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writingblock101 · 4 years ago

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Waffles or Pancakes? (Tim Drake x Reader)

Miss me? More explanation at the bottom. Enjoy this vent fic!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,600

Tags: @idkmanicantenglish @mayahoelland2013

You pick up a stone, fiddling with it in your hand. You don’t have daddy issues. The complicated relationship with your father doesn’t run that deep, and it definitely isn’t some kink… but there are a lot of unresolved problems threatening to boil over the surface.

Complicated relationship...More like lack thereof. You suppose that’s what happens when you have divorced parents, and you only see your dad every other weekend. Then other shit happens, he marries the wrong woman, you get older and more involved in your own life, and there’s not much effort on either side. You suppose that’s the origin of most of these problems, but you’re not the adult in this situation, dammit!

You throw the rock in frustration, watching it disappear off the side of the building, then a puddle of dread pools in your stomach. You’re on top of a building, and pedestrians are walking below, minding their own business. Sure, it may be close to 3 a.m. in Gotham, but still! Your actions have consequences.

You rush to the side of the building to make sure you didn’t bodily injure some random person, only to look down and see empty streets. Your pebble most likely joined another heap of loose asphalt. Plopping down heavily onto the ledge of the apartment building, you stare into the streets below and idly wonder if Batman and Robin are patrolling. When do they ever sleep? Do they sleep?

You should be asleep, and you know it. You said good night to the friend you were messaging over an hour ago, but instead of rolling over and passing out, your mind wandered to your family, specifically your father. Probably because you’re going to be seeing him in a few days for the holidays. It’s not exactly dread. Your father is a very loving man who loves you very much, but it never felt like he put effort into your relationship. Of course, it wasn’t until you were older that you realized how little effort he genuinely put in. As a child, you strived for his love, his approval, his interest. That’s what you really wanted. You knew he loved you and was so proud of you, but you also knew he was never truly interested in you or your life. And that stung.

So now, instead of ever bringing up your dad during therapy, you’re sitting on a roof, throwing rocks into the abyss, and getting teary-eyed over arguments that will never happen.

“Care for some company?” A voice startles you.

You turn to see Red Robin of all people, standing a few feet away and looking as non-threatening as possible. You shrug and gesture to the ledge.

“Plenty of ledge here for the both of us. Besides, I’m sure you could teach me a few things about perching on tall buildings.”

Red Robin chuckles and moves to the edge of the building. He tosses his legs over the side, sitting a foot away from you, and stares out on the city. You wonder what he sees when he looks on the city. He, Batman, Robin, and Red Hood protect Gotham for whatever reason. You’re not sure this cesspool deserves it, but apparently, they see something in it.

“I wasn’t going to jump,” You tell him.

“I didn’t think you were,” He responds simply.

“I’m not suicidal,” You plow ahead. “I don’t want to die, but I kept spiraling the longer I laid in bed.”

Red Robin nods along, like he gets it, like he understands. And maybe he does. You suppose despite all the rumors about the Bats, they probably are normal humans under those cowls and masks. Humans with a deathwish, but at this point, who isn’t?

“Do you want to talk about it?” He offers quietly.

“With you?” You raise an eyebrow.

Red Robin pretends to look around the empty rooftop.

“Well, unless you’re seeing someone that I’m not, then yeah, with me.”

He chuckles at his own joke, and silence falls between you two again.

“I know it’s weird,” Red Robin admits. “To talk about something that’s probably really personal with a total stranger, but I’d figure I’d offer. Talking… It helps. So if you don’t talk to me, you should think about talking to someone.”

You pause, mulling over his words. You don’t know Red Robin. You’re pretty sure Red Robin doesn’t know you. But why would he want to listen to some pity party at 3 am on some random apartment rooftop? Surely, he has better things to do.

But he sat down. He offered. He’s making an effort.

That’s more than some people can say.

You sigh heavily, your shoulders slumping.

“It’s my dad,” You finally admit. “We’ve always had a… complicated relationship. It’s not that he doesn’t love me-- he very clearly does. He’s always been a very affectionate man, but… it feels like he was never really interested in my life. Not in a malicious way, but in an oblivious way. And when it was happening before my eyes, I was a kid, so I didn’t see it, but now being older… It’s more obvious. It’s so clear that he doesn’t know me… And it stings.”

Red Robin listens patiently, nodding along with your words. He says nothing, letting you speak.

“And in my head, I keep bringing up things that happened years ago that still bother me so much, but it was so many years ago. He probably doesn’t remember because he doesn’t think they’re significant moments, you know? It’s things he said in passing that he doesn’t think of as hurtful that left… Much deeper marks than I’m willing to admit.”

You sigh, scrubbing your face in frustration at the burning in your eyes. You don’t want to cry. You don’t like crying. You don’t care if you need to cry-- you cried earlier, and now, you’re not going to cry in front of Red Robin about your damn daddy issues (okay, maybe they are daddy issues, but you’re sure as hell not going to be calling anyone “daddy” in the bedroom).

“I just… I’m tired. I’m tired of trying to put effort into a relationship that he doesn’t seem to want to put effort into. And the thing is, I doubt he even realizes that he’s doing it! If I talked to him, I’m sure we could figure something out, but… I’m not sure I want to… I love my dad very much, and I know he loves me… But I don’t think I like him.”

Right as the words pass your lips, you feel instant regret seize your chest.

“Oh, God, does that make me a bad person?” You bury your face in your hands, fighting back the watering in your eyes. “He’s such a loving man. He’s a damn bleeding heart, and I know if he heard me say that, it would break his heart!”

The thought alone sends tears spilling over onto your cheeks. You love your dad, you don’t want to see him heartbroken, but it’s getting harder to ignore your own bruises.

Red Robin scoots closer to you, rubbing your back soothingly.

“No, it doesn’t make you a bad person,” He tells you softly. “It sounds like you’re really hurt. While we can love our family, it’s hard to like someone who’s brought you so much pain.”

“But he… He’s so sweet,” You sob, taking a stuttering breath. “He’s one of the most loving people I’ve ever met.”

“But that doesn’t mean he can’t hurt you,” Red Robin tells you gently.

The tears well up in your eyes again, and you give up trying to make any sense of your thoughts. Instead, you let the tears fall. Red Robin pulls in arm around your shoulders, rubbing your arm as you lean against him and silently cry.

You two sit there in silence for what must be an hour before you finally sit up and rub your face.

“Well, that’s certainly not how I expected this to go,” You admit sheepishly, wiping your face. “Sorry for making you listen to my dumb sob story.”

“I’ve been there,” Red Robin offers a tissue that he produced from somewhere on his suit. “It’s not dumb. Having someone who will listen makes all the difference.”

“Thanks,” You say softly, offering a watery smile as you blow your nose and finish wiping your face off.

“Are you hungry?” He offers.

“Hungry?”

Red Robin shrugs.

“Crying takes it out of you. And it sounds like you’ve had a long night. How about some 4 am breakfast?”

“But I don’t have my wallet,” You dumbly state as if not having a wallet is the only issue with his proposal.

Red Robin waves you off.

“It’s my treat.”

You look down at your clothes: sneakers, mismatching socks, stained sweatpants, an old sleep shirt, and the first jacket you could find in your room, which was a jean jacket.

“You look fine,” He assures you. “Besides, it’s 4 am. If anything, you fit the vibe more than I do.”

You giggle at that, grimacing at how tight your face feels from the crying and the snot dripping from your nose. Wiping your nose with your sleeve, you glance around the rooftop.

“How are we going to get there? I don’t have a car.”

Red Robin pulls what looks to be a grappling hook from his side.

“I have an idea. But I have one important question before we proceed.”

You look at him warily.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

And considering you just cried on his shoulder for the past hour and info dumped a small piece of your tragic backstory, you suppose you kind of do.

“Yeah,” You tell him.

“Great,” He smiles. “That wasn’t the important question, but that was needed information. Get on my back.”

You blink at him.

“Um. What?”

“Get on my back,” Red Robin repeats like it’s the most simple thing in the world. “I’m going to swing us to a breakfast place,” He waves his grappling hook.

“Um.”

“You said you trust me,” Red Robin reminds you.

And you suppose you did say that, didn’t you? He does this just about every night, he can keep you safe… Hopefully.

Red Robin bends down so you can hop onto his back. Once he’s sure you’re securely situated with your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, Red Robin climbs up on the ledge of the apartment. Your grip tightens as he stands dangerously close to the edge.

“Wait,” You say before he jumps.

Red Robin turns his head in acknowledgment.

“What was the important question?”

He grins at you.

“Waffles or pancakes?”

“What?”

“Waffles or pancakes?” Red Robin repeats like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“That was your important question?” You shake your head in disbelief.

“It is an important question,” He insists.

You pause for a moment, pondering your answer.

“Pancakes,” You say decisively.

“Good answer,” Red Robin grins, then steps off the building.

For a moment, your breath is stuck in your throat as everything tenses, bracing for impact. Then, there’s a tugging—something dragging you away from the ground in a long arch. You tear your eyes away from the ground to see Red Robin almost effortlessly swinging with his grappling hook. Every shot is perfectly timed and calculated. It looks like second nature at this point, and it makes you wonder how long Red Robin has been doing this. Who is Red Robin under the cowl?

Eventually, you land in front of a mom and pop dinner which advertises 24/7 breakfast.

“It doesn’t look like much, but this place has the best pancakes,” Red Robin promises as you slide off his back.

You shrug, looking up at the old sign and well-loved booths inside.

“Like you said, it fits the vibe.”

Red Robin grins and opens the door for you. He directs you to a booth in the back. An older waitress comes by your table holding two mugs and a pot of coffee.

“Hey, Red,” She greets, looking tired but friendly. “Who’s your friend?”

Red Robin glances over at you with a small smile.

“A fellow pancake lover.”

The waitress chuckles as she pours him a cup of coffee.

“Coffee?” She offers you.

“Uh, sure,” You’re doubtful that you’ll drink it since pulling an all-nighter sounds less than ideal but holding something warm sounds nice.

“So, a stack of pancakes for both of you then?” The waitress asks, not bothering to write down the simple order.

“That sounds great, Brooke,” Red Robin smiles.

“Sure thing,” Brooke heads back to the kitchen to place the order, leaving you at the table with Red Robin.

You blow on your hot coffee and wrap your fingers around the mug, enjoying the heat.

“Alright, another important question for you,” Red Robin begins as he adds sugar and cream to his coffee.

You smile, ready for this all-important question with rapt attention.

“Acceptable toppings on pancakes?”

Midway through your heated debate about which fruits are acceptable to top pancakes with (“Oh, so pineapple can go on pizza, but it can’t go on pancakes?!”), Brooke drops off two stacks of fluffy, golden brown pancakes. While Red Robin is wrong about pancake toppings, he wasn’t lying about these pancakes being delicious.

“Okay,” You say through a mouthful of heavenly pancake. “These pancakes are delicious, but I cannot fathom the thought of you ruining them with Miracle Whip.”

“It sounds weird, I know,” Red Robin admits, opting to dunk his pancakes in syrup only, thank God. “But trust me.”

“Miracle Whip,” You repeat. “Like the substitute for mayonnaise.”

“It’s sweeter than mayo!” Red Robin argues. “It’s like a sweet cream on pancakes.”

“I think you’ve had one too many concussions.”

“Oh, really?” You’re sure that Red Robin is raising his eyebrows at you under his cowl, judging by the look on his face. “So, what’s your excuse for orange juice and chocolate chip cookies?”

“Okay listen,” You point your fork at him. “I never said it was my idea. A friend made me try it, and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world!”

“How can you question my judgment about Miracle Whip on pancakes when you eat orange juice with your cookies?!”

“It’s not that different from drinking a glass of orange juice while eating a chocolate chip pancake!”

“Yes, it absolutely is!”

By the time you two have your fill of pancakes, coffee, and arguing, it’s close to five am. Red Robin drops you off on your apartment rooftop.

“Thanks for the pancakes,” You smile, sliding off his back. “You’re right. I did need that.”

“Helping is what we do,” He shrugs with a small smile.

“If only someone could help your taste buds.”

Red Robin laughs then shakes his head.

“If you think mine are bad, you should see some of the things my siblings eat.”

“There’s more of you?” You toss your head back dramatically. “What kind of cursed bloodline do you come from?!”

Red Robin grins.

“A diverse one,” He answers vaguely.

“Seriously,” You tell him, sobering up. “Thank you.”

“Anytime. If you ever need someone to talk to, go to the roof. I’ll be there,” Red Robin promises.

“Thanks,” You say softly, then you kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you around, Red.”

He’s frozen for a moment, then a smile stretches across his face.

“See you around,” He solutes, then disappears into the night like the bat he is.

You smile to yourself and walk back to your apartment. Some sleep sounds pretty good now…

So, hey guys! It’s been a minute... 4 months to be exact... Sorry about that. I’m not dead! Just in college. I just finished an 18 credit semester so I’ve been busy and tired. Next semester will not be better. It’s suppose to be my hardest semester of nursing school, so that’s great. I am hoping over break to work through some of my requests. I think to help I’m going to try to make them shorter. I also might delete some, so if yours gets deleted, I’m sorry. Eventually request will open again and you’ll be able to request, but as of now, I’m just trying to get content out and some of the things on the upcoming don’t really do it for me. Anyways, I’ve missed y’all and I’m sorry for the wait. Thank you for being patient, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoyed this vent fic!

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jaceyneedsabetterusername · 4 years ago

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Manhattan Sunsets

Pairing: Arvin Russel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Arvin gets stationed in Brooklyn after a tour in Vietnam but had never really gone into the city before. When he does, he meets Y/N, who makes it a point to get this small town boy to see the city. (Requested by @euphoriaoxygen)

Warnings: Brief mentions of PTSD from the war

Word Count: 3950

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out. I killed my computer, had to buy a new one, and then I had to catch up on school but I’m hoping to get more fics out.

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When Arvin left Knockemstiff, he had no idea what he was planning to do with his life. What could he do? He murdered four people. The idea alone left him feeling sick to his stomach but he knew that at the end of the day, that was exactly what had happened. It wasn’t that he regretted any of it. Preston Teagarden had to pay for his role in Lenora’s suicide and the harm of who knows how many other girls. Carl, Sandy, and Sheriff Lee were all going to kill him first. He knew at least the last three were self-defense, but what did the police think?

A few weeks had gone by since he left Knockemstiff, traveling to Cincinnati with that nice fella that had given him a ride. Those weeks had given him time to really sit and think about his future. That was when he realized that he didn’t really have plans. His entire life, he told himself he’d get out of Coal Creek eventually. The last thing he wanted to do was die in that little God forsaken town but, beyond that, he didn’t really know. He honestly figured that his life would begin whenever his grandmother and Uncle Earskell passed away so they didn’t need him to care for them anymore. That was all out of the cards now, though, knowing that he’d endanger them just by going back.

On Tuesday of the third week, he found himself at a recruiter’s office in Fort Thomas, Kentucky, enlisting for the army. If he was being honest with himself, even as he signed the papers, he knew he didn’t want to go overseas. The Vietnam War was one that practically nobody supported, including Arvin. He never understood why the U.S. felt the need to be involved in a battle that had literally nothing to do with us but the army came with a bed to sleep in, food to eat, a paycheck, and some benefits after (if) you got out. All of those were things that Arvin desperately needed.

Basic training was a breeze. He’d been hardened by years of manual labor, both around his grandmother’s farm and doing construction around town. The other men had initially poked fun at him for his accent and his seemingly smaller stature compared to some of the 6’0”+ giants. That all stopped though the first time they saw him shed his shirt, revealing a rippling six pack of abs beneath taught skin and arms that had definitely seen more work than half of these bigger men.

After basic training, he found himself stationed at Fort Hamilton Army Base in Brooklyn, NY. The army life was pretty close to what he’d imagined: rigorous, demanding, exhausting. Shortly after “settling in” at Fort Hamilton (if you can call being there for two weeks “settling in”), he was deployed across seas to fight in the battle of Ia Drang Valley before returning shortly after.

It was a Saturday morning and Arvin found himself picking through his food like he did every morning. With a heavy sigh, he set down his meal pack.

“You alright?” Willard Kast, one of his friends that had survived Ia Drang with him, asked from across the table.

