing to protect them. Saving Killer is something he’d do for anyone, but it also provides a sense of closure for him.

And stuff on my end copy pasted from Discord,

“Also Random kinda unrelated thought but like. maybe like killer, color doesn’t really know what he’s doing with his life either.

I wonder if he expected to die when he absorbed the souls, and then he never expected to get or be free. I wonder how listless he was before meeting killer. was he only living for others.

People say colors character is only about killer but that’s only because 1. Some refuse to look into his AU. And 2. Color didn’t exactly have much of anyone else??

For all intents and purposes his home isn’t his home. He knows them but they don’t know him and he has no reason to live in canon actual animated othertale (where he doesn’t know killer or the epic sanses) besides once again ensuring that they’re all safe from this new threat when we meet him.

(Edited:) It’s even implied he’s only still alive after his last escape attempt, however long ago (since it’s implied that Color has been with Gaster in the Void for like 17-20 years at least), because of Gaster. Either he was trying to kill himself, or he was willing to risk dying.

but once that was gone, what was he going to do. they still don’t know him, anything about him, and he doesn’t know them. They’re so different from how he remembers.

He has no one. They’re alive but they’re not. He’s risked everything for them and he was happy to die doing do so but he didn’t. What’s he supposed to do with himself now. There’s no place for him in the world, and the world doesn’t even seem to want or need him anymore.”

It’s worth noting that Othertale only exists as it does, instead of being normal Undertale, precisely because Sans/Color was kicked out, patched over, forgotten, erased, replaced by Undyne and then it all moved on without him.

So even in my hc that Color leaves Othertale, takes Core Frisk’s offer to join the Omega Timeline, and became Delta’s roommate; he was still at his lowest point, and didn’t even reach anything resembling a high point until meeting Killer.

He can see Killer, but no one else seems to. He wants to help, and he wants to understand. No one else is gonna pursue this, help Killer—those who have tried have failed. He reasons for helping killer are born from moral principles, past experiences, the belief that no one else would (for valid reasons), and even those who don’t even think Killer needs, wants to be, or deserves to be saved.

Similar to Vi from Arcane, who was thrown into prison for her developmental teenage years, coming out not realizing everything has changed, that her sister has changed, and unwilling to accept that powder has grown up and has a new name.

But unlike Vi, who attempts to make everything go back to the way it was, color just..avoids it. Leaves, away from it, goes looking for something new.

His need for something new comes from having spent years in what amounts to basically solitary confinement, where everything was the same over and over, until eventually even the suicide escape attempts and breakdowns became more of the same.

So while Color makes Killer feel wanted, needed, safe, cared for, loved, validated, protected—Killer makes Color feel seen, heard, remembered, important, needed, fascinating, valued. Seen and valued. They make eachother feel understood.

I think similar to Vi, Color is a caretaker, a protector, of individuals and communities he happens to stray into on his wandering trips—he’s terrified of failure, but also craves acknowledgement for what hes always tried his best to do.

If he’s not looking for something new, not wanting to stay in the same place forever, he’s trying to use his life and freedom to give the six kids keeping him alive a second chance at living—he’s not obligated to anyone, unlike Dream is (being a guardian of positivity), he’s just some ridiculously powerful guy. An afterthought in his own story, because it wasn’t his story, but a major part in Killer’s.

He doesn’t help others only because he wants acknowledgement, but also because it’s just what he thinks is right, but having his efforts acknowledged cements that he’s still real, still existing. That he hasn’t been forgotten. And I just think Killer is particularly skilled at making him feel appreciated, and valued.

He’d do it this for everyone in Killer’s place, who asked him for help. He’d help them to the best of his ability, and he wouldn’t ask for or expect anything.

But Killer gives it to him, knowing he’d never ask for it — because he can see Color, and that he likes being seen, and is maybe even suprised that Killer would see him the way he does. And Killer likes seeing Color—would like to see everything about Color. Not just his souls or his code.

Killer makes Color feel like he isn’t just a step outside the rest of world, or like he isn’t a ghost— or more like, killer stepped outside the world with him and joined him there. Color’s eye doesn’t look through Killer, and Killer’s gaze doesn’t drift right over Color.

This is not accounting for the HC that Color and Delta are roommates, of course, which would change some things—mainly in that Delta would’ve seen Color at all his lowest points and would’ve been the one taking care of Color—and a lot of how Color takes care of Killer may even be somewhat inspired by his relationship with Delta, but again that’s hc and im mainly focusing on the bits we have in canon.

I’ll probably expand on this part in a bit, but I think it’d be the Epic Sanses (and maybe even the Abyss Team) that teach Color to live for himself and what he wants—and he goes on to use that to help Killer.

55 notes · View notes

ironunderstands · 4 months ago

Text

I don’t think we talk enough about how tragic of a character March 7th is

I think her rather cheerful demeanor has unconsciously shifted people away from realizing just how well, sad her situation is. She was found in a chunk of mysterious ice floating way out in the vacuum of space with no explanation for how or why she was out there. March had no possessions, no memories, not even a damn NAME to know herself by, to the point where she decided to refer to herself using the date she was found: March 7th.

And yeah, she’s begun to forge an identity for herself following her rescue, but just imagine not knowing who you are, you who were, and having the literal universe itself (or more accurately, the memokeepers) going “No no, you can’t know about your past, it’s that bad!” which only leaves you with more questions than answers.

How can she not lie awake at night thinking of who she might have been? Was her past tragic? Evil? Delightful? Meaningless? Who did she leave behind? What did she leave behind? How bad was it to the point where March shouldn’t know about it for her own good? These are all horrifying questions she must be asking herself, and yet March has quite literally been denied all of their answers. At least the Trailblazer and Dan Heng have the comfort of knowing who they were in their pasts, even if those people were not the best, because then at least they can process it.

However, March has nothing TO process, just a whole lot of questions and not a single answer, and it must be terrifying not knowing who you are, and I don’t just mean on a spiritual level. What if March gets sick from some mundane thing which the crew never could have predicted because her biology simply doesn’t match any recorded species? What if she unlocks a new power and/or accidentally becomes a danger to herself and others, with simply no way to predict that? March has so many weaknesses and strengths she doesn’t know about simply because she doesn’t know anything at all about herself.

Like yeah the six-phased ice is fun and pretty looking, but if you think about it for more than a second, it gets kinda creepy. A substance unmatched in the universe that March can just produce at will? What is it? Where does it come from? How does it work? How can SHE control it? Why can she control it? How come it doesn’t exist elsewhere? Why was she encased in it? Did March freeze herself, because to me that’s what it looks like, or maybe her long exposure to the ice gave her some sort of control over it? Who knows? I don’t, and March certainly doesn’t.

As for the day she does find out, will she be disappointed? Will we as an audience be disappointed? Are the 26 something backstories she came up with for herself better or more interesting than the actual truth? Is it better for HSR to never tell us, to have this gaping mystery stuck in the game that they refuse to solve, knowing that whatever they fill that void with will never be enough to satiate its viewers? Keeping HSR’s theme of accepting one’s past and moving forward despite everything, would it be better to simply not explain who March was?

We learned who Dan Heng was, the TB will learn who they were, so what about March? What if they truly never answer that question? I doubt it will happen, but I think it would be so much more interesting if her past was really kept a mystery. That no matter who March was in her past life, she can be happy in this one and become the person she wants to in spite of that. She made her own name, made her own family, made her own identity and skills and friends and personality, and no matter how different she was before being frozen in the ice, March has who she is now and that’s what she’ll stick with, because it belongs to her more than that nebulous past ever did.

All that to say, hoyoverse, please do not drop the ball on March 7th, although I have long since lost faith in you not to do so

#hsr #March 7th #march 7th hsr #march 7th honkai star rail #shes one of the characters I adore but like #I am working on a fic centered around her though so I’ll update you on that #I read a few too many Spidey in Gotham fics and went “great”#“what if this was March instead”#Also if you follow me yk how much I adore crossovers #Twas only a matter of time #They are like crack to me #If you ever want to capture me just wave a “X character from media I like sent to universe of other media I like” fic in front of me #I’ll be a goner as soon as you read out that sentence 😭

48 notes · View notes

worokapi · 4 months ago

Text

after god observations

so I've read After God 6 months ago but recently in October it just absolutely out of nowhere FULLY seized my hyperfixation to a level so intense I'm genuinely so startled. I haven't felt this normal about a piece of media in YEARS holy moly.

the English fandom is so miniscule so hella I was SO happy to find there's an After God tumblr corner. anyway first post, hello anyone who stumbles across these ramblings... warning this gets kinda rambly but it's just me being gushy about the series.

abt me I don't actually frequent tumblr that much, I'm kinda new in terms of experience, although I just have some social anxiety over talking about things I like publicly so I hope this sideblog gives me a little bit of strength talking to the void. I need a place where I can go INSANE over this series anyway WAHOO!! maybe will also post fanart in the future also, maybe!

there seems to be a much larger fanbase in Japan (mangaplus/urasunday where the original Japanese is posted gets hundreds of comments as opposed to English's official publisher on comikey. albeit I don't think comikey's the best at making it accessible either). Mangaplus/urasunday do post the latest 1-2 After God chapters for free on the website btw for folks who like to read ahead. Unfortunately anything before the latest 2 chapters is region-locked to the app and I don't really want to bother trying to figure out how to get it but that's what I'm mostly aware of.

I've seen some mixed reviews in the English side, though there's only a handful really out there, but most times I feel people are missing the point!!!! AHHHHHH!!!

when I first read the series 6 months ago, I didn't think of it that much except it shared some similar ideas to my own existing original work I thought would be cool to draw some inspiration off of. I'm honestly not really sure what happened in october, but I think it started because I gave it a second reread. And SO MUCH suddenly clicked. I didn't skim the dialogue as much and began to reexamine scenes and panels with the foresight of the later chapter events. And I fell absolutely in love. preordered and got the first volume in english on release date yippee!!

the first volume or chapters 1-8 is admittedly pretty much an exposition dump, but I think that rough start is kinda to be expected for most series trying to get a reader hooked into a new world. chapters 9-20 are really where things start kicking. It leads you to think Kamikura Waka is shounen-type protagonist like one chosen hero vs the big threat, but then breaks down into a more raw, mature look at the complicated lives of normal people who're just trying to survive, find their own happiness, and fight threats they only somewhat comprehend.

are IPOs really that different from humans? But not in the sense "humans are worse and gods are better" or "humans are better and gods are worse", but in the sense that "we're all equally messy in the same way, just trying to exist because that's all we know what we want to do."

I feel it's a story that needs to be read with the attempt to understand the characters as people with layers of contradiction and their relationships with one another. That's where so much of the meat and the weight of After God comes from for me, and many of these "this was disappointing" reviews don't really seem to even notice that part at all or tend to be confused why the characters act the way they do.

/// spoilers ahead!! talking about some of my observations and thoughts

I can't really remember where it was if there was a more explicitly stated spot that Ahu'az takes the form of what people see as most beautiful (at this point I'm wondering if I'm hallucinating this up oh god). Closest thing with the implication this is the case is in Chapter 34 when Yako/Furuya asks "what form did the God Ahu'az take for you?"

if this is the case though and it changes from person to person's perspective... then oh all the more tragic when Shion went to see Ahu'az and saw Waka/Alu'la as her most beautiful person.... DOOMED YURI, FUCK

obikawa saying "wow it's cooler here than I expected" back in chapter 9 really gets a new perspective when you apply the later reveal how IPOs are basically born

silly thing to wonder about, did the florescent banana tee Obikawa gave Tokinaga somehow become the saving grace that stopped him from getting eaten lol?

he is such a loser (affectionate) though like TOKINAGA YOU'RE LITERALLY 10 STEPS AWAY FROM YOUR HOUSE YOU CAN GET CHANGED!!

Tokinaga talks about being afraid of bathtubs chapter 17, and then on a reread I noticed he is standing in front of a bathtub in chapter 3. what kind of hell happened to you my guy omfg

I know that damn Default CSP Rubble Asset when I see it!!!!

pattern recognition throws me out of the loop a lot I work on comics in CSP as well and now I don't read webcomics the same way anymore oops. right off here I think it's pretty safe to determine After God was drawn in CSP; assets can't really be converted to other programs.

more CSP assets I recognized:

this hatching brush for the outline of Tokinaga here is ベタ線新 from this set

Nayuu's tree branches are from this set

and I'm pretty sure the water here is from this blood set, which might appear elsewhere a few times (i see these shapes in my dreams. this blood set haunts me so bad)

to be clear this isn't a critique or "using assets is bad" at all. normal readers are not going to notice these things. (in which i'm not normal i study Eno's art so intensely because i admire it so much). when making comics or other repetitively drawn works, artists will take shortcuts and should absolutely take shortcuts. it's just neat to share what tools were used for those curious!

off topic on the topic of csp if anyone would like the link, she's shared the brush she made for drawing Vollof here too!

I can't freaking imagine how it feels to have your beloved friend melt away on your lap between your fingers like that unholy

if you squint much, you can make out both Yoriko and Tokinaga overlaid in the speech bubble, though I'm not sure what the next one really says

but ahfjhfgifgh!!! the book being animal anatomy is such a stab in the leg cherry on top

(and it's probably an art error but tokinaga's pinky is back/weirdly has a solid shape there instead of it being flabby glove. wani asks how did tokinaga get there before he and yoriko so silly weird theory its tokinaga from a different time iterative loop? wonky. probably still an art error though)

so how did Alu'la get "reincarnated" within a human? How does an IPO get reincarnated at all? We've seen orokapi needed to eat a human to become a specific human. Alu'la definitely didn't eat a human.

We hear from Orokapi he drank seawater mixed with sewage and gained the intelligence that way. Closest I could think of are the microbiota that make up an IPO and their abilities. Maybe Waka's parents or Waka drank shit water of the sort and got the microbiota inside her that way or idfk

Thanks Tokinaga for the "uses chopsticks to eat everything" rep 🔥🔥

i'll leave you on that this is getting too long AHHAAHAJF thanks for reading, hope you got something cool out of this post! :]

#after god #after god spoilers #rambles #theories #technically a review of the series i guess? not officially but they are my thoughts #after god was drawn in csp btw anyone else recognize more assets #the queercoding is so freaking intense in this series #its making me think about how i want to love too #they might not be inherently romantic but they're absolutely not straight!!!

36 notes · View notes

xoxo-ren-xoxo · 3 months ago

Text

I wrote a thing... erm. @toppo-da-foxxo you asked me to tell you more about this au but this is really just the same thing but written down nicely. Hope you enjoy anyway :J

cw: major character death (uh. he'll get better don't worry?? just not here), mind manipulation, forgetting, cosmic / eldritch horror

Contrary to popular belief, Listeners are not the ‘good’ version of Watchers. More moral, perhaps, preferring not to meddle in mortal activity. They have a strict code against interfering, unlike the Watchers, which is why the Watchers were outcast. But like any of the observers, they cannot understand players.

Just as we can never understand what it’s like to be an insect. To crawl on the ground so miniscule. To be picked up in a little glass cup and moved from inside of the house to outside, by an entity so much vaster than ourselves - all observers are blind to the individuality and personhood of players.

The Watchers wanted to do more than pick players up and put them outside. They wanted to feast. Greed is what drove them to play with people’s existences, basking in the delicacy of mortal pain. So unethical and horrific that even their own brethren couldn’t stand to see it.

And thus, they were banished, and all worlds were protected from them. Millions of years passed. The Watchers starved, and started to die. Fading away into the stars, into the void, into nothing, until only two remained.

Then, Evo appeared. A server, infantile and unprotected, its admin breaking the world in a way that made it undetectable to the greater observers. Prime pickings for the hungry Watchers, desperate to feed and to recruit new blood.

The rest is history.

It has been six long, difficult years since Grian escaped the Watchers. Their torture and changes still linger as he hides. Most days, he is alright now. Happy, energetic, pesky, creative. All of the things he used to be.

Some days are like today, and he can’t get out of bed at all. But that’s okay too. His friends are there to help him. They don’t mind. No one minds. It took a long time for Grian to realise that.

Laying in bed, eyes closed but not asleep, he hears the front door open. Sometimes he’s glad he built a little space for himself in the tall, stilted base he propped up against the side of the mountain. It’s cozier than the usual bed sitting outside with a singular torch next to it.

He is expecting someone, probably Scar, to start making food in the little kitchen area beside his bedroom. He's expecting to hear the clatter of glass and silverware, maybe something frying in a pan. Just like every day like this, where he just can’t bring himself to move. The friendly sound of pots and pans, gentle humming, or a light one-sided conversation, usually pull him into a nice sense of comfort... but he doesn't hear that. He doesn't hear any footsteps, or any calls of his name, or-

He is tempted to open his Eyes, just to look around.

And it is when he has this thought, that a siren starts blaring. Across the server, a droning tone moves up and down the register, whining and wailing its warning song. It penetrates every single chunk, from the nearby shopping district all the way out to the world border. Every hermit hears it, and every hermit knows what it means, despite never hearing it before.

There is an intruder on the server. A powerful and dangerous one. Something has broken in, and it has an intent to harm.

Xisuma has certain code triggers in place, set to protect the server if something like this happens. The server scans itself, locating all foreign entities. It saves its logs, and begins to record, leaving something to view after whatever is happening is over. Morbidly, it is more for outsiders than for Xisuma himself. It's there just in case ... in case they don't get out alive. A system of locks trigger, trapping all players inside the server - which can be overridden with a password, but it is more to keep whatever is invading inside, to stop it from getting out into other worlds.

But Xisuma knows that these are desperate, inadequate measures. Set in place to make the hermits believe they are safe. Tango asked him, once, if something that powerful was able to break in, wouldn't it be impervious to any measures taken to trap or locate it? And Xisuma had lied, then, telling him the emergency systems would be more than enough to stop any threat.

He had lied, because he couldn't simply admit that they would be helpless. He couldn't just let his hermits down. Allowing them to believe in him, in the idea of safety, had to be enough.

And it wasn't. It isn't enough. Something is here. The sirens are screaming, and Xisuma, from the control room in his base, feels dread pooling in his stomach.

Grian, meanwhile, cannot move. He cannot open his Eyes, or his eyes. He's stuck. Frozen. In time, or in space. And yet, he isn't alone behind his eyes. There is something in his vision, something vast and all-knowing. Expanding outward to infinity.

Lots of things, but he's unsure where each one ends and begins. They have many eyes, but most are closed, unlike the watchers. It makes sense, because all of these gods, these factions, they're all the same type of creature. They all look roughly the same.

When the Watchers worried about losing their species, and made him a lesser one of them, it was more about the loss of their bloodline - their ideology - than anything else.

Still, it's strange to be face-to-face with gods again. Gods he hasn't met before. He'd grown used to One and Two. Their violating gaze, wandering code that slinked across his body, infinite forms that spoke in every language and none at the same time. He'd grown used to the discomfort and terror. And when he was Changed, and could comprehend them, he grew used to their neverending yet finite presence.

The gods before him now do not talk. They don't say a word, unlike One and Two, who said many. Mostly derogatory or uncaring things. Taking joy out of his pain. No, these ones say nothing. They simply observe him.

On the surface, the skin, the shell that he is made of, down to the muscle, bone, organs, flesh, blood, then onto the cells, the atoms, and finally the code. Every piece of code. He feels it all. But he is used to being looked at.

They say nothing, and yet he knows what they want. They want to kill him. He tries to plead, mentally. Emotionally. But they do not care to listen. He is beneath them. A criminal. A watcher.

One of the groups, one of the factions of observers, seems more interested than the others. It is nothing like mercy when they decide to keep him instead. To feast upon his suffering for a while before they get bored and inevitably end his life.

It's the Listeners that take him in, the other deities practically throwing him at them in a very disorienting process. He's ripped from his home in an instant, so fast he doesn't have time to even notice what's happening. It’s a blur of light and colour and shape and time.

And then he's in the void again. A structure in the void. A god's home.

- - -

Xisuma goes on this rescue mission alone. After weeks of painstakingly trying to locate Grian, using all of his energy and admin experience and voidwalker magic, he announces that he will be going alone - no exceptions. It's too dangerous, he tells the other hermits. Far too risky.

And what about him? What happens if he gets hurt? Xisuma tells them not to worry, but he is overflowing with worry himself. He knows what he's facing, and he knows how difficult this will be. He knows there's a chance he won't come home.

But one of his charges, one of his hermits, is lost and alone. He knows Grian must be alive because he still remembers Grian exists, but judging by what happened - or what Xisuma assumes happened - the last time Grian was kept hostage by deities... this might be a fate worse than death.

Scar makes him promise, under the lock and key of a vexian deal, to return safely with Grian. He's clearly angry that he can't go on the rescue mission too, blue light sparkling in his eyes. But he shakes Xisuma's hand, drawing blood with pointed claws, regardless, the singing laughter of the vex swirling around in Xisuma's mind for minutes after the fact.

And so he goes. Journeys. He's not sure how long it takes for him to reach the outer void. Time is so different, so fragile and bendable, here. He walks, as his species suggests, through the empty abyss with ease, but he's still simply a player, and can only comprehend so much.

Eventually, after what might have been months and might have been nanoseconds, he finds it. A strange, mind-bending prism, shifting and warping with the void atmosphere. A gods' domain.

It is... surprisingly easy to find Grian. Upon entering the structure, he slinks through the shadows of tight corridors and winding rooms until he comes across a tiny, barred cell.

The walls are opalescent, shimmering, while the ground seems to sway like an ocean. In the centre is a nest, constructed with wool and feathers and fabric which all appear to melt into one another. There are objects within, but nothing Xisuma could put a name to. Nothing truly familiar, though everything pushes the boundary of the real. The only thing inside he can really identify, truly, is Grian himself, curled up in the nest, wings barely folded and brushing the walls.

He tries to say Grian's name, but the sound falls away with the emptiness of the void. It is odd, not hearing his own voice. He was so used to communicating through sign and gesture as a child, but that was a millennia ago, and he hasn't been back to the void in any significant way since.

Still, Grian seems to hear him. He turns, jerky and sudden, to stare at Xisuma with wild, feral eyes. Animalistic eyes.

Seeing that gaunt face, Xisuma can tell he's been here for longer than a few weeks. His hair is long and dirty, clumped together in dark patches. His body is thin, bones jutting out under bruised skin, the few clothes left in tattered rags, and the expression on his face, teeth bared...

It’s too long of a pause. The issue, really, is that he is so close to rescuing Grian, when it all goes wrong.

In the space of a blink, he's not by the cell anymore. He's in some other room, disorientating and impossible. Before him are a series of patterns burnt into the code of the universe, and they are looking at him.

He panics. Tries to split the code between his claws. Tries to send these beings ahead of him into the dark pits of nothingness. He tries to eviscerate them, with all his power, and - of course - they don't even react.

Without words, they tell him to calm down. He does not calm down.

They are everything. They are everywhere. They encompass the entire universe and nothing and all the void and they are finite but they go on forever. A moment to them could stretch over millions of years. Even Xisuma, ancient as he is, is a dot in the timeline of their lives.

It is absolutely terrifying. He feels so woefully unprepared. So tiny and insignificant. Like nothing could have ever mattered before this. Every part of his being is taken apart, judged, and found wanting.

Then something incredibly strange happens.

In one second, Xisuma knows why he is there, why he's facing down deities in a cold, soulless void. He knows he’s on a mission to rescue Grian, his friend and hermit, from the grasp of these unimaginable monsters. And the next second, he does not.

It is worse, maybe, to be an admin, and feel the empty space where code once lived - where a player once lived - and to know there is something no longer there. Something he has forgotten so immediately, like the blast from an atom bomb, there is only a burning shadow left in its place.

He screams, and the grief comes from nothing. There is nothing. He does not know why he's here, and still knows all the same he has lost.

They tell him silently, and with every language at once, to leave, or the same will happen to him, and his players will be left with no admin to protect them. No admin, and no memory of an admin at all.

He feels like he has been sliced open and pulled inside out.

In an instant, he abandons the void, heading home with the knowledge of his loss lingering in the empty space where something - someone - should be.

- - -

On hermitcraft, Pearl is pacing around her room, worrying. She is an absolute mess of anxiety, picking at her fingernails and pulling the skin there until it hurts.

It is looking like she might wear a hole in the floor with how much pacing she's doing. The dark bags under her eyes show how little sleep she's had over the past few weeks. Her hair is unwashed and messy. Her room smells stale.

And then, in an instant, she has no idea quite what she was worrying about at all. The anxiety lingers, but when she tries to remember what caused it, she comes up blank. Entirely blank. Like nothing was ever the matter in the first place.

Huh.

Well, she has shops to stock and redstone to learn, and a super secret fight club to take part in, so whatever she was worrying about - which can't have been all that important anyway - can wait.

She throws on an elytra, and rockets off towards the shopping district.

///

Scar does not know why he feels so angry. Or, actually the vex feel so angry.

He's a pretty chilled out guy, even with the whole vex thing, so this is rather uncharacteristic of him. The vex are absolutely screaming for blood, in the way they would if a deal had been broken. They are ripping his mind to shreds with their constant screeching, shiny talons digging into the most primal parts of him and begging for redemption.

But he doesn't remember making a deal. He wouldn’t, knowing the consequences.

Maybe he and Cub played with each others' minds again, for fun, and something went wrong on that front? He has no clue.

Still, he needs to get some of these silly emotions out, so he shoots Cub a quick message asking for a brawl. Cub is very eager to agree, his own vex apparently needing something similar.

Weird.

///

Gem stares over the water at the other half of her base. She doesn't really know what she was thinking when she put this bit together. It fits somewhat with her little creepy fishing town, but... there's just something kind of wrong about it.

It's not her style, for one. The builds don't even make sense with what she has planned. These aren’t themed buildings with specific characters in mind. It's like someone else added it in without much of a regard for her aesthetic choices, but... no, it's her base.

She made this. Didn't she?

///

Across the server, at the exact same time, everyone forgets. A space where someone should be is glossed over, blocks rearrange their own backstories to fit a new narrative. Years of laughter, friendship, and chaos are replaced - remedied - with stand-ins.

Everyone is left just the same as they were before, as far as they know. As if nothing happened at all.

They all just continue on. Pearl, Scar, Gem, Cleo, Tango, Joel, Skizz, Impulse. Joe, Zed, False, Ren, Hypno, Mumbo...

Mumbo...

Mumbo... has a headache. He reaches up to press his fingers against the back of his skull, pushing into the point of pressure with a disgruntled sigh.

Something is wrong, and he can't tell what. He's been staring at this armour stand build for the past ten minutes, looking into the eyes of a stupid cod, of all things. There's just something about it, he thinks, that is bothering him to no end.

He considers tearing it down and using a different mob head to represent the hazmat suited figure, but the idea of destroying the silly statue makes his head hurt even more. Like an entire part of his very soul is being torn into.

Which is weird. Really weird. And don't get him wrong, he loves the occasional dabble into weirdness, but this is the wrong type of weird. Disturbing weird.

There's something missing from this image, his mind supplies unhelpfully. He's a little confused by that thought. Everything seems to be perfectly in place. Nothing is missing. But it is.

Or... Someone is missing. Mumbo checks to see who's online, and it all seems normal and fine to him. And yet his mind insists. Someone is missing. Someone so important that it is horrific he would ever forget.

That tug at his soul is there again. Just pulling, pulling, ever so slightly. Like someone is trying to break it in two.

His headache sizzles and lingers, depressingly. He grumbles to himself, and decides to bring this up with Xisuma at the next chance he gets.

Xisuma who went away for... some reason.

Well... Mumbo is sure it'll be alright in the end. Things have never not been alright in the end, after all.

#ben chats shit on the internet #hermitcraft #hermitblr #grian #watcher grian #watchers and listeners #watcher lore #mumbo jumbo #xisumavoid #im not tagging any of the others #forgetting something au

30 notes · View notes

patchwork-crow-writes · 1 month ago

Text

...you know, it's always felt like I've been slightly out-of-lockstep with the Deltarune fan community at large. And this is a feeling that's only really grown with the unveiling of the new trailer, to the point where I'm not entirely sure I belong here anymore. I suppose you could consider this my official hiatus announcement, if you'd like.

In the near-three years I've been involved here, I've seen Kralsei go from a small but dedicated following to near-total non-existence. Prominent artists for this ship have disappeared, one after the next, and the space grows colder and lonelier by the day. I've done my best to write engaging fiction around the topic, to promote discussion, to give my views on why the pairing at least deserves acknowledgement, if not support... and it just feels like I'm yelling into a void.

It's not just the "Ralsei-Asriel" conflation. It's not just the questions around Kris's autonomy, or player-character confusion, or whether they actually "hate" him or not. It's that no-one seems to be willing to engage with any of it. It feels like we SHOULD be able to talk about these things and discuss them, argue for and against, and come away with more respect and understanding for each others' positions. But that just isn't happening. There's NO discussion, no debate. Nothing. It feels that people have already made up their mind on the topic, and that's that.

And now I'm starting to wonder if maybe they don't all have a point. Maybe I'm the one who's being obstinate, clinging to my preferred version of events out of some misguided vision of what would make the characters "happy"... whatever that is supposed to mean. Maybe this is the realisation that everyone else came to long before, and they got out while the going was still good.

I love this community, and I've made some amazing friends, people who have literally changed my life. But maybe it's time for me to take a step back and focus on other things for a while. Of course, I'm still going to play Chapters 3 and 4 when they come out. I also want to keep writing, and there's a good chance I will finish the stories I've started here, or at least attempt to do so. But in terms of my involvement with the Deltarune fan community, I'm definitely going to be taking much less of an active role on Tumblr, at least for a while.

Thanks to everyone here who gave me the time of day and made me feel welcome. You guys are the best and I love you all. Maybe I'll see you all again another time, but until then, take care and stay safe <3

#hiatus #rambling

21 notes · View notes

calware · 8 months ago

Note

what r some of ur fav Hal fics? Currently looking 2 read some and would love some recs!

sure thing!!

fics that are specifically about hal:

Reallocated by breezefulskies mature - chose not to use archive warnings - 324,756 words - 65 chapters (unfinished) Hal finds himself stranded aboard a certain meteor, impact-bound for Houston, Texas circa 1995. And everything spirals out from there. Because sometimes, when a system seems to be just short of defunct, all that is required is to take a step back and reevaluate the materials at hand and redistribute your available resources. And so, with birth comes a countdown on a cycle that begins as it ends: In the red.

hal is mysteriously sent to earth via unknown means and finds himself raising a baby as best as he can, which, given that he's glasses, is not easy. this is my favorite homestuck fic, not just because it's about hal, but also because i love the focus on family dynamics and the plot as it unfolds. begging everyone to read this, i can't say what happens exactly without spoiling things, it's just really really good. at the moment, it updates once a month

Ersatz Abyss by katreal mature - no archive warnings apply - 120,092 words - 39 chapters (unfinished) You look into the mirror to find your own face looking back at you. You laugh. And then you cry. Last, you try and figure out how you got to this moment. The Auto-Responder had long since resigned himself to an artificial existence, his only dwindling hope for escape hinging on a promise that has yet to be fulfilled. Then one day he wakes up, Dirk nowhere to be found. What's the point in getting what you want, if you can't show off a little?

another great hal fic. i managed to get my roommate (who has not read homestuck) to read this and they really enjoyed it, so i'm sure you all won't have any problems liking this one either. there are a lot of fics out there of hal getting a body, but this one is very different in that it's not the happy ending that you might first think it is. this fic perfects the feeling of everything snowballing into a bigger and bigger problem until it all falls apart

fics that have hal in them:

Bound in Ink and Iron by cyphertext (@4lph4kidz) teen - no archive warnings apply - 18,627 words - 3 chapters (unfinished) A prisoner in his own kingdom, the Prince of Derse seeks his freedom through the inadvisable use of a magic mirror. While making his escape he finds himself lost and in the company of a strange boy who lives alone in the ruins of his grandmother’s cottage. Both cursed, both hunted, they agree to travel together in the hopes that they can find some way to save their loved ones from their terrible fates. Or so the story goes.

hal is in this one for one chapter. but so far there are only three chapters... which means he's there for a whole third of the fic ^_^ but for real, i really like the way zero portrays him here. i am a supporter of evil shadow clone rights

Tennessee Whiskey & You by mistlafey teen - graphic depictions of violence, major character death - 12,217 words - 5 chapters (unfinished) When Dirk dies after an aneyursm, Hal and Jake have difficulties coping. Jake drinks to forget, and eventually Hal can't handle drunk Jake and his own grief - so he turns that into anger. “I’m not him, Jake! I can’t fucking- I can’t fix you. Dirk is gone and you don’t get to pretend he isn’t anymore. I can’t be Dirk, and every time you try to tell me I am it fucking hurts. There’s nothing left for you here. If Dirk was the only person that filled a void in you, there is nothing left to make you whole.”

i honestly have no idea how this is going to go but the bar scene in this one lives in my head rent-free. idk if it's ever going to update again though. hal fans forever forced to take what we can get

Falling for the First Time by nobrandhero teen - no warnings apply - 63,818 words - 11/17 chapters The game is over, Alpha Earth resets to 2009, and Dirk's bro doesn't live up to expectations. The movie director who appears so chill and stoic in interviews is actually a talkative, needy dweeb like his teenage counterpart. It's not a bad thing, as far as Dirk's concerned.

for whatever reason, i'm a sucker for fics where the characters somehow end up on earth again post-game, and out of all the fics that follow that concept this one is my favorite. hal is also there sometimes

#ask #juiceboxxjamie

55 notes · View notes

gazstations · 2 months ago

Text

We'll Meet Again

ᯓᡣ𐭩 SUMMARY

You tackle your emotions regarding grief after you lose someone you love dearly.

FANDOM: Call of Duty

PAIRINGS: John MacTavish x reader

WORD COUNT: 2,166 words

WARNINGS: Mentions of main character death, spoilers for MW3, grief central, no defined happy ending??? No use of y/n

◇ Notes: I have been writing fanfic for over 11 years, and I am terrified to post this y'all. I have never written for the COD fandom, and I am going to combust. Y'all absolutely slay me with your writing. If this post is seen, hello guys. I am going to retreat into a hole now.

This is just a dabble and release of some intense emotions I've had using our favorite Scot.

○●○ NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

THE AFTERMATH OF LOSS WAS THE STAGE PEOPLE NEVER WANT TO ADDRESS. Perhaps for a valid reason. Every simplicity of life becomes a breeding ground for perpetual sadness. And with it comes the realization that a part of your life is now lived through foggy memory as you try to grasp every detail before it’s inevitably whisked away. It’s the pleading to remember, even just a small fraction. That’s the most heart-wrenching feeling.

Grief is usually defined solely by the main events–the actual loss and then the funeral. Closure is important; the act of moving on and accepting what has happened. Though, the lull of stagnancy is the stage after that threatens all the acceptance you think you’ve managed. A morning cup of coffee becomes a quiet sobbing fest at the kitchen table. Your favorite song is now the bane of your existence. Certain scents linger about and grip at your heartstrings until your muscle is nothing more than shredded material. The dullness is worse than the initial grief because that’s when you know there’s a void that once was whole.

That cup of coffee becomes the bitter reminder of all the times you sat at the same table, but you weren’t alone. The seat across the way was taken over by a mass of flesh and bone–a lively beautiful thing. Now, that seat remains forever pushed against the table, weeping with the lack of use.

You can no longer hear the chords of a sweet melody sing from the radio because the lyrics hit too close to home. Because when you claimed that song, you thought of someone else. It captured their essence and everything whole–almost like it was perfectly crafted for the both of you to whisper well into your years of life.

The scents are the worst part because those can show up completely unexpectedly. It can be anything–the cologne, the laundry detergent, or the shampoo and conditioner–that attacks you. But you can’t bring yourself to throw any of it away because it feels like you’re erasing something that should never know what it’s like to be forgotten. So the clothes lying in a heap on the bedroom floor remain untouched to not disturb their authenticity. The cologne sits on the corner of the dresser, the liquid inside never going down. The shampoo and conditioner sit on the shelf in the shower as if the plastic tubing will be squeezed by its rightful owner.

And the thing about life is it does not wait for you to bounce back. You must set aside your grief to contribute to the wider universe even when all you want to do is set yourself ablaze until you feel absolutely nothing. If you could burn out the parts of you that cave under the pressure of insurmountable agony, you would. You don’t want to be burdened by a wave of sympathy for a world that didn’t stop for you; a world that took selfishly from your puny hands simply because it could.

And yet, like a lost child, you come out into the world again because now you must find a space to fill the void that now resides in you. You never learn your lesson because even if you try to sever all ties with this existence, you crawl back naively. Thinking that this time when you give your soul out, you won’t be hurt. It’s an endless cycle, and you’re the only one crushed in the end.

It had been a week since your love died in the winter freeze. And since then, you felt stuck in limbo. Wake up, remember, drown, sleep. Wake up, remember, drown, sleep. Over and over. The buds of life can’t be planted again, not when the seed was made to be harvested by calloused hands that remain no longer.

John MacTavish filled your world with the golden light that caressed your skin. He was everywhere. Because that’s who he crafted himself to be. He burrowed his essence into your life because to him, he deserved to be there. And he did. His body was crafted by the same petal that made you. Your flowers bloomed on your own branches, but together, you created an existence that could be marveled at.

He lived his life with an infectious purpose. Johnny did not do things in halves. When he stitched himself to your side, he did so wanting and knowing that one he was there he would now have to stay forever. When you so lovingly joked that you could break up with him, he proved why that would never be an option.

He knew you would be devastated to live without him.

So it was almost cruel irony that all that intent to stay soon led to the departure. But perhaps Johnny did that with a purpose as well. For a man who was so adamant about existing in your world, he sure was eager to leave. Or maybe that was the bitter part of your heart that wanted to pull on the rubber band until it snapped. Once it snapped, maybe you wouldn’t feel the yearning that burned through every nook and cranny of your body. If you could be bitter, you couldn’t be agonized. Right?

No, bitter people were always agonized. The two went hand in hand. Pain flirted with anger.

It had been too early to see past your bubble of sorrow, but long enough to know in some way you were numb. Life became a monotonous gray world without your Johnny. This was the outcome he was always so afraid of leaving you in. Some part of him always prepared for that chance.

You refused it. You spat at the idea. It won’t happen. But you knew it would. Pretty things always got snuffed out once the freeze came. The petals died, the flowers weeped. Until they were ready to bloom once more.

Your spring wouldn’t come.

Johnny’s team burrowed their way around your ribs. To the world, they were killers, weapons of destruction. To you, they were just men. It was hard to think of them as anything else when you analyzed them through the dull filter of your eyes.

His captain, John, always had fingers itching towards temporary vices, amber liquid more accustomed to his liver than regular water. He was strong. Had to be when his other boys were busting at the seams. But even he could not stop the natural flow of grief that plagued his body. Years of training to be detached were naught, especially when someone said his name. A flinch, a sorrow, before he schooled his expression. The team adapted to only call him “Cap.”

The other sergeant, Kyle, was the peacemaker. He was a quiet presence, but not for lack of talking. No, he was the reason the house stayed standing. Dishes were done before the thought to do them crossed your mind. He helped you muster the strength to cook, adding small touches that made the flavors pop. He was sassy. He made you laugh even when your heart felt like it was caving in.

Then there was Simon. The watchdog. He sat by your front window for long hours. Observing. Analyzing. For what? You never knew. But he always was on guard, protective for the occupants in your cottage. You never said anything, just like nobody said anything when you dragged him to the bed you shared with Johnny. You slept better with the heavyweight nearby, and Simon got to protect Johnny’s muse.

It was difficult not knowing the full detail of Johnny's demise. You were a civilian and would always be on the outside looking in. You could tell the truth danced on the tongues on your new housemates, but they remained tight-lipped. John almost told you once before he shook his head and bid you goodnight.

Bullet through the head. That's all you knew. Bullet severed all his synapses so quickly, he was gone in the blink of an eye. It should've comforted you. Should’ve offered you some reprieve in your tormented heart. But it didn't.

For some reason, your grief festered then. He didn't even get a chance to fight his way back to you. What would've been the alternative? A man who functioned only half of what he used to be? Would that have been mercy in your eyes? No, it might not have been better just to say he was one of the rare victims that survived a killing shot.

It was after his death that your birthday eventually rolled around. You weren't even sure your housemates knew, so you didn't say anything. The day was like any other. The one time it landed on a weekend, and you wished you were at the monotonous ebb and flow of your job.

Kyle was gone doing god knows what. He had been gone when you woke up and hadn't returned by noon. Simon was around. He had his tea, disappeared into the home gym Johnny had crafted for himself, took a shower, and then helped John with some paperwork. John, he had been shut inside a room he claimed as his psuedo office all morning. You heard him on the phone at one point, but other than that, it had been quiet.

You found random things to occupy your time with. As if your melancholia wasn't leaking out into your home. You cleaned, you ate, and you sat outside. But nothing quelled the ache that nested into your chest cavity. Your birthday was a clear-cut tragedy.

However, you should've figured Johnny would find a way to make sure you were noticed. At one, Kyle returned bearing gifts. He seemed chirper despite it all. His chest was puffed out in pride like he had a new purpose. Undeniably, part of his uplifted attitude seeped into your pores. Kyle was good at that.

Like clockwork, John and Simon emerged from the depths of their isolation. John made a comment or two about Kyle being late, to which Kyle responded that the bakery messed up your dessert and he had them start over. Fondness filled your heart at that. They knew it was your day and were trying to make it something.

Kyle presented you the cheesy gift of a teddy bear and flowers, saying Johnny demanded it was tradition. It made you wonder how often Johnny spoke of you and when he even mentioned what he did for you every birthday. Even if you rolled your eyes at the collection of stuffed creatures throughout the years.

Johnny really had taken care of you.

This year, however, your gifts were accompanied by a mixtape. Johnny's small chicken scratch writing greeted you. You turned the CD case over in your hands, hesitant despite it only being music that would probably greet you.

The men surrounding you understood your reservations. John put a hand between your shoulder blades, a silent offering of assurance. It was almost a fatherly touch. In the time you have come to know him, you understood why his men looked up to him. He was an energy you naturally wanted to gravitate towards.

An almost inaudible expression of grief left your lips. You wondered when it would get easier to not have Johnny in your life. You wanted him back so deeply that your heart was shattering into little glass shards.

Would John care if you clung to him like a wounded child? Your eyes flickered up to the captain's, asking for something. Help? Something. You were never sure these days what you wanted.

“Go on then, love,” John spoke for you, urging you to pick yourself up from your brooding heap and figure out what was on the CD Johnny burned just for you.

You did. Your muscles still operated as you stood to your feet and carried yourself over to your CD player. Those things were collectables now, you cherished yours heavily.

The men took their spots respectively across the room. They were nearby in case you stumbled and never found the drive to get back up, but they also knew you deserved the time to yourself. They watched as you popped the CD into the player and pressed start, sinking into a cross-legged position on the carpeted floor.

The first song came through clearly. Johnny Cash and his guitar serenaded you. It sucker punched you right in the heart, made your heart let strangled, pumping breaths, but stole them at the same time. It was so Johnny. To know how to burn your world and then repair it.

We'll meet again. Don't know where. Don't know when. But I know we'll meet again some sunny day.

You looked up at the ceiling, falling back until your legs needed to stretch out in front of you. Tears collected in your ducts, making your vision turn wobbly. Your nose filled with congestion as you listened to the song.

Are you with me, Johnny?

You had a deep-rooted feeling he was.

#john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john price #call of duty #call of duty x reader #all i know is angst #john soap x reader #soap mactavish #soap cod #soap x reader

50 notes · View notes

irenespring · 2 months ago

Text

Thoughts on Bertha Russell (Many Thoughts)

I am So curious about Bertha Russell's backstory. We have little snippets:

Her father was a potato farmer.

She has lots of mommy issues. (George mentions her mother said she was the only child "worthy of her dreams" to which Bertha angrily responds that her mother's dreams were worthless because she died with nothing which is A Lot)

She has sibling issues. (George offers to invite her sister to a thing and she refuses)

She and George met when they were both poor, they made the fortune together.

She had a distinct learning curve when they first got to New York. She bought The Wrong House and made The Wrong Friends and had to learn and relearn things over a period of years. (I am especially interested about this time, because she would know Nothing, being the ultimate outsider, but she is a tactical genius and viciously ambitious...I want to see young!Bertha in the early stages of the struggle before she knows how to dress/talk/act).

I hope we will learn more about her because more than any of the other characters she wants things. Things that are nebulous, but she doesn't seem to realize are nebulous, because she has clear goals but they don't satisfy her so she has to make another goal. Loving husband doing well? Not enough. They have enough money to hear the call of the guillotine? It's not enough, they need status. They have status? Not enough, they need to beat Lina Astor. Now they've beaten Lina Astor, but I don't think anyone thinks that's going to be enough. George points out multiple times that he is content where he is and content to let their children marry for love to people of what Bertha considers middling station. She's the sole driving force for continued social climbing. And it doesn't matter how high they get, she wants to go higher, she wants to go "all the way" but there isn't an all the way unless I guess you're Empress of the World. But then the moon starts looking awfully conquerable.

She claims she's doing it for their children, but both children have said her suggestions aren't what they want. And it is heavily implied she just sold her only daughter to the Duke so he would attend an opera performance. She wants Gladys to marry the Duke so that she will be grandmother to English nobility. It's for her. So she is willing to use her children, her alleged motivation, as pawns. They aren't her real motivation after all, even if she may think they are. I do think she loves her children and George. I also think that she thinks she's helping Gladys, but I also think there's a limit to that love because it exists beside the yawning void of hunger within her psyche. George outright asks her if his love for her is enough to make her happy early in s1, because her love is enough for him. She says it's "almost enough" and that's significant and enough for him, which is telling, when usually any answer other than "yes of course" would be taken by a love interest as a searing betrayal. Anyway, the point is, her kids/her family are, at least, not her entire motivation and might not factor into her motivation at all, if she is fully honest with herself.

So, the hunger. The call to Rise. The rage that has her hyperventilating in bed alone after her failed party instead of crying in her husband's arms like most television characters would do. The instinct to look upon a room of people and think you will all bow to me you sniveling mortals. Why is it there? Like...why is she Like This? I think some of it has to come from what we can learn just from George's comment about impossibly ambitious, ruthless, low empathy Bertha being the only one "worthy of her mother's dreams." Which means her mother had dreams that were very important to her and that she never achieved. Her mother also guarded said dreams and judged her children harshly, we know Bertha has at least one sister, who is apparently judged not worthy in the eyes of her own mother. We know Bertha does not like talking about this and tries to dismiss it. Was there pressure on Bertha to be worthy? When could that have started and how did it manifest? Circling back to my interest in young!Bertha in NY, if the social rejection was bad in s1, it was probably worse then, and constant social failures would have made her angrier and more determined to both to become the queen of New York society and to see it burn. This is all stuff I want to learn more about in season 3.

HERE IS WHERE I PRETTY MUCH JUST DO PREDICTIONS (WHICH MAY BE TINFOIL, IDK):

Because I think we will finally get to see Bertha Russell: Season Villain. Every season needs a villain, and Bertha has pretty much vanquished all of them. The first couple seasons the overarching villain has been New York Society with its inequalities and pointless social cruelty, if that holds, Bertha is now the head of that system, having beaten Lina Astor and set herself up as the queen. Additionally, side opponents (not really villains) like Agnes also aren't in a position to make major problems for the protagonists because the Van Rhijn household is now the Forte household and cinnamon roll Ada is now in charge. Unless Agnes attempts to usurp her sister in a subplot (which I don't think will happen except for maybe one episode of hijinx) she's not in a powerful spot. The Society character is indisputably Bertha. And Bertha has been up to some serious villain shit. If she did agree to marry Gladys to the Duke, she's now against All the Protagonists---a sure sign of villain status. She's even against her husband, who swore to back Gladys in her choice of love match, and Gladys doesn't like the Duke. If Gladys wants out, Larry will almost certainly help her. And Saint Marian will help Larry either for love reasons or moral reasons, and hopefully Peggy has better things to do but she will probably get dragged into it somehow and if Marian's involved Ada's also involved and you see where this is going.

Also, show pacing wise, Bertha is due for a loss. I love her and I want her to win everything and be declared Empress of Earth and Moon but realistically that isn't going to happen. In a show where villains lose, it checks out. Gladys isn't going to marry the Duke, and if she does, everyone is going to regret it. One reason I think we will learn more about Bertha and her history is because if she loses she's going to Lose It. Dramatic monologue style. When she had a party and no one came she swore eternal vengeance and spent the night Angry Breathing and presumably fantasizing about the Red Wedding. She doesn't handle losing well. A big public loss after achieving every status symbol she could think of would probably break her mind, and she'll probably tell whoever she's talking to (probably George) enough backstory info that we the audience can fill in stuff. This is also where I would guess she and George would reconcile where he would see she is the person he loves and has not transformed into an automaton, she's just Messed Up, which he always knew and loved so he is Back In.

IN CONCLUSION:

This is who Marina was writing about. She is a primadonna girl, and all she ever wanted was the world. She cannot help that she needs it all, in this case the primadonna life: both the rise and the fall. She also knows exactly what she wants and who she wants to be. This is why she walks and talks like a machine. Unfortunately, she is becoming a self-fulfilled prophecy.

Oh, oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh.

#bertha russell #the gilded age #tga #character analysis #meta analysis #I love my girl #but she is a complete disaster waiting to happen #I was watching that bit of season 2 like “Bertha my darling you are Icarus stop being Icarus”#But she literally Cannot Stop #I do not think she's capable #like someone could lay out for her why everything she's doing is a horrible idea for everyone and she couldn't change it #She just has to Keep Going #That instinct for More cannot be satiated #Unfortunately she is over a century too early for good enough therapy #So she's going to crash hard #Probably in s3 but maybe in s4 #I want to know her backstory so bad you don't understand #Because she simultaneously hates everyone she talks to and desperately wants to prove herself to them #Like she wants to kill them so they'll be impressed at how well she's killing them #My tragic evil darling I love you so much #Anyway I'm excited for her to come under real scrutiny in s3 #Because through putting blorbo in more intense situations we can see what combinations of mental illness and trauma is going on over there #Because there is definitely something #Also I'm like 70% sure Aurora has a crush on her which is a big mood #Bertha seems like the kind of person where she and Aurora are getting drunk while the men are drinking Porte or whatever tf #and Bertha smiles and leans closer and Aurora is like gay panicking like “....is this it...would she be mad if I...kissed her...”#and then Bertha goes “on good days like today when I drink enough of this- the void is quiet and I actually feel peaceful” *drunk giggle*#and Aurora is like “....wtf” and then decides it isn't a turn off and resigns herself to another night of gay yearning #I do ship Bertha and George though which makes my shipping complicated #every time they have a scene together the Doofenshmirtz “Evil Love” song plays in my head

29 notes · View notes