#people make mistakes and sometimes you have to feel like a shitty awful monster and then you have to move on | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mangodestroyer · 11 months ago

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It's alright. I've come a long way in the past year. It wasn't easy. But I'm in a much better place mentally and I hope it continues that way. If anything, I'm sorry to hear that you have religious trauma and went through some of the things you went through! That sounds... worse. I'm not sure what religion you followed as a kid. I've recently been listening to some ex-Christians talk about some toxic branches of Christianity they grew up with, and it sounds rough!

I guess I did luck out a little. My brother fucked up so badly and now people realize he's just no good (not sure what took them so long). The situation is far from perfect, but I guess I have some closure.

But, you know, you can't really count on "closure." You shouldn't ever rely on karma "doing its job" or whatever to heal. I personally don't believe karma is real. I think some abusers just over estimate how "slick" and "awesome" they are that they can just keep doing horrible, selfish things. And then end up exposing themselves because they got so cocky. And yes, that's one way you need to start looking at it. Some abusers don't care about other people and think they're the shit. The only sentient beings on the planet, while everyone else is just their for them to use. I had to hear it from a psychologist to believe it. I mean, seriously. It was so hard to wrap my head around at first. Someone enjoying hurting others? Getting off from arguments and emotional reactions? Seeing everything. Every. God. Damn. Thing. As a competition? Wanting to control everything and everyone and play games?

I mean, seriously. I used to think a lack of empathy was unintentional. Same with many bad deeds. I used to think I lacked empathy because I was accused of being so awful and thoughtless. I thought no empathy meant you sucked at reading others, were sometimes selfish (as literally every Goddamn human is, and should be), and that you accidentally did hurtful things because you're emotionally stupid (and, you know, abusers can twist anything and make it seem like a war crime, so if you were raised with those kinds of people, it can make you sensitive to upsetting others). Nah, a lack of empathy is when you just don't care if you hurt someone. You wouldn't feel bad about it if you did. And then there's sadism. When you ENJOY IT. Go out of your way to do it. So that's that. I guess there are people who thrive when they cause pain. Because of their own wounds (or rarely, they were born that way). A tough pill to swallow. It makes things easier in ways. No longer do I see atrocities such as war as "human nature" or "human error." Yeah, some people cope hard and think that people doing bad things is some kind of mistake. Our "inner animal" coming out. Nah. That's just shitty people doing shitty things. Actually, the good part of this is that not everyone is a fucking monster. In fact, most people aren't. They just wouldn't "accidentally" commit atrocities. Because they were "misguided" or "hurt." And no, I'm not talking about intense survival situations or coercion, or life or death situations. I'm talking about the many situations where people could have... easily just not done that.

And no, thinking about the hurt that leads them to hurt won't help you. You're making excuses for them, when really, you should be disgusted with them. Feeling so gross over them thinking they had the right to hurt you. Some people might think that's toxic, but it helped me.

I used to make excuses for my ex all the time. I thought their family and past relationships, of which they claimed sucked and that "their exes didn't care about them." made them paranoid and pick up toxic behaviors. I thought the redflags were just them being young with trust issues. Nah, they're just a shitty person who doesn't care to work on themselves. Funny enough, when they were acting so ugly with me, I saw them act like that sweet person I used to know at the beginning with everyone else. Even when they were doing those "bad things" she couldn't tolerate me doing (for instance, it was okay if others got high, but not me). Also funny how her trauma and trust issues led to her always being in opposition with me all the time. Very conveniently and with everything. If I wanted or liked something, there was always a huge reason why we couldn't do it or why I should stop doing or liking that thing. For instance, I'm not sure what trauma she has over painting. But she argued with me not to do it. That she really didn't want me picking that up as a hobby. At least I could understand it over weed (but I'm glad I didn't stop just cause she didn't like it, it wasn't like I was around her smoking or getting super high). But painting??? And I let myself believe that me wanting to do that was selfish and inconvenient??? Why of course, everything that isn't me just working or working towards starting a family, and just indulging in things I liked started filling me with lots of guilt. I even started feeling guilty over not being done with college, or for not picking a more "practical" major with "instant" employment (I'm a mathematics major, which can actually be very useful). Now, idc if me pursuing my dreams is "immature" or "selfish." If me one day going to grad school is a huge "waste of time" and makes me the most undesirable person to date, so be it! Same with painting and spending lots of time on hobbies.

But I used to rationalize it a lot. Now I realize how bizarre the whole thing was. They were just stuck up, boring, and antagonistic/argumentative. And they were well on their way to getting worse, and I'm glad I eventually realized at some point that this wasn't healthy (when the weird accusations, silent treatment, tantrums over stupid shit, and "you'll get beat up if you do/say such and such" over things that were innocent, such as acknowledging that French and Italian are Latin based languages and have lots of similarities, which supposedly made me a bigot who was saying France and Italy are the same). Sometimes, I think back on this, and look at other people's stories, and I just wonder how we ended up in these situations? Or why we end up dating people like this for so long?

I know processing it can be a lot. And yeah, I understand getting nostalgic over it too. It's actually not uncommon for toxic environments and toxic periods of our lives to be filled with good memories. That's love bombing. It's intended to confuse you. Make you doubt your bad experiences. Mistake your abuser for a sweet, empathetic person. Of course, they conveniently wait until you "mess up" to bring out the abuse again. So that it seems like you "deserve it." And sometimes, messing up can be as simple as, say, spending a little to much time by yourself (now you're "neglecting" your partner even though you actually give them a lot of attention, and yeah, sometimes people get carried away with doing other things than focusing on a loved one, that's normal and has an easy solution if both parties are reasonable).

I guess at the end of the day, with so many predators out there, I've kind of learned to look out for myself more. I've decided at this point that my happiness and well being should be a much higher priority. Not saying I don't want to stop caring about others. But I'm not so sure I'd want to bother giving a relationship any more chances if I decide I'm just miserable in it and am gaining nothing from it. Even if the other person seems "happy" and wants it. Or if something about it seems "off."

It's okay to take your time looking for a therapist. Really, you should shop around and look for someone who deals with trauma patients. A general therapist won't be much help, other than for taking care of anxiety and depression issues that come from trauma. And make sure they have a good reputation. Ideally, you want a therapist who will validate what you went through. Not one who is about "seeing the other perspective" or "asking what you could have done to improve/prevent the problem." Nor one who will act like talking about abuse is "black and white" thinking. Or just get uncomfortable with it or not want to talk about it. And really, you don't only have to rely on therapy to help. There's all sorts of resources out there to help you process trauma as well. Psychologists who share information on it or who publish books. Plenty of support forums. But a good therapist would be a step in the right direction and will probably guide you toward resources themselves.

Not to mention, other mundane advice too. Self-care in general, really. For instance, as dumb as it might sound, but having leisure time, going outside in the sun, and getting enough vitamin c... makes me feel a lot better personally? I mean, ig being unhealthy and stressed can make things a lot worse. For whatever reason, talking to a variety of people also helps me. As well as taking breaks and reflecting on interactions. Or just doing my own thing. Maybe it's because I've dealt with lots of emotional abuse. A variety of interactions from different people helps me understand more that not everyone is a bad person. I used to have a lot more social anxiety. I used to think people were snobs who didn't want anything to do with me. Turns out, lots of people are actually pretty friendly. But me assuming they were no good may have been giving off a hideous vibe that made them uncomfortable. I also thought I was extremely introverted. Turns out, I CAN be energized by social interaction and enjoy it a lot. When it's healthy. I think it's important to figure out what helps you heal too. We're all different and need different things in order to function.

Sorry for the lengthy post. I have lots of passion over this topic.

Good Omens | 2.01 Chapter 1: The Arrival

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purekesseltrash · 4 years ago

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My Fic List

Whelp, decided I should do one of these. I have mostly written for Hockey RPF and BNHA, as you have likely already seen!

My BNHA Fics

Bury Them Deep

- “Shouji Mezou's entire life has revolved around being a goalie and playing hockey since he was five years old. After being drafted in the third round in the NHL, Shouji has two more years of college before moving on to playing professional hockey like he's always wanted. Or at least like he always thought he wanted. An injury that ends his season throws him into a tailspin, forcing him to take a look at his life and how he is going to live it, especially after meeting his fascinating new goth history tutor.”

(This bad bitch is 81k total and is chock full of my red hot hockey takes and midwestern references. I love it very much and it is a sweet baby.)

The Rooftop Necromancy series AKA my black metal band AU:

Downhill from Here

- “ Hizashi just wants to tour the country with his best friends with their metal band in their shitty van like they've been planning for years. He'd successfully hidden his crush on one of them for years, after all, he would definitely be able to make this work and keep things fun and uncomplicated. Until Aizawa decided to start acting weird. “

(In which I take you all on a nostalgic trip to 2006-2008 metal culture and you can see the black metal love song that my dumb ass wrote.)

The Perfect Mistake

- “ It wasn't as though Hizashi had planned on breaking up with his boyfriend while they were on tour in a tiny cargo van with no room and no peace. He would have much rather preferred to do it when they were home and he could easily go and crawl back into his mom's basement. But he didn't have a choice. “

(As relationships tend to do, theirs goes through problems.)

Rooftop Necromancy

-"He’d even ended up leaning into the crowd when someone’s elbow had connected solidly with his nose and thrown him back. They’d gone quiet as Hizashi got himself up to his feet, ripped off his now bloody ‘Within Temptations’ tshirt from 2004, whipped his hair back from his face and screamed, “That’s what I’m FUCKING talking about.” into the mic.

They went wild for it, cheering as blood ran down his nose, past his mouth and dripped onto the stage, leaving him feeling like an otherworldly monster performing an occult ritual. Metal, he thought dazedly to himself, why in the fuck had he ever stopped doing metal."

(I hyperfocused so hard at the idea of Mic as a metal head that I wrote this in seven straight hours and WROTE THROUGH THE ATTEMPTED COUP ON DEMOCRACY WITHOUT KNOWING IT. It’s a bit rough, but it’s got some good parts and it spawned the whole damn series.)

Hands Up

- "But of course he had, they had always been able to read each other and what they meant. That had often been their problem, if he was going to be honest."

(In which they figure their shit out. Basically it was written when I was thinking alot about how my own mental health had evolved through the years. It’s basically the story of two people who are both very good for each other and also very bad and how they deal with that. It’s probably the most personally meaningful thing I’ve ever written.)

The other BNHA fics:

Waking Up With Ghosts

-"Hizashi opened his eyes to a world that belonged to ghosts. His headphones were gone and the gray, grimy world that he felt more than saw was muffled and still. This was bad, he hazily thought."

In which we follow Hizashi shortly after the events of 296. How he's found, how he finds out and how he has to tell.”

(I fished this one out of the garbage of my Google Docs because I’d written most of it and forgotten about it. I dragged it out, prettied it up a little and threw it up on AO3. It is by far my most well read BNHA fic, go figure.)

Leave Her Johnny

-”Captain Hizashi Yamada has combed the Seven Seas looking for the elusive smuggler Eraserhead. He has spent years searching for him, tracking his movements and trying to anticipate where he would be next. But he had never considered what would happen when he finally found him. “

(I wrote a paragraph of this and was immediately like ‘I MUST CREATE THIS’. I take some chances writing wise in this as the whole thing is done in a Victorian Era ish style of writing. But I think it’s effective and the ending is likely one of the best that I’ve ever managed. I’m proud of it.)

Gold Rush

-”"That earned him a laugh and Mashirao’s smile made something in his chest ache, something that made him want to hurt. Why had he ever left?

“I’m really not,” Mashirao was saying but Shinsou just shook his head and kissed him once, twice and wished he could take the sunny afternoon and make it stay forever. Make it stay forever like Mashirao somehow had, while the neighborhood had adjusted without Hitoshi’s permission.

“You are,” he said, “And I love it.”

I love you, he should have said. But as Mashirao’s eyes softened and the blonde pushed him back against the bed, Hitoshi knew he didn’t need to say it."

(You know how sometimes you listen to a Death Cab for Cutie song about gentrification over and over until a fic comes out? Because that’s basically what happened here.)

Black Sun

‘"But then he remembered the way that Shouji had eaten the night after, one hand curled into his hair as he hung back in the corner. Shouji hid when something was wrong, like a wounded cat trying to find a dark place to either live or die and he was being released tomorrow. Now was the time to push or he’d find Shouji right back on his bed, staring at nothing."

Something happened to Shouji on the beach. Tokoyami is sure of it.‘

(Aaaaaand Death Cab for Cutie strikes again. But heyo, my first published ShouToko and it is SOFTTTTT)

In the Far and Mighty West

Mic came closer and despite himself, Shouta could not find it in him to feel afraid. “You won’t understand, not really. I’ll try, though. I’m like Pecos Bill or Paul Bunyan or a jackalope or that fish that your friend caught that he swears he brought in but that you’ve never seen proof of. I’m the herd of dogies moving sweet and steady in the right direction, I’m no stragglers to worry about, I’m that perfect dog that’s there to keep them in line. I’m that group of good friends that you would kill for, I’m the woman who you’re dying to come home to, I’m that promised home of milk and honey. I’m Mic.”

Shouta stared at him dazedly and licked his lips, feeling drunk and stupid as he stared at the man. “You’re… magic?”

“I suppose you could call me that.”

(Cowboy!Erasermic. Inspired heavily by American Gods and my own love of folk heroes.)

In Your Violence

- “'Mezou frowned, eyes narrowing. “Are you trying to say that you’re scared that I’ll be killed by having faith in you?”

“It would be in your best interest to stay away from me,” Fumikage finally said, his voice falling flat and quiet. “I am destined to be a monster.”

'Mezou gets the call he fears, the one that says that Fumikage has lost control again. But this time it's different, in more ways than one.”

(I listened to Silence by Marshmello until I went insane in this is the result. Featuring some of my super depressing headcanons about Shouji! But it’s not awful.)

My hockey fics that I still like:

Hufflepuff Halfwit

- ““Zhenya, the wind is coming from the west, I will not remind you again. You shut that window before the house stinks of factories!” She snapped and Geno stared at the owl as though maybe it would know what to do. But instead, it had given a little hoot and wiggled inside, only to drop it’s letter on the counter.

He turned his head very slowly back to look at his mother, who had suddenly gone very quiet. “It… just showed up, Mama. And um. It brought a letter.” He waited again, looked back at the owl who had begun to nose at the pirozhkis in interest and then looked back at his mother with the best puppy dog eyes he had ever attempted. “Can I keep it?”

(This is a part of my hockey/Harry Potter au that still legitimately haunts my dreams. It’s basically a Sid/Geno in Hogwarts but I really love the world building I got to do with Koldovstoretz, the Russian school of wizardry. Don’t read ‘On the Word of a Slytherin’ though, I’m not as proud of that one.)

The Prince

- “What the fuck.” Matt breathed out, sitting back heavily onto his hotel bed as he stared at his phone.

‘This is Henrik.’ The text read. ‘I would like to meet you. I will book a room in Pittsburgh at your convenience. Let me know what time will work for you.’ -

(Listen, it’s Henrik Lundqvist/Matt Murray smut, I feel like that is novel and interesting and worth your attention. I wax poetic on goalies in this, as you do.)

The Zoo of Toronto

- “No one missed it when a massive porcupine had shuffled in between the reporters with a single minded focus, pushing media away until it was able to grip onto Phil’s suit pants and try to pull itself up. He hadn’t been able to do more then besides pick the animal up before it could shred his pants to shreds and walk out of the locker room before the decision had been made with the Toronto media.

Phil Kessel was guilty.”

(Not gonna lie, this is probably my favorite of the hockey fics I’ve written. And it’s Phil/Carl, which is never found anymore but it was a good pairing.)

#my writing

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teamcharlotte · 4 years ago

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Awful things done to Charlotte that the show wants you to forget about/with a side order of awful things done to Lewis

This list is in order that it happens in the show. I wanted to put it from least awful to most awful, but there are so many ways of doing that, I just made it chronological. I'm also putting it under a read more because by GAWD is it long. The more I jotted down the angrier I got, so... here you go.

Had her diary stolen and read by Cleo, who thought she burned her old school down and accused her of cheating on Lewis, someone Charlotte wasn't even dating

Was unknowingly attacked with magic while at what she thought was a work dinner with her mother, because Cleo was jealous that someone wanted to be with her ex-boyfriend/she thought her divorced father was a date

The attack was encouraged by Rikki, who acted like Charlotte and Annette were literally hypnotizing Lewis and Don and "didn't know who they're messing with."

Attacked Lewis at his job that he got after Cleo was fired/froze a little boy's tongue to his ice cream to get him in trouble/actually got him in trouble and nearly arrested

Cleo yelled at him and made sure he felt awful and guilty for something that was literally her fault

Lewis basically tells Charlotte not to let Cleo know that they're hanging out, which... is just an objectively shitty thing to say to someone. "Hey, can you not let my ex know we're hanging out? I don't want her to know." Either he's embarrassed to be with you, or he still wants to get back together with her and is just using you for attention, both of which are sucky feelings to deal with.

Cleo is pissy that they're hanging out/unless he's begging for forgiveness from his ex-girlfriend because he's hanging out with another girl in which case, she doesn't care

Is invited to go to the award show with Lewis (I know, she pushed him to invite her) but then Cleo, who turned him down originally thus giving him the go-ahead to go with whoever he wants, decides to go with him after all and he decides lying to both of them is better than the truth

When Charlotte and Lewis go to Mako (a public island anyone can go to) because she wanted to explore and get some drawings, Rikki hints that she is going to hurt Lewis for bringing her there, despite him knowing not to bring her to the Moon Pool

Lewis still feels guilty about making his ex-girlfriend who dumped him jealous/upset about him kissing another girl

Is essentially blamed for Rikki getting hurt/Lewis is dumped on because he wasn't at their beck and call. I know he said he'd be there for them but dude, you need to get a life that isn't trailing behind three girls who treat you like crap

Is abandoned and told that Lewis doesn't like her by his ex-girlfriend, was lied to, made fun of

Is almost struck by lightning by Rikki (I don't care that she was moonspelled, they were all clearly in control of their faculties enough to do what they already wanted)

Her boyfriend douses her in chocolate milk in the middle of the cafe to see if she was a mermaid. Only two ways this could've gone and they're both awful: One, she does turn into a mermaid in public (what if she didn't know), or two, she is humiliated by her boyfriend who just leaves her and goes back to his friends and ex while they all laugh at her

Lewis lies about being with his ex, is revealed to have lied about it, then, without apologizing for lying, says that he doesn't have to explain himself to her and that she basically just needs to get over it because he can do what he wants

At one point, he has ignored her so thoroughly that when she finds him, he lies to her again and leaves, leaving her in one of the saddest shots of the show, where she sits down, abandoned and alone, struggling not to cry because her boyfriend only gives her attention when he wants some.

Because at this point, she knows. She knows that Lewis is either cheating on her with his ex already, or desperately wants to get back with her. But she really likes him, and doesn't break it off because sometimes he shows her affection. Except those times are few and far between and Lewis only finds her when he wants something

When she tries to explain to him, again, how he's making her feel, aka alone and abandoned for other girls, he just once again tells her to get over it and simply not feel that way

Is condescended to and treated like an intruder when she becomes a mermaid. Like the other three are just so... mean and cruel I can't believe people support them

Is made fun of for having a fear of dolphins. Like. You don't know why she has that fear. Maybe she was attacked when she was young. Maybe it's instinctual. Maybe she heard all those stories of dolphins being major dicks and is justifiably scared now. Jerks.

Emma makes Rikki follow Charlotte for doing nothing except pulling one over her and Rikki says she's been doing stupid things, because they're paragons of both control and not making mistakes, therefore they can pass judgement on others without seeing their own hypocrisy

Yeah, she planned a party that wasn't Lewis's style, and I'll agree that locking Emma and Cleo in the closet was a shitty thing to do, but I'd say that was, hmmm, the only shitty thing she did to them on purpose compared to the mountain of other shitty things done to her?

Lewis leaves her at the party she threw for him. Grabs his ex-girlfriend's hand as he does so. Does not make sure Charlotte is coming along. Does not apologize for ditching her at the party she threw for him while holding hands with his ex or questioning why she wasn't coming with. He leaves her standing on those steps while she watches him leave her.

You wanna know how I know the writing is shitty to make Charlotte the awfulest person who ever lived? The fact that at no point did Emma or Cleo tell Lewis that Charlotte locked them in the closet, JUST SO that Charlotte could have the chance to lie about it later. You're telling me that at this point Cleo would not absolutely jump on the chance to be like, "See?! See?! The person we said was a bad person acted like a bad person finally! YAYYYY!! Can we get back together now?"

And again, at this point, Charlotte is doing some messed up things. But after months of them doing this shit to her, WHY IS IT BAD WHEN CHARLOTTE GIVES IT BACK TO THEM?

Why is it that when Charlotte pulls Lewis away from Cleo, it's bad and possessive, but it's perfectly understandable that the three of them expect him to drop everything and run when she wants and get mad when he doesn't??!!!

Oh, and to top off the shitty writing and the piss poor excuse of a story arc, the girls are happy and victorious when they finally beat a girl who wouldn't have been in that position if everyone weren't so awful to her. We got to watch months of a girl being bullied to the point where when she was finally able to sling back what was hurled at her, they treated her like a monster instead of a product of their own creation. She did nothing that they hadn't already done, but because the plot says so, it's bad when Charlotte does it, but not when the magical girls do it.

Like, how can we justify every single bad thing that was done to her? Because she was a little clingy? Because she didn't get the hint that Lewis didn't like her? Lewis DID like her! When he wasn't having to drop her to deal with mermaid crap, he clearly enjoyed her company! Also, has no one else been in her position before? No one else liked someone more than they liked you and it made you want more? What were her sins besides being the foil of three girls who are coddled by the narrative to be as terrible as they want to a girl whose only crime is like the EX-BOYFRIEND of one of them and doesn't automatically back down when being sneered at

#charlotte watsford #i am steaming #i am upset #i had to rewatch the season to get some good shots for a project #and just skimming it made me mad #because i have been in charlotte's shoes #i have been the girl who likes a boy #but the boy only likes me when he wants attention #but every so often he does something that makes you go #maybe there's more there #is that healthy?#no of course not #but i'm not gonna hate a teenage girl #going through relatable teenage feelings #she deserves our sympathy #not our scorn

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mst3kproject · 5 years ago

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Curse of Bigfoot

This is a very bad mummy movie from the 60’s which was re-edited and re-released as an unbelievably bad bigfoot movie in the 70’s. It would belong on the Satellite of Love even if it didn’t have a small part for Jackie Neyman Jones. Remember her? Debbie from Manos: the Hands of Fate? Yeah, as far as I know she’s the only member of the cast ever to do any non-Manos-related film work for the entire rest of her life and it was this.

Once upon a time, somewhere in the American Southwest, Primitive Man was terrorized by Even More Primitive Man. In modern times, a Bigfootology professor is giving a guest lecture to a class of students. First he shows them a clip of a movie just as bad as the one we’re watching, then we get an inaccurate history of bigfoot, including the tale of two idiots in a pickup truck who get a big, hairy ass-whooping. Then, half an hour into the movie, we finally get to what’s supposed to be the main plot. A professor of archaeology takes some of his students into the wilderness to help excavate an ‘ancient Indian campsite’, but along with the expected potsherds and prayer sticks, they find a tomb containing a mummy from a lost prehistoric civilization. It comes to life and shambles off into the forest to kill people, because it’s a movie and mummies do that.

This movie does not waste time. It starts sucking right out of the gate. Almost everything that’s going to be wrong with it is introduced in the first ten minutes, as if the movie wants to prepare us for the ordeal ahead.

The opening sequence is an incredibly drawn-out scene of a woman getting up in the middle of the night to calm her barking dog, only to be killed by a zombie that wanders out of the woods. This scene is around six times longer than it needed to be. We almost have to watch every moment of the dog drinking a bowl of milk she pours for it. The woman’s voice was dubbed in post, and neither the voice nor the physical acting is any good. The sequence is supposed to take place in the middle of the night, but was clearly filmed at high noon, reaching Attack of the The Eye Creatures levels of not giving a shit in having the sun appear in several shots, standing in for the moon! The actual attack happens off screen, because the film-makers could not afford effects.

Then this part ends, and we realize that what we just saw was supposed to be a clip from a horror film that the professor was showing his students. This provides a fleeting moment of hope, as we think perhaps its overwhelming badness was intended as parody. No such luck. We then move into the two loggers getting stalked and killed by bigfoot. The monster costume is different, but this piece is identical in anti-quality to the zombie scene. The film-makers were just morons, and these mistakes continue throughout the entire ninety-minute run time.

It’s actually astonishing that the movie is so consistent in its incompetence, because we are in fact watching two different films here. Curse of Bigfoot has a backstory similar to that of They Saved Hitler’s Brain, in that somebody in the fifties made a short movie and somebody else, years later, added useless filler to expand it into something they could show in a late-night TV slot. They Saved Hitler’s Brain feels very bifurcated, the new material being both narratively and stylistically different from Madmen of Mandoras. But if you didn’t know that Curse of Bigfoot was twenty minutes of extra film sewn onto a 1963 movie called Teenagers Battle the Thing, you might not immediately notice.

If you’ve been following this blog for a while you’ll probably remember that I thought Madmen of Mandoras was a significantly better movie than They Saved Hitler’s Brain (even if it still was definitely not a good movie) – the added footage was distracting and pointless. These two films, however, I would say are about equally awful. The footage added to Curse of Bigfoot is still pointless, but it looks exactly like what was originally shot for Teenagers Battle the Thing, the only noticeable difference being a slight change in the film stock! Both are depressingly earth-toned movies in which it takes for-fucking-ever for anything to happen, with night scenes shot in the blazing daylight, and lines dubbed in by bad voice actors over bad physical performances. Both feature shitty monster suits and every possible cost-cutting measure.

This leads me to wonder whether Curse of Bigfoot might be terrible on purpose. The people tasked with turning Teenagers Battle the Thing into a full-length movie got a couple of the actors back to play their older selves in the added footage. Making stuff match was clearly on their minds. Could they have actually thought things like, “we’d better use the wrong filter for this, or it won’t be as bad as the day-for-night in the original footage!” or “we need to pad this attack a bit, to match the pace!”? If so… I don’t know whether to be impressed, or just to crawl under the bed and cry.

On the other hand, Curse of Bigfoot does at least try to do one thing better than Teenagers Battle the Thing – it wants to have something to say. It spells this thesis out for us in the opening narration and in the professor’s speech about horror movies: our society has forgotten about monsters.

We in the twenty-first century don’t spent much time thinking about monsters unless we happen to be film-makers, political commentators, or maybe paleontologists trying to figure out what the fuck this bugger is. It wasn’t so long ago, however, that they were very real to many people. Archaeological evidence suggests that people in New England believed in vampires as recently as the 1820s. Nowadays, monsters have been taking out of the ‘scary’ category and placed in the ‘fun’ one, and so when people report things like bigfoot or a sea serpent, we don’t take them very seriously.

Bigfoot, sea monsters, and vampires don’t really exist, obviously, but in losing our fear of monsters we may have lost a proper respect for nature. Every so often the newspapers in my city carry a story of some tourist who tried to get a better selfie with a grizzly bear and got mauled. We are so used to thinking that we have tamed nature, that there are no monsters left, that we don’t recognize danger when we’re confronted with it. This certainly seems to be a theme of the stories we’re presented with in Curse of Bigfoot: it never occurs to the woman in the opening that her barking dog may be trying to warn her of danger, or to the two loggers that the mysterious figure in the woods might mean them harm.

The party of archaeology students certainly don’t think they’re heading into any danger, despite the fact that they repeatedly do dangerous things. A group of them climb to the top of a cliff to see where a fallen stone came from, and never worry about falling. When they pry open the tomb entrance, the strange smoke that wafts out might be considered a warning sign, but they ignore it. They head right into this dark hole without any worries about rodents, rattlesnakes, or cave collapses. When one character warns the others that the mummy has just moved, they laugh it off. A couple go for a walk through the dark woods at night to get to a vending machine, without a second thought.

Lest you think I’m in any way praising this movie, I’m not – I just like my reviews to be at least a certain length, so sometimes I really dig for material. This was a dig on the level of saying The Incredible Melting Man is about how we treat the elderly. My high school English teacher might buy it, but I doubt anyone else would.

One thing I do wonder is why they chose to reframe this as a bigfoot movie. The footage from Teenagers Battle the Thing makes it very clear that this is a mummy movie, although they couldn’t afford any of the genre’s traditional accessories. Instead of a museum and a treasure, we get one cabin in the woods and… that’s all. When the characters talk about the situation, they always describe the monster as a mummy, and even when they theorize that it’s the product of a lost civilization, the idea that it may not be human never crosses their minds. It is not particularly tall. It is not remarkably hairy. It looks nothing like the bigfoot the two loggers saw, although it does somewhat resemble the zombie from the opening. Why the man telling the story decided this being must be bigfoot is an absolute mystery.

The only thing I can come up with as an explanation is that bigfoot movies were popular in the 1970s. Having seen a number of these, I can’t say I find them particularly inspiring.

Curse of Bigfoot is almost incomprehensibly boring, to the point where I’m not sure MST3K could have done much with it if they had featured it. In the opening sequence it takes forever for the woman to be attacked and then we don’t see it. In the logger sequence it takes forever for the guy to be attacked and then we don’t see it. And in the main plot it takes forever for anyone to be attacked and then we don’t see it! The only attack we see is when the mummy attacks the sheriff at the climax and that really, really wasn’t worth the wait.

Congratulations, Jackie Neyman Jones – you managed to be in a movie worse than Manos.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #curse of bigfoot #teenagers battle the thing #fuck this movie #all these movies have bigfoot in them #70s #we're running out of plots #cryptid cinema

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demonsonthemoon · 4 years ago

Text

Keep Shelter (Behind Glass About to Crack)

Fandom: Supernatural Pairing: Sam Winchester/Charlie Bradbury Word Count: 7474 Rating: M Summary: ~ “Don't leave.” ~ After their encounter with the Musca, Sam and Charlie stop at a motel for a night. They share a room, a bed, and some of their deepest fears. Notes: Title is from "Monster Town" by Go! Child, a song I am quite frankly obsessed with. Notes on the pairing: Remember when Apocalypseverse!Charlie asks of OG!Charlie and Dean had a thing and then says "good for her" about OG!Charlie being a lesbian? That line gave me brainrot. It led to me starting to ship Sam/Charlie, but only ever in two specific ways, which are AV!Charlie being bisexual and/or Sam being transfem. This fic is mostly the former, with very discreet hints of the latter peppered in for taste.

Read it on AO3.

“Don't leave.”

The amount of emotion Sam puts behind those two words surprises even him. It's only after they leave his lips that he realizes how much meaning there is behind them. Don't go away. Don't leave me alone. Don't die don't die don't die-

He keeps speaking, out of instinct, out of self-preservation, doesn't know what he's saying, exactly, until he's halfway through his tirade trying to convince Charlie that to keep hunting is worth it. Trying to convinced himself, still, after so many years. (Years after Jess, years after Amelia, years after the Trials, after going to his knees in front of Dean and Death and so many other times when he had accepted his own end only to be thrown back into a hunter's life again.) He watches Charlie's face, desperate for an answer that might justify his own choices or free him from them.

“I'll think about staying,” Charlie replies and her smile isn't all real but it's not all fake either and there is something blooming in Sam's chest that threatens to make him choke on petals.

They drive in silence for a while.

Sam can't stop looking back at Charlie, and he knows she's noticed. He turns away, tries to focus on the scenery, but it's too dark to see much and his gaze settles on his companion once again.

“Do I still have fly goo on my face or something?”

Sam shakes his head, embarrassed. “No. No. You're fine.”

Charlie sighs. “I know you miss her. It's okay, you know.”

Sam runs a hand across his face. “I do miss her. But you don't have to indulge me, you know? I was kind of shitty, before, saying that stuff about her and Dean... It's not your baggage to bear. It's not fair.”

“Yeah well. Not much that's fair in this world or mine.”

More silence, broken up by Charlie this time.

“Weren't you close?”

Sam frowned. “What?”

“You and the other me. You talked about her-and-Dean, but not about her-and-you. Weren't you close?”

“I don't know,” Sam shrugged. “I mean, we were but... not as much.”

He'd always liked Charlie. He'd gotten on well with her. But Dean was the one that she had immediately clicked with, and Dean had been... She'd been good for him. He'd been freer around her than he was with almost anyone, and Sam hadn't wanted to intrude on that. He hadn't wanted to force anything, had thought that he would have more time, that he could build something with Charlie in a gradual manner.

That plan had been cut short after her death. (After he'd dragged her into his mess, because it was his fault that she-)

“It's a shame,” Charlie says, when it appears that Sam won't be providing any additional information.

Sam stares at her.

“What? I like you.”

“I like you too,” Sam replies, inanely. Still, Charlie seems pleased to hear it.

And it's true. He does like her. This Charlie, not just the memory of the old one. Her edges are more jagged, sometimes a little cruel, and she doesn't smile as carefreely as her other self, but she still shares a lot of the things that drew Sam to the other Charlie in the first place. She's smart and nerdy and more comfortable in her body than Sam thinks he ever will be, although the way she has of showing it is far more lethal than the other Charlie's. She's pretty, too. And there's another thing that hasn't changed between one Charlie and the next: Sam can't help but find himself attracted to her, and he still feels uncomfortable and ashamed about it.

He's fine with Charlie being a lesbian. Obviously. He doesn't think her being a lesbian has anything to do with him being attracted to her, because that would just be... no. So maybe the shame is irrational, but it's still there, just like his attraction. Unwieldy, an imposition.

Sam doesn't say anything else.

It starts raining. Not lightly either, but the kind of rain that would drown out the radio if they had put it on, the kind that makes Charlie's pickup truck shake slightly. The visibility becomes non-existent, and Sam can see Charlie clench her steering wheel.

“We should stop at a motel for the night. You can drop me off in Lebanon tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Charlie asks, but she's already scouring the side of the road for signs of a place to stay.

“Yeah. I'm pretty tired anyway.”

“From all the sitting around that we did?” Charlie asks with a smirk.

Sam shrugs. He's not about to say that he's worried about the fall that Charlie took when they found the Musca, fairly certain she'll shrug off his concern even more aggressively than Dean usually does.

They pull into the first motel they find, the rain still pouring down over them. It seems like a decent enough place. Sam is halfway out of the truck before he realizes that Charlie isn't moving. He sits back down.

“You okay?”

Charlie is worrying her lower lip slightly, but she smiles as she turns towards him. “Yeah. I'm fine. Got a question for you though.”

“Yeah?” He's already half-soaked from the two seconds he spent outside the vehicle, but waits for Charlie to speak anyway.

“Do you wanna share a room?”

Sam doesn't exactly know what he'd expected, but certainly not that. He searches Charlie's face, trying to decypher the exact meaning behind those words. She might just be suggesting that they share a room to save on money, or so that they'd both feel safer, or-

But she meets Sam's gaze and raises an eyebrow.

“I-” Sam starts, then stops.

“I mean, no offense taken if you're not in the mood. I did rant at you about losing the love of my life two hours ago, I know that can be a downer for some people. But I like you so... offer's there.”

Sam's brain goes to static for a second.

“I thought you were a lesbian.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he wants to lay is face on the dashboard and never look up.

Charlie chuckles. “I think your Charlie was a lot stricter in her preferences than I am.”

The admonishment stings because, yes, once more Sam had just assumed. Assumed he knows the person next to him because he'd known someone who looked like her.

“Sorry.”

Charlie shrugs. “Proud bi girl with a preference for women. Trust me, you're not the first one to make the mistake.” The set of her shoulders harden, and then she's moving, pocketing the car keys and opening her door. “Come on, let's get our rooms already.”

“Charlie, wait!” They're both standing in the rain, immediately drenched. Sam feels silly and awkward and like this really isn't the right time to do this, but he had wasted time once, with the other Charlie, and he's not going to do it again. “We can share a room.”

“Yeah?” The grin that takes over her face is so warm that he immediately thinks of the other Charlie. But that isn't fair to either of them.

“We could even share a bed.”

She laughs at that. Sam finds himself grinning in return. Then Charlie offers him her hand with a flourish and he only feels half-ridiculous when he takes it.

They step into the motel room – generic but clean – and Sam drops his bag at the foot of the king-sized bed. He just stands there, clenching and unclenching his hands.

It's been a while since he's felt so nervous about sex. Despite Dean's incessant jokes about him being a virgin, he's usually pretty confident in bed. But being here with Charlie throws him off a little. Especially this Charlie, which he's constantly reminded he doesn't actually know that well.

“Heads up,” Charlie calls. He looks up, and she throws something at him.

A flask. Yeah, he can see why the old Charlie clicked so well with Dean.

He untwists the cap and takes a sip. Charlie is apparently a rhum kind of person. Another thing he didn't know.

“We don't have to do anything, you know. You look nervous.”

Sam takes another sip of alcohol, then goes to sit on the bed, close to Charlie so he can hand her the flask back.

“I guess I am.”

Charlie considers him a second. “Still hung up on the lesbian thing? Or is it because of the old Charlie?”

“The old Charlie?”

“Well, you didn't hesitate that much after my invitation, so I figure you might have thought about it. With her. Despite the lesbian thing.”

Sam blushes. Childishly, he lets himself fall backwards onto the bed, staring at the ceiling instead of at his friend's face.

“Come on, don't be like that. I know it's weird, but weird is our life. I can handle it.”

Sam sighs, closes his eyes. She's not wrong. Weird is their life.

“Sure, I thought about it. I liked Charlie, and you're pretty. She was too.”

Charlie tosses off her shoes and lies down on her side, looking at him.

“Never seriously, though. It wouldn't have happened, with her. I was fine with that. I guess I'm kind of weirded out that it's happening with you.”

“If you want to. It's not because we have this big bed that we have to fuck in it. We could just have a sleepover. Braid each other's hair.”

She means it, too. Sam can see it in her eyes. She'd be just as happy to spend the night chatting and sleeping. Might even be better off that way. Sam doesn't think there was a lot of time for that sort of things in the Apocalypse world.

But he's selfish, and Charlie was the one to offer so...

So he turns on his side as well, scoots over a little, and kisses her.

It's sweet, and soft, and probably not what either of them really wants, but it's what they want to want and that's enough.

They break away. There is the slightest twinkle in Charlie's eyes and Sam feels himself glow with the pride of putting it there.

“Or we can do that,” Charlie says, jokingly.

There's a question there, though. The same question that is always on Sam's lips in moments like these. Can we have this? Do we deserve it?

He closes his eyes. This isn't going to work if all they want from each other is reassurance. They're both too terrified to give it.

Charlie runs a hand through his hair.

“You know, I really don't think I'm a fly monster. The musca, he left his community because he didn't fit in, right?”

Sam makes an assenting noise, though he doesn't move.

“I could fit in in the bunker. With the other hunters.”

With you, Charlie doesn't say, although the words could have easily filled the second of silence at the end of her sentence. This isn't that kind of night, theirs isn't that kind of relationship. Sam knows that.

“I think that's why I wanted to leave. I'm scared that if I stay I'll never be more than what the war made of me.”

Sam nods in assent. He has no word of comfort to offer, too conscious of having taken that exact same path.

He used to dream of other things, after all. Used to dream with enough force that he actually attempted to change his fate, first in Stanford, then in Kermit. But that second time was already only a poor attempt, he'd felt too conscious of the fact he was lying to himself.

He's a hunter now, or a Man of Letter, or maybe something in between, the balance his mom and dad never got to strike finally established.

This is what fighting has made of him, and it is too late now to regret it.

He's also Dean's brother, first and foremost, always, and he's done pretending that that doesn't at least partly rule the shape that his life takes.

That love is tangled in the war, and too often the two are indistinguishable. Once again, Sam is tired of wasting his time regretting it.

“I'm not going to lie and say that this life doesn't change you,” Sam says. “But it's never going to be all you are.”

Charlie runs a hand through his hair again. Sam closes his eyes without meaning to.

“I know how to fight, Sam. You don't need to reassure me. You don't need to pretend you're not scared.”

He buries his face in her shoulder, smelling sweat and monster goo and not caring one bit. This is the smell of a body that has been lived-in. It is the smell of a body that is safe.

Yes, Sam is scared.

He had to be a leader to the refugees from Charlie's world, and he's trying to be some kind of role model to Jack. It doesn't leave a lot of space for vulnerability. It doesn't leave a lot of time to deal with all the people he's lost over the years, all the ones he's found again in not-quite-right ways, the multiple lives he's lived and all the deaths he's been through.

He knows that the universe can throw so much more at him still. It hasn't stopped in 33 years, after all.

Of course he's scared shitless.

Still, right now, they're safe. Right now, they're together. They're alive and the rain is still pounding on the roof of the motel, shielding them from the rest of the world for a little while.

So Sam breathes through the fear and kisses the junction of Charlie's neck.

“Sometimes things you don't need are still nice,” he whispers against her skin.

She shifts, drawing away enough that they can look at each other. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He could blame his light-headedness on the sudden changes of mood they keep going through, but he's pretty sure that it's actually Charlie. She pushes against him until he's on his back, straddling his thighs and grinning.

Sam is still wearing his shoes and socks, and he tries to kick them off without changing position before admitting defeat. Charlie laughs with him as they move to let him undress. He takes off his jeans and shirt too, feeling freer now that the wet fabric isn't clinging to his skin.

She undresses as well, until they're both standing in their underwear, the air hitting their humid skin a little too coldly to be entirely pleasurable.

“Come on, Princess, back on the bed.”

“I thought you were the queenly one,” Sam starts before wincing. “Sorry, wrong Charlie.”

She pushes him back against the bed until they fiund their position from earlier again, Charlie hovering above him. “So I was a queen, uh?”

Not you, Sam thinks, his brain running in frustrated loops as it keeps confusing the woman in front of him with that in his memory.

“Yeah, you were. In Moondoor.”

“Moondoor?”

Right. This Charlie had never run away from Roman Enterprises, so she'd never started playing Moondoor.

“Yeah. It was a LARP-game. Pretty awesome.”

“You larped?” Charlie asks with a chuckle, clearly finding the thought outrageous. Sam doesn't know how they managed to get side-tracked so easily, although he doesn't mind it much.

“I can get my nerd on. When I find the time.”

Her gaze softens at that. Sam guesses that she is very familiar with that struggle. He imagines there weren't a lot of opportunities to play role-playing games when she was fighting for her life in a militia.

Then the spark in Charlie's eyes turn to mirth.

“Well, now you can get this nerd off.”

He stares at her for a second as his brain catches up with the horrible, horrible pun. Then he wraps his arms around Charlie, pulling her on top of him so he can bury his laughter in her hair. Charlie indulges him, giggling a little herself. The vibrations in their chest echo in the other's body and it's nice. It's nice and easy and Sam is breathless with the power of it.

Once he has regained a semblance of composure, Sam puts his hands on either sides of Charlie's head and pulls her in for a kiss. He lets her set the rhythm of it, lets her drive him out of his head, lets her weight press him into the mattress so that it becomes the only place he could think of being.

Sam wishes it could be simpler than this. He wishes he could ask less of the woman on top of him.

But they both carry their trauma right behind their teeth, and Sam was pretty bad at controlling the intensity of his feelings before he even went to hell.

It's good that he's doing this with Charlie. She does her best to lighten the mood, but does not begrudge Sam for the way his hands scrabble at her skin, for how he sometimes grips just a little too tight, afraid that she might slip right between his fingers, scared that she might come too close.

Sam touches her and tries to breathe, and at some point he has his fingers between her legs and her mouth is right next to his ear, and Sam shivers as she says his name.

“Do you really think we have time for teasing?” Charlie asks before nipping at his jaw, biting at his skin like she can somehow get inside of him. Sam doesn't think he would let her. He hopes he wouldn't.

But it still feels nice to pretend, it feels nice to act like the barrier between their bodies is porous, like they are both more than the weight of their own past.

Sam lets Charlie take charge, closing her hand around Sam's fingers and guiding two of them inside her. She's wet, slick enough that he breaches the ring of her muscles without much resistance, feeling her clench around him as she gets used to the intrusion.

Sam looks up at her, staring at her openly since her eyes are closed.

He is a lot more used to being the one taking the lead in bed. For quite a few years now, most women took one look at the size of him and decided that he must enjoy taking charge. And he does, it's never been an issue, not something he felt strongly enough about to even bring it up. But there's something freeing about the way Charlie uses his fingers to get what she wants, how he doesn't have to think about anything, how he can just lie there and know that he's doing enough, because this is what she wants.

Sam moves his thumb so its rubs against Charlie's clit every time she moves her hip, and she groans appreciatively. Her hair falls over Sam like a curtain, still slightly wet from the rain, and Sam feels a sudden urge of jealousy that he hides against her mouth.

“Wanna change this up a little?” Charlie whispers.

There are many things that Sam would do without her needing to ask as sweetly. So he hooks his hands under her arms and flips their position.

Charlie giggles, gripping his shoulders. “You have no idea how much I hoped you would do that.”

Sam grins at her. The admission warms something inside him, the fact that she thought of him, that she imagined this, even if she has had a lot less time to do so than he did.

(Not that Sam let himself imagin much. It hadn't felt right to, with the other Charlie.)

Sam moves down Charlie's body, laying a kiss between her breasts before sitting up a little so he can really focus on putting his fingers back inside of her and taking his time stretching her out. Sam has a lot more control this way, but Charlie still raises her hips to deepen the angle before hooking her legs over his arms, her heels digging into his back just painfully enough to make him gasp a little.

Sam hasn't touched himself since this started, and he can definitely feel it. His arousal is a tightly-wound coil in his gut, and he is all too aware of the fact that his new position makes it much harder for him to rut against anything or get any other type of friction.

He gets another finger inside Charlie, watches her arch her back into his touch as she searches for the best position to accommodate him. She is so open in her reactions, wholly immersed in her simple search for pleasure, and Sam drinks that in like he might lap at an unexpected stream in the middle of a desert.

His body has never been an easy place to live in, even before Lucifer, before he knew he had demon blood flowing through his veins. It didn't mean he never managed to open himself up. He found a way to do it with Jess, even though it was far from perfect, too many secrets between them that she was unaware off. He tried to make it work with Amelia, patching a relationship together from broken pieces, always surprised when they found a way to fit.

But even then, there were secrets. Secrets have always been his way of life. It was what he had been taught, from childhood, when he realized that for years his father and brother had hid from him what they really meant by “business trip.” At the time, thinking about Dean hiding something from him had felt like a knife carefully sliding between his ribs. Now it fels like just a regular part of breathing.

“I'm ready, come on,” Charlie says, pushing at Sam's hand, snapping him away from his drifting thougts one more. Sam slips his fingers out, and freezes for a second as he realizes he needs a condom. He isn't used to doing this anymore, he didn't think ahead, but then he remembers that he usually has one lying around his toiletry bag, just in case, and suddenly he's glad that the reflex to take his overnight duffel wherever he goes is still ingrained so deep within his body.

He's never been able to settle into having a home, not since Jess' death, and most of the time he's not really happy about it, but in some cases it has its perks.

Like when he needs to run for his life or have sex with a beautiful woman.

“Wait a second, I need to get my bag-”

“Oh, shit, right,” Charlie says, scrabbling upright and blushing. “Didn't... think of that. It's been a while.”

“Since you had sex with a guy?” Sam asks as he rummages through his things. He can't help the note of curiosity in his voice, still isn't used to the idea of Charlie sleeping with men. He doesn't know what he can ask or not, isn't familiar with openly talking about sexual orientation at all. His family hadn't really been big on exploring anything outside of heterosexuality, and although Sam considers himself to be open-minded, he knows there are a lot of things he just doesn't understand.

“Yeah. I mean, also since I had sex period, because seeing my world get destroyed and losing my girlfriend was kind of a mood killer for a long time. Also, barrack beds really aren't that comfortable.”

“You don't say,” Sam says with a soft smile. He gets what Charlie means. H's tried to explain the exact same thing to Dean whenever he insisted that Sam needed to loosen up, to take a break, that sleeping with someone would get him out of his head, that it could only be good for him. It isn't that Dean is wrong, it's just that Sam can't really muster up the desire for sex when he's in a hypervigilant state because of whatever is threatening their lives that week. Hunting is part of who Sam is, down to his deepest core. He'd tried to deny that for a long time, tried to run away from it. But he's old enough now to accept it for what it is. Sam can't turn his fear off, even for just one night, because being afraid is what has kept him alive against all odds for so long. It doesn't mean he's letting the fear run his life. He still makes his own decisions, he still finds ways to mitigate the anxiety (by going for runs, mostly). He's still in control. The fact that that control doesn't extend to much beside his own body isn't sad. It's just how his life works.

When he's ready to climb back on the bed, feeling pretty victorious about the condom in his hand, Charlie is sitting up against the headboard, two fingers casually rubbing against her clit. It's a sight that makes Sam's insides ache with want. She holds herself so confidently, the edges of the fighter eased away by the darkness around them, and she makes it seem all so easy. Charlie – whichever one of them – has always looked like she knows herself in the way that Sam envies without clearly knowing why.

“What?” Charlie asks, challenging his gaze. “I wasn't just going to lie there and wait.”

“Wouldn't have even thought of suggesting such a thing,” Sam replies. He sits on the edge of the bed, feeling awkward about turning away from her, but it's just more convenient as he tears open the foil package and rolls the condom onto himself carefully.

When he turns once more, Charlie is looking at him, a small smile on her face, and there is a current coursing between their eyes that makes Sam's hair rise up on his skin, makes his mouth water, makes him hungry in a way he doesn't know whether he likes about himself.

“So, how do you wanna do this, Princess?” Charlie asks. He doesn't know where the nickname comes from, what she means by it. Part of him thinks he should be irritated by it, like he is when Dean call hims Samantha, the insinuation of something negative hiding just behind the joke. But it doesn't feel the same, the way Charlie says it. It's not meant to hurt, not meant as a jab. It's easy, like the rest of this has been. It's affectionate. There's something about the way she doesn't question her use of it that makes him wonder if she knows something he doesn't. If this is one of the things that his family has never taught him to speak about.

“However you want,” Sam says. He's not feeling like calling the shots right now, not with Charlie, not with how simple it seems for her to ask.

She thinks about it for a second, while Sam runs a hand over his cock, the touch electric as he remember that he hasn't been touched yet tonight, that the pleasure coursing through his skin is all just from touching her.

“Get down here,” Charlie replies, gesturing to the mattress, and they both shuffle to switch place, so Sam is the one against the headboard and Charlie can spread her thighs on either side of his hips and hover above him. “Been a while since I did it like this, too,” she says, and Sam puts his hands under her thighs to help support some of her weight, can't help but stare at the way his fingers splay out, under and around her.

Charlie has one hand on the headboard, right next to Sam's head, and one hand between her legs, three fingers fitting inside her easily, making sure she's still stretched out enough.

Sam holds his breath.

She lowers herself onto him, and Sam would say that it feels like a revelation except he's been trying to ban religious vocabulary from his life. He's met God and wasn't much impressed. This feels a lot better than that, profane and real and something he can both hold onto and drown in.

He's careful, so careful, letting her go slow, refraining from bucking up into her. It is delicious and agonizing, even more so when Charlie lets out a little sigh, shifting up then down again, accepting the whole of him inside her with what sounds like relief.

Sam lets out a whine, closing his eyes and flushing in embarrassment. He doesn't know how it got so intense, doesn't think he should let it go on like this, has no idea how he can let Charlie go after this. He doesn't know how he can bear the thought that she might leave forever, even after their conversation in the truck earlier.

Except this is too much, and Sam knows he will ruin the moment if he tries to cage it between his fingers. He knows his strength and how easy it has always been for him to kill everything he's ever loved. So he's not going to let this be anything like love, because it isn't. It's just two desperate people who need each other, in the absence of anyone else willing to look the cracks of their souls head on. It's two bodies finding a way to make the world more bearable, fighting to survive in it. It is two human beings that were just reminded of how easily loneliness can make a monster out of someone, and who are struggling not to let themselves fall into that trap.

It's Charlie raising herself up again, the walls of her vagina clenching and unclenching around Sam, the slow drag of her disarming in the intensity of it.

Charlie sinks back down, one hand now on Sam's shoulder, clenching unconsciously as she moves. He looks up into her eyes, notices her already staring and wonders what she sees, what she's feeling, if this is too much for her too, so much more than he'd bargained for when he had agreed to share her room.

Sam groans, and his hips rock up without him meaning too. Charlie just smirks, rotating her pelvis as she seeks out an angle she likes, and then she's moving up and down with intent, mouth falling slightly open. Sam can't bear the sight of that and so he surges up, takes her lower lip between his own and sucks, swallows a little sound of surprise, the neediness with which Charlie kisses back. He fucks up into her once more, and she presses into him, a sound rumbling in her throat almost like a purr. The hand that was on his shoulder moves to the nape of his neck, settling into his hair and pulling just enough that Sam feels his scalp tingle as he raises his chin.

“You don't have to take care of me,” Charlie whispers into his ear. There's something dark in the way she says it, a reminder that has some danger to it even though it stays away from being a threat.

Sam has many words on the tip of his tongue, wants to tell her that he doesn't have to but still wants to, wants to tell her that it's not because something will not break that you should handle it with no care, wants to show her that he can still be soft despite the calluses on his fingers from handling too many guns, wants to make sure she knows she deserves something sweet despite the scars littering her skin.

But Sam is weak. This is something that he has accepted, just like he has accepted being scared. In the face of all that the world requires of him, Sam will always be weak. It is part of what makes him human and so Sam lets the truth of it sink within his bones along with the Enochian sigils Castiel carved out so many years ago, and he lets himself be anchored by it.

So he listens to Charlie, uses the strength in his arms to push her up and bring her down, snapping his hips in the same rhythm, going deep, going hard. And Charlie keeps her hand in his hair, bites down on his lip, moves right along with him.

Maybe it's better this way. Maybe they both need tenderness too much for it to fit within this one night.

They find a rhythm and an angle that satisfy the both of them, and at that point they're not so much kissing as pouring hungry noises into one another's mouth. It's not in any way dignified, but it's good, it's mind-blowing and right in all the wrong ways.

Sam doesn't last. He's dismayed at the fact but not altogether surprised, and he brings a hand to Charlie's clit as feels his balls draw tight, hoping to bring her as close to the edge as he can while he start coming inside her, hips stuttering out of rhythm.

She laughs against his mouth, breathless and pleased instead of mocking. Sam closes his eyes as he chases the last overwhelming ripple of his orgasm, before he is forced to stop his movements, too sensitive to take any more.

Charlie is still rocking against his fingers, tiny jerks of her hips as she chases her own pleasure. So Sam slips out of her, replaces his cock with the fingers of his other hand. There is a moment when Charlie seems like she is about to fall, her muscles protesting the absence of Sam's hands to take some of her weight. Time seems to slow down as they teeter on that edge right before equilibrium is lost. But Charlie catches herself, takes control of her own body like Sam knows she had learned to do well before the Apocalypse, because her other self had acted the same way before Sam and Dean had intruded into her life.

(Sam his surprised to realize he no longer thinks of the old Charlie as his Charlie. It had never been fair, because she hadn't been his, just like the woman above him isn't, but that hadn't stopped his brain from latching onto the word. He is glad to be letting it go now, to set free the memory of a woman who died too soon, too much alone, and who did not deserve to be held down by the weight of Sam's guilt.)

Still, although Charlie has learned to rely on herself and protect herself from most threats, she shouldn't always have to. So Sam ignores her half-hearted protest when he takes his hands away and pushes her gently to her side. He ties off and discards his condom before lying back down and turning to face her. The way they're looking at each other could easily be too much if they talked about it. So Sam goes back to work, fingers slipping inside Charlie easily as she moves one leg to make more way. The angle probably isn't the best for her, and Sam couldn't keep it up very long without his wrist protesting, but with two fingers inside her, two against her clit, and Sam's mouth peppering kisses over the juncture of her neck, Charlie is shaking apart in a matter of minutes.

Sam looks at her face as she comes, watches her features tighten then go slack as her muscles give in to the wave of sensations. He waits until her pelvis twitches away from him before he gently pulls his hands away, his fingers slick from her arousal and the smell of sex hanging heavily in the air. Sam is tempted to just wipe his fingers on the bedsheet, but he knows they still have to sleep here. He grimaces and stands up, going into the tiny en-suite bathroom so he can rinse his hands at the sink, and gets a washcloth while he's at it.

“I do feel like a queen now,” Charlie says, lazily content as Sam carefully wipes away any trace of their activities from her inner thighs.

“I'm happy to be a service,” Sam replies. It's meant to be a quip, but comes out a little too honest, and something softens even more in Charlie's gaze.

Sam wonders what she thinks of him. He's used to feeling protective of her, the rookie hunter, the one he tried to protect from how brutal the world could really be. The other Charlie hadn't really warranted that attitude either, at least not after what happened to her in Oz. This one deserves it even less.

He wonders if she thinks of him as the one to be protected. After all, Sam has done and seen many things, but he has always had a world to fight for. Charlie hadn't been fighting for much more than survival, back where she came from.

She threads her hands in his hair again and, yeah, Sam can admit that this is part of the reason he keeps it long, he's not above that. She pulls carefully enough that Sam doesn't feel any real pain but is still forced to move up her body, letting the washcloth fall to the floor so he can put one hand on her cheek as he kisses her.

He's a bit surprised that she wants him to, because this once again feels like more than they had bargained for. This is just supposed to be one night of sex, just a pleasurable moment shared between their bodies. It's not supposed to mean anything.

“Stop thinking,” Charlie admonishes with a chuckle. “This is nice. Let yourself enjoy it.”

“I just...”

“We're friends, Sam. It's okay to cuddle a bit after sex.”

She uses a tone like she's talking to a four-year old, and Sam can't help but laugh at that, at this woman so much younger than him and yet who has so much to teach.

“Right.”

Sam moves away, but only so he can settle on his side and bring her close against his chest. Charlie does a little wiggle to make sure there isn't any space separating them and Sam sighs out all of the tension left in him.

They stay quiet for a long time, each lost in their thoughts.

In another life, they might have fallen asleep like this, but neither of them can find slumber that easily.

“I'm not like the fly monster,” Charlie says, cutting through the moment. It's strange how talking makes Sam a lot more aware of their respective nakedness.

He hums agreement, deep in his throat. They've already had this conversation.

“If I leave. I keep thinking about the musca and how it left its people behind. How the legends say it only happens to the bad eggs or whatever.” She moves away from his arms, and Sam lets her. Luckily, she only turns to face him, staring at him from eye level for once. “That's not what's happening here. I'm not leaving people behind because I'm bad.”

“Of course not. Charlie, if what I said made you think-”

“No, it's not you,” she shakes her head. “I know you didn't mean it like that. I mean... I mean that I've been fighting for a long time, now. I thought I had lost everything I could lose, and I kept going. And then I lost my entire damn universe, if you can believe that.” She chuckles darkly.

Sam doesn't feel like laughing. He would like for her to still be in his arms so he could just hold her tighter instead of having to find the words to comfort her.

“And I came here, and we all just kept fighting. Because it felt like all we had, like all we could do, I guess. This isn't our world. I think a part of us will always believe that we don't belong. So maybe hunting is how we find a place, is the way we earn our right to stubbornly cling to our survival.” She grimaces. “Fuck. I guess the fly monster metaphor does kind of work, in the end. Because maybe it didn't want to leave, maybe it didn't do anything to be cast out, maybe that thing just felt, in its bones or its exoskeleten or whatever, it felt that it didn't belong. So it left, and then it did everything it needed to to try and carve itself a place in a world that never felt like his.”

“Charlie...”

He tries to reach for her face, but she catches his fingers in hers, stopping him. He's bracing to be pushed away, but Charlie just lays their hands between their bodies, keeping them entwined.

“I'm not done. What I mean is, if I'm the musca, it's not for leaving. It's for getting here in the first place. It's for clinging to the fight, to the rules of that other world. I think I want to learn how to belong, Sam. I think I want to learn what it feels like to own my own life, to feel like I have something to protect.”

She looks at him, and there is something searching in her gaze, a question on the tip of her tongue.

But Sam knows Charlie, or a version of her anyway, and he knows that she isn't asking him to come with her. They don't have that kind of relationship. So he waits her out.

“You know you could still do it, right?”

And yeah, that line has been run through so many times that Sam should have expected. It certainly shouldn't have come like a slap to the face.

Sam closes his eyes and turns away, lying on his back.

He tries to tell himself that she doesn't really know him, doesn't know how many times he's tried, doesn't know how deep the hunt runs in him, how it sticks to every pore of his skin. But of course she knows him. This is why she's saying this. Because she see the places where they match, and Charlie has never looked at something broken and not given it a shot to fix it.

That is how the other version of her had started hunting, after all. That is how Sam and his brother had gotten her killed.

“Maybe,” Sam says to the ceiling. “I've tried before. It's always felt like running away to me.”

“What would be so wrong with running away from a life that's slowly killing you and everyone you love?”

There is so much bitterness in her voice. Sam hasn't been paying enough attention, if this is how she truly feels. He hasn't suspected, and how much of a leader can he call himself if something so big flies completely under his radar? He's been working himself sick trying to run the bunker and help everyone in it, trying to make a different, trying to let them be a part of something good, but if this is what they think, what result does he have to hold up to the light as he tries to fall asleep?

Sam doesn't want to feed the resentment in his friend, especially not in this moment that was meant to be sweet. He doesn't want to keep circling back to the dark thoughts he's had a thousand times before. He has made peace with his life, although it is not a peaceful one.

And this does not mean he begrudges Charlie for her desire. He could not and will not, because there is nothing more natural for him than the visceral feeling of wanting out. He does not want to see her leave. He will miss her, the other refugees will miss her, and the hunting world will miss her. But that shouldn't influence her decision.

“There's nothing wrong with it.” Sam doesn't turn to look at her, afraid that something on his features might betray his words. “There's nothing wrong with you,” he adds, because they were talking about the musca, at some point, that was the crux of the matter.

Maybe that's why she can take that decision and he can't, Sam thinks, ever unkind with himself. He doesn't say it aloud, because putting those kinds of thoughts into words give them power.

Instead, he finally shifts to his side again.

Charlie has her right arm folded under her head, bright red hair splayed over the pillow. She's still entirely naked, just like him, lying on top of the covers. It seems incongruous right now, in the context of this conversation. The motel room is warm, but they should probably still put on some clothes. There is both sweat and rain still drying on their skin.

Charlie looks beautiful and Sam knows about love and about letting go. And this isn't that kind of love, but he still cares about her. She makes that easy.

“There's nothing wrong with you,” he says, looking her in the eye, hoping that his features might reveal the depth of that truth, for once.

#Meeni writes fics #SamCharlie #Sam x charlie #Charlie Bradbury #Sam Winchester #hello I am in rarepair hell #also I am sorry for all the people looking for perks of being a wallflower content who have to deal with the likes of me #you are very brave

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storm-driver · 6 years ago

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Hi! Do you have any writing tips for Roxas and Ventus? :D

I am about to bash heads in with this, you might wanna sit down.

I’m known to be particularly brutal when it comes to analysis and judgement of others’ works, so asking for my advice might lead to me being very harsh about it. I also just typed up a bit of shit and one misclick on my keyboard deleted literally all of and I’m PISSED the fuck off at Tumblr for not having an AUTO SAVE FEATURE ON POSTS. But whatever here we go

I’d qualify this as a character’s study, because that’s honestly what I’m doing. I’m gonna cite to you my character studies for Roxas and Ventus. I’ve spent literal days analyzing their archetypes and who they are as people. And all I’m gonna do is cite it. Below the cut because oof I got a LOT TO SAY

Ventus is one character I see people get half right and half wrong in their fan works. Many characterize him as a bubbly and upbeat, naive child with hardly a copious sense of what it means to be the kind of child warrior that he is. A Mary Sue, to use a term. And to an extent, Ventus can seem very Mary-Sue-like, being such a young person and such a caring and, at times, gullible child.

In the story of BBS, we see Ventus progress through the worlds in search of his friend, deliberately defying his Master’s wishes in the process. When he finds out one of his friends, Aqua, was only out looking for them to drag them home, he called her an awful person. From the moment he met Vanitas, he was flat out rude (though with reason).

Point being, even if Ventus’ heart is literally made from pure light, he is not a pure person. He makes mistakes. He has choices he regrets. He’s not happy with everything that’s ever happened. He has his dislikes, things that make him uncomfortable, things that he hates. He’s not a saint. He’s not without flaws. So in my honest opinion, he cannot be written without them.

One of Ven’s most defining character traits is his personality being a near polar opposite of Roxas’, the character whom he most resembles. Ventus is upbeat, he’s outgoing, he wants to see new places and meet new people. He wants to protect those people and he wants to call them his friends. And sometimes, that’s his downfall.

His overtly strong care for Terra, as his brother-in-training, led him to defy his Master and go out on his own. This led to Ven going about and protecting people from the “monsters” (Unversed) that plagued all the worlds. A good outcome, yes, but it led to Ven’s doubts about who Terra was and what he was capable of. And that led to a falling out in their friendship. To a point where Ven was so hurt by Terra not letting him come on the journey, Ven kept going just to find new friends. A hint of jealousy.

As the series has progressed, though, we find Ventus is acting a bit more mature after he woke up in KH3. When Aqua started to feel down that Terra was still missing, Ventus held his Wayfinder to the stars and assured her that they would be able to bring him home. A role reversal that showed how much Ven has grown as a person, given that it was usually Aqua, one of the most mature characters in the series, who would support Ven in his times of need.

All in all, Ventus remains a very kind-hearted person who I’d hope is still eager to make new friends. Though he’s matured just enough to realize that the world may be a bit more complicated than the black and white views that Eraqus taught him. I.E. When he told Vanitas that he didn’t ask to be split away, that their split didn’t define them. And you can visibly see Ventus get upset when Vanitas insists that all he is capable of being is darkness.

It’s such a strong sign of maturity that Ven also calmly accepts Vanitas’ answer. He doesn’t try to fight it like Sora does. He’s aware that he can’t change what some people think, and he just needs to live with it. Giving up on an argument, especially with someone as stubborn as Vanitas has shown to be, is an insanely strong sign of maturity that not a lot of characters show with such a collected grasp on the situation. Ventus knew exactly what he was saying. And that’s amazing growth from when he tried to argue with Terra and Aqua in BBS.

I would say he’s a kind person. Still a bit childish around the edges, as he’s shown he’s capable of being. But he isn’t quite a child anymore. He knows what he’s supposed to be, what Vanitas is supposed to be, and how this development affects him as a person. He’s very mature for his age, but still very caring. And maybe just a little naive.

Roxas, on the other hand, might feel like a polar opposite.

Consider first that Roxas is just over a year old. He’s almost as close as you can get to an infant in this series, besides the literal children Sora, Riku and Kairi from BBS. He probably doesn’t have a fantastic grasp on even the most simple concepts like gender or friendship. That second one should most especially be true to Roxas.

Something I tend to see people do very wrong when writing Roxas is making him emotionally driven by nothing but sheer anger. Yes, Roxas’ most defining trait is his remarkable ability to dual-wield, something he learned through the unbridled rage of watching his best friend die in his arms. But think about why he’s angry first and you start to unveil who Roxas really is.

First and foremost, he’s a tragedy of a character. Everything about his existence is tragic and leaves the viewer with strong pity and condolences for Roxas. He even pities himself and the fate he’s forced to face by end of KH2. Why, though, is it all so tragic? How come Roxas’ story hurts more than, say, Riku’s or Aqua’s?

Part of it comes back to Roxas being born a literal blank slate. He had no grasp on reality for an entire week after he was born. No sense of purpose, what was right and wrong, self-preservation or care for other things. He needed to be taught what all of that meant, and it was only after he made the mistake of following Xemnas and joining the Organization. It’s akin to a child being adopted and immediately put to work for the efforts of the homeowners. The child knows no better than to do so. Especially for Roxas, who has literally no memories or cohesion of who he is.

Furthermore, the person who taught him what it was to be alive, to be friends with others and to experience joy, ended up betraying his trust and flat-out lying to him for most of the time that they were friends. Axel may not have enjoyed lying to Roxas, but the point being that he did. And it gave Roxas trust issues from that point onward.

Now that’s not to say that Roxas isn’t capable of liking other people. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. We know that Roxas wants to be friends with others. In a way, it mimics Ventus’ wishes to make new friends, and maybe even has some deeper meaning to it. (We do know that Ventus’ heart was with Roxas for some time, so who knows, maybe it was overflow?) We know for a fact that Roxas would’ve liked very much to be friends with some kids he saw in Twilight Town. There’s even a point in the manga where Roxas says that he was jealous of their friendship.

Now I also wouldn’t put it past Roxas to be a little cold towards people. For someone who’s gone through as much tragedy as he has, he has a right to be cold. But it’s not like it was every random stranger’s fault that he had such a shitty start to his life. Roxas has shown he’s capable of being compassionate and kind to others, even to people he doesn’t know too well. I know the Roxas we met in the data Twilight Town wasn’t exactly genuine, but the little mini-games you did during his segment? Just proof that, if Roxas didn’t have his Hell of a life at the constant front, maybe he could’ve lived a bit more calmly. Been a helpful person around town and just an overall calm and chill person.

Of course, he probably has his gripes. I think he’d be playful and teasing with his friends. Maybe give Riku a cold look for that time he stole the munny pouch. Stare at Ventus oddly for a few seconds before realizing that it wasn’t a mirror he was looking at. But he wouldn’t be 99% anger and 1% “ice cream!” Everything Roxas has gone through doesn’t lead directly to rage mode 24/7, despite how much we as a community joke about it.

Roxas is a compassionate and loving person, but because of his numerous trust issues in the past, he might hold some friends closer than others. He can be nice to anyone he wants to, but only so few people know what Roxas is really like. He has a playful side, but he’s also capable of being very aggressive, stubborn-willed, and flat rude when he wants to be. He might even have a bit of a temper problem. But that doesn’t define him. He is Roxas, nobody else.

#lunarconfestionist #kingdom hearts #asks!#roxas #ventus #ven #i honestly love doing these kinds of indepth analysis things #the way characters are built in kh is truly incredible and can teach a lot about writing.

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maydaymadier · 5 years ago

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Fannar Playlist Breakdown

idk, I’m procrastinating so I’m gonna explain all the songs on the Fannar playlist

Immigrant Song, Led Zeppelin basically my inspirations are showing here, Fannar’s original concept was ‘Well the MCU writers can do whatever the fuck they want with Loki so so can I’ so I pulled this one from the Thor: Ragnarok soundtrack, on a lesser note “We come from the land of the ice and snow/From the midnight sun, where the hot springs flow/The hammer of the gods/W'ell drive our ships to new lands/To fight the horde, and sing and cry/Valhalla, I am coming!” and he’s literally from a place called The Frozen North

Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen The only family member whose opinion matters to Fannar anymore is his mom. There’s also just the general level of dramatic thinking that happens when grievously injured and believing you’re about to die. “Mama, ooh,/Didn't mean to make you cry,/If I'm not back again this time tomorrow,” is probably about what he was thinking when he was

Bleeding Out, Imagine Dragons bleeding out at the bottom of an abyss, back mangled and painfully aware that he was about to die, a Fannar backstory jam, this one lines up with when Fannar made his warlock pact with Auril

Monster, Lady Gaga He just vibes with this one, I think Fannar would fucking love this song

Judas, Lady Gaga Once again, I just think he vibes with this one, he just vibes with it

Fox on the Run, Sweet OH MAN, this works on multiple counts. Fannar starts off the campaign as a ‘fox on the run’ bc he’s like, a trickster running away, avoiding home, ALSO “I - don't wanna know your name/'Cause you don't look the same/The way you did before/Okay - you think you got a pretty face/But the rest of you is out of place/You looked alright before” works super well bc Fannar literally grew up with a different face, and he lost it bc of backstory so this would be a random person from The Frozen North talking about him.

Surrender, Cheap Trick I don’t know, I think I just got Fannar vibes from it? A family with a really weird, vaguely dysfunctional dynamic? The parents have weird pasts and that’s reflected in the kids? Yeah, that checks out.

Dead and Gone, The Black Keys Early in his pact Fannar, still presumed dead by anyone who’d previously known him, and at his patron’s beck and call “So long/Why you waiting so long?/After every single word is said/I'm feeling dead and gone”

Sinister Kid, The Black Keys Fannar, especially early on, was wildly, blatantly self-destructive, not even trying to hide it. “A sinister kid is a kid who/Runs to meet his maker/A drop dead sprint from the day he's born/Straight into his maker's arms/And that's me, that's me/The boy with the broken halo/That's me, that's me/The devil won't let me be”

The Kids From Yesterday, My Chemical Romance idk, I don’t remember why I originally added this one. But it’s probably just some Fannar-reflecting-on-his-past from time to time

Sleep, My Chemical Romance Admittedly, Fannar’s done some pretty shitty things, but he’s a lot harder on himself than anyone else is, “Undeserving of your sympathy 'Cause there ain't no way that I'm sorry for what I did” so it’s easier to just own it and revel in the idea that he’s a bad person who isn’t sorry than admit to anything.

Once Upon a December, Liz Callaway (Anastasia) BACKSTORY JAM!!!!!! This is like,,,,baby Fannar, his present self is so detached from who he was as a small child that that whole part of his life doesn’t really feel real. He knows it happened, but it’s such a 180 he can’t properly wrap his head around it.

One Way Or Another, Blondie Early on in the campaign he was being tracked down by someone, who later turned out to be his Nana Frostyears (his childhood governess, i guess i’ll call her a governess), tracking him down to bring him home to save the kingdom

Unknown Brother, The Black Keys This is more from his brother Orvar’s perspective, Orvar trying to wrap his head around what happened to his baby brother Fannar as an outsider looking in. “Though I never met you/And we spoke not a word/I'll never forget you/Through stories that I have heard/For you unknown brother/My baby's mother's pained/Because your soul is in heaven/But your memory remains”

Death By Glamour, Toby Fox The ranger (Isorropia) and the druid/DM1 (Thrain) were talking about Fannar amongst themselves and decided that it fit him and I was inclined to agree.

Don’t Stop Me Now, Queen Fannar, a few years post-backstory, come into himself, still an impulsive bastard but he’s having fun now.

Dinner & Diatribes, Hozier Look, I’m sorry but a lot of songs are gonna be on here bc they’re horny and this is one of them. This could be Fannar’s pov, it could be an attractive stranger interested in Fannar’s pov, it could go either way. “Honey, this club here is stuck up/Dinner and diatribes/I knew it from the first look of/The look of mischief in your eyes”

Movement, Hozier yet another Horny Song, but this time a little more, awed by the other person bc when Fannar decides he wants to sleep with someone he goes big or goes home and sets his sights on impressive people......like a dragon “I still watch you when you're groovin'/As if through water from the bottom of a pool/You're movin' without movin'/And when you move, I'm moved”

Blame It On The Girls, MIKA OH BOY this pretty aptly sums up Fannar’s attitude and attitudes abt various family members, this song is just, a perfect summary of Fannar, though I guess it’s more someone describing him as opposed to Fannar saying it himself “Blame it on the girls who know what to do/Blame it on the boys who keep hitting on you/Blame it on your mother for the things she said/Blame it on your father but you know he's dead”

Burning Pile, Mother Mother sometimes Fannar’s bullshit, baggage, and mistakes catch up with him and the easiest thing to do is to torch it. why would he ever actually deal with it fully? “All my troubles on a burning pile/All lit up and I start to smile/If I, catch fire then I change my aim/Throw my troubles at the world again”

cherubim, serpentwithfeet ANOTHER horny song but this is specifically abt someone! There’s a character that I have Fannar paired off with in my canon-compliant writing, Renault, the War King of Ragnas. Who, well, Fannar started off as a consort but then it turned out that he really liked him, and he felt the same way and it’s probably the best romantic relationship of Fannar’s life so he feels a certain level of devotion to Renault. “Boy, every time I worship you/My mouth is filled with honey/Boy, as I build your throne/I feel myself growing”

Savior, St. Vincent [lord farquaad pointing meme] horny, Fannar is more than willing to fill sexual roles for people, fulfill what other people think of him because that’s easier than having his own concrete identity, though he knows it has its limits “You dress me up in a nurse's outfit/It rides and sticks to my thighs and my hips...... Honey, I can't be your savior/Love you to the grave and farther/Honey, I am not your martyr”

Moment’s Silence (Common Tongue), Hozier [lord farquaad pointing meme but deep fried] HORNY Look, Fannar knows what he’s about, and also maybe sometimes he can be horny in an emotional way that makes him a little bit sappy abt the present events “Be thankful some know it lovingly/There the reason comes in the common tongue of your loving me”

Low Lays the Devil, The Veils okay, I originally put this on here bc I think it was a recommended song on a different playlist and i wanted to save it and so i saved it to Fannar’s playlist bc it fit that one best. Overall, just a general allusion to Fannar’s fiendish heritage as a tiefling I suppose and also how he generally likes to hype people up to by proxy hype himself up “High as the heavenly sea/Low lays the devil in me...Come lay your head on my lap/And let your hair fall back/You've got to live with yourself”

Save A Horse (Ride a Cowboy), Big & Rich Okay, I added this jokingly bc I managed to convince myself that Fannar would fucking love this song, absolutely jam out to it while he’s fucking wasted. Also, maybe his type is ‘Cowboy’ and that’s hella valid of him.

Horns, Bryce Fox He’s a tiefling! A tiefling with very prominent horns! He’s gotta learn to take pride in that shit and learn how to think of them as attractive

It’s Hard to Be Humble, Mac Davis Look, Fannar knows how to hype himself up and strut and preen like the peacock he is, being humble is not a part of his persona

Little Lion Man, Mumford & Sons hahahahaha, scratch through Fannar’s exterior deep enough and you’ll easily find someone who was put through a fucking meat grinder and had his identity crumbled into a million jagged bits. He maybe could have been a great wizard, and insightful advisor to his brother when he became king, but instead he was broken and choked on the poison poured into his mind “Tremble for yourself, my man,/You know that you have seen this all before/Tremble little lion man,/You'll never settle any of your scores/Your grace is wasted in your face,/Your boldness stands alone among the wreck/Now learn from your mother or else spend your days biting your own neck”

You’re My Best Friend, Queen I needed a song for Fannar and Isorropia. Isorropia is his best friend (and tbh he considers her to be like a sister, though he doesn’t really expect her to feel the same way) and he feels very strongly about her. He would kill a man for Rope.

Everybody Wants To Rule the World, Tears For Fears A pretty central even in Fannar’s backstory was his trying to take the throne of his home kingdom and he generally cares about being in control of himself and his situation, having no control over what’s happening to him is not a good time

I Don’t Know What We’re Talking About, Ninja Sex Party Okay, there’s a running thing where whenever we’re in a bathhouse or something I’ll just shout out “Fannar disassociates in the bath” which started off as a joke but then I realized Fannar doesn’t like being alone with his thoughts or his body. He didn’t grow up with this tiefling body and as much as he can claim to be comfortable with himself, he can’t always manage to put his money where his mouth is. There was one notable time where Fannar was completely checked out in the baths in this inn in Vulcanica and the party managed to chase a guy down into an alley and fight him, all while Fannar stayed sat in the bath. (See also, this is why Fannar is such a promiscuous character, he’s trying to assert confidence in his body by being overtly sexual)

Catch Me Now I’m Falling, The Kinks Ya boi fell. He notably fell into a massive fucking abyss and it would have killed him had he not made his pact with Auril

Emperor’s New Clothes, Panic! at the Disco Big Fannar vibes, he’s big and dramatic and as someone who grew up among nobility and hated it he knows how to clock fake people who clothe themselves in pretension and importance. Also lowkey speaks to his ambitions to become an archfey himself someday “Sycophants on velvet sofas/Lavish mansions, vintage wine/I am so much more than royal/Snatch your chain and mace your eyes/If it feels good, tastes good/It must be mine/Heroes always get remembered/But you know legends never die”

Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time, Panic! at the Disco What can I say besides Fannar is a party animal

Somebody To Love, Queen HE’S JUST A BIG DUMB GAY WHO MASKS HIS EMOTIONS BUT DEEP DOWN WOULD REALLY LIKE TO JUST GENUINELY BE LOVED, HE’S GOT PLATONIC LOVE IN THE FORM OF HIS INTER-PARTY FRIENDSHIPS BUT HEY HE’D LIKE SOME ROMANCE TOO PLEASE AND THANKS (SHOUTOUT TO RENAULT)

Viva La Vida, Coldplay More backstory allusion stuff, he was a big dumbass who wanted to rule but his reputation crumbled around him and all of those ambitions became untenable.

#my post #tal plays dnd #fannar #readmore #long post

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scientificphilosopher · 6 years ago

Text

Mental Health and General Life Advice Gained Over the Years

Here is a list of some things I’ve learned over the years that have, I think, helped me live a better life

Be flexible in my narrative. When I say things like ‘I’m just an anxious person,’ or ‘I suck at confrontation,’ then I risk fixing onto this narrative rather than managing it in a healthy way. I become unwilling to recognize instances where I’m not anxious. I ignore opportunities for growth. Instead, I find it better to foster a flexible narrative. I know it’s important to acknowledge, normalize, and even embrace my identities, but I don’t want to mistake an aspect of my identity for my identity wholesale. I’m not my anxiety. Rather, I struggle with anxiety. I’m not Depression. Rather, depression has had a formative influence on my sense of self. This, too, goes for my social identities. Identities are real, and they have very real impacts on our world and our experience, but they are not everything. To paraphrase James Baldwin, identities are like garments that ought to be worn loosely so that our nakedness—and ability to change—can still be felt.

Steep in my fallibility. The more I’ve learned about my personal fallibility—which is prodigious—the healthier my relationships and general approach to the world has become. Embracing my tendency to be biased and make mistakes has, I hope, fostered a strong sense of humility. Thank goodness, since this world is messy and complex as shit, and we are often—so very, very often—wrong about things. Or at least overly-simplistic. And because things are so goddamn complicated, it can be hard, even impossible, to see nuance. Our limited and parochial natures can lead us to ignore complexity, especially if that complexity doesn’t cast a favorable light on our beliefs about the world. I’ve developed an almost fetishistic obsession with learning about cognitive biases and the seemingly infinite number of ways my psychology leads me astray (as evidenced by the persistent string of posts I’ve made on it, like here, here, here, here, and here). Paradoxically, fully embracing and seeking out my fallibility has led me to have a much deeper understanding of the world around me. As Simone de Beauvoir says, ‘It is in the knowledge of the genuine conditions of our life that we must draw our strength to live and our reason for acting.’ My genuine condition is that of a mistake-prone, biased, and mercurial ape. (And that’s pretty cool.)

Get in touch with the messiness. Why is it important to have a flexible narrative and to embrace our fallibility? Because shit’s complex! Incredibly, intensely, bone-chillingly, awe-inspiringly complex. Our brains have evolved as taxonomy machines where we carve up the world and separate everything into nice and neat little boxes. If only things could be so simple. As it so happens, though, the world is, as William James wrote, ‘multitudinous beyond imagination, tangled, muddy, painful and perplexed.’ I have found it to be very helpful to reflect on the complexity of everything, even the seemingly simple and straightforward.

Mindfulness exercises. ‘Mindfulness’ has, like ‘empathy,’ become a pop-psych buzzword over the last several years. This is partly because mindfulness is a very potent tool. It can fundamentally alter our day-to-day existence. There is no shortage of ancient schools of wisdom that have prescribed mindfulness as key to a meaningful existence. I’m partial to David Foster Wallace’s construction of mindfulness when he said that it is the true aim of a good education. With mindfulness we cultivate the power to choose where to focus our mental energies, to choose what has meaning and what does not. With practice, ‘it will actually be within your power to experience a crowded, hot, slow, consumer-hell type situation as not only meaningful, but sacred, on fire with the same force that made the stars: love, fellowship, the mystical oneness of all things deep down.’ In short, continued Wallace, ‘you get to decide what to worship.’

Thinking about thankfulness. Gratitude exercises are a form of mindfulness I’ve found to be especially beneficial. When I have the mental energy to do so, I try to get creative about my gratitude. I try to find gratitude in the mundane, the trivial, the invisible. It’s much too easy to be grateful for grand adventures and emotionally rewarding escapades. It can be much more difficult—but equally meaningful—to find gratitude in the humdrum, or to appreciate the infinite number of shitty things that didn’t happen to me, or to embrace the vast confluence of luck that has led me to this single moment of unadorned contentedness. This is another subject I’ve written about to a near-obnoxious extent (see some here, here, here, here, and here). I sometimes feel reservations recommending gratitude exercises, since, when things are really awful, as they so often are, it can feel patronizing and hurtful to have someone tell you that you should just be grateful. This is not my intention. The world is capricious and fucked up, far more often than it should be. This is why I try to access gratitude in the moments where things are okay. I try to seize moments of grace and calm and squeeze out those drops of thankfulness. This can add water to the reservoir that I will need to pull from when I’m thirsty and in pain. In my better moments, then, I can find gratitude, or some semblance or peace or perspective, even when I’m suffering. I can, as Nietschze wrote, ‘throw roses in to the abyss and say: “Here is my thanks to the monster who didn’t succeed in swallowing me alive.”’ And, ultimately, this has helped me get to a place where I can, more often than not, remain in a ‘contented dazzlement of surprise,’ to use Lewis Thomas’ turn of phrase.

Me and everyone I love will die. You know what else I’m grateful for? This breath. And this one. And this one. It’s pretty wild to be alive, to be a self-aware extension of nature itself. What a stunning convergence of necessary circumstance needed to randomly grant me such a privilege. And, just as it came, so it will go. Randomly and inexorably. Death awaits. There is no stopping it. Dark, suffocating, oblivion. This can be scary, of course. But it’s also motivating and contextualizing. Death is not yet here, after all. And that makes each and every breath, smile, kiss, and laugh a priceless cosmic treasure. Indeed, it is precisely because of our limited time that life is so meaningful. Emily Dickinson, as she was wont to do, summed it up eloquently when she said, ‘That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.’

I am not free. At the very least, I am not free in the way I’ve long thought. I am a physical being, subject to the laws of nature, of cause and effect. My thoughts are not authored by some mystical volition or unrestrained willpower. I am thoroughly restrained. I am, indeed, destined to write this sentence from the very moment the cosmos silently but extravagantly whispered itself into life. Some people recoil from this idea, thinking that if our thoughts and actions are determined by external factors, then life is meaningless, and change is futile. These conclusions do not follow. Change is occurring constantly. Our actions have consequences. What we do chaotically reverberates into our surroundings. We are determined, but not fated. We have power, even if it is not free. Instead of catastrophizing and fearing the implications of our lack of freedom, I like to reflect on what this means for how I treat myself and others. A lack of freedom motivates in me a deep sense of compassion. It demands forgiveness for both my mistakes and those of others. None of us asked to be here. We are, as Heidegger said, thrown into existence, awoken to a set of determined circumstance. I am the type of person who has been able to receive an education, to have supportive loved ones, to have a functioning moral compass, a disposition for moving and meaningful emotional experiences, and to want to work to make the world a better place. But I didn’t choose to be or have any of this. This is all luck, luck, luck. From my country of birth to my balding head and hairy back to every last neuronal blast fashioning my inner life—not one atom or twist of the genetic braid was chosen exclusively by me. So, if I find myself as the type of person who doesn’t want to harm others, who doesn’t have unmanageable compulsions, who doesn’t suffer from debilitating isolation, who isn’t disproportionately oppressed by the unconscious machinations of social systems, then this, like everything and all of it, is luck, luck, luck.

Interpersonal stuff. I’ve been very lucky to have had resources in my life, including access to healthcare, a support system, and loved ones who happen to be badass psychologists and counselors. I’ve gleaned invaluable life advice from these dear friends of mine. And thank the cosmos, as such advice has proven to profoundly improve my interpersonal relationships. A couple of quick ones: avoid ‘Shoulding’ on people. When I’m upset and in pain, I typically desire a compassionate and patient ear rather than practical advice. When people come at me with ‘Well, you should do this…’ I often just feel misunderstood or further alienated. Even worse is the ‘Nike Advice,’ where someone says ‘Just do such and such…’ This often feels invalidating because if it were a matter of ‘Just’ doing something, I would’ve already done it. Things are rarely so simple. Similarly, I’ve found it helpful to listen rather than problem-solve. I will commiserate and look for solutions if that is what the person asks for, but usually, I will try to be simply present for the other person, to sit with their pain and offer my compassion and understanding.

Meta-advice. Here’s some advice on my advice: take it with a fat, ballpark-sized soft-pretzel’s worth of salt. I am a philosopher, not a psychologist. I try to be very science- and research-driven, and I’ve been lucky to enough to draw from the hard-earned wisdom of other experts, but, nonetheless, I am not an expert myself. I try to live well. I try to be smart and kind and humble and patient, and I often fail. I am human, all-too-human. This is simply meant to be a sloppily-rendered summary of some helpful pieces of anecdotal advice I’ve gathered on my never-ending journey toward eudaimonia. Nothing more. It is non-exhaustive (this post is, like me after a night at home with a book and a DiGiornio, far too bloated), and I’m sure I’ll regret leaving out many pieces of pivotal information. But the above advice has (so far) been useful in my life. This does not mean it will be helpful for everyone. I hope, at least, that it would not be harmful. Do with it what you will, my friends, and good luck.

#nich #psychology #philosophy #life advic #mental health #eudaimonia #gratitude #mindfulness #death #mortality #long post #text #long

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lewyn-martell · 6 years ago

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How do you feel about the fact that john emotionally and physically abused his first wife Cynthia before leaving her for Yoko?

*Sigh* Must every person who likes John go through this?

I’m gonna answer about this topic once so I won’t have to do it again.

If John had spent his entire first marriage beating and humiliating his wife, there’s no fucking way I would admire him, so it’s not “a fact”. No, I’m not saying I would be fine with an every other day beating either. I know it’s very tempting to see a post by someone here with “sources” (like some article written by someone who also does zero reading about John and is based on the lies Philip Norman said on his book) or that quote of his and find it enough to classify him as abusive, human garbage, hypocritical and a monster. But take the words of anyone actually close to him and everything Cynthia has said on the matter and you’ll see things are not quite like that.

As we all know, he could be a violent young man sometimes and he expressed shame more than once of the way he treated women in his youth. I believe that slap during that fight definitely happened because Cynthia said so, but I also believe Cynthia when she said she only took him back (they broke up for three months if you’re not familiar with the story) if he promised he would never do it again (and so never did). What he did was disgusting and terrible and inexcusable, but I mean, have you searched dirt on the other Beatles too? Because let me tell you, there is, and it’s not pretty either. If I decided to forever unstan for being an occasionally (not all that frequent as the word or John’s dumb ass may lead you to believe) disgusting youngster, I would have to unstan them all forever, and if you ask me, it’s very interesting how only John’s awfulness that is repeatedly brought up EVERY DAMN TIME. Now, I just don’t believe for a second there was an actual routine and cycle of abuse going on and I have reasons for that. Of course, I would never deny the fact that he was a shitty husband. Not only he cheated on her, but he could also be “verbally unkind” as she put it (yes, he could be very nasty and cruel with his words) and the whole leaving her for Yoko situation was ridiculous the way it was handled, Cyn deserved a lot better.

Your question about how I feel about it: of course, it doesn’t feel good to know your hero (of sorts, I’m too old to consider him my hero in the full sense of the word) could be a faulty human being, but I believe this in itself is a redundant phrase, since making mistakes is part of being human. John did a lot of them, especially as someone who needed psychological help and never got any, but love him or hate him, you need to acknowledge the fact that he admitted his and felt shame for them and tried to better himself. Look up anything he said about peace and treatment of women in general during the 70s and you’ll see he is not a hypocrite, just someone trying his best after doing some truly terrible things. It’s very clear to anyone who follows me that I love John and it took me a long time to admit it to myself and to let me because I was also blindly believing every horrible thing I read about him. But after doing some research, I can confidently say I don’t love a bad man because he never was. So, what I feel now is caution about my own admiration for him and a desire to know John for everything that he was. I’m still a new fan, but I’m getting to know him quite well, I would say, and I would literally rather die than be blind to any of John’s faults, that is really not how I like to get to know people (as much as a fan can). My opinion of him is the same as Cynthia’s: “John is neither a saint, nor is he a sinner. He was just human, like the rest of us.”, but I don’t feel the need (or rather, I’m pretty much always fighting this need) of constantly letting people know that I am aware he wasn’t perfect. I just want to love him the way I want to, without focusing on every mistake he made.

If you want to know more about John’s relationship with Cyn: [x] [x]

About John’s controversial stuff: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

#messages #john lennon #the beatles #cynthia lennon #understanding john

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ocexnbreezx · 5 years ago

Text

Breathe Me // Self - Para

Character: Dakota Hastings. Trigger Warnings: Abuse. Location: Childhood home.

Her steps moved in time with her heart rate; fast, unsteady and heavy. It wasn’t often that such situations occurred in this foreign household but Dakota had spent the night at Charlies after the house party that dawned until so early. She’d spent an hour this morning, ensuring bruises were hidden, blood was washed away and you couldn’t see through the cracks of such a fake smile. She knew her mother would pour anger out like a steaming kettle; she hadn’t even told her where she was going, merely disappeared for the night and didn’t live up to the hopes of making it home before her mother realised. So here she was, trudging the way home. Charlie had still been passed out into hours of sleep when she left; the easiest time to escape. She had spent her whole walk home with her fingers tracing his hand print on her neck. The grasp he had; the strength. How he rendered her breathless and almost motionless. Was it sickening she adored him? That she had kid herself it was okay, that sometimes people had pent up anger and needed to expel it –– was it right she was his target practise? She couldn’t answer it unbiasedly.

Her bare feet thudded on the concrete, her house nearly in view as it towered over trees and other houses didn’t even come within a ten mile radius. Her mother enjoyed being secluded; the lack of time for people and notion that she was at the pinnacle of her career meant the upmost solidarity and dedication to her ‘art,’ it was all a load of bullshit in Dakota’s opinion –– it was a debate it her loneliness made her pieces of art good. Glancing to her bare feet with darkened and dulled hues. Not that she was ever a liberty to comment on something. She let her mother run the gates of hell (currently known as ‘home’) as she so desired, it was her only interest to finish school and escape those being fostered and bouncing around people who didn’t grasp the word love or notion of care.

Her breaths dropped; shallow, quick. Nerves so hypersensitive she could feel the sweat collate on her hands and the notion of a beetroot red mother at the other side of the door made her wince. She knew what she was in for, stepping slowly; shoes in hand. She slid her key in the lock and listened to the bolts reply; allowing her into her ‘abode.’ It might not have been a millisecond, that she had stepped in the house and she could feel her presence; sense the heavy breaths and bloodshot angry hues. It couldn’t happen again; not from her too.

“Where the fuck have you been young lady?” her mother quipped, tapping the pointed toe of her court shoe on the marble floor, the speed increasing as her patience dissipated.

“I spent the night at Charlies. My phone died whilst we were out and I forgot to charge it –– – ” She excused, cursing herself mentally before turning to face her mother in all red bullish anger.

“Oh, because that makes it okay. Because you no longer feel entitled to inform me of your whereabouts. I am your mother.” Scoff –– Dakota had quickly learnt that ‘mother’ was a title that you had to earn and this one; did not. Not even close to the realm of it.

The irony of it all was; they had been here before but that was the first time her mother had hit her. “I’m sorry I was out ‘mother’ and didn’t inform you but I am here now and will remember for next time,” Dakota commented, attempting to be as polite as possible.

Running her fingers through her hair, she listened to her angry sigh and slow, loud, pounding steps across the white marble. Leaving her a mere inches from her face. “Dakota –– I thought by now, you had learnt that I don’t accept mistake in this household,” she whispered so viciously. Her mother drawing her nails to her daughter arm, sinking them deep into the now cut flesh. Dakota wasn’t one to snap, to lose her cool. She took the beatings, the pain and all the hurt that coincided; it had stemmed from Charlie. But it was like a branch in her had fallen and so had her mouth.

Drawing her arm back in such a fast fashion from her mother startled her. “What did you just say? You don’t accept mistakes? I’m a fucking teenager.” She hissed, stepping back from her. “What do you expect? For me to dive into your idea of perfect –– – that I will never step out of line or make an error? Well fuck you. You old, shitty excuse of a parent. You call yourself a mother and you hit me, you call yourself a parent and you can’t even do that. Do you know what love means? What it is to be nice? No, no, of course you fucking don’t. I hate that I call you that, that I live under your rules. Who do you think you are to hurt another person? You chose me and took me in –– and if you want respect, you better damn well earn it. Because I’m not some stupid girl you can beat into perfect, that you can hiss and yell at. You won’t make me a shell of a person like yourself and you certainly won’t control me. You awful bitch – If you don’t want me; send me away!” She was short of breath once she’d finished, the anger seeped through her veins, pulsating as her fists clenched, her mother’s jaw dropping shock. It only took a second to recover before she lifted her hand and gave her a swift backhand across her cheek.

“How fucking dare you. You’re waste of atoms and I am ashamed to call you my daughter but you will do as I say until they take you back. You cannot speak to me like that, you ungrateful bitch.”

Dakota reeled back her head, a void of emotions decorating her, she was numb. Finally numb. She knew what it meant now, to not be loved by people who chose you. She shrugged. “You’re a monster –– I wish you never had me.” Dakota cursed, her shoulder slamming her mothers as she carted past her; a bee line. Her bedroom, which was more of a box. It took seconds to collapse on her floor; door locked behind her. Her breaths jagged and face frozen. She couldn’t cry, she didn’t need to. It was as if emotions had drained from her, like they had finally beaten inhumanity into her. So she sat there, wishing she didn’t exist; praying even. As she plugged her fingers in her ears, bleeding out the sound of her screaming to her father.

This was what it was like –– to not be loved.

#Ironically her and her mom became closer after everything with charles came to light.#eh #self para #[ dakota –– development ; broken bones ]#tw; abuse

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morethanithoughtofficialblog · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 11: And I had an anxiety attack... again.

In which the title describes the whole chapter

*Your POV*

I slammed the door behind me, fell to my knees, and closed my eyes. Today was such a shitty day I actually don't want to go back. But I have to. Unless I want to get fired, which actually doesn't sound THAT bad.

Wait... yeah, that sounds reasonable.

My apartment was just like my mind: a complete fucking mess that made no sense and looked like Narnia. But despite that, my personal laptop was hanging out on the small table I have in front of the TV. I sighed and went to the kitchen, trying not to worry.

It's been a while ever since I met the group of monsters and, honestly, I'm loving it! They are super nice and a part of me has changed a bit... so I'm becoming more dedicated to making them as happy as I can.

And that also refers to some of their complaints, like "you should seek a better job" or "this is dangerous for you, you should have something that makes you happy". And that's what I was about to do.

After taking my cup of coffee and I sat on the couch, I opened my laptop and started to search for different jobs and opportunities. I'm a scientist and a... politician? We could say that. I'm experienced in both terms and I'm really trying to look for a scientist post today. I want to do what I love and, well, I'm a science nerd. Fite me.

I just don't want to work in the Congress anymore. It's boring, it's lame, and I'm not going to stay in an office for the rest of my days- not when I'm starting to care about things. Alphys and Sans have said that they want to become part of the science world, but they have to study hard to get it. While I'm waiting for them, though, I'll make them proud and work in science!

While browsing around, I ended up on a Facebook page and noticed I had a shitton of notifications. Interested, I checked the groups and started to read the messages... bad idea...

Paula: Hey, monster lover! You should just go with them to the Underground, hah!

Anna: Jesus, when did we let this happen?

Anna: I thought you were smarter than this!

John: You are gonna put us in trouble

John: And it'll be all YOUR FAULT!

And so it went. I frowned slightly and decided to check Discord, trying to get distracted for a bit. My mind was starting to make bad moves, and I just couldn't make them real. What if it was better to leave the topic? Did I make a mistake? Should I start protesting AGAINST them?! Are they a threat to humans? Oh my God, what have I done? Should I-

Do you wanna get... Frisky?: Hey (Y/N)!

Do you wanna get... Frisky?: you wanna play UNO?

CoolSkeleton95: YES, HUMAN!

CoolSkeleton95: YOU SHOULD JOIN THE FUN!

I shook my head with a smile, knowing I could never do that to them. Not after the little and funny history we have together, and how much comprehensible they looked with my problems socializing. They've made laugh like there is no tomorrow and to learn a lot of things. I just can't wipe them away from their dreams. I just can't wipe them away from my life.

Smartass: Sure, right now?

puns are love, puns are life: we're startin' right now, kiddo.

puns are love, puns are life: join this round before undyne comes with her shitty strategies again

I giggled softly, remembering the stupid nicknames we all had in that Discord group. I immediately went for my headphones, then joined the chat.

"Hi!" I exclaimed, praying that everyone could hear me. Fortunately, they could.

"hello kid, ready to lose?" A deep voice said, which I immediately recognized it was Sans. Everyone seems to have a high-pitched voice comparing them with him. Heck, even my father would sound like a three-year-old girl if we compare their voices!

After a bit of playing stupid rounds of UNO and hearing Sans's awful puns, I lost track of time. Eventually, Sans and I ended up playing Dead by Daylight together, the skeleton by some coincidence having the game installed. And so talked privately from then, and... got used to the game, I suppose.

"DUDE WHAT THE-" I stopped myself before I could use a bad word, not knowing how he would react. I still don't feel comfortable enough to be my usual, swearing, and boring self around them. I'm trying to be as less boring as possible... but I know that I'm still boring, even if I, indeed, try hard.

"i hate this game soooooooo much... what if we play somethin' else?" he asked, making me sigh in relief. This game's no good for someone with anxiety, keep that in mind. Bad thing I'm kind of a masochist in that aspect.

"You hate a lot of games, don't you? And sure, any suggestions?"

"do you have... mortal kombat?"

Oooh

This is going to be interesting!

"Which one?"

"x, i'm too poor to buy the new one"

"Sure, I have it! I'll love to play it, it's been a while"

"cool cool, i'll invite you then"

And we played like for, what, hours? Mortal Kombat is sincerely one of my favorite sagas of videogames since I was a little child. Dolls? Nah, videogames were my thing since the beginning of times.

I forgot my problems, I forgot everything. It was just me, my character, and an angry Sans rattling his bones all over the mic. I was enjoying it, even if he tried to deconcentrate me with his jokes, that at the end were all just corny comments trying to make me flush but made me laugh instead.

I joked now and then as well, and hearing his laugh was such a gratifying feeling I couldn't do anything but to laugh with him. Besides, his laugh is quite contagious, and I'm easily influenced when other people laugh, so this got the best of me.

When I looked at the clock though, fear ran all over my body, and I stood quiet for some good minutes. I tried to contain my anxiety, to calm down. I took deep breaths and closed my eyes, telling myself I'll be just fine.

"(y/n), are you-"

"HOLY SHIT IT'S 1 AM WHAT THE FUCK- AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

...

Nice job, sweetie.

My mind was being a huge and stupid mess whenever those awful screams were out of my mouth. Sans wasn't answering, so I felt worse. I started panicking and creating ways to make him hate me less, and before I could say anything, I heard laughter.

His laughter.

"oh my god (y/n) you panic a lot" he said between breaths, while I just remained silent. What the- "i'm sorry, it's just... you should not worry about anything, k? remember you said tomorrow you don't have to work, k? just relax. nothing's wrong with staying late once in a while, right?"

"Wait, so you don't think I'm pathetic or anything like that?!"

"wha- of course not! everyone has their moments (y/n), and you have anxiety, for god's sake! it's totally normal for someone to freak out now and then. you shouldn't feel guilty of that"

How...

I felt tears trying to escape from my eyes and I hold them back, keeping my cool... temporarily. I draw a weak smile in my face, even if Sans couldn't see it.

"Thank you. I needed that" Aaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnd my voice broke down in the process. Shit.

"don't worry (y/n)" he said kindly, and I bet he was still wearing that permanent shit-eating grin. I chuckled to myself, slowly making tears disappear "hey, do you wanna meet up tomorrow? maybe you want some time to yourself, i know, but maybe you should try to interact more with people... since i'm assuming you don't"

I never thought I would get lectured by a skeleton. Guess life is unexpected, huh?

But I realized he was right. My social anxiety can only be solved by interacting with others. There is no escape, and I'm conscious of that. Besides, what can go wrong? Sans has been nothing but a nice guy, and I'm starting to enjoy his company a lot. Maybe I'll be able to consider him as a friend?

"I'd love that, thank you so much. I don't get to hang out often, so that means a lot"

"don't sweat it. everyone deserves a chance to express themselves"

We hung up the call with a quick "see you tomorrow" and I went straight to bed, never erasing that last sentence he said from my mind.

"Everyone deserves a chance to express themselves", huh? Maybe...

Maybe this is my chance

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Sans's POV*

We hung up the call and I let out a sigh. I never realized I was playing until late, mostly because Papyrus didn't come for his bedtime story, and so I lose track of time. I was having a good time though, but I can't be stubborn and keep her up any longer. Not after she almost had a heart attack.

She's nice, and she seems pretty genuine. Doesn't look like the type of girl that should hide anything, not with that anxiety of hers. She's a goddess in Mortal Kombat, though. She knew how to use almost every fighter perfectly, and I felt like a punching bag with jokes in its interior. The more she won, the more I joked. At least she laughed... a lot, actually. She's a good audience, just like Tori.

Then I remembered she cursed when she was starting to freak out, and I started to wonder if she uses "strong" language daily. Or well, at least in her head.

I looked over that beautiful website called Youtube and watched some memes, that are truly gold if you ask me. A sick and dark sense of humor combined with random things and retards living their lives- in one word, perfection. I would also watch Tumblr, but that site gave me a good uncomfortable feeling that I don't want to relive any sooner. I also wanted to check Wattpad, but ever since I knew that it was mostly FanFiction, I thought more about it. Then I remember that Alphys told me she had an account and I immediately never went to that place...

Alphys is scary sometimes, no one can judge me. Her weird FanFictions are pretty much apart from anything I like to read or write...

And yes, I'm a writer.

That's why I thought Wattpad would be a good idea...

Thank God I changed my mind.

I'm mostly a science fiction lover, but drama and suspense are not that bad. I also like a lot of horror novels, but I'm no good at writing one my self. Believe me, I tried. It's hard to make it as noncliché as possible, considering that paranormalities are a huge cliché themselves.

I always include romance in my stories though. I realized it's quite essential in defining people's personalities and actions. Besides, romantic scenes leave a nice drama feeling when they are not exaggerated, so I try to put them once in a while.

I'm currently writing a novel instead of a short story, but it's hella difficult if you are bone dry of ideas. It takes a skele-ton of effort to come up with something good, and it's harder to put it in words. I also need to do some more research, since it includes scientific things...

Ah, sci-fi. What would I do without it?

I'm also a classic novel lover. Macbeth it's just wonderful and Journey to the Center of the Earth are old masterpieces that have a special place in my soul. I read them when I was a kid, and I would do it over and over. But I also want to see what new books the surface has to offer- one of my wildest dreams is to visit the biggest libraries around the world, like the ones in Paris or in Tokyo. But that has to wait.

I'm tired, but I never get myself to sleep. I suffer insomnia since... quite a few time, actually. It all started with the first reset of that goddamn flower; it started whenever I realized that the timeline theory was real and that, whoever got the power- the DETERMINATION- had the entire world at their hands.

Flowey was first, then Frisk came and had the power. Now I don't know if she has it anymore, considering we are at the surface and anyone could be more determined than her. But there's still a chance she has time and space at the tip of her fingers, and with a snap, she can make everything and everyone I love disappear.

That kid... she probably wants to see me suffer. After everything I've done to stop her, she hates me even more. She's selfish. She's a prick. And I'll never forgive her.

She knew I would remember when she did that. She killed everyone I loved, she destroyed the little hope I had on my home... and laughed at my face about it. That fight, that crazy look in her eyes... I have nightmares about it. Whenever I see the kid, a part of me replaces it with the painful memories of past timelines.

And I can't make them stop. I can't erase that devilish and empty smile Frisk had. I can't erase the vision of that flower becoming a God before my eyes.

I can't erase Papyrus's smile still with hope before turning to dust.

I shook my head and sighed. Out of all the times, I can't bring myself now into thinking like that... not anymore. We're on the Surface now, for God's sake! I should be happy because now I can fulfill my happiest dreams!

...

I lack the motivation, though.

There's no hope for me, or that's what I think.

I want the best for everyone (except Frisk and Flowey; screw them), but me? Heh, this old sack of bones won't be his usual self any sooner. It's just... it's just stupid to think I'll ever be the casual and relaxed skeleton ever again. I'm paranoid. I'm scared. I'm a fucking coward trying to protect his brother, but being too useless to do anything about it.

I can't go back to Snowdin. I can't go back to that goddamn house. I can't.

I glanced over my desk and noticed the folder with the things for my education. I let a sigh, knowing that I would never be able to keep up with that kind of stress. Not if my mind it's worried about something else.

I turned off the lights and went to my bed, trying to clear my mind. I let a new human enter my life, one older than Frisk...

That doesn't mean it's less dangerous.

That doesn't mean she's not a murderer...

#sans x reader #sansxreader #more than i thought fanfiction #more than i thought #sans #x reader #undertale

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tumblunni · 6 years ago

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Rambling about my new watchholder oc Mallory

* absolute gremlin child. Eats dirt. Probably more of a monster than most of the yokai.

* at the same time tho, she is like super sunshine friend! She looks kinda gloomy ominous but her personality is actually super bubbly and her biggest priority in life is making new yokai friends and loving them forever. Like, creepy in a wholesome way? She does indeed love horror movies and creepy crawlies and could probably fistfight god, but that doesnt mean she's evil!

* kinda always bored but also easily exciteable? One of her biggest recurring jokes is just ignoring the normal or sane solution to a thing and doing something more fun even if its more difficult or dangerous. Actually i guess its more "fearless" than bored? Or bored of fear, lol. Fearless and doesnt really give a shit about any rules. But again not in a mean way, she doesnt break rules because she wants to piss people off, just like "im not gonna believe this if nobody bothers explaining why its supposed to be so important". But not exactly phrased like that cos that would be rude, lol. So uhh more like just relateable autism feel of not grasping social cues but mixed with a personality thats quite outgoing and uncaring of being judged poorly for not being normal, as opposed to me who's always worried about what people think.

* oh wait thats the word for it!! Free-spirited! Trickster! Like a peter pan type of trickster tho, more than loki. Like just "i am naturally outside the obligations of normalcy" rather than "i am intentionally trying to prank/illusion/manipulate people cos its funny". Or uhh i guess "manic pixie dream girl" but without all the stupid shit that trope has got associated with.

* pretty much just wish fullfillment of "what if i was confident enough to not care what people think and just act like myself no matter what"

* anyway in summary she likes to climb trees n stuff and her reaction to yokai being real is "yay" and her reaction to seeing an undefeatable giant kaiju is to run at it and try and suplex it with her bare hands. She's kind of a badass! Tho lol also her biggest character flaw is her badassness, cos she can be reckless due to the lack of fear. But then also sometimes when everyone is hopeless she really does manage to save the day no matter what, and help inspire everyone else to be brave too!

* though i'm thinking of maybe a character arc where she starts off seeing this as just a fun adventure with no stakes, and it doesnt matter if you take risks cos nobody's gonna get hurt anyway. Like a "this isnt really real, its just my hero's story" sort of thing? When things start getting more dark and she faces things she cant just defeat with simple optimism, it kinda stops being fun anymore. And she has to realize that even if she doesnt care about her own self preservation there's consequences that could happen to her friends and family. And maybe she's already made mistakes that she can't take back, and now she's neck deep in a conflict thats a lot bigger and more insurmountable than she thought. You can't just fistfight something like the abstract concept of hatred for humanity which will continue to be perpetuated as long as the idea keeps taking root. And maybe even yokai you befriended could start to believe it too, after all you've kinda been treating them as just fun toys and sidekicks on a story that's all about you, and dragging them into danger with your recklessness. Even though you're fighting the villains, are you really doing it because you actually care about saving the day? Do you even know what you're saving it from...?

* and similar to her unflappable victoryness being shaken, i think her fearlessness and confidence could also be deeper than they look on the surface. I feel like maybe as the story goes on it could be revealed that its less being fearless and more just not caring about her own safety. You start to see her get more actual consequences from her fights, and it starts to become sort of concerning that she keeps brushing it off as no big deal. Laughing it off. Wondering why her friends are even sad that she got hurt. And maybe she isnt really happy all the time and 100% secure in who she is, she just tries to hide any signs of doubt because she feels like nobody would care. And that she has to always be the funny class clown or else nobody would want to be her friend. And like.. She doesnt even really believe that she's great, believe that she's fine as she is. She's more aware of her weirdness than she lets on. She's constantly, paralyzingly aware that everyone thinks she's a freak. She did use to try and change herself to fit in, but she kept failing at it and it never helped her get any friends. Or when she did think she made a friend they'd turn on her whenever she slipped up and showed a crack in her mask of the perfect normal person. The perfect normal person they wanted her to be.. Constantly changing into WHATEVER anyone wanted her to be. The only reason she doesnt do that anymore is that she lost all hope in it working, not that she actually gained confidence in her true self. And even when she's npt conciously doing it she's still subconciously trying to be what people want her to be. She has to always be funny, always be fearless, she has to cling to the few parts of her weirdness that people dont seem to hate. And now she has to be the hero. She has to carry all the dreams of everyone she's met along the way, while never letting them know when she's scared she wont be able to help make them come true. She's always just laughing it off and never being fully open with any of her friends, because she's scared they'll hate her. ..

* so uhh.. Yeah. Personal experience of that. Personal experience of trying to fit into negative stereotypes of autism because thats what everyone saw me as no matter how hard i tried, and also it was the only form of autism theyd treat positively, somehow. Like just be the "funny one" and dont challenge any of their assumptions ans they'll leave you in relative peace. Put up with some degree of degredation to avoid the even worse version. And i was doing all of this at a very youbg age before i even knew i was autistic or what autism was, but i could still feel how people treated me differently and how i had to friggin agree with it or else they'd never let it go. Gahhh.. It was all way too complicated and dark for a kid to understand!

* so yeah anyway her story arc is going from being a badass funny to being a funny badass? Like she just becomes more genuinely tough and cool when she's not always winning and the stakes dont seem so low and comical AND most importantly you know her real feelings and see that she will indeed continue fighting even when she's scared. And she doesnt try so hard to be cool all the time so it just lets her be more genuine. And form actual relationships with everyone with genuine feelings. So its less "she is badass because its funny" and more "she is a badass because she's a badass". But she's still funny, just in more varied ways than simply "the only reason she won this fight so fast is because jokes". Fighting legit threatening enemies in fights that arent over in five seconds. So they can contain... SEVERAL joke..!!! And also some actual fighting for once!!

* hhh i dunno i am very tired im probably not explaining this well

* oh and i think possibly she has a bit of a complex of feeling she's nothing without her yokai watch? Like the yokai are her first friends who never abandoned her. And she always felt like she was useless and it was her own fault that she didnt have any friends. She first started off being all irreverent and goofy when she got the yokai watch cos she was well into her "i dont care anymore" phase of depression and felt certain these new friends would all realise she was awful eventually and leave, so like.. Why get attatched? Just have fun while it lasts. So maybe actually she shows early signs of her depression by trying harder to be normal whenever anyone shows her friendship. Maybe something where she starts straigjtening her hair or dressing more feminine and then you just see this look on her face like her heart has shattered when someone agrees that she does look better now. (Maybe a new yokai she recently caught who was like super cool and she wanted to impress them?) And she gets compulsively obsessed with it, exaggerating it to a ridiculous degree and starting to change other parts of her appearance and everyone goes from giggling about this weird circumstance to getting REALLY DAMN CONCERNED! And in the end something something the yokai who was an asshole abput her needing to be more feminine slips up and shows his true assy colours to the other yokai and theyre like IT WAS YOU and he's like "what? You should be thanking me for fixing your shitty trainer!" And Then Everyone Beats Him Up Forever. Etc etc moral that real friends accept you for who you are and anyone who tells you you have to change to impress them is not worth impressing. Also maybe some aspect where the yokai dude thinks that mallory is trying to impress him cos she has a crush on him, and thats the moment that manages to snap her out of her depressive funk. Self hate overrided by sheer EWW NO IM A LESBIAN, DUDE i just liked ur cool hat, geez. (Wait was that entire plot idea just an excuse to find a way to foreshadow her getting a crush on hailey in yw3...?)

* and maybe i dunno some sort of dramatic episode where she loses the ability to use the yokai watch and is faced with her self worth issues all at once and its super fuckin sad and we all know eventually she will get to see all her yokai friends again cos the plots not gonna end before finishing all the games but still MEGA SUPER SAD MOMENT ANYWAY (also tearful reunions!)

* also i just heard theres a yokai called furgus thats a big adorable hairball that gives people big hair. So maybe that could be one of the comically easy victory episodes? He uses his power on mallory but her hair is already too fluffy to be floofed! Maybe it backfires and turns his own hair into a boring bowl cut, lol? And then maybe a sequel where he returns for revenge a million episodes later but it just so happens to be during the maddiman boss fight and he accidentally cures his balding. "Noooo dont thank me nooooo" *is forced against his will to become a popular advertosing mascot for hair cream* *like straight up just gets sucked into the nearest bottle and sealed like a genie* *cursed forever to fame and fortune and a million dollar salary*

* lol i dont think im as funny as the actual yokai watch writers but i have a few ideas at least. This will be fun to draw!

#bunni plays yokai watch

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foreverlilaclies · 7 years ago

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Dear Rick, Love Negan: Chapter 10

Rick,

So, looks like I'm a single man again. Let the wives go on their merry ways. Figured it was time and they were ready to go or some shit. You know spread your wings and soar. Also released all the prisoners. Had no (illegible scribbling) I was done with them.

-Negan

Negan,

I'd say I'm sorry for your multiple divorced but I'm really not. Hope all is well and thank you for delivering supplies.

-Rick

Rick,

Not a problem and thank you oh so much for your comforting words. I feel much lighter than I had before your kindness sparkled down on me. You're really the air beneath my wings.

-Negan

Negan,

Would it make you feel better if I said that I didn't care? I know you're into that whole sadomasochist bullshit. Carl and Judith say hello.

-Rick

Rick,

Tell the kids I said hi! Is Judith walking more? She was pretty mobile last time I saw her. How would you know what I'm into? I'm a classy guy, Rick. So what's supposed to happen with the Kingdom and Hilltop. When I said we could make peace I didn't mean I was just gonna stretch my neck and accept whatever they gave me. That girl from Hilltop in particular. Thought she was dead and bam there she is looking ready to kill. A little heads-up would have been fan-fucking-tastic.

-Negan

Negan,

Judith is running now. Unsteady, but running. Maggie, understandably is not interested in anything you have to offer and neither is Ezekiel. Too much bad blood. Ezekiel did say that taking you out of your authoritative position would be beneficial, but I think he understands that you won't budge. You need to work with him, he might be willing to listen if you offer him something as retribution. It's too late for Maggie and you know why.

-Rick

Rick,

Yeah I guess I do. I know it's a package deal with you, the Kingdom and Hilltop. If I'm being completely honest I really couldn't give a flying fuck about them. Just you. Just Alexandria. I'm tempted to offer you a deal. You and I, both our communities working together. We'd be king shits and no one would fuck with us. But I know you better than that, don't I? You'd never turn your back on them and I couldn't (illegible scribbling) I could never force you.

-Negan

Negan,

I guess you are learning. I heard you sent supplies to Hilltop and the Kingdom. Thank you for trying. I figured Maggie would refuse whatever you offered her. The Hilltop is out of negotiations and so is the Kingdom. What now?

-Rick

Rick,

Either way, I'm done with them. They're free or whatever. Can't offer them much anymore anyway. I get it. Now, my main concern is you and Alexandria. What do you need from me? What do you want me to do?

-Negan

Negan,

You've never asked me my thoughts on shit like this before. I'm honestly not sure what you want me to say. You said you're freeing Hilltop and the Kingdom. You released Daryl and the other prisoners. You're actually helping rather than stomping. I can only say, do what you know is right. Make reprimands. Build bridges rather than just burning them. If you can do that, then maybe we can reach something. I've done things that still (illegible scribbling) I've done shitty things and I can't forget them. Things that I never would have dreamed of. If I can force myself to move forward, so can you.

-Rick

Rick,

Okay, screw it. Here's the truth. When I was drunk and wrote you that I had been married I said she got sick. She was really sick. She had cancer and for the last year of her life I watched her slowly fade away. She died when this all started. Once my world ended, the whole damn world ended too. She came back and I was too much of a fucking coward to end it. I could see it in her eyes. You know those damn Walker eyes. It wasn't my wife looking back at me. She was long gone. So I ran. I found the bat and named it after my wife as a reminder. I needed to remember who I failed and what I needed to become to survive in this shithole. I was a bastard before this all began. I lied and I cheated on Lucille, but I loved her, Rick. I loved her so fucking much. That night I met her at the bar where she was wearing some god awful cheetah print leggings and belting out Cher, I knew I knew I loved her. I cheated on her and I fucked up, but I loved her. I wish I had told her that more often. I didn't think I could ever love anyone or anything like I had loved her. But then I met you. And you fucking wrecked me.

I'm not a good person, Rick. I'm a monster and I know it. I owned it like that asshole kid stomping on the anthill. But something about you made me weak. Made me want to be better. I'll give it up. I'll give all this shit up if it means you would sleep better at night. Is that what love is? Wanting better for that one person even if it gives you nothing in return? I would have died for Lucille, but then she would have been stuck in this fucking world and it would have destroyed her and (illegible scribbling) She went out thinking the world was still good and all that shit.

And now there's you. You with your fucking cowboy boots and scowl. I liked bringing you down. I fucking loved knowing that I took down that badass of a man and made him my bitch. It made me feel powerful. The biggest fucking kid on the anthill. But those eyes...those fucking eyes of yours. Prettiest damn eyes I've ever seen. I started seeing them everywhere. Everything was suddenly blue, like your eyes. This sounds like sappy high school bullshit, but it's true.

I know the world is shit. I know we both have done fucked up shit to survive. That was always my issue. I didn't want to survive. I wanted to fucking live. You made me feel like I was living. I had my power, my wives and everything I needed. But you still managed to fuck with me and I wanted you more than anything. I don't know what I would have done if I actually had you. (illegible scribbling) Like a fucking child. Shows how much I actually know, right? That kiss fucked me up, Rick. I knew you wouldn't want to keep it going after the fact but having you on me like that, it just felt right. I know I'll always love Lucille, but isn't it human nature to be able to love more than once in their life? She'd want me to move on already, get laid, get rid of the fucking...(illegible ink splatter) just get rid of the bat. Bury the hatchet or the bat in my case and move forward. I'll have Arat bring you the letter. I think its' time I let Lucille go. Please reply whenever you can.

Love, with all my damn heart, Negan

Negan,

You actually got rid of Lucille. I read your letter, over and over, but it felt like the words just weren't matching. Like I was reading a different language or something. Then you came over, without a bat and looking like you didn't know what to do with yourself. You loved your wife. I can understand that. I remember how messed up I was after Lori. I saw her everywhere after. I thought I was going crazy. Her and I had been going through shit before everything happened. The Walkers jut made it more complicated.

I guess I should come clean with a few things of my own. I got shot before the world went to shit. I had been with my partner Shane on patrol and there was a car chase, long story short, there were two people in the car and we didn't know until I got hit. It left me in a coma and when I woke up, the world was a mess. Shane had barricaded me in my room so nothing could reach me. He thought I was dead and he still (illegible scribbling) He-(illegible scribbling) He looked after Lori and Carl, got them to safety. He saved them while I couldn't. He was my best friend. Since we were kids. He always looked out for me. He was my brother. My biggest regret. They thought I was dead. I don't blame them. I finally woke up from the coma and the everything was messed up. I finally managed to find them. I can't describe what it was like to see them again. To see and hold Carl again. Shane and Lori thought I was dead. They only (illegible scribbling) Judith ain't mine. I can see it in her eyes. Shane's eyes. It doesn't matter. Biological or not, she's my daughter and I want her (illegible scribbling) I want her to live.

I came back and things started to move forward. But something in Shane changed him. Changed me. He got violent, dark in ways that he had never been. It wasn't my best friend with me anymore. He loved Lori. More than I had thought, and me coming back pushed him away from her. He (illegible scribbling) Eventually, it led to him and me in a damn field with him pointing a gun at me. He was gonna kill me. He wanted Lori and Carl and I was in the way. I talked him down. I had him start to lower the gun and I (ink splatter) I killed him. I killed my best friend. My brother. I still see him sometimes, too.

I fucked up, Negan. I did things that I'm not proud of and I still see their faces when I sleep. The world's a mess and somehow I'm alive while better people aren't. You were...this force of nature. You came in and (illegible scribbling) I killed your men and Glenn and Abe died for my mistake. They were good men. It should have been me. I hated you. Thought you were this monster coming to kill us all. Now, I'm just so damn confused. You looked after my kids. You're helping us and making reprimands and you're suddenly human. You said you loved me and I'm afraid I migh- (illegible scribbling) I don't know what I can do. I want us to move forward. I don't want war. Just peace. You said you were willing to try when you were here last night. When you left, you kissed me goodbye so gently, like you thought you would break me. Holding my face like I was something precious. I've never been held like that before. Not since Michonne who I still love, but know there's no future and not since Lori. I want to try. I want to believe you and I (illegible scribbling) I think I can eventually take that hand you keep offering me. It will take time. We both have things we need to work on. But, I wanna move forward. For Carl, for Judith. For all of us. Maybe we can. Life ain't dead yet. We're not done yet.

Love, Rick

#twd #the walking dead #negick #negan x rick #regan #negan #rick grimes

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sunlightdances · 7 years ago

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everything you are

Title: Everything You Are Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader Genre: Hurt/comfort, angst, fluff Summary: Dean discovers the pretty librarian he met on a case is a little more “in the know” than he realized. Author’s Note: This is in Dean’s POV.

Dean comes to with a vague feeling of pain resonating through his entire body. He groans, his eyes slowly cracking open, feeling dry and dirty as a result of the fight he went through.

He’s still hearing a commotion, which seems impossible, because he was by himself when he got attacked. A rookie mistake - he and Sam split up, but they’ve done it enough times without someone getting hurt.

As his vision comes back into focus, he thinks he must be hallucinating, because from the backseat of the Impala, the door still open on both sides, he sees a flash of long hair, the glint of a blade, a familiar voice.

He squints as he tries to put together what he’s seeing. The same girl he flirted with incessantly at the library earlier is going toe-to-toe with the monster that kicked his ass (he’s not too embarrassed to admit it) and winning.

“Son of a bitch,” he groans, trying to prop himself up despite the muscles in his shoulders and back screaming in protest.

He looks up quickly when he hears you let out a particularly piercing screech, and is relieved when he sees that it looks to be in anger than in pain, watching as you kick the monster hard in the chest, knocking it to the ground. Dean finally staggers back to his feet, searching the floorboards of the Impala for his gun, and nearly knocks his head on the roof when he hears a gunshot.

He sees you standing there, his gun in your hands, the barrel smoking as you breathe heavily, cursing under your breath.

“Jesus fucking–” You say, stopping short when you glance in his direction and see him standing there staring. “Oh. You’re awake.”

Dean is pretty sure he’s never been this flabbergasted in his entire life. “I–” He stops, not even sure what to say. His eyes glance down at the monster, hopefully dead on the ground. “It’s dead?”

You look back down, then up at Dean, shrugging. “I hope so. That thing almost kicked my ass.”

Dean blinks. “Sorry – aren’t you the librarian?”

You grin. “Like you don’t remember who I am.” You walk a few steps closer, frowning at the cut on his forehead. “Unless your concussion is worse than I think. Do you really not remember?” You reach out, your touch feather light on his injured forehead.

Dean almost flinches at the contact, lightning shooting up his spine at your touch. He thinks it’s the concussion, but it could be the fact that he’s still in awe of you. “I remember. I just– how did you know where I was? Or what I was doing?”

You roll your eyes, as if Dean is the one asking weird questions. “I read. I didn’t know who you were at the library, but the books you were checking out made me curious.”

“You just thought you’d follow me and see if I was crazy or not.”

You shake your head, and Dean takes a second to admire the way your hair shakes around your shoulders, the way you’ve got a streak of dirt on your cheek and the way his gun is still dangling from your fingertips like it belongs there. “You’re not the first hunter I’ve met. This town seems to attract this kind of stuff.”

Dean shoots you a look of disbelief. “Monsters.”

You shrug, “I guess so. So I did some reading, and when I saw your car tearing down the road and you were by yourself…” you trail off, looking embarrassed for the first time. “Thought you might need some help.”

“You came to be my backup?”

A lovely blush settles on your cheeks, and Dean is torn between wanting to hightail it out of there –

(Because who does that? Runs headfirst into a monster fight without knowing what they’re getting into? You could be seriously nuts.)

– and wanting to push you up against the car and kiss that unsure look right off your face. The urge is there, and he grits his teeth to keep from saying anything that could get him punched.

“I guess so.” You shrug. “Didn’t do much good. I walked here, and by the time I got here you were already near unconscious.”

“You killed that thing.” Dean says, “What do you mean, you didn’t do any good?” He takes a step closer without thinking, looking over your body for any injuries. You seem to have gotten the drop on the thing, though. Only a few scratches and some bruises.

Dean’s mind is still racing. All he can think of is the way you looked when you were taking on that thing, your hair flying around you like some kind of avenging angel. He bites back a smile.

“Yeah, well.” You shrug, blushing again. “Sometimes I feel like I’m not going anywhere in life. I wanted to help. I should have just said something to you.”

Dean smiles, but doesn’t say anything, because he knows damn well he would have been an asshole about it. She would have asked, and he would have either acted like she was crazy, or he would have told her in no uncertain terms to stay right where she was. He knows it’s shitty, but he’s had enough people who know what they’re doing go to bat for him, and he’s tired. He’s tired of letting people get hurt for him.

“I should be thanking you, then.” He says, tilting his head. “You wanna get a drink?”

Dean’s pretty sure the way his headache is getting worse is not a great sign, but he ignores it as he drives you back to the motel. He knows you both look like you just went through a mugging, and he doesn’t think going to a bar is the best idea. Not when you know people in this town.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?” You ask for the third time, and Dean’s hands reflexively clench on the steering wheel.

“It’s not far,” he replies. “I’m good.”

He pulls into the parking lot, and wonders idly if Sam is back from interviewing more witnesses, yet. When he puts the car in park, he pulls out his phone and texts his brother, telling him the deed’s been done, and that he’s got one hell of a story to tell.

You’re staring at him still - he can feel your eyes drag over his face. He turns to you, eyebrows raised. “Quit looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you think my brains are going to spill out of my head.” Dean says, grumbling as he gets out of the car, his muscles feeling tired and overused.

“Is that a thing that happens after you hunt?” You ask, following him to the door with a brass “12″ on the front, watching him closely as he unlocks it. “I was just thinking that you need stitches.”

“I can stitch myself.” Dean says, dumping his bag by his bed and gesturing for you to sit down. “You want a beer?”

“I can stitch you up. And yes.” You say, and he looks at you questioningly as he rummages through the small fridge in the kitchenette. “What? I told you. I read.”

“Have you ever done stitches before?” He asks, handing you a cold bottle.

“How hard can it be?”

Dean tries to keep the mildly horrified look off his face as he looks you over, hand reaching out for your temple before he can help himself. “Seems like you’re the one that needs stitches, and if you’ve never done them before, you definitely aren’t allowed to do them on yourself.”

You shrug. “Doesn’t hurt too bad.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Can you accept my help, please?” He starts rummaging through his bag, pulling out his small first aid kit. Sam has the bigger one, but this one will have to do.

“You never go to hospitals for this?” You ask, watching his hands as he pulls out a clean needle and some antiseptic, a couple cotton rounds, and some thread.

“Hunting doesn’t really offer great medical insurance.” He sits a little closer to you, and tucks two fingers under your chin gently to tilt your head up so he can see better. “Hold still. This is going to sting at first.”

He sees you flinch as he dabs the antiseptic on your wound, but after you blow out a harsh breath, you relax a little bit, head tilting ever so slightly into his hand. He tries not to cradle your face, tries not to let the pads of his fingers make soothing motions as he starts stitching, but he can’t help it.

“Almost done.” He murmurs, heart clenching a little bit as he watches tears gather in your eyes. He can see the way you’re determined not to cry, and something like pride and warmth curls in his stomach. “There.”

You take another deep breath, and he leaves his spot next to you on the bed to grab another cotton swab. He comes back to you and runs it over the stitches, and almost subconsciously glances down at you, seeing your big eyes looking up at him a tear splashing onto your cheek. The bravado from earlier is gone, even though he sees you straighten your shoulders, determined not to look scared. He brushes the tear away with his thumb, and clears his throat.

“Thanks.” You whisper. “I can do yours–”

Dean’s shaking his head before you even finish your sentence. “Really, I’m good. You look exhausted. Let me take you home.”

“We didn’t even finish our drinks.” You say, looking at the barely-sipped beer bottles on the nightstand.

Dean breathes out a laugh, wondering how the hell he got lucky enough to meet you on this hunt. He’s met plenty of girls on his trips, but he has a feeling that if he lets you, you’d be able to get under his skin like no one else has for a really long time. “How’s this - take a nap here, and when my brother gets back we’ll get some food and then take you home.”

You’d been sort of slouching over the more tired you got, and you suddenly shoot upright. “Wait - how do we know there’s not more of those things out there? I have to go check, there’s my parents and–”

“Hey.” Dean puts what he hopes is a calming hand on your shoulder. “Hey, relax. We’ll figure it out. Everything I’ve read says they don’t live in packs. Don’t worry about it right now.”

You nod, but you still look worried, and again, Dean is struck with the almost uncontrollable urge to reach for you, to gather you up in his arms and tell you that he’s not going to let anything happen to you, not that you need his help.

“A half hour. Then you have to wake me up.” You tell him, and he nods.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

When Sam comes back, you’re still asleep, and Dean recounts the whole story as quiet as he can, sneaking glances at you to make sure you haven’t woken up. When he looks back at his brother, Sam’s got that infuriatingly smug look on his face.

“What.”

“Nothing!” Sam grins. “Just… you’ve never had to get rescued like that.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “She could have gotten herself killed.”

Sam looks over at you. “Must have a brave streak, that’s for sure.”

Dean swallows, watching as your chest rises and falls gently as you sleep. He feels this connection to you. He’s not stupid - he knows he’s attracted to you. It’s why he spent almost a solid hour at the library trying to get your attention the other day. He’s momentarily distracted when you shift on the bed, your shirt riding up slightly as you twist this way and that, trying to get comfortable.

Dean frowns when you don’t settle back down into sleep, but instead start murmuring, your face scrunching up in discomfort. He gets up from the chair and walks over to the bed, kneeling down next to you, ignoring Sam’s eyes on him.

“Hey,” he says your name quietly, “Wake up. You’re dreaming. Wake up.” Your eyes snap open, darting around the room, and he reaches for your face, cupping your cheek gently. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

You calm down at the sound of his voice, but he feels you tense when you see Sam.

“That’s my brother, Sam. You’ve been asleep for almost an hour.”

“You were supposed to wake me up.” You say, frowning as you sit up.

Dean shrugs. “You needed the rest.”

Sam stands, introducing himself, and Dean watches as your eyes become a little clearer, a little less scared, a little more like the girl that shot a monster she’d never believed was real at point blank range.

While you’re chatting, Dean orders a pizza, and manages to clean himself up enough so he doesn’t freak out the delivery guy.

It’s kind of nice, he thinks, the chatter from you and Sam as you talk about all kinds of nerdy book stuff. In fact, it’s pretty damn adorable the way your eyes light up as you and Sam talk about some new book by a mutual favorite author, and he tries not to let his gaze linger too long as he listens in.

The three of you devour an extra large pizza when it shows up, and then that full, sleepy feeling starts to take over. Dean knows he needs to get you back home before someone thinks you’ve been kidnapped or before he starts to get too comfortable with you.

Self preservation is the same of the game for Dean these days, and he can feel how easy it would be to just slip into something easy and mutually satisfying with you. He can feel how easy it would be to spend an hour arguing with you about where to eat and then spend hours afterwards learning every inch of your body with his hands and his mouth. He can feel how easy it would be to have you there, doing research and kicking ass, and it scares him how he can picture it so clearly. He can’t afford to think this way anymore.

“I better go,” you say a while later, your voice soft.

Sam says his goodbyes, sending a pointed look over your shoulder at Dean, and Dean rolls his eyes in response. You trail after Dean out into the parking lot, and Dean’s eyes dart around in the dark, looking for anything that could be considered a threat.

The drive to your house is short, and he pulls up the driveway of a picturesque white house with flowers out front. It’s exactly what he pictured when he first met you. He puts the car in park, and watches as you turn to face him, ever so slightly.

“Alright, no chick flick moments.” He says, smiling at you. “You gonna be okay?” He asks, eyes lingering on your stitches and remembering the look on your face from your nightmare.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks, Dean. For everything.” You say, and it’s right there, right on the tip of his tongue, to ask you for your number, or say something more than he can afford to give. He doesn’t.

You get out of the car and walk up the curved sidewalk to the house, and Dean sits there, waiting to make sure you’ve gotten inside okay. He waits a minute longer, watching as the lights come on and hopes to hell nothing’s waiting for you inside.

A minute later and he’s running out of excuses for why he’s still there in the driveway. He blows out a breath, his pulse thundering. “Fuck it.”

He gets out of the car, slamming the driver’s side door, and is at your front door knocking before he can tell himself why this is such a bad idea. When you pull open the wooden door, you look surprised, but there’s this glint in your eyes that is what really nails this home for Dean.

He leans in before you can say anything, hands cupping your face and crashing his lips against yours, the kiss turning desperate immediately, both of you realizing this isn’t just a first kiss, but it’s a goodbye kiss, too.

Your arms go around Dean’s waist, and when he feels you ball his shirt in your fists, he groans, his mouth opening and deepening the kiss as one hand starts to tangle in the silky strand of your hair. You feel perfect, and Dean is loathe to let you go, even though he knows he has to.

Your eyes are still shut when Dean pulls away, both of you panting, and Dean memorizes the look on your face. “Sorry.” He whispers. “Had to do that at least once.”

“Make it more than once,” you say, surprising him, and he grins when you reach for his wrist, tugging him inside the house.

He follows you eagerly, knowing that he’s not going to forget this night, or you, for a very long time.

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #spn reader insert

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