Arvin began to nod but it turned more into a head shake, “Ya ever just feel like everythin’s the same?”

Kast laughed, “Well, yeah,” He said as if it was obvious, “They don’t exactly have us here to have fun.”

“Yeah, but I… I don’t know. Guess I just sorta feel like my life is going on around me but I’m not goin’ with it.” Arvin was never known to be the person who actually spoke about his feelings. For some reason though, this war had just brought out a sudden mortality crisis of sorts. Every time he thought back to those memories of everyone he’d lost, whether it be his mother, father, dog, sister, or war buddies, the dead, blank eyes that stared back at him only seemed to be ghosts of lives still unlived. He didn’t want to be haunted by those same spirits.

Kast smacked Arvin’s arm and beckoned for him to stand up, “Alright, you, up. Now. You’re getting off base today.”

“I don’t even know where I’d go if I left.” Arvin huffed, standing up.

“That’s the fun of it. Just go! Get out of this God forsaken place. See what you find.” Kast had always been oddly upbeat, especially compared to all the people Arvin had ever known growing up. Maybe it was the fact that anything Arvin had ever done felt like an accumulation of negativity so that it felt like there was no “fun in it” as Kast would put it. His friend noticed his hesitation before adding, “You do know what fun is, right?”

Arvin chuckled a little bit, “Honestly, I don’t know if I do.”

Within the hour, Arvin found himself dressed in civilian clothes for the first time in a while, a plain white t-shirt with blue jeans and some old, beat-up, black converse with his denim jacket slung over his shoulders. It was getting into autumn now and, though the sun still shone, there was a chill in the breeze.

Once he stepped off base, he started on his aimless wandering down the streets. Arvin looked up in awe at the tenements and office buildings, sometimes built over restaurants or drug stores. Even though he'd been stationed in Brooklyn for a little while now, he'd never actually taken the time to explore the city. This small town boy was almost overwhelmed.

Horns of vehicles beeped occasionally and trains roared overhead on raised tracks. On many streets, kids played with balls or some version of baseball with a busted off plank of wood instead of a real bat. Some others were running around just playing tag. A small smile upturned the corner of his lips as he watched them laugh out of the corner of his eye. He wished he'd had something like this growing up. Friends.

Off to his left, a drug store caught his eye and he dipped in to grab a pack of cigarettes. They didn’t have anything fancy, not that he needed anything that was. Just a pack of the most mediocre selection they had was what he’d left with, lighting one up as he continued his stroll down the street.

He kept his baseball cap down low, trying to blend in with the rest of the passerby. Arvin had never been one for calling attention to himself. Even in a new place, like Brooklyn, he figured passing through unnoticed would be the best way to go.

“Mother fu- Just work!”

Arvin hadn’t had his curiosity piqued by much on this stroll through the city but the disgruntled groans of a girl definitely drew his attention. He slowed his walk just slightly and looked around for the root of the complaints. There was a group of kids playing jacks to his right on the steps leading into a tenement but it was clear that they weren’t the angry woman in question.

Just ahead, to his left, a car was pulled off to the side of the street and you popped up from the front right side of your car, an annoyed look on your face. You pressed against the car and leaned back, stretching your back out for a moment, before kicking what he assumed to be the tire with a frustrated outcry.

“Okay, okay…” You breathed, trying to calm down, an almost hysterically frustrated smile on your face, like when you’re so mad that you have no choice but to laugh because, if you don’t, you’re going to punch a wall. Again, you disappeared, crouching back down. Arvin couldn’t see what you were doing but judging by the dragging of metal, he assumed you were trying to fix a tire.

Arvin approached the back of your car to see you knelt down, the knees of your flare jeans rubbed black from the pavement. You were leaning with all your might onto a bar that curved and hooked onto the bolts on your very flat tire. However, he was impressed to see the jack placed properly and already up in the right position- not that it was a woman thing…. He’d just seen plenty of idiots place the jack in the wrong place.

“Sorry to bother but you look like you could use a hand.” Arvin offered politely, stepping closer.

You turned to look at him with a start, not expecting anyone to speak. Arvin couldn’t help the small smile that crept on his face when he noticed the smear of grease across your cheek. Hair stuck up astray in a few places from you brushing it back and out of your face.

It had always been a goal of yours to not need a man. You’d seen plenty of women in your life dependent on their husbands, daddies, and brothers to do everything for them and then seen them lose everything when they realized all they could do was cook and clean. Not to discredit cooking and cleaning as valuable life skills, because they absolutely were, but you were not going to be some damsel in distress whenever you needed an oil change or got a flat tire.

But, as much as you hated to admit it, these bolts were giving you a run for your money. After having been at this for nearly twenty minutes to no avail, you sighed in defeat, “I mean, if you wouldn’t mind giving it a try, that would be real nice. I’ve been working at it for nearly twenty minutes and nothing.”

“Here,” Arvin reached his hand out for the pull bar and you stepped aside to allow him room. He notched the socket over the bolt and pushed, trying to crack the bolt. You definitely weren’t exaggerating. Whoever put this on had done a number tightening it. Arvin tried again, leaning into the bar. The denim of his jacket tightened around his flexing muscles as he did so until, finally, it cracked loose and the bolt gave way, twisting.

With a wipe of your hand across your face, you sighed. It took all your might to (unsuccessfully) not imagine the way this man’s muscles must have been bulging beneath his jacket as he cranked the bar.

Once it cracked loose, it was easy work to get the bolt off. By the time Arvin had arrived, you’d already managed to get all but two bolts off so he continued to work on the last one without you asking.

“Oh- I can get that!” You interjected, leaning down to go to grab the bar back.

Arvin stood up and shook his head, “No, no, it’s no problem. I’m glad to help.”

When he returned to turning the bolts, you took a step back, brow cocked and arms crossed, “You’re not from around here, are you?”

The bolt clanged to the ground with a metal clink and Arvin knelt down to shimmy the tire off, “Is it that obvious?” He chuckled, looking up at you as he rolled it to the side. You’d already had the spare ready to go right beside the old one and he grabbed it, wiggling it into place.

You chuckled, “People don’t really go out of their way to help strangers here. And I like the accent. It’s cute. You from Tennessee or something?”

Arvin froze up. Should he tell you? What were the chances of you knowing anything relating to the issues of his past? “Ohio.”

“I didn’t know you guys had accents back there.” You leaned against the side of the car, watching him work on the tire for you.

He tightened up the bolts all within the tire, “Depends on where you live, I guess.” Arvin pressed himself up, wiping his hands on his jeans as he did, “There ya go. You should be all set.”

You stood up straight and ran your hands on your striped brown, black, and white turtleneck, your face contorting in annoyance when you realized you smeared grease on your favorite sweater. Arvin smirked a little when he noticed the action.

You were pretty cute. Arvin felt a little confused. Girls back in Coal Creek had never really caught his eye. They were all so similar, just slight variations of each other. There were the hyper-religious good girls but they all reminded him too much of his sister. Either that or they were the girls who hung out with boys like Gene Dinwoodie and that was just a whole crowd that Arvin had no intention of associated with.

“You really didn’t have to do all that… but thank you for the help.” Your hands rubbed together, the faint black debris marking your fingers. “I have a few bucks. Let me buy you a coffee or something as a thank you?”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that.” Arvin readjusted his hat on his head.

“Please, I insist. You just changed my tire.” You pressed, tucking your hand into your back pocket and crossing your ankles as you leaned against the car. Arvin stood a little closer to you, still a polite distance away, but there was a way he looked down at you that just made butterflies go through your stomach.

Maybe this was what Kast meant. Maybe this was some of that life he should be living, that adventure he should be having. “Alright. But I don’t really know where anything is around here so….”

“Don’t worry, I got you.” You smiled, “I know a place a few blocks away if you’re up for it? They have some pretty good pie too. Oh, and I’m Y/N by the way.”

Nerves bubbled in Arvin’s stomach but something made him nod his head, almost against his will, “Arvin,” He nodded a small greeting, “And, yeah, that sounds nice.”

With a smile, you tapped on the hood of your car and nodded your head over to the passenger side, “It’s not too far but it’s kind of cold. I’d rather drive personally but we can walk if you’re more comfortable with that.”

The offer took Arvin back to his time hitchhiking his way out of Coal Creek and Knockemstiff. There had been a few bad experiences with handsy truckers and women who’d picked him up but they didn’t erase the memory of his first pick-up with Carl and Sandy. We all know how that ended…

But he’d made it out of all of those situations, even if just barely, and he honestly didn’t feel uneasy around you. There was an endearing, hardworking, down-to-earth yet friendly energy you gave off that managed to put Arvin at ease. Before he knew it, he was sitting in the front seat of your car as you sped off down the road.

The day had passed quickly with you and before Arvin knew it, it was already almost sunset. Coffee and pie had turned into a two hour long stay with the two of you talking about life which had in turn turned into a stroll through the city.

He’d told you about how he had some family issues growing up and left his hometown to join the army. Your exact response was, “I’d say thank you for your service but I don’t exactly support the war if I’m being honest.”

Arvin sipped his coffee and raised his eyebrows exasperatedly, “Neither do I.”

You told him about how you had been born and raised in Brooklyn, working at a local record shop to save up for a place of your own. You told him all about your career goals and how you wanted to find somewhere you felt like you really belonged. Brooklyn was your home, it always would be, but you felt like there was something else out there for you.

Talking to you was easy- easier than anyone since Arvin’s mother. He couldn’t explain it but the quiet, secretive boy found himself at ease with you, not only willing to but wanting to open up to you. Maybe it was the adorable way you made it a point to smell your coffee before you drank it, taking in the comforting, rich scent, or maybe it was residue of grease still on your shirt. Arvin couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but he was attracted to you in a way he hadn’t been attracted to anyone in his entire life.

“Hey,” You perked up, “You said you’ve never really left base, right?”

Arvin nodded, self-conscious about his lack of adventurous spirit, as Kast would put it, “Unfortunately.”

“You need to do all the stupid tourist things in New York.” You hit the countertop excitedly, as if the grandest idea anyone had ever had had occurred o you.

Arvin’s face scrunched up and he shook his head, looking away, “Nah, that ain’t really my thing.”

“C’mon,” You pressed, holding onto his forearm enthusiastically, “I’m not saying you gotta go stand around and get mugged in Time Square or anything but I think you should experience the city while you’re out here!”

Sightseeing had never interested Arvin. Hell, he never really even thought he’d make it out of Coal Creek, if he was being honest with himself. Even if he did, he just expected to end up in some other shit hole town that was the same with different people. He never really put much thought into what he wanted to do. His mind had just been so consumed with what he needed to do.

Arvin swivelled in his chair to face you, “Well what would you suggest that a newcomer go see here?”

It didn’t take you long at all to think up an idea, “Can you stay out till sunset?”

_____

Manhattan was definitely a different feel from Brooklyn. Arvin felt almost anxious here with all the cars and people and whatnot. He thought the army base was crowded but that was nothing compared to the bustle of the heart of New York City. Skyscrapers dwarfed neighboring buildings, casting shadows that somehow made Arvin feel miniscule in comparison.

“Here we are!” You exclaimed excitedly, disappearing through the revolving door of a classy looking building. Arvin followed you inside, meeting with you in the large main room. There was a window with a man behind it that you approached, “Two tickets to the top please.” You dug into your small white purse and pulled out a few bills and handed them to the man in exchange for tickets.

“Wait, what’re you buyin’?” Arvin stepped over to you, about to interject the transaction. The last thing he wanted was you spending more money on him.

“Tickets.” You said as if it were obvious.

“To what?” He asked, confused.

You turned around, two tickets in hand, with a smile, “Do you not know where we are yet?” Arvin slowly shook his head, wondering why he was supposed to. “We’re at the Empire State Building!”

Arvin had heard of the building, even seen pictures of it in a history book one time, but he really didn’t know much about it. Big cities had never been his interest but seeing the way your eyes lit up with excitement to show him made all reservations melt.

The elevator ride up was nerve wracking to say the least. It wasn’t severe but Arvin had developed minor PTSD from the war. He’d seen many men get killed or trapped, dragged away and unable to escape. This metal death box traveling up hundreds of stories made him feel trapped. He hadn’t noticed that he started rocking back and forth on his heels, gripping his own biceps, until you put a gentle hand on his arm, “You okay?”

With a shaky breath, Arvin nodded and put on a smile, “Yeah. Elevators just make me kinda nervous.”

The elevator stopped at one level but you dragged him up several flights of stairs to get to the very top where you could stand on the balcony.

It was fairly busy but not unenjoyably so. “Okay, come over here!” Yet again, Arvin found himself being led by you to the very edge, leaning on the high railing. “What do you think?”

It was breathtaking, beyond anything Arvin had ever seen. The sun was now setting, casting a warm orange-pink hugh on the city. The buildings and streets were illuminated with tiny lights, creating a sea of little flickering stars. In the far distance, the ocean stretched on for miles. Even the sky was beginning to try and match the city, though the few stars that were beginning to peek through the sunset were nearly drowned out by the light of the city.

“It’s amazin’.” Arvin sighed out, almost overwhelmed. So this was the world outside of Coal Creek?

“Isn’t it something?” Arvin glanced down to see you looking down at the city with such adoration. A warm, orange glow cast across your face, accenting every beautiful feature. But then you turned to face him and he nearly stopped breathing. He knew from the first moment he met you that you were an attractive woman but you looked absolutely radiant now.

Tension began to rise when you realized how close you were to the man. Your hips were almost touching as you stood side by side. Your hands were mere centimeters apart on the safety railing.

Arvin could have gotten lost in your eyes but you tore your gaze away, returning it to the city. Instead, you slowly inched your hand towards his until your fingers touched his, testing the waters. He tensed up, looking down to see your fingers nudging his. He glanced back over at you to see your eyes flick questioningly to his.

Arvin closed the gap between you, intertwining his fingers with yours. Your heart fluttered out of your chest when you felt him pull you ever so slightly closer to him. Your head rested on his shoulder and your free hand came up to grab his arm.

“Y’know, if changing strangers’ tires is gonna turn out like this, I’m gonna have to start doin’ it more often.” He teased but his voice sounded sincere. Of all the possibilities that today had, this was not one that he had imagined when he left base this morning. Holding onto a beautiful girl at the top of the Empire State Building seemed like something out of a movie, not something that happened to real people.

The sun fully set and the stars came out, rivaling the city lights in a display of firework-like sparkles. The full moon acted almost as a spot light in the dark sky, drawing your attention. Arvin had no idea how long the two of you had been standing there but he felt like he could stand there for forever.

Eventually, you shifted against his side and your voice popped up, soft and quiet, “Hey, Arvin?”

“Hm?”

“Maybe we can see each other again?” You twisted in his grasp, which had now traveled to be around your shoulders. Now you looked straight up at him, faces only a small distance apart.

The corners of Arvin’s lips turned up, “I’d like that.”

Your arms were wrapped around his torso and his arms were encasing your body, resting on your upper back. Arvin’s eyes flicked from your lips to your eyes and back down again, as if asking for permission before going in. Both of you slowly inched towards each other before your lips touched in the middle. His lips were surprisingly soft and gentle against yours in the sweet, slow kiss.

When you pulled away, neither of you opened your eyes for a few moments, just resting your foreheads against each other. “Call me a fool for falling for a girl I just met but I think I like you.” Arvin admitted with a satisfied smile, pulling you closer to him.

#Arvin Russell #arvin russel imagines #arvin russel x reader #tdatt #The Devil All The Time #tom holland #tom holland one shot #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #Manhattan Sunset

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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 4 years ago

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Yeah, so I read your HP headcanons/analysis and I found it really well put. I was wondering about your thoughts on Dumbledore and who he really was as a person. (It’s okay if you don’t really want to reply :> )

We’re just getting all up into The Carnivorous Muffin headcanon land, aren’t we?

Well, this one’s probably obvious to anyone who reads my work.

I fall on the manipulative Dumbledore side of things and then some. Dumbledore is not only a bastard man but is a raging misogynist and extremely classist (which is funny because I don’t see too many people calling him out for those last two when to me canon all but shouts it at you).

Basically, what it comes down to, is even taken in very good faith I simply cannot read Dumbledore’s actions as benign in pretty much every single goddamn decision he makes ever.

God, where do I even start here? I guess we can go chronologically.

Well, there was Dumbledore’s Wizard Nazi youth with an oddly Dorian Gray flare to it with Gellert. I think it’s fairly obvious why Dumbledore’s not exactly... good there so I’m going to skip past it. Suffice to say, it took his sister’s death (and maybe murdering his own invalid sister) for Dumbledore to stop planning world domination. Even then it wasn’t so much that world domination was wrong, but because his sister died and he was an asshole.

I’m going to go ahead and include CoG and Fantastic Beasts because I can (CoG, while a terrible movie, actually does entertain me in many ways). Anyways, before the films came out I always considered the younger Dumbledore far more stoic and brooding. He doesn’t get his eccentric persona until after the defeat of Grindelwald and was before then angsty mcangsts and an academic at heart.

Well, per CoG, apparently he was a budding spy master long before defeating Gellert/Voldemort popped up. We see him manipulating Newt, sending him to Paris as his own agent, WHEN NEWT DOESN’T WANT TO GO AND HAS ACKNOWLEDGED THAT DUMBLEDORE USED HIM INTHE LAST FILM. Dumbledore writes off having used Newt for his own agenda with a charming smile but none the less it paints a pretty grim picture that Albus has always been... Albus. There has always been a greater good out there somewhere and the man is always using someone as a pawn.

Cut to canon and his treatment of Tom Riddle. Frankly, Dumbledore’s treatment of the young Tom Riddle, and even Tom Riddle just before he came Voldemort, is insane. The thought experiment I like to run is “replace Tom in those scenes with Harry Potter”.

Harry was a poor orphan, whose guardians would more than match what Mrs. Cole said about Tom Riddle, who had spurts of accidental magic now and then and enjoyed when his bully cousin was discomfitted. Now, imagine Dumbledore giving Harry his letter, and then pretending to light all of Harry’s possessions on fire to “teach him a lesson”. What the fuck?

Now, am I saying Tom Riddle wasn’t creepy here and that killing a rabbit was terrible. No. But I am saying Dumbledore had a horrible reaction to it and is proud of it years later. (Also, the fact that he uses this memory to convince Harry of how evil Tom is, is hilarious to me. Dumbledore, you were the shit that lit people’s wardrobes on fire. If I was Tom, I’d be upset too).

Dumbledore is always like this with Tom Riddle. He thinks the worst of Tom even in points where Tom hasn’t done anything. I’m not talking about later when, yes, Tom did live up to Dumbledore’s fears but when Dumbledore treats him like garbage and actively sabotaged Tom’s career.

Anyways, cut to later when the Marauders are in school. One of the big things is that Dumbledore puts up a guerilla resistance gang OF SCHOOL CHILDREN. While most members are older, James, Lily, Sirius, Remus, and Peter are all only just out of Hogwarts. “Well,” you say, “It’s their choice and they did graduate. Surely Dumbledore wasn’t actually recruiting school children.” I point you towards canon, where Dumbledore convinces three actual school children that the fate of the nation rests on their shoulders and to go fight the good fight. So yes, Dumbledore canonically uses child soldiers and has no regret for doing so.

The other is letting James and Sirius off the hook for the Lupin incident. While Dumbledore talks the talk this showed that he was not willing to walk the walk. True, while getting them into major trouble would have involved outing Lupin (who was innocent in all of this) at the same time they were nearly responsible for the murder of another student. It’s very convenient that Dumbledore lets off the rich son of a lord, two individuals who later end up in the resistance movement (Potter likely funding part of it), and tells the impoverished half blood to sit down and shut up.

And in canon, yes, I believe that Dumbledore absolutely knew what Harry’s home condition was like. While the blood wards are an excuse they aren’t a particularly good one as for most of Harry’s childhood the Death Eaters were all accounted for. Harry was in no extreme danger from them. To not have had an inkling of Harry’s home life (when Harry even hints at it when wanting to stay over the summer, Harry runs away from home in third year, Fred and George see the bars on the window, and he even visits Harry’s home in sixth year) would be such laughable incompetence and stupidity it’s right out.

With that, I absolutely do believe what Snape showed us in the memory, the Dumbledore behind the scenes as it were. That Dumbledore knew fairly early that Harry Potter was a horcrux and began grooming Harry for suicide. Specifically, that’s what sixth year really is. All those memories of Tom Riddle, the pretext to get some memory from Slughorn, it’s an excuse for a smear campaign designed to convince Harry that Tom Riddle is inherently evil and must die at all costs, even Harry’s own life.

Dumbledore didn’t need that Slughorn memory. Sure, it was useful to know Tom intended to make seven but think about it. How did Dumbledore know there’d be anything remotely useful in there? He doesn’t know that Tom actually drops a number on Slughorn. Even then, he doesn’t know whether Tom actually goes and does it. All of it felt like, “Harry, I have a super secret important mission that only YOU can do. Can you handle it, Harry? Because without this the country is surely doomed” And in that I mean it was an effort to win back Harry’s favor after the previous year meltdown, keep him busy, and start in on the excuse to show Harry some pretty damn innocuous memories of Tom Riddle and go, “See, HE IS EVIL!”

Due to this, I frankly think that the train scene was a hallucination on Harry’s part. Wishful thinking for some gentle explanation of how Dumbledore had not cruelly used him for years and intended his death.

Well, that and it never made much sense that Dumbledore could predict Harry’s a) becoming the master of death b) miraculous second resurrection.

In the first case, Harry becomes master of death because of wand lore bullshit and happenstance where Harry happens to save Draco’s life. Dumbledore had no idea such a thing would happen. Dumbledore’s plan was for there to be no master of death, as the wand would default to having no owner when Snape defeated Dumbledore on Dumbledore’s orders. That Draco got the wand is a sort of Deus ex Machina. Sorry guys, Dumbledore intended Harry to die.

More, even then, while Dumbledore was very into the occult of these things we leave canon without any idea if these things are even responsible for his resurrection. They’re just relatively nifty objects with a legend behind them. There was nothing concrete to suggest that, should Harry happen to get all of them, he would be able to rise from the dead.

Otherwise onto the misogyny and classism parts.

In terms of misogyny this is from every time Dumbledore talks about Lily Evans or Merope Gaunt. In the case of Lily, she’s this weird Madonna figure whose love for Harry was so powerful it saved his life. That she also happened to make these blood wards Dumbledore cannot reproduce and extended her protection to Harry wherever he went is irrelevant. It’s her love that counts. That feminine, maternal, love purer than all others.

Basically, Dumbledore seems to be of the belief that women are flowers. The best of women are these demure, selfless, brave women who sacrifice themselves for their children. Yikes, Dumbledore.

Merope’s the really bad one though. Merope’s tale is how she drugged and raped a defenseless muggle for months and then he escaped. Dumbledore spins it into this Victorian tale of woe where Tom Riddle Sr. THE KIDNAPPED RAPE VICTIM is the asshole here who abandoned Merope to the merciless cold world. How dare he.

It’s very clear that Dumbledore doesn’t see Merope, or women in general, as people. Instead these weird Victorian ideals who can be tragic victims of circumstance.

As for the classism.

While Dumbledore’s very against the pureblood culture we see in the Malfoys a lot of his treatment of Tom Riddle feels very... classist. The big one, which is a little tangential but I say it counts, is Dumbledore’s theory that children of rape are incapable of love. Granted, he’s saying this while convincing Harry to kill himself for the good of the cause and there is a real world parallel in that alcohol/drugs while pregnant is a very bad idea that can lead to extreme mental and physical health disorders. That said, we’re talking love potions at conception, and it always read more as “rape babies” vs. specific drugs. And that is... just yikes on so many levels.

Now, do I agree with manipulative Dumbledore we see in many fics? No, because Dumbledore’s not that stupid.

He doesn’t need to borrow money from Harry’s vault, he doesn’t need to pay off Hermione and Ron to be Harry’s friends, he doesn’t need to choose Harry’s friends for him, he doesn’t need to manipulate Harry’s memories directly. He doesn’t need to do any of this because he got what he wanted just fine in canon.

Dumbledore is one of the smartest characters in canon, far smarter than Harry, and he doesn’t have to stoop to such outrageous schemes to get what he wants. Poorly concealed smear campaigns convincing Harry to commit suicide are more than enough.

#ask #anon #headcanons #albus dumbledore #manipulative dumbledore #dumbledore is pretty damn evil guys #as in there is pretty much not a single action you can point to where i'll say it was reasonable and not in some way underhanded #except maybe his choice in wardrobe #the man has some elton john style

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brasskier · 4 years ago

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@badthingshappenbingo trope #3 (and this one was actually requested!)

Thank you to the incredible @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde for reading this one over for me!

Trope: Suicide attempt

Summary: Yennefer's just running a few errands, and doesn't expect to end up talking Geralt's bard down from a rooftop. Jaskier is ready to leap, and doesn't expect a certain mage to interrupt his grand finale. Both of them might just walk away with a better understanding of one another. (Or, a character study in borderline personality disorder.)

TW for suicidal ideation/threats/gestures and reference to self-harm. The descriptions aren’t graphic and he doesn’t actually jump, but this whole fic deals with suicide and mental illness. Be safe y’all <3

Read it on my ao3 or below the cut:

The trip to Tretogor wasn’t supposed to last long. Replenish her stock after the utter disaster that was the dragon hunt, some odds and ends as she came upon them, maybe get absolutely shitfaced and forget the whole thing happened. That was all. And it looked like, for a pleasant change of pace, there weren’t going to be any complications. Errands finished, Yennefer was enjoying a hearty roast at one of the better taverns in the city when she noticed the early warnings of a brewing commotion. First murmurs, then the voices grew louder and more persistent, and then people were pushing outside. She ignored them; a petty barfight was not something she particularly wanted or needed to get involved with. The bar was still stirring, and eventually when she finally shifted her focus off her roast, the tavern was near-empty, only the drunkest of patrons remaining. Even the barkeep was shuffling outside. Clearly, something was happening. Something big. With a beleaguered sigh, she pushed up from her chair and headed out the door.

A surprisingly large crowd greeted her outside, more expansive than the usual clamor around a simple drunken brawl. She approached the barkeep, standing on the outskirts of the mob, and she didn’t even have to speak before the barkeep jerked his head skyward. She traced his gaze to the roof of a towering building casting its shadow over them.

“Poor sod’s gonna jump, I reckon,” the barkeep ruminated, eyes still fixed upwards. In place of the massive beast she fully expected to be perched atop the building stood the figure of a man, trembling at the very edge of the roof. She squinted, an uncanny familiarity settling into her gut.

She mumbled her half-hearted thanks, already pushing through a portal to the rooftop. The man, still frozen in place on the opposite edge, didn’t seem to notice the sudden company, and her uneasiness grew into a sinking dread.

“Jaskier?” she called, tentatively, afraid to startle him. Any last shred of hope that she was mistaken (though the intricately embroidered doublet was hard to mistake) was gone when he jerked his head back to face her. His mouth was agape, an uncomfortable mixture of surprise and disappointment drawn across his features. “What are you doing?”

“The fuck does it look like?” He snapped back. There was more than his usual sarcasm or mock-incredulity in his voice, real and deep-felt anger coloring his tone.

“Don’t do it,” she urged, surprising herself with the tenderness in her own words. “Come on now. Just come down.” Why did she care? The question gnawed in the back of her mind, and she did her damndest to push it aside. She’s a good person, after all, right? She’d do it for anyone, surely. None of Geralt’s not-getting-involved nonsense.

“Fuck off, Yennefer.” He let out a barking laugh, thin and breathy, pitching forward ever so slightly with the force of it. She felt her whole body tense, hands reaching out reflexively.

“Where’s Geralt? What happened?” This was, apparently, the single worst line of conversation she could’ve settled on, because he dropped abruptly to a squat and for a split second she was certain she was about to witness the man’s death.

“I’m not his fucking keeper.” He was nearly at a roar now, a fever-pitch that sent a shiver down Yennefer’s spine. “Haven’t seen him in a week. Not since— not since—” Though she couldn’t see his face, his eyes fixed resolvedly on the ground below, she could hear the tears cut through his words, his breath hiccuping.

“Shh,” she hushed him. Clearly, something had happened after she stormed off. What, precisely, could wait until later, when he was back on solid ground. ��I know. It’s not fair.”

“The fuck do you know about fair?” he scoffed, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around his abdomen against the biting wind.

“He fucked me over, too.” She should’ve been offended, and she would’ve been if she wasn’t far more concerned with making sure the bard didn’t fling himself into an early demise, which would be decidedly unfair. That sentiment did little to ease him, and withdrew no response. “Fuck Geralt,” she declared, trying again. “Damn brute thinks he can just take as he pleases.”

“And— and then discard you once he’s had his fill,” he mumbled, offering her the slightest glance back, tears glistening against the pink of his cheeks.

“You’re better than that,” she set forth like a thesis. “You’re — loathe as I am to admit it — talented, bard. People like you. You’ll find plenty of material to write about.” Perhaps an appeal to both logos and pathos would be sufficient, at least enough to get him off the ledge.

“It won’t be the same.” He frowned tragically over his shoulder at her. “I've lost it all, Yen. Look at me— I'm just a silhouette.”

“That's nonsense. He… you're more than him. He's not everything.” It felt ridiculous to her, throwing yourself off a roof over an argument with a friend. After all, Jaskier had always managed to exist in the spaces between Geralt before; teaching, or penning his next obnoxious ballad, or bedding married women, or whatever it is overgrown manchild bards do. But, then, she'd almost killed herself to restore something she knew she could never get back. So perhaps they were even.

“Look, this is awfully sweet of you, but—” he swept his arm, gesturing vaguely at nothing in particular. “Just let me go. I’m doing everyone a favor.” He turned his attention back to the ground, wind rippling through his hair. “Should’ve done this a long time ago.” She felt her heart skip — a long time ago? This wasn’t just a histrionic reaction to whatever might’ve occurred between him and Geralt; gods knew how long he’d felt like this.

“You know I can’t do that,” she retorted, drawing tentatively closer. “Don’t make me portal you down.” He huffed, waving her off with a trembling hand.

“Please, Yen.” Realistically, she knew it would be easy to oblige his request. Walk away, pretend not to hear the sickening thud, and carry on. He was only her ex-witcher’s ex-bard, after all. “I always knew it'd end like this. I’m just… I’m glad I even made it past thirty, really.”

“That’s— I’m not— no, Jaskier. I’m not letting you throw yourself off a roof, for the love of the gods. That’s insane.” She wasn’t sure what was more insane, letting him go, or standing here arguing with him. “You’re going to be real glad when you make it to forty, bard.”

“Am I though, really? This isn’t my first time, believe it or not. And every time I live, or I back out, or I let someone talk me out of it. And I always regret it in the end.” Her mind reeled again — every time? How many had there been? She pushed the thought back.

“You won’t find out unless you get down,” she argued, drawing closer still. He tensed, sensing her presence, hands balling and unfurling repetitively. “Come on. Go to the tavern with me, get something to eat, have a—” she was close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath now “—more drink. I’ll be out of your hair in the morning, and if you still regret it, well…”

“Fine,” he finally agreed on the tail end of a sigh, turning to fully face her. “I’ll do it tomorrow.” She didn’t like the resolve with which he said those words, but he was agreeing to come down, which at least was a small victory. She’d handle tomorrow when it came around. In the meantime she needed to get them both down. “Or eventually,” he tacked on as she held her hands out, forming a portal back to solid ground. “Inevitably.” The word rang in her mind as she looped an arm around him and led him through the portal. As an afterthought, she summoned a blanket with a flick of her fingers; it was one of those cheap, thin blankets they kept at the inn, but it would do. She tossed it over his shoulders and he dug his fingers into the fabric, drawing it closer around himself.

Once they were back in the tavern, that thin blanket still draped over Jaskier's shoulders and mug of ale held in shaking hands, it was time to talk.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, dragging his thumb up and down the cool tankard, avoiding meeting her eyes at all costs. “I’ve caused such a fuss. You must be anxious to get out of here.” He finally glanced in her direction when he felt a hand land on his forearm.

“It’s fine, really,” she insisted, and he couldn’t bear the pity in her eyes. “Now are you going to tell me what that was all about?” He huffed a laugh, looked away again.

“It’s just, you know. Me and my theatrics.” He shrugged, running a hand along his jaw.

“Bullshit.” When, exactly, Yennefer had gotten so good at seeing right through him, he wasn’t sure. But he did know he definitely didn’t like it.

“I’m sorry. I just, I… I get like that, I guess,” he muttered finally, dragging his thumb along the rim of his glass.

“Suicidal, you mean? You just get… suicidal?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow, moving her hand up to his shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess.” He reached blindly, dropped a hand over hers. “When something goes wrong. Someone leaves me again. I just, I fuck up a lot, and I’m no good at dealing with the concequences.”

“That’s— gods, I know you’re an idiot, but that’s really worth killing yourself over?” She tried to keep her tone light, clipped, maybe a little detached. He was uneasy with the attention, it was obvious, and she was also certainly not ready to admit that maybe, just a tiny bit, she sort of cared about him.

“Geralt, he ran me off,” he mumbled, sinking further into the blanket. “After the hunt, after your fight, he blamed me. For everything, the entire two decades of our, well. I guess it wasn’t friendship.” He chewed at his lip, a nervous habit, anger bubbling below the surface at the thought of that day. “Told me the greatest gift life could give him would be to take me off his hands.” Yennefer balked at him, finally hearing the context of his despair, and she was just about ready to portal right over to wherever Geralt had fucked off to and give him a piece of her mind.

“That’s terrible,” she told him, the best she could really offer. Nothing she could say would undo what’d happened, and nothing could change how much it hurt him. “He really is a bastard.” Jaskier nodded slowly, raised his tankard up in toast. “When’s the last time you ate? You must be starving.”

“Stew would be nice,” he replied quietly, meekly. She haled one of the barkeeps, ordered him a stew, and requested another round of drinks. “It’s not just the fight, though,” he added once the server was gone. “I don’t know how to explain it, Yen. Why I do the things I do, or feel the way I feel. It’s just, it’s all too much sometimes, you know?” She knew. All too well, she knew. She was only just beginning to understand herself, just beginning to feel some semblance of control. He was so young — perhaps not by human standards, but comparatively.

“I know. It’s hard.” They felt like empty platitudes, like she had no idea how to truly connect with him, and it was frustrating. She wanted to help him, but she wasn’t sure how, wasn’t sure he wanted it.

“Yeah.” He bobbed his head, picked at the wood of the table. They drifted into silence, neither sure how to fill it, neither sure this was a conversation either wanted to have. The stew arrived, and he picked at it rather than devouring it like he usually did his rations.

“You know I’m sterile, right?” she finally broke the silence once he’d finished his food and pushed the bowl aside, leaning closer, her voice pitched in a conspiratorial whisper. He nodded solemnly, averting his gaze, watching the light catch in his amber ale. “And you know I’ve gone to great lengths to rectify that, correct?” Another slow nod.

“I know, Yen. I’m sorry, I know you have far more right to be miserable than I do. And here I am, wallowing like a toddler—” She waved a hand to cut him off.

“No, listen, stupid bard. It’s really not about being able to have kids. It’s about the fact that I don’t have a choice, that I’ve never had a choice,” she elaborated, hiking the blanket further up his shoulders as it started to slip.

“I know. And here I am, I’ve gotten everything I wanted. I got to choose; running away, going to Oxenfurt, becoming a bard, traveling. Gods, I followed Geralt to the ends of the bloody Continent for two decades of my life I’ll never get back — but that was my choice.”

“Would you please let me finish my point, instead of interrupting me to wallow in guilt?” He gnawed at his lip, finally turning to face her. “It wasn’t about being a mother, it was about choice. So this—” she waved her arm dramatically, wondering for a moment when exactly she’d started picking up his mannerisms. “This isn’t about Geralt at all, is it?” After a moment of contemplation, he carefully shook his head. “Then what is it about?”

“I don’t know, to be honest,” he muttered at the tail end of a swig from his tankard. “I’ve just always been like this,” he said with a sweep of his hand, palm upturned, string-callused fingers twitching aimlessly. Her violet eyes bore into him expectantly, and he felt angry for a flicker of a moment — she was a witch, right? He should be able to just sit back while she delves into the darkest crevices of his psyche, let her root around and not have to struggle to put his life into context and language. “Can’t you just, y’know…” He tugged at his fingers, tilted his head.

“Read your mind?” she finished the question, scooting closer to him, and he felt the hair on his arms rise. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” He nodded, and she pressed her forehead against his, pulling him in close, enveloping him in the lilac and gooseberries he knew Geralt loved so much. He understood why; he felt inexplicably safe, even as the logical half of his brain urged him to pull back. This was all for show, and he knew that— she didn’t need to touch him to read him. Either way, he was grateful to not have to give language to the nameless, that she could just see.

See Jaskier at seventeen, screaming at Valdo from across the courtyard, "if you leave me I swear the fuck to melitile I'll kill myself," knowing he's made this exact threat verbatim so many times Valdo can't believe him, unable to recall what they were even arguing about anymore. When they break up, his mother tells him the first heartbreak always hurts the worst; it hurts all the same every time thereafter.

Jaskier at twenty, slicing thin lines into his thigh for what had to be the millionth time, running out of unmarred skin, witcher/tentative friend asleep somewhere beside him in the darkness. If asked, he’s not sure he’d have an excuse. Sometimes to feel something, sometimes to feel nothing. Either way, this uncertainty is what keeps his wrists clean.

Jaskier at twenty-three, wailing great, hiccuping sobs, shoulders rattling, blind beyond teary eyes. Geralt, gods bless him, doesn’t know what to do, stands arm’s-length away, regards him with uncertainty and pity. They’d fought about something that didn’t matter and he couldn’t remember, and that rage washed over him, red-hot, balled fists trembling at his side. “Get out! Gods, are you thick? Leave, Geralt; I fucking hate you.” But then Geralt listened, because Geralt didn’t play Jaskier’s games, and now there he was, sobbing, babbling, “don’t leave me, I’m sorry, I’ll be better, I can’t lose you, it’ll kill me, don’t go.” Geralt stays; they pretend nothing ever happened.

Jaskier at twenty-seven, at the ashes of his latest burnt bridge, just another failed relationship that feels altogether more like death than separation. Grieving it more like death, too; sobbing until he could do little more than stare at the ceiling and try to breathe, mourning a cemetery of mistakes and a lifetime of failure.

Jaskier at thirty-two, depression blanketing him with the fresh snow, the man he'd tangled up his entire identity in fucked off to the mountains for the winter while he sludged through classes, distracting himself from having to confront the fact that he doesn't recognize his own face in the mirror. Jaskier does exist in the spaces between Geralt, but, sometimes, that Jaskier is a husk.

Jaskier a few days ago, marching back to Oxenfurt because that's all he knows, doubtful Jaskier even exists anymore, the emptiness in his mind unbearable and somehow terminal, altogether certain he's been incompatible with life from the very moment he entered it and resolved to rectify nature's mistake himself.

Jaskier who, his entire life, has felt everything, too much, all at once. Who's always been led by his heart — and not in the beautiful, Romantic way, but messy, tragic, and uniquely Jaskier. A man so utterly at the mercy of his own mind, drowning in feelings he doesn't have the language to name, his entire being defined not by who he is but what he does and who he loves.

Jaskier, on a rooftop in Tretogor, itchy feet ready to fling him off the ledge. He'd told Valdo once, in the in-between hours not quite night or morning when everything seems strange and far away, that he knew how he was destined to die. Pressed on, even as Valdo chuckled and called him presumptive, “I'm going to kill myself.” Not today, or tomorrow, but inevitably. He said it not with the certainty of someone who's seen into the future but the cynical resignation of a man who knows no other escape. And Valdo punched his arm, told him not to talk like that, promised it would get easier one day. He hates Valdo now, not that he remembers why, and that day has yet to come.

She pulled back eventually— finally — and swept a shaky thumb over his cheek. He chewed on his lip, staring expectantly with hauntingly wide eyes.

“Jaskier.” It was barely a whisper, uttered at the end of a sharp exhale, and when violet eyes met his they shone with an uncanny recognition. He wasn't sure what, precisely, she'd seen, but he knew whatever it was had been enough. He'd invited her to the bleakest corners of his mind, and now she regarded him like a lame horse. He ducked his head, but she caught him with a hand on his chin. “You know that's not how destiny works.”

“Hmm?” He wracked his brain to figure what she might be referring to, coming up empty-handed. He didn't have a big, grand destiny like she or Geralt did. He was just Jaskier the bard, Jaskier the one-night stand, Jaskier the disappointment.

“It doesn't have to end like that. You have a choice,” she elaborated, still painfully vague, but he understood.

“This isn't the first time, Yen, I—”

“I know. I saw.” Right, she saw, probably everything, and he had the wherewithal to feel humiliated for it.

“I've cheated it enough times. I can't outrun it forever.” It felt nice, at least, to let his walls down a little, stop playing the perpetual naive optimist. Almost a relief, even, a weight off his shoulders.

“I know. But you're strong, Jask.” She moved her hand from his chin to the back of his head, guiding it to rest against her shoulder. “We have more in common than I thought, you know.” He laughed, thin and heady, but with a little more conviction this time, and pressed his face against her neck.

“Is that your way of telling me you're fucked up, too?” He asked, and, despite the levity in his tone, he truly was curious.

“Yes, bard,” she hummed, reaching out to sip at her tankard.

“You're not going to give me any more than that?” He fought off a yawn, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth. “I just told you everything.”

“Maybe someday,” she replied, setting the mug back on the table. “But right now I think you could use some rest. We both could.” She slipped out of the booth and he let his head tilt back against the wall, mourning the absence of her warmth.

She returned a few minutes later, room procured, and hiked the blanket back over his shoulders as he reached for his lute and followed after her. It was a nice enough room, two beds on opposite sides, a bath he had no intention of utilizing. Exhausted, he kicked off his boots, shrugged off his doublet, and dropped onto the bed. He let his mind wander, dozing as Yennefer readied herself for bed, eyelids heavy by the time she blew out the candles.

“You won't try again?” Yen asked from across the room after a while, barely a silhouette in the faint moonlight. Jaskier rolled over to face her, finding her staring distantly out the window.

“You, uh, you have to be more specific,” he muttered, tugging the blanket closer to his chin. It smelled of lilac and ale.

“How am I supposed to make that more specific?” It came out sharp, like her usual tone with him, but he could still feel an uneasy twinge to her words.

“I mean, I don't know.” He felt stupid for reasons beyond his grasp. “Not today, or tomorrow. But I can't promise never.” There was a long pause, and Jaskier barely breathed, wondering if he'd managed to upset her as sleep crept up on him.

“Not today is enough,” she said finally, sounding almost far away, and his breath hitched in his throat.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, voice thick with impending sleep. “When are you leaving?” The me he omitted at the tail end rang in his mind, unspoken but understood, heavy in the nighttime silence. She was supposed to leave in the morning, so he could either move on or finish what he’d set out to do; he wasn’t sure he wanted her to uphold that promise anymore.

“Not today.” He exhaled slowly. Not today is enough. And maybe, just maybe, enough not today's would add up to never.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #the witcher fanfic #jaskier #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #tw suicide #jaskier whump #bad things happen bingo #brasskier does bthb

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ruewrites · 3 years ago

Text

Thrones are Built on Lies Chapter 5: Meeting You for the First Time

AO3

Ship: Solomon/Asmo

Word Count: 3471

Warnings: Brief suicide mention

A/N: Second part to that cliff hanger! I hope you guys are still enjoying this fic! It’s a project I’ve been thinking of since near the end of WBT and I’m a bit nervous about it (^_^;)

Lilith, or rather not Lilith, stared up at him, confidence finally starting to waver. They tried to back up, and Solomon stepped closer.

His brow furrowed, staring down at the terrified little bunny he cornered. Solomon swore he could see their heart beating out of their chest.

Not Lilith?

"Who are you then?" Solomon asked, refusing to let them out of his sight.

Sunset eyes slowly rose from the ground to meet ocean grey ones once more.

"Asmodeus. Fifth born son of the late king."

Asmodeus.

No one had ever brought up this name to him before. He looked over him for a moment. He looked no different than the day that he'd met Lilith. Twins? Maybe. But he doubted they'd be that similar to the point of sounding the same.

"Asmodeus," Solomon repeated, "Why haven't I heard your name before?"

"Probably because I wasn't supposed to exist to you before," he frowned, "You were only supposed to know Lilith existed. That was what mattered."

"And when you were found out?"

Asmo didn't say another word. His soft hands gripped the sleeves of his dress tighter. "Then I suppose my fate would be in your hands, just as it is now," he said, "Except this way I told you instead of you finding out."

Solomon watched as Asmodeus turned and continued on with his spiel.

"I wanted to give you the chance to do whatever you wanted to quietly. You can always say you heard rumors about Lilith and changed your mind. They'd believe you."

He put himself in a place where he could control the situation and feel secure.

"You know it's really not fair too, I wasn't expecting you to be my type. You couldn't have just been ugly, no, you had to be attractive and funny and witty too!"

He was still pretty, and still smelled of those sweet perfumes.

"I just had to feel bad for lying to you. I couldn't just ignore it! Stuff like that usually doesn't get to me! But you just had to go and be sweet on me too!"

Lilith or Asmo, he was still Solomon's ticket to staying in Arcadia. The fact that Asmo already seemed to be into him just made his job a little easier.

"So here I am, potentially putting myself in danger away from my brothers to come clean to you and give you an easy-"

"Okay."

Asmodeus stared at him in confusion, his brow wrinkled ever so slightly as he cocked his head from one side to the other. Meanwhile Solomon stayed put in his position, back straight and arms behind him.

All this time he'd been nervous he'd done something wrong! But now he knew otherwise.

"Okay?" Asmodeus repeated.

Solomon shrugged, "Lilith, Asmodeus. You are the one I met all those months ago, yes?"

"But- But-" Asmodeus stuttered, his expression started to change.

"I see no problem. You are the one I've been arranged to marry. Husband, wife, both are the same to me."

"What."

"Although I suppose now I may have to redo my proposition. A king must give a proper proposal. After all, I was engaged to Lilith not Asmodeus."

"No!" The outburst took him back, "No no no! You were supposed to be mad! You were going to try to kill me! You- You-!"

"You wanted me to be mad and make an attempt on your life?"

"Well no but," he let out a choked squeal in frustration, "You can't tell me that I was worried for nothing! That I didn't have to do this!"

Solomon couldn't help the smile that stretched across his face. Something about the whole situation was just amusing to him. Normally someone wouldn't be upset at you for not being angry, and yet here he was. If anything, he could at least say his time in Arcadia had been eventful so far.

However, he knew he shouldn't leave his fiance like this. What type of man would he be to leave him upset?

"It wasn't for nothing. You didn't know me. You've only heard rumors about me, and many of those rumors also involve women," he said. He moved a little closer to Asmo and placed a hand on his cheek. It reminded him so much of the first day they'd met. Asmo was still the same person, and he would still keep him in Arcadia.

Asmo's eyes shifted to the hand on his cheek before meeting Solomon's gaze once more. There was still some tension, and he was still pouting, but Solomon hoped he was able to at least calm him a bit.

"You mean that?"

"Of course, and I wouldn't tell you I felt the same towards men and women if I wasn't, and you're still incredibly beautiful."

It was true, an observation anyone could make really.

"A lot of people say so, as they should," Asmo hummed, a smile pulling at the edges of his lips. So far so good. He seemed to be using the right words. Now he just needed to keep going.

"You're very correct," Solomon let his hand slide down and carefully placed it along his lower back, "Why don't we spend some time out here together just for a little bit?"

Asmo hesitated.

"We're already out here together," Solomon continued, "What's the harm?"

"Lucifer," Asmodeus mumbled, "I don't think he'll be as mad that you know, I think he'll be relieved really, but knowing I snuck out is what'll get him mad."

"Do you sneak out often Asmodeus?"

Asmo crossed his arms and huffed, "Yeah, but I never do anything bad, I just want to get out of that stuffy castle is all." His expression softened slightly, "Especially since not a lot really happens anymore."

"Do events usually happen?"

Asmo didn't respond.

Alright, dead end. Solomon tried to nudge him forward back in the direction of the castle, "Would you do me the honor of walking me back to my room?"

"Your room?" Asmodeus' voice lifted slightly. Solomon felt him lean into his side and a soft tug at the bottom of his shirt, "Isn't that a bit scandalous?"

Solomon sputtered. Scandalous? The man spoke as if they were having some sort of affair and not engaged. Not only that, but Solomon certainly hadn't meant to imply anything more than a chat, a nice walk back together. "No," he coughed, "No it wouldn't be scandalous at all. I just thought that we could talk for a while. I haven't seen you very much since I've been here."

"You'd be the first."

Solomon barely caught those words. Although he wasn't entirely sure what he was referencing.

But Asmodeus indulged him and started walking towards the castle and moving away from Solomon's hand.

They walked a few inches away from each other yet keeping stride. Solomon could hear their footsteps begin to sync up as the trees above them started to rustle.

"You've always been Lilith then? Is it safe to assume that Lilith never existed?" he asked once the tips or the towers came into view.

Asmo shook his head, and a grimace crossed his face. "No. That's not…" he had to collect himself, "That's not the case."

"She was real then?"

"She was my sister."

A pause.

Asmodeus pressed into the doors with a little more force than necessary, leading them back to the throne room.

"Our sister. She was real, but you never met her," he said softly, "She died three months before I met you."

And then he became her.

How long had he spent being molded to fit the part? So their father had cut out one of his own sons. It explained why there were eight windows instead of seven. Asmo stared at the white one, becoming lost in what little moonlight shown through. Solomon had to wonder if he even saw him anymore.

"Which one is you?" Solomon asked, glancing at the windows, "You you, not Lilith you."

Asmo or Lilith, he still had a nice laugh.

"You really care?" skepticism leaked into his voice.

"I do."

Asmo waited. Maybe he didn't believe him, maybe he was waiting for Solomon to tell him it was a joke. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

"The pink one on the side," he nodded upwards. Solomon took a moment to study it a little more. He saw the online of the figure first, then the roses, and then a few other shapes he couldn't quite make out.

"And you have a tunnel system like your brothers as well."

"Of course. It's a safety precaution. We travel back and forth through a system of underground tunnels so we don't end up murdered."

"You receive threats?"

"Of course. We're an empire. It's only normal people would want us dead to take the land for themselves," Asmo explained.

"It must have been a miserable life to hide away."

"It wasn't always like that. They'd just become more… frequent the past few years."

"So you're not able to live out your younger years," Solomon finished. It appeared that the only two siblings lacking tunnels would be Lilith and who he assumed was Lucifer.

Unless Lucifer had his own network linking from somewhere else.

But Lilith was right above the entryway.

Where would she have gone?

"Did your sister get caught? If you don't mind me asking.

Solomon noticed that Asmo's finger tips grab on to his dress once more. But he didn't fidget this time.

"You don't have to answer-"

"She jumped," his voice cracked, "I- We don't know why she just did."

This was different than when they were discussing the death of the king. Mentioning their father had been more of an awkward topic than a sad one. They all knew there should be some sort of sadness looming in the air, that that was how things were supposed to be. You were supposed to mourn when you lost blood, to vow to carry on their legacy and to honor their memory.

He watched Asmo wipe his eyes, "Your room then right? It's late and I dragged you out. I'll take you back."

"And you'll be okay walking back on your own?" he didn't like the feeling in his stomach that came with the thought of leaving Asmo upset. He told himself that he could be a decent husband. What type of spouse would he be if he did nothing but make his spouse miserable? Especially with a brother-in-law like Lucifer.

"I'll be peachy," his smile didn't reach his eyes, "Besides, you don't know how to navigate the tunnels yet. But I'll teach you so you can be a perfect gentleman."

The trip back to his room had been a quiet one.

Solomon had never realized how strange trying to connect with people was until he came here. Sure he could talk with fellow rulers over diplomatic affairs and make a good impression and he had both Simeon and Luke, but did he really understand people? He could be charming sure, but he'd also been rather isolated growing up.

"I will inform my brother about this," Asmo gestured towards himself and then to Solomon as they stood in front of his bedroom door, "I hope he'll be more relieved than upset."

"And why would he be upset?"

"Who knows."

The hinges creaked ever so slightly

"I appreciate you walking me back. I'll have to make sure I repay the favor sometime," once he learned how to navigate his way through the tunnels that is.

"Of course, but I can think of a way you could repay me now."

Solomon stopped in the doorway and peered over his shoulder. Would he receive another innuendo perhaps?

"Join us at breakfast tomorrow."

Such a simple request.

"Lucifer gets to have Diavolo there with him and it's not fair that I don't get to have you."

He was pouting now. Solomon couldn't help but snort at the way his cheeks puffed out and how his arms crossed. It was over such a simple little request too.

"You talk as if you own me," Solomon leaned against his door frame and lowered his eyelids.

"Do I not?"

"I don't believe so." If they wanted to play the who owned who game, Solomon didn't doubt that he'd win. If Asmodeus had been truthful while they were out in the woods, it would mean that he was quite infatuated with him.

There were always ways to test his theories of course.

"Besides," he stepped away from the doorframe, and tilted Asmo's chin upwards with his index finger, "Wouldn't that mean there's a possibility that I own you?"

The dilation of his eyes and pink rising towards his cheeks was all Solomon needed to see to know that he was back on track.

He just needed to keep him happy.

"Well, when you put it like that, I suppose so."

Was this flirting?

Was he flirting?

Solomon could pretend the look in his fiance's eyes didn't make him nervous.

Solomon would have never imagined that this little thing would be making him anxious. Asmo seemed a bit more confident now. Could it be that all of his anxieties had been linked to playing the part of Lilith?

"But no matter the case, you'll accompany me, yes?"

Solomon intended to keep their little game going. That is, until he looked into those eyes. He never knew a person could make him feel somewhat guilty with a look alone. Like a newborn kicked puppy.

It was inhuman and unfair.

Solomon couldn't bring himself to say no.

"If it would please you."

"Oh it would! It very much would!" Asmo didn't really seem to have a sense of personal space. His arms flung around Solomon's middle, knocking him back ever so slightly into the doorway. His grip was also surprisingly tight, and Solomon's lungs were screaming for air. "I'll see you bright and early then! Don't forget to come okay?"

The air that flooded his lungs was the only thing that made Solomon aware of the fact that Asmodeus had let go of him and left. He was a whirlwind.

But he had to regain his composure.

Before he started, he decided to touch the pendant now resting on his table. He didn't seem nearly as anxious as before. There was a small feeling of relief and a giddiness that he could only assume was due to their last little interaction. Solomon had solved the mystery behind those pesky anxieties. Well, maybe he hadn't necessarily solved it, but at least things made s little more sense. Just a little.

Now he cpuld switch his focus to other mysteries.

Finally he could open the book that Azazel had given him so he could dig a little deeper. When the book opened, a small handkerchief slipped to the floor.

Curious.

Could it belong to Azazel?

It was a plain white cloth with orange threaded lettering stitched onto the side.

'Henry'.

He hadn't met anyone named Henry. Had he also read through this book? Was he another magician in Arcadia? Maybe Azazel would know who he was. After all, it was in his book.

But he could focus on that later. Now he needed to take notes.

***

Furthermore multiple assassination attempts have been made against the family. Few have ever been successful. Recently they've seemed to stir up again (from what I can gather), and this may be the cause as to why so many of the streets seem empty.

The underground tunnels are designed to be disorienting on purpose. They are magical by nature and one must learn and adapt to them in order to navigate them. If not, it is very likely that one could become lost down there forever. The king who built said corridor was rumored to have thrown prisoners of war into the tunnels in order to test how effective they were when the idea was first conceived. It should be noted that the first ones were not made in Arcadia.

The Heart of Arcadia lies somewhere beneath the tunnels. Not only do the tunnels travel from sector to sector, but they also continue down. Even further beneath the castle lie safe rooms and valuables that the family wants to keep out of the hands of others. In the furthest cavern, deep in an underground system of caves, lies the Heart. The Heart of Arcadia is what gives Arcadia and her descendants magical abilities. Legends say it was the gift given to the first Kings and Queens by the gods. Without it Arcadia's prosperous lands may cease to exist, and the people will die with it.

***

"A word, Solomon," Solomon stopped in his tracks.

Why did the crown prince have to sound so unreadable? At least Solomon could hope he could return the same energy in kind.

"Perhaps, I did promise that I would meet a certain someone for breakfast this morning," Solomon said, "A certain someone who I also happen to be engaged to."

"That's what I wanted to speak to you about."

Solomon finally turned to face him. Just as he expected, there wasn't a trace of readable emotion on his person.

"Then speak away. He seemed concerned about telling me. You always could have called off the wedding," Solomon shrugged.

"And you could have started a war," the growl in Lucifer’s voice finally gave him away, "Look, I told you all that time ago that I did not condone my father's decisions. I care deeply about the safety of all of my brothers."

"What was your plan then? Just in case I had turned out to be as vile as Asmodeus clearly thought I'd be."

The silence between them spoke volumes.

Yes, Solomon wanted to get along with all of his brother-in-laws, but there was an air about Lucifer. It caused the two of them to but heads. They had similarities, Solomon wouldn't deny that. Perhaps that led to the tiniest bit of irritation in Solomon.

None of their interactions had been pleasant thus far, and it was starting to wear on Solomon's nerves.

"To keep you away from him until I could figure something out," Lucifer said, his shoulders almost sagging before he caught themself. For a man his age, he seemed worn. Bags under his eyes, pale skin, and Solomon swore he saw him going grey. Lucifer had a few years on him, but even then he seemed so much older. "I don't trust you, not in the slightest, yet I feel as if I have to. Keep him safe. I will not lose another one of my siblings. Asmodeus is precious, and he will be treated as such."

"I wouldn't dream of hurting him."

"I didn't just mean protection from you."

How to go about trusting a man you didn't trust? The short answer was that you couldn't, not really. Lucifer had no reason to trust him, he had every reason not to trust him. Yet Asmo and his future would be in Solomon's hands. He knew this. Some part of him felt bad for Lucifer, but only a small part.

"And make sure he doesn't sneak out anymore, it's for his own good."

Solomon wasn't in charge of him, but knowing what he now knew about the current climate he understood.

He had no idea if they'd still let him in Arcadia if something happened to Asmo.

It would be a shame if something happened to him, he was very pretty, and Solomon hadn't heard him sing yet.

Solomon didn't bother answering Lucifer as they walked to breakfast in silence. He had nothing to say. Surprisingly Solomon hadn't been left behind to rot in the tunnels by the prince.

No sooner had they come to the surface than Asmodeus was on him.

"You're late! I thought you weren't going to come!"

He was dressed differently today. Instead of the dresses he was used to seeing him wear, he was dressed more like his brothers. Long boots, pants, and a pink shirt that poofed out at the sleeves.

He did have nice legs.

Lucifer ran his shoulder into his back, pushing him forward slightly and Solomon had to suppress a retort. He didn't need Lucifer’s warnings, and he certainly didn't need to feel his eyes boring into his back with every interaction he had with Asmodeus.

Why did he still have a problem with him? Solomon hadn't done anything. At least nothing to warrant this behavior.

"I promised you, did I not? And I'm a man of my word dear one."

Asmodeus' eyes went from displeasure to sparkling at the little name. It wouldn't be hard to make him happy. He could be good to him.

It didn't mean he was in love, but he could be a decent spouse.

"Now sit, I'm sure I have much to learn about you."

#ruewrites #obey me #obey me solomon #obey me asmodeus #obey me lucifer #tw: suicide mention #TaBoL #slow burn #fluff #angst #royalty!au #arranged marriage!au #asmodeus x solomon #solodeus #asmosolo #soloasmo

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 4 years ago

Note

Hi, I love your fic! Can I request for continuation fic where QOT MC becomes more dark as she indulges in freedom from morals and rules. She and Nadia are a couple and do heists together.... even evil deeds like murdering. Vivi and the Poppy learn of their infamous accomplishments and run into the pair and saw how much mc changed. Cold... dangerous... and gleefully

TW: Mentions of murder. Mentions of blood.

…

“I never thought being in the wrong place at the wrong time would happen so often.”

Nadia glances at you, an amused smirk dancing on her lips. “Neither did I, when I started out. It’s become painfully common.”

“How should we dispose of the bodies this time?”

She crouches, examining the wounds you had given one of the bodies with a critical eye. She prods him for a little bit, tsking when just a little trail of blood comes out. “Damn, I really thought we could give these to Kieran. They always get mad when the bodies are too damaged though… you really went all out with this one.”

You shrug. “What can I say? I was stressed.”

“Clearly. Is it because of the Poppy again? You know they won’t find us.”

“I have my doubts. They were the best for a reason.”

“I have to admit, the way they escaped from jail does deserve some applause. They are crafty, but they aren’t omnipotent. If it comes down to it, we could always get rid of them.”

“You know I don’t want that.”

“Yes, but seriously. This,” she gestures to one body in specific, frowning slightly, “is starting to get on my nerves. We’re only targeting their enemies because you want to.”

“Weren’t you okay with it?”

“Because I didn’t think there’d be so many that you’d consider a threat. This is our ninth kill. We should lay low for a bit, and go after someone I pick for a change?”

“Fine, fine. Who is it?”

“I’ll tell you later. We need to get rid of the evidence.”

“You know, for all this freedom we have without rules, it sure involves some lengthy processes.”

“They wouldn’t be so lengthy if you restrained yourself a little.”

“But you love it.”

Nadia laughs, sharp, shaking her head just slightly in fond exasperation. “Don’t get distracted.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that. You love it.”

“Yeah, yeah – focus, MC. I’ll humor you later.”

“Humor me-?”

“Focus.”

“Fine.”

…

“Another kill?” Remy asked, his gaze darkening. “Who was it this time?”

Zoe exhales deep, closing her eyes. She seems beyond exhausted. Vivienne gazes at her worriedly, a deep sense of helplessness overriding her. “A member of my former crew.”

Nikolai nods, his gaze locked on one of the forgeries MC had made for them before her betrayal. It was one of the few they had. He had insisted on keeping it, to remind them all of their current, biggest enemy. “How did she find out?”

“Beats me. Nadia wasn’t kidding when she said she had contacts.” Their hacker massages her temple, sighing heavily. “Give me a few days and I’ll tell you how she did it.”

“Don’t push yourself. If you feel uncomfortable…”

“I’m okay. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

Nikolai shifts his gaze towards her, unconvinced.

“Viv, how are you holding up?” Leon asks, softly, passing her a glass of water which she takes gratefully.

Dean’s death had been a surprise – it had been the first one they had gotten wind of, after escaping prison. Francesca and Leon’s former teammate had been next, the list expanding little by little. Which each one, Vivienne felt like part of her soul had been trampled over, before being set on fire by never-ending shame.

It had been her idea to scout and recruit MC…

If it hadn’t been for her, maybe…

“Viv?”

“Ah – Sorry, I was…”

“I understand.”

“When will she stop…?”

“We have… plenty of enemies.”

“She can’t hunt them all, can she?”

“She certainly seems hellbent on trying.” Jett huffs, dropping in the seat across from Leon. Vivienne averts her gaze, looking down at the glass in her hands.

“…She does.”

“We need to stop her. For good.” He continues, tone softening a bit at the grim declaration. “The Poppy doesn’t kill. But if she continues…”

“We will do what needs to be done.” Nikolai says. “We must consider Nadia too, of course.”

Nadia. Nadia. Nadia.

Vivienne glares at her reflection. That woman. That damned woman. Everything had gone wrong because of her. Vivienne had introduced MC to the life of a thief, but Nadia had taken it a step further.

There was one reason Vivienne was so against killing. It lingered in the back of her mind, soft voice, sharp eyes, an amused smile. Her very first love, now dead because of her. It left a bitter mark on her, made her flighty, made her insecure. A broken person barely held together by sheer stubbornness, ignoring how the consequences of their mistakes kept piling.

Keep everyone at arm’s length. Don’t let them in. They will only get hurt. They will only die.

Dean had taken one glance at her situation with Isadora, looked at her with raised eyebrows, and the amount of disappointment on his eyes had stayed with her forever.

Retire, he had said, this life is clearly not for you.

If only she had listened then…

So many people wouldn’t have died for her mistakes.

If having killed one person hurt this much, why was MC only adding to the number? Did she truly enjoy it? Why hadn’t Vivienne seen it before it was too late?

What changed? What had changed? Why had MC…?

…

“See,” Nadia begins, voice tight, expression cool. “The issue here is that we didn’t get rid of them when we could.”

“You know I didn’t want to do that.”

“Of course I know. We have had this conversation many, many times.” She nods towards the cameras. “But you didn’t listen. Now they’ve found us.”

“And you were so sure they wouldn’t…”

She huffs, throwing the room one last glance to make sure her crew have taken everything with them. “I made a mistake. I won’t make another one. We get rid of them, right here, right now.”

“Leon is going to be a problem.”

“So we shot him. Big deal.”

“Jett has bombs.”

“Using them here will be suicide. C’mon, hurry up.”

“Vivienne-”

“Doesn��t matter. Move.”

“Zoe will know-”

“She won’t be able to stop us. MC, you can’t avoid this.”

“…I don’t want to kill them.” You murmur, softly. You still take the knife, it’s weight oddly comforting. Nadia gives you a sharp, icy glare, twirling her gun.

“You must. We will all do what needs to be done. They won’t hesitate.”

“I must. Right.”

She nudges you. “Where did all your energy go? You know I love it when you tap that murderous side of yours.” Silence. “No? No reaction? Wow, you really are bothered by this.”

“Aren’t you? If you had to kill me, would you?”

“That’s different.”

“Would you?”

“Why would I?”

“Because it would be what needs to be done.”

An odd expression crosses Nadia’s face. She looks at you as if she were looking at you for the first time. The moment stretches, tensing, while she hesitates. Finally, she averts her gaze. “I… would.”

“…I see. It needs to be done, huh.”

“What? Me killing you?”

“No, me killing them.”

“You are so weird sometimes. Will you finally get up, then?”

You do. The knife weights with the life of six people. You find you almost can’t lift it. It doesn’t seem comforting anymore.

“Let’s go.”

#anonymous #answered #lovestruck #lovestruck qot #lovestruck nadia #nadia #nadia x mc #angst #tw; murder mention #qot nadia #qot #queen of thieves #tw; murder #tw; blood #heavy angst #woeful wednesday

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tundrainafrica · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Hacker

Summary:

"Education has reached a new frontier. Given the pandemic and the need to continue educating the youth, many companies have started developing ways to eliminate distractions in the online classroom. Eduguardian is an MDM solution designed to support our educators and guardians in their mission to create the optimal learning environment for children."

Brookland starts using Mobile Device Management solutions for the student's devices and Alex naively tries to find a way to bypass it.

Written for the SpyFest fic exchange, Dec 2020

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Prompt:

"Alex is noticed as having a lot of potential (be it while he's on a mission or just going home from school but is paying a lot of attention to his surroundings and gets noticed by some criminals - not the ones he's investigating- or by some other intelligence agency; either way, they don't recognise him as a spy) and someone tries to recruit him. MI6 isn't exactly happy with the whole ordeal, especially when Alex gives the offer some serious consideration (or he doesn't, it's up to you. MI6 is still pissed)."

Notes: I am so sorry I took way too many liberties with this hahahah. I hope it's still recognizable? An attempt at crack. (Do people actually follow me for Alex Rider content?)

When Brooklands got into the trend of holding both online and in-classroom classes, Alex was out on a mission.

In fact, he didn’t even notice that most of his classmates were joining him when he was doing modules his teacher so kindly sent him. Probably because his downtime to actually look at those modules consisted of those times in a helicopter minutes before he was to skydive and land onto the roof of another military headquarters.

The change was gradual but it was there. Alex though, having had too many things running through his head never did notice it. That is until he opened one of his devices during class to see the browser Safari was blocked on his iPad.

Your school has not provisioned this as a Class App. Please contact your school administrator if you believe this is a mistake.

“What the hell is this?” Alex whispered, mostly to himself.

“Oh yeah, it’s blocked. You have to use the Eduguardian browser now,” Tom answered from next to him. He reached out over Alex’s shoulder and clicked on something on the lower screen of Alex’s ipad, a green app with a badge on it

“What? Why?”

“Yeah, something about ‘educational technology being the new frontier’ and ‘having to protect children in an online setting’…”

With Tom’s mannerisms, Alex could almost imagine the speech drilled into his classmates heads while he was away. He didn’t have to imagine for too long though. An ad of Eduguardian was one of the few things they were at least allowed to access during class. For some reason, Alex found himself more interested in the ad than in the actual class.

Education has reached a new frontier. Given the pandemic and the need to continue educating the youth, many companies have started developing ways to eliminate distractions in the online classroom.

Eduguardian is an MDM solution to support our educators and guardians form a better environment for your children.

MDM?

“Eyes up.” And just like that, before Alex could even figure out the implications of an MDM, his screen froze then locked and he was left with nothing better to do than listen to his teacher.

The teacher flashed the questions on the board. “Pop quiz everyone!”

A link was sent to his iPad. It opened up to a google form with one essay question History was generally one of the easiest subjects to google.

How were peasants in western Europe similar to serfs in Russia? How were they different?

It was an essay so at least they were given time and space to research. Or so that was what Alex thought. Having been a student for many years, and for a long one year, having been a student who was constantly behind. Alex had built very efficient methods for research.

As Alex opened up wikipedia, he soon found out what cruel reality.

“They blocked Wikipedia?”

“Apparently, starting with wikipedia is lazy research.” Tom answered softly back, looking not at all convinced with the school’s strategy.

For the first time since his first mission, Alex was not happy to be back at school.

Hacker

“It doesn’t end there… When you get home, your parents have control of the gadget. They can set curfews, set up restrictions. This invention is fucking crazy,” Tom ranted as they made their way home that afternoon.

For Tom it was. Alex was sure though Jack wouldn’t be too strict about it. She never was. She was more like a sister than a parent to him after all.

All hopes of a normal day though were dashed when he came home to find Jack as confused as he was. “Brooklands never told me about anything like that.”

“You’re kidding...” That was a declarative statement. Alex did not want to even want to plant the possibility that maybe, just maybe she knew nothing about it. “Every student has to have an assigned guardian... “ Alex watched as Jack’s eyes widened in what could have been realization. As she did, Alex was starting to understand what she meant, having stumbled upon the same conclusion.

Hacker

“Alex, you have to understand, MDM is the new frontier. With the internet, we can’t just have kids running around watching porn or war movies without supervision.”

“This is a bunch of horseshit. You’re infringing on my right to privacy.”

“You’re acting like we have never done this before Alex. Besides, it’s not like we’re watching what you’re doing 24/7. Just enough to keep you safe… and your content age appropriate.”

Mrs. Jones’s justification had Alex rolling his eyes. He had checked his web filtering settings that afternoon to see that all violent Youtube channels and subreddits had been blocked. Keywords like blood, guns and suicide have also been filtered out. But you’re so ready to drop me at the line of fire when convenient. He would have wanted to say. By then though, Mrs. Jones was looking back at her paperwork and Alex knew any argument would have been futile.

Any argument towards Jones at least. Alex still had allies among MI6.

“Smithers, how much do you know about this MDM thing?” Alex asked as soon as he closed the door behind him. He was aware that the walls were soundproof and he made little effort to regulate his voice, having wasted too much of his patience talking to Mrs. Jones. He had twenty other things to say more insulting to ‘horseshit’ after all.

“Well, it’s all the rage now but it’s nothing new. MI6 has been using mobile device management systems since before to watch their employees.”

“Why does MI6 have to be the one assigned to ‘parent’ my school account?”

Smithers shrugged. “They are your legal guardians.” The man had a face about him, as if he didn’t want to be involved. Alex knew Smithers had a soft spot for him and he just had to use it to his advantage.

For a few more moments they were silent. Alex though continued to stare at Smithers, widening his eyes a bit and twisting his mouth into a little pout, or maybe a face of disappointment. All he intended to show though was a little bit of hopelessness and awareness of the unfairness of his situation.

It may have worked. It may have not worked. It was enough for Smithers to let out a big sigh, bring out a USB and connect it into his computer. Within minutes, he placed it on the table, gesturing for Alex to take it. “Don’t you dare tell Mrs. Jones about this.”

Hacker

It was a quick install virtual desktop interface.

It was a straightforward solution to the MDM that ravaged his iPad and within minutes of installation and booting it up, Alex finally had access to whatever else prepubescent boys usually preferred to search up privately.

Through the VDI at least. Alex noted. That virtual desktop had become Alex’s one stop shop for blocked content for both days at school and nights at home.

When in school, Alex already had a disadvantage when taking pop quizzes and for once he actually felt that MI6, or at least Smithers, was doing their part to undo the damage of missed classes. He had finished one of his quizzes for literature thirty minutes before the class ended because of the quick access he had had to sparknotes using the VDI Smither’s had given him.

“Alex, what the hell---” Tom whispered. Or it was a little too loud to be a whisper for a very paranoid and guilty Alex. He quickly pushed at Tom’s chair so the boy beside him would lose his balance and distract him. That gave Alex enough time to close his VDI and pretend to struggle as he reviewed his already completed worksheet.

Tom didn’t buy it. “Alex, you know something we don’t.” He had whispered to him soon after students started to file out of the classroom.

Tom was his best friend in Brookland. Within a few minutes of listening to Tom’s outrageous theories and rants, Alex finally caved in and requested for Tom’s USB. Within a day, he had copied that file to Tom’s USB and the latter had it installed on his laptop, just in time for their next exam.

Tom looking a little too relaxed for the next exam was what set off alarms for the whole class. Tom had a secret he didn’t want to share and somehow the class knew. No one just became above average overnight. Especially someone like Tom.

Alex was approached a few days after he had given Tom a copy of the file. It was when he had passed by the toilet which was reserved for things other than conventional uses of the toilet, did he run into someone who reeked of whatever they smoked inside.

“I have a business proposition for you,” he said, a whiff of smoke following suit.

Hacker

A week passed and suddenly everyone was finishing their exams thirty minutes earlier. The teachers had attributed it to the effects of a good MDM. Alex’s wallet was a little heavier so he wasn’t complaining.

That was until he found a black sedan in front of his home with a man in a suit and a quick message from Mrs. Jones.

The ride to Mrs. Jones office was been silent, save for a terse “go in!” as soon as he arrived in front of her office. He heard venom in that voice and was sure she was at least trying to be polite but was probably seething.

Mrs. Jones did not waste any time. “MDMs are an important part of national security Alex.”

“Yes. I’m aware of that.”

“Then what am I hearing about a mass production of VDIs packaged externally.”

Alex shouldn’t have been surprised that she found out about it. He found cold chill brush through him as she pointed it out. “Where did you hear that?”

“We had to investigate the suddenly very impressive results of the students in quizzes over a three week period. And they traced it to one school, Brookland.” Mrs. Jones glared at him accusingly. “You can’t just hack into MDMs!”

Alex brought his hands up defensively. “Why do you suddenly think it’s me?”

“Alex, no boy your age just suddenly stops watching porn for a month."

A week later, all devices were wiped and all USBs ceased. The damage had been done.

At least Alex got to keep the money.

#alex rider fanfiction #alex rider #tom harris #tulip jones #derek smithers #an attempt at crack

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nblesbianbenhanscom · 4 years ago

Note

8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 29 and 30? i'm sorry, it's just that many of them look interesting

thank you so much for the ask!!! :D

8. Which character(s) do you find easiest to write?

That’s hard because it like depends on my mood and the fic. Like. But the ones that I really like are Richie and Billy, but Stan, Eddie, and Steve are also pretty easy.

9. Which character(s) do you find most difficult to write?

Uh… Ben. Lol. I get stuck in my head trying to figure out who Ben is canonically vs the Ben that I like vs the Ben that people want, which is why I haven’t written more with him. But I need to get over it. Ben is so good and needs more love.

10. What’s your favorite genre to write for?

Dramadeys (drama/comedy). Like all the shows/books I’ve written fic for have had a lot of trauma in the stuff I like, but I also need to be able to laugh in it, lol.

11. Who or what do you find yourself writing about most?

Lately I’ve been writing a lot around like death and traumatic incident anniversaries, but I also like to write stupid little fluff pieces. Granted, the fluff pieces always end up having some sort of Feelings, but sometimes I manage mostly fluff lol.

29. Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out?

Yeah. I wrote a platonic Steve and Billy thing, and it’s honestly so good. I kind of want to do more with it, change it a little, and maybe make it less platonic, lol, but it’s so good.

I also wrote something with mom death and cancer, and while it’s like. Not done well kudos wise, I needed to write it and I think it’s one of the best things I’ve written.

30. Tooth-rotting fluff or merciless angst?

Yes. Lol. I like to make characters go through shit and then take bubble baths in the middle of the night with their partner and cuddling, and yeah. I can’t write fluff without feelings, and I have only once written feelings without fluff, but I have fluff planned for someday lol.

12. Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about.

Right now I’m really excited about a Stranger Things/Skeleton Twins au. I’m like changing SO MUCH but. Basically. I’m following the Skeleton Twins storyline with somethings different.

I’m gonna answer the rest under a cut because it involves suicide and like a creepy student/teacher relationship.

y’all can send me more questions!!

Basically, Billy and Max are twins. Billy’s parents are their parents. Neil is still the abusive asshole he is in the show. Their mom killed herself before the start of the fic.

The story picks up after Billy attempts suicide and Max comes to get him to come back to Hawkins so she can help take care of him. She’s married to Lucas (but like is cheating on him with random dudes because self sabotage is strong with the Hargrove family).

While he’s there he meets up with his old teacher/love interest, but like it’s complicated. In the Skeleton Twins, Billy’s character Milo didn’t have a love interest, but… I’m ridiculous and always love harringrove and love The Feels so… Basically, Billy’s old teacher is Steve’s dad. When Billy was 15, like right after his mom died, a teacher tried to start up a relationship with him, but it ended early, and it led to Billy and Max drifting apart. Billy doesn’t know Steve is Rich’s son because Steve lived with his mom as a kid and hardly came to Hawkins. He knows Rich has a son, but he thinks he’s a little kid, not someone his age.

The day after Billy gets back to town, he wanders around, and finds Rich (Steve’s dad), and they have an argument which is basically just Rich telling him to leave. Upset, Billy goes to a gay bar and hooks up with Steve because they are both new and town, and the only two gay dudes who showed up on Dyke Night. (and let me tell you, this whole bit was so fun to write ahahah)

Then Billy tries to talk to Rich again, but this time Rich is more receptive and they plan to get together.

At some point Neil shows up. He’s like a new age cult leader (think John Lenon), and he’s still him, but he’s good at hiding it in front of his followers. He’s still married to Susan, but he’s more abusive towards her, but we don’t see this, it’s just implied. There’s a fight, and even though Billy and Max are often at odds, they support each other here.

That’s what I have written, but planned I’m thinking Billy is going to go to Rich’s, Rich is going to freak out because Steve is there and he’s afraid Steve will find out about him, because Steve knows nothing.

There’s some nice moments with Max and then they get in a fight about Rich. The next day, Billy and Lucas are hanging out and Billy tells Lucas that Max is secretly on birth control (basically) even though they are trying to have a baby. It leads to Lucas confronting Max and it’s bad. Then Max finds Billy in the yard and they get in a HUGE fight, and Max says something Seriously Fucked Up, so Billy leaves. He goes to Rich’s even though he knows he shouldn’t because he doesn’t know what else to do, but then it gets fuzzy.

In the movie they just talk and also get in a fight, but like this… Steve is here.

I’m thinking Steve answers the door, sees a very upset Billy, but they are both like ??? And then Rich comes down and EVERYTHING comes out. Eventually Steve and Billy leave because Billy clearly needs to be not alone, and Rich’s house is out.

They don’t do anything but talk and probably cuddle because our boy is touch starved and sad, so ofc he’s going to wanna cuddle.

The next day on his way out of town, Max calls Billy basically saying goodbye in a way that mirrors Billy’s own suicide note. He rushes to find her and saves her.

It ends with them continuing to live together to like get the support they need and to start healing. Steve is there somewhere, but in the background. It’s going to be so good.

#i'm like so excited about this fic #there are other things i'm writing too #but i've talked about them #but not this one #and i don't know how to shut up lol #lehoiurdin

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shadowfae · 3 years ago

Note

1- Not much tbh, just what you've posted, and 2- To be honest I quite like your long answers. It can definitely wait though, you should get some sleep.

Is your warpriest link a constant thing? Does it ever fade into the background? I'm contemplating forming a second link, something happier than my copinglink, and I'm not sure how to tell when to tell when the line of a link vs a persona is crossed when not worn out of necessity.

And the original ask so I have it on hand. I did take a look at your original context, and if you're cool with it, I'll edit this post with a link for those who may find this is a useful answer and need that on hand. Otherwise, it'll stay a mystery.

But yes, it seems like my Sabe experiences would be a useful thing to talk about here. And in order to do that, I need to go over four things: who and what Sabe is, why he exists the way that he does, what that does for me, and lastly what I think he is in terms of terminology and why.

To start, here is his toyhou.se profile, if you want to read more about his actual story and thoughts and whatnot. But I doubt you'll have the necessary context for that, so let me go into it. RuneScape (RS) is one of the oldest MMORPGs in existence. WoW might be older but I doubt it. Basically it's a medieval magic fantasy that's very long running and you the player end up the World Guardian, aka the guy that stops the gods (who are very powerful folks who just don't die of natural causes and typically stand for some philosophy) from blowing the world up because Guthix, the dead god of balance, asked you to. Well, he voluntold you. And that makes you a major chess piece, Elder Gods get involved, it's a big mess.

But before all that happened, back in 2006 when I was introduced to the game and very shitty at it, well. I liked the lore insofar that I've always liked the lore, it was interesting and I liked thinking about it. I didn't have membership and I sucked at playing so I just read the wiki and the God Letters over and over and sometimes the Postbag from the Hedge. Alongside my two friends, we played at being children of the then-triad of main gods: Saradomin, Guthix, and Zamorak.

I liked Zamorak best, but I didn't think his ideas would be the best for society as a whole, so I ended up playing child of Guthix. Eventually we grew up and grew apart but every couple of years I'd go back to RuneScape, read the lore, settle on what choices I'd make if I could play, and think about being the player character. In 2010 I discovered a fic - dawn by khayr, it's on Ao3 and dA - about Iban, son of Zamorak, right around when I was reading Percy Jackson. Cue him showing up as a soulbond and an older brother figure and guiding me right up until the end of sixth grade. Iban got me through the ruthless bullying that would later set the stage for all my major suicidal-ideation and self-hatred for the entirety of high school: even then, I was more stable than I might've been otherwise, because he interfered.

Saradomin stands for strength through order. Procedures and law and diplomacy and war strategy. He was originally kind of a ripoff of the Christian god, but he's grown to be more of an order-over-peace character and is quite well-written. Guthix stands for strength through balance, and has been all over the board in terms of what he's done and will do. He's kind of a dick, actually, but his heart's in the right place.

Zamorak, as you've heard, is strength through chaos and personal strife. It's no "the strong over the weak" or "the strong take care of the weak", it's flat-out "everyone is strong, and just need the right circumstances to tap into it to be the best they can possibly be". Now, his philosophy is kind of more for warriors and scholars, but if you tilt your head, it applies to everyone. Chronically ill folks will find their chaos in fighting to get up every day and maintain a life. Folks in traumatizing, abusive situations find that chaos in their very survival. Scholars challenge themselves and their fellows and their predecessors trying to find the answers they so need. Nobody in lockstep, no such thing as "we've always done it this way."

A lot of human Zamorakians and Saradominist propaganda says that Zamorak is simply absolute evil: and to be fair, when most of that was written, he kinda was because he was based loosely on the Christian devil. Later writing says that they're typically mistaken on that. Zamorak isn't evil. The very first thing he did upon becoming a god was fulfill a promise and lead a slave rebeliion. (The Avernic uprising, if anyone's curious.) He stands for the downtrodden and says "You are never going to get your dignity by going through the motions and trying to peacefully show you're worth respect. Burn some shit down and prove that you won't stand for this bullshit."

Zamorak in a Saradominist's eyes is someone whose banner you wear when you want to be a crazy murderer. Zamorak in a Zamorakian's eyes is the singing voice who murmurs "Get up, this isn't enough to kill you, you can still do this," when transphobic laws get passed or you hear a slur thrown your way on the street.

And as someone who grew up queer and nonhuman, yeah, that resonates, and the older I get the more I think "Guthixian philosophy is best for a society at large, but Zamorakianism for individuals is good." Because Zamorakianism can't really apply on a theocratic level. It really doesn't. It turns into American bootstrap culture and no social services and all that shitty stuff.

The funny thing is that Zamorak himself has no issues helping out if he thinks you need it. (If he didn't, he wouldn't be cool with asking for help, or giving it when he's asked. Which he does do repeatedly so. The man has more kindness in him than people want to admit.) What I do find fascinating is what he thinks of the actions of some of his longtime subordinates, who clearly support him, but I don't think support his actual philosophy. Because if you ask me, he'd side with the downtrodden humans of Meiyerditch, not the vampire lords that treat them like cattle. He's proven that he likes humans, and doesn't see them as unworthy. I do wonder if Jagex will show us what he might do about that.

Either way. Ahem. Over the course of a decade and a half, I keep going back to RuneScape, refining my philosophy and side, thinking again what I would do playing the game proper. About... I want to say five years ago, Jagex opened up the Sixth Age and I finally noticed, and they rewrote every god's philosophy because they wanted every single one to be actually playable. Not just "hurr durr evil" but actually have a logical line of thought. They probably didn't have pop culture paganism in mind, but the gods of RS are incredibly well-suited to it.

Well, I found that out, and immediately went through every god's philosophy, and reasoned my way through it. What does a worshipper of this god look like? What sort of life would they lead? If i apply this to me, what does that look like from that perspective? Do I understand this? Is it comfortable to exist in?

And as it turns out, I understand Zamorak the most, followed a close second by Armadyl, which was quite surprising. Zaros remains incomprehensible and I don't trust like that. (That's another story.) So I thought about it more, and it stuck even when I wandered off to different fandoms and interests. But what happened was that I ended up internalizing it, unknowingly and without meaning to.

It meant that when, two years later, I ended up in a horrific and traumatizing situation, the anchor I hit that held me together was a mixture of being a Devil - I am a fucking God you will obey me and recognize my power - and Zamorak's core philosophy: this cannot kill me, this cannot stop me, this is pure fucking hell and I am going to laugh in the face of death because people are forged in hellfire and I will walk away knowing what I'm made of.

And I was right. Honestly, out of everyone who was there with me, I think I'm the only one that was that deeply entrenched and walked out without trauma. I do not believe I could have done that had I not internalized Zamorak's philosophy. (That isn't to say if the others had that philosophy they wouldn't be traumatized, because there were absolutely other factors I wouldn't know about and some that I do and didn't do them any favours; but I am saying that it saved my ass and without it, I might not have been okay.)

I walked out of that with zero regrets. Zero. Even now, I don't regret a thing. Because it doesn't matter what happened or how much I was lied to or if he deserved my kindness. I know what I perceived to be happening, and I know how I reacted, and when the pieces were down I was stronger than steel, gave kindness without considering the cost, and I walked away unscathed.

How many people can say they've looked death in the eye and laughed? More than there should be, not too many that knowing what I'm capable of when put into pure chaos isn't somehow impressive. Because it is. And Zamorak's words proved themselves, or rather, I proved him entirely correct.

And when I last went back to RuneScape, and thought about it with enough time to put it all into hindsight, well. Aw, shit, he was right. Then vaguely around that time I went back and read Dawn, which was unfinished, tracked down the author and demanded to know how it fucking ended. (She told me and we're still friends like three years later. xD) Then I went back and found my old OCs, and decided fuck it, I'm making my own World Guardian.

So first thing I did was log in and jump over to the Makeover Mage and make myself into a boy. Kept the plateskirt though, I wanted to have the RS equivalent of a limp wrist to prove I'm Very Queer. Then I went about remaking my character. I wanted to make a self-insert, I was old enough to know it wasn't cringey, it was just fun, but I didn't want to use my default avatar with the black hair over one eye and the Chaorruption. I wanted to make a new self-insert based in nothing I was already using.

So I made the most beautiful man I could! Long, dark brown hair, pretty semi-dark skin, looked Kharidian, and then I said fuck it and made him Zamorak's youngest son. Originally, he was adopted when he was young by Iban and Clivet, and suffered serious imposter syndrome when being WG meant he'd never get demigod powers. But as I grew more confident in myself, he ended up getting powers? And then eventually I rewrote his backstory, and then wrote about his mother, and her relationship with Zamorak, and then he had friends like Blaire and Icthlarin (who was also my furry awakening, rip me).

Then with the most recently questline I've been getting a bit more into RS magical theory, and I've been mulling it over lots, and Seanan McGuire's Middlegame definitely helped; and I figured out how I wanted him to handle being World Guardian: it didn't make sense for him to be openly Zamorak's son, the other gods would just target his family to manipulate him. So I had him play neutral openly and Zamorakian to his friends, effectively living a double life.

Then he just looked up one day and said "Oh, by the way, my father won't acknowledge me to keep me safe but I don't know that so we have a very unsteady relationship because I don't know if he loves me", and then Children of Mah came out, and he was all "Oh and I think I just got disowned (I didn't, Zamorak was protecting me, but I don't know that) so my relationship with Zamorak is Fucking Shitty" and he was stuck that way until I figured out how to save their relationship.

It culminated in Sabe not knowing how his Mahjarrat powers worked and guessing, and hating himself for being half-and-half, and missing everything about being a Mahjarrat, and literally you couldn't have gotten more obvious in order to tell me I was having Fucking Issues coming to terms with the fact I didn't have any understanding or knowledge of my own heritage, but whatever, eventually I noticed that.

And as I've been working to understand myself and my heritage, so too has Sabe been doing that with his Mahjarrat heritage. But for the longest time, no matter how I put him and Zamorak in the same room in a scene to try and get them to talk it out, it wasn't working. Something wasn't right. Sabe resented being World Guardian, hated having to betray his family, didn't know if he was wanted, and hated himself for having to kill Mah, the mother of his species.

Not that long ago, a few months actually, he informed me (which is my shorthand for 'I suddenly figured out this happened, and it genuinely feels like remembering that one fucking word you have on the tip of your tongue, I always knew and just forgot for a while') that no, he'd been ripped in two by a hope devourer, brought to his father's stronghold, and Zamorak split his magic between mortal and divine in order to get around his godproofing and heal him. Zamorak's intense worry for his youngest son was what caused Sabe to break down and tell him honestly what was going on and how he was feeling, which caused Zamorak to do the same, and they finally, finally made up.

A week later, I noticed the connection between Sabe's Mahjarrat issues and my Irish issues, and started to wonder if he was a linktype.

I mean... he's a self-insert. He makes the choices I would, the me in the here and now, that I think are best. He's not a person I was and still know myself to be, he's not someone I grow into, he's not living his life beside me like a shadow. He's me, choosing the things I do, because I say so. But he's also me in the things he reflects, the things he struggles with, and things I had zero fucking conscious input on.

Sabe is the person I am when a crisis hits and I have to deal with the chaos. Sabe is the person I am when I need to lead. Sabe is the person I am when I am desperate to be known and loved by those I consider family. Sabe is the person I am when I want to be sure in where I came from, where I will return to, and the things that I will always be. Sabe is a man of darkness who knows the light as an acquaintance and nothing more, who is cruel and careless and kind.

Sabe is a warpriest of Zamorakian philosophy, because it took me twenty fucking years to put into words how I see the world, and now that I know, I will argue them to death and use them to help others. Drakath may have wanted a messiah to share the hivemind with others. Sabe is a warpriest, spreading the word and calling home the broken and the damned. He is the Last Rider, not the last of the Ilujanka but the one who keeps riding towards the chaos and never falls, no matter what.

Some of who Sabe is I have conscious input on. A whole lot of him was unintentional and perfectly reflects me.

So when it comes to terminology... I don't know what he is. A self-insert, yes. A linktype, maybe. A kintype, also maybe. Sabe doesn't feel like my past linktypes, because Sabe isn't always catharsis and comfort. Until he made up with his dad, Sabe was brutal and hurt a lot and constantly yearning for his foundation and slowly going mad. It wasn't fun. I just refused to do anything but see the story through. I was going to get it right. I wanted to see it to the end. I wanted to be the Last Rider, even though I didn't phrase it that way.

But to answer your actual question, of what he feels like when I'm not actively being him out of necessity, desire, and active thought. If it fades into the background.

And like... it can? Sabe as he is, recognized for what and who he is, is kind of a new thing. Sabe as a concept is very old, but Sabe as what he is right now is new, and confusing, and honestly I'm still trying to figure out what to make of it.

Like, seriously. Sabe is Zamorak's son. Am I Zamorak's son? Is he keeping an eye on me as I am? Would he be proud of me? Would he offer his approval of my progress? Does that make me, in some way, the World Guardian?

I have not a clue, buddy. Not a goddamn clue.

So what it means is that I've been paying attention, really. I don't just become strong in times of crisis. I've been trying to do better. Be better. Learn, and listen, and rethink myself. Break out of lockstep, of doing things the way I've always done them. Try to always do better than I did, build habits I like, stop waiting for things to change and just do it. Become the chaos, instead of waiting for it to hit me.

It means I need to live up to what Guthix told Sabe to do. It means being gentler, being kinder, not burning bridges when I'm not sure. It means keeping an eye out for any sign Zamorak's listening, in case I am his son, in case I really have to decide what I'm gonna do about being the son of chaos incarnate.

But other than the questioning, what it feels like is just... what I was already dealing with, just a little more at arm's length and easier to deal with. Once I recognize that his issues are reflective of mine, if I solve his, I have a pretty good idea of how to solve mine. Some of it won't work exactly right - Zamorak will always forgive him for not being the son he expected he might have had, my own parents may not, yay I'm queer and pagan - but it's a good rule of thumb.

It's also just comforting to know that when in doubt, nothing can kill me, because I simply refuse to die. I am World Guardian, I am a demigod of chaos incarnate, all the hellfire in the world can do nothing but strengthen me. And if I present those to myself as unshakeable beliefs, because for Sabe they are, then I'll be okay. It probably couldn't stop most disasters or tragedies, but I got hit by a car, broke five bones, and walked away with a record recovery time, so I mean... I can't prove that I can't die by some accident or tragedy, but you also can't prove that I can. (Trying to do so usually falls under what we call 'murder', and I personally believe I can't be murdered. Only assassinated.)

But really, I think the worst that could possibly happen with a new linktype is that you learn what not to do. It's new, it's scary, it's chaotic, and from where I'm standing, that's the best way to learn.

#asks #anonymous #on copinglinking #on voluntary identities #on questioning #my experiences #here have me yelling about runescape and complaining about questioning #You Asked For This #essays of the skyrose garden #actually yeah this is an essay

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ramblings-of-a-mad-cat · 4 years ago

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Can you please share some more facts about the Fawleys? I really enjoy reading about them dw if you can’t though 💓

Oh my dear anon! You act as though you are some sort of burden, when you are anything but? When your message could never bring me anything but pure joy? Thank you for gracing my inbox! (Side note, I discuss spoilers for “Remembrance” in this post, so just keep that in mind.)

The first thing to understand is that I am flaky and indecisive. I can never make up my mind and head-canons and decisions about the Fawley family might very well change, alas. Particularly as new details of canon emerge. Example: I once wrote Luca’s rift with Rowan into the story as them suspecting Rowan of being R, but then having them come back together and be closer than ever following the Imperius incident. Given what I know now? With Y6CH18? I’m gonna say that whole rift never even happens. Rowan is one of the most important people in Luca’s life, period. So the more time they spend together, the better. Gail can have the “grown apart” relationship with Rowan, sure, but not Luca. This is just one example of how anything can change in the main story, and thus, my head-canons are subject to shift at any time because I cannot make up my mind or commit to anything. I am a true cornflake. All that said, let me talk about what I know and have decided about the Fawley family.

I’ve debated a lot on what family to have Nina come from originally. I’ve bounced around The MacMillans, the Burkes, The Greengrass’s...but then I realized the perfect solution that actually ties in with previous details. Nina is from the Shafiq family. The other Pureblood line on the Sacred Twenty-Eight that never gets mentioned in the book. And oh boy, I’m gonna have fun defining them as well. This works well because I always envisioned Luca as Middle Eastern, but I had placed The Fawleys in Britain for the War of the Roses. Did a bit of digging, and Shafiq is an Arabic name. It totally works out!

That being said, I’m so indecisive that I might not even keep to that as being her name. Nina, that is. I might come up with a different first name for her. Same goes for Luca’s father, who has been called both Eric and Arik in the past. The trouble is, I conceived Luca’s mother around the interpretation/theory I had about MC’s mum at the time of writing Luca’s fic. Basically, my theory is that MC’s family is part of R, or have some previous involvement with them that extends further back than Jacob. That one or both of MC’s parents were members. I dunno what it is, I just do not trust MC’s mum. She seems shady at worst, and a bad parent at best. But you can see how this particular background is subject to change. Who the hell knows if MC’s mum is a part of R, or if she will even appear.

This also ties in with the mystery of just how Luca’s family got cursed. And this is something else that is subject to change. Literally everything about the Fawley Curse. (Also known by it’s proper name: The Invigorium Curse.) I made the “Mark of Despair” a black star and had it appear on the hand. I might change the design to be something like a rose, in thinking about it. (A “Black Rose” being the symbol of The Fawleys.) But if I move it’s location from the hand, to say, the back of the neck or something...well then, I don’t get that raw backstory about Mr. Fawley trying to free himself from the curse by chopping off his own hand...at which point, the Mark of Despair reappears on his other hand, because did he really think it would be that easy? I’ve toyed with placing the Mark on the back of the neck...that’s pretty metal too, and could tie in with how the Fawleys always have long and beautiful hair. But on the other hand, Mr. Fawley is dead by the time Luca and Gail are Hogwarts age...suppose he killed himself by stabbing the Mark? That may be a bit too much though...

I’m getting off topic, I was discussing the source of the Curse. Again, this winds up being connected to R in my fic. Connected to the power that they want. Based on what R winds up being and wanting, this could be subject to change. What I have in mind is that the Fawleys experimented with strange magic and ended up branding the Marks of Despair onto themselves. But I might change that. Either way, I want this to be something that they brought upon themselves. It could have been intentional, a selfish experiment to gain more power...or a consequence of something terrible that they did, a punishment. I’m not really sure. Just like I’m not sure I want it to be a Star or a Flower. It could be an ancient rune. I kind of feel like Luca would take Ancient Runes as an elective. Far more likely than Divination, that’s for damn sure. But then again, HPHM has ignored that half of these classes are supposed to be optional...anyway.

The name “Fawley” actually means, bird-catcher. Hunter of wild birds. I wonder if the original Fawley was someone who hunted down and killed a beautiful swan or something, a creature that was precious to some ancient monarch, and they were cursed as punishment. Maybe the curse was applied to them by being force-fed black flowers. Imagine if the Fowler was a muggle, the Monarch was a Wizard (or at least, had one on his payroll) and the magic that the Fowler’s children bore as a result is what started this “pureblood” line. (Everyone can trace their ancestry to a muggle eventually. Everyone. Fight me on this, pureblood supremacists.) You know what, the more I think about it, the more I really like this idea. It ties in with what the Fawley name means. And it keeps to the story that I always wanted to tell with these guys. That being that, while Pureblood and thus privileged, the general consensus about them is that they’re unstable, unlucky, and dangerous. Have a history of madness and misfortune and even suicide. Almost like the Targaryens, for my Game of Thrones fans out there. It ties in with how Jacob and MC are viewed. This is also the reason I had Alice Longbottom be a Fawley by birth, and Aunt to Luca and Gail. She is one of many cases of Fawleys suffering and going mad, seemingly because they were just destined to. It is sheer luck and good fortune that Neville didn’t inherit the Mark of Despair, because Alice had one, and it’s a dominant trait.

I’m so glad you wrote this to me, because it’s helping me figure things out. Even if I haven’t come up with that much new material, I can’t tell you how excited I am for this new origin story about the bird-catcher. What’s interesting is that “Shafiq” apparently is a word for compassion and kindness. Which ah...does not suit Mrs. Fawley, I’ll just say that. No matter how I interpret her, it’s going to based on MC’s mum from the game...and I don’t think she’s the best person. Yet ironically, all of the Fawley kids have her general look, physically. And compassion is truly the name of the game for her kids, especially with Luca. Mrs. Fawley’s kids all turned out to be better people than her, but Luca is the very best of them and Jacob notes this when all is said and done. The Fawley kids are a total trifecta and in a way, it’s Gail who is the happy medium. She’s the middle mark between polar opposites, those opposites being Luca and Jacob. And yet, Luca and Jacob adore each other and Gail is kind of the outsider.

She gets along decently well with Luca, but they’re different in certain key traits that make them distinctly uncomfortable with each other. They might have outgrown this had they been raised together, but it’s so important to me that no matter what, this never happens. No matter the AU. Luca and Gail grow up believing the other is dead. They don’t meet until young adulthood, and what should be a dream come true just kind of...isn’t. They have a strained relationship. Not hateful, just...not perfect. Because why it would it be? Because they’re biologically related? That doesn’t mean they’re going to be best friends, and trying to force it, simply doesn’t help. Seriously, Gail is actually far more fond of Luca than she is Jacob. Dear god, she cannot stand him. She’s so grounded and integrated into understanding how one should behave and following social norms. She’s Lawful Good for sure. But Jacob is just...he’s fire and ice and rage, he is a walking storm. Gail just doesn’t take well to people like that. They stress her out. It’s not like Luca. Their inherent patience and pathological desire to “rescue” problematic people...yeah, is it any wonder Luca x Merula is a strong contender for endgame?

Ooh, here’s something new I can talk about. Middle names. I’ve tossed around a few in the past, but the one thing I’ve always been certain of is that I want Luca and Gail to both have middle names that are one syllable. Luca’s middle name is Rae. It’s simple, it’s gender neutral, and it sounds nice. Not only that, but it has Hebrew origin and the Fawleys are definitely Jewish. From what I can tell, it means either “lamb” or “friend of sheep” aka, sheppard. Both of these suit Luca remarkably well. As does the other interpretation I’ve found, which is that it means “timid” or “bashful.” It’s just the perfect name for them. Now let’s move onto Gail. I’m...still not sure. I’ve considered a few, like Brynn, Claire, and even “Rose” (Shoutout to a friend of mine, I’m going to assume you’ll see this.) But I have yet to land on one that I like enough for Gail to pin it down. Nothing just screams out at me like Rae does for Luca. What else can I talk about...ooh, wands!

I’ve mentioned wand contents before, but I’ll reiterate them here, and provide some cool images I found to go along with them! Luca’s wand is Rowan and Unicorn Hair, and if you didn’t already know - it was Rowan them-self who previously owned it. The wand was fashioned at the tree farm and they used it right up until Luca’s first wand was destroyed by Rakepick. That first wand, Hazel and Unicorn Hair, had belonged to Mrs. Fawley. Right up until she lost her ability to do magic, a side-effect of her depression which happened after Jacob disappeared. (Dumbledore implied that this was possible and may have happened to Merope.) Luca took her wand and promised to safeguard it for the day that she would eventually be able to use it again. Enter the Curse-Breaker that everyone hates, bye bye Hazel wand. When just then, surprise surprise! Rowan’s wand suddenly chooses Luca. And you can bet that Rowan is over the moon and Luca is sobbing because they don’t deserve this. But they accept it. I wish I could say I had such a cool backstory for Gail’s wand, but the truth is that she just bought it from Ollivander. Aspen and Dragon Heartstring. On the other hand, one cool detail is that she defies Rakepick and rather than use a new one, she uses her old one after Dumbledore repairs it for her. See, it’s little moments like this, why Gail trusts him when Luca emphatically doesn’t.

Behold their wands, pictured below! Why yes, the skull design for the Rowan wand’s handle is morbidly appropriate Why yes, the symbols written on Gail’s wand do look pretty cool. (I also couldn’t find an “official” wand that was colored white, apart from Voldemort’s, so there’s that.)

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soheila-1996 · 5 years ago

Text

My story- part twelve

I have epilepsy. This details my seizures, I can’t speak for everyone, everyone’s seizures/ experiences are different. This is graphic. Seizures are messy. They aren’t fun and it felt wrong to make it out to be cute when they really aren’t. Pretty much all the things that happen in the plot have happened to me. Well, I’m not married to a king or live in a palace so…there’s that but everything else is accurate. There may be some jokes about it here because I do joke about it sometimes. It makes me more comfortable and I find it helps relax everyone around me. I’m also writing about it because there really aren’t that many fics written about it and I think it’s important to shine light on it.

Any feedback is really appreciated! :)

Tags: @kacie-0156 @texaskitten30, @cordonianroyalty, @kingliam2019 , @cordonia-gothqueen, @bobasheebaby @losingbraincellseveryday @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @jared2612 @flutistbyday2020 @debramcg1106 @anotherbeingsworld @leaharhys @cordoniaqueensworld @bascmve01

This is also part of wacky drabbles hosted by @wackydrabbles. The prompt this week is: #43: Is this a game to you?

Paring: Liam and Riley

Warnings: Panic attack, bullying, blood, mention of miscarriage, suicidal thoughts.

Word count: 7,699

Catch up here

(Josh’s POV)

My wife and I are currently wandering around a Target, we’re here to pick up the last couple of items for our daughter’s birthday on the weekend. We were looking at some clothes that she had mentioned she liked. She’s turning five Saturday. It feels like it was yesterday when I was holding her in my arms- time really does fly by.

My wife, Leah, took a pink and white striped shirt with a gold butterfly fly over the rack and put it into the cart after making sure it’s the right size.

“Alright I’m going to the bath stuff,” Kate announced. I looked up at her with my eyebrow raised.

“Do you need more bath stuff?” I asked teasingly, a smirk danced across my lips.

“Do you need more pens? I know you’re about to go and grab some the second I turn my back?

“Point taken,” I laughed. I quickly gave her a peck on the lips. “ “Meet you in the middle when we’re done?”

“Yep,” Leah said as each of us took off in our own directions.

I stayed by the clothing for a few more minutes picking out anything else I thought my little girl would like. I just can’t believe how much time has actually passed. Nearly five years. I don’t think words can explain how much I love her.

Unbeknownst to me, there’s a girl a little bit away from me reaching for an item of clothing on one of the racks just next to mine. She can’t be much older than thirteen. School had finished a couple hours ago now.

The girl stumbled forward as she reached out for something, she attempted to catch herself onto the rack but she fell anyway.

I had just started to walk away from the clothes and towards the stationary aisle when I heard people yelling.

“Oh my god!” A woman exclaimed.

I turned around and headed back to where I was. A bunch of people were now crowded around something, I can’t see what was happening and honestly I don’t really want to get involved.

“She’s having a seizure!” one of the onlookers exclaimed.

Without thinking, I jogged over to the group and slipped past some of the bystanders. Like the woman had announced to the entire store, a girl was laying flat on her back and was having a seizure.

I hesitated for a second, this reminds me so much of my little sister, Riley. I soon snap out of it and kneel down beside the girl. “Does anyone know if someone is with her?” I ask.

The onlookers all shake their heads. “Okay,” I muttered before beginning a familiar routine. No one had any problem with me taking the lead.

I quickly moved away from the girl and retrieved a sweater off the display and slipped it under her head. Just then a saleswoman appeared, pushing past the interested bystanders. I read her name tag: Emily

I look up at her, “I need you to help roll her over onto her side,” I instructed. She nods and joins me on the floor to help me roll her. I pull out my phone from my back pocket and start a timer.

Emily helped me recover the backpack off her back. While we were doing that I noticed a bracelet with a large red emblem on it- a medical alert bracelet I soon realised.

I slipped it off the girl's wrist over her hand and read the back:

Lacey Jones

Epilepsy

And then a number to to call in an emergency underneath.

If only my little sister would’ve followed this Lacey’s lead when she was her age. It would’ve saved her a lot of trouble.

“Can you call that number for me please?” I ask Emily as I hand the bracelet over to her. She nodded. “-and ask if we should call an ambulance,” I add.

I look down at Lacey as a man hands Emily his phone.

I feel horrible for this girl. She’s so alone and so incredibly vulnerable. She honestly can’t be older than 13 at the least. I can’t help but think about Riley.

“Isn’t she going to swallow her tongue?!” A woman exclaimed with great concern.

“Does someone have a wallet or something?” A man asked. I looked up to see him patting down his pockets looking for something to put in the girls mouth.

“No no, no, don’t put anything in her mouth,” I respond quickly,” she won’t swallow her tongue.”

“You need to hold her down!” Another woman added. It’s honestly surprising how little people actually know about dealing with a seizure.

“You’ll hurt her if you do that,” I explained.

“Are you a doctor?” The same woman asked me harshly.

“I’m not, no,” I respond, shaking my head.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” She asked, her voice hostile.

“Yes, I do. My little sister has epilepsy and I kept her alive for most of her childhood so yeah,” I replied, running out of patience with her, “I think I know what I’m doing.”

I looked up at Emily who was still obviously trying to get hold of whoever the number on Lacey’s bracelet belonged to. My statement had shut the annoying woman up at least.

A little spit started to leak out of Lacey’s mouth, I used the sleeve on the sweater beneath her to wipe the fluid away. “You’re doing really well, Lacey,” I whispered to her.

“It’s her mom,” Emily told me. “She wants to know how bad it is and then she’ll make the decision if we should call an ambulance.

Dealing with a panicked mom is not my repertoire. I can just imagine all the things he would want to know if he got the same call to say this was happening to Lana.

“Okay, she’s breathing and one her side,” I glanced down at the timer, “And it’s started just over a minute ago.” Emily repeated all the information to the concerned mother on the other end of the phone.

Emily informed us that we didn’t need an ambulance just yet. I ask her to ask what Lacey Is like after a seizure so I know what to expect in advance. It was about a minute later and Lacey’s movement’s started to slow down.

“There you go,” I said gently as my finger hovered over the timer to stop it. It was just a few seconds later and it stopped completely. I looked up to Emily to tell her to tell Lacey’s mother that the seizure had stopped.

(Leah’s POV)

I just picked up a couple of things and now I’m walking back towards where I left my husband. I know what he’s like; he probably hasn’t moved from there yet.

When I arrive there I don't see him but I do see a group of people crowding around someone. I can’t see what’s happening from where I’m standing so I move a little closer. I recognised the denim jacket my husband was wearing through the sea of people; my heart sank. Five minutes! I’ve left him alone for. Five. Minutes!

I pushed past some of the onlookers just wanting to get to my husband. I was instantly relieved when I saw him kneeling beside a young girl. It’s not him that’s having a problem.

The crowd parted when a woman’s voice calling “Lacey” was heard. A concerned, panicked looking woman came barrelling past the onlookers and knelt down beside my husband and what I presume is her daughter

The woman thanked Josh and then he stood up and walked over to me. We moved away from the crowd a little bit.

“What was all that?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

“I was just walking away and then I heard screaming- she had a seizure,” he explained to me. “She had a medical ID on and we called her mom.”

“I left you alone for five minutes,” I mentioned with a smirk. He shrugged. “You don’t always have to play hero.”

“No one else knew what else to do. They would’ve hurt her had I not stepped in,” he explains. “I know what to do so why not help?”

I gave him a quick peck on the lips, “Let’s go pay, then we can pick Lana up from my mom’s and get home.” He nodded in agreement and so we headed towards the check-out.

(Riley’s POV)

Liam and my parents have all thankfully stepped out and left me alone. I know that they all have good intentions but they are getting annoying. It’s like they believe that I need to be babysat when I don't.

I want to be able to talk to them about what’s going on inside my head but I don't know how to. Talking about my feelings has never been something I’m good at. I find it awkward and it makes me think I’m bothering them with my problems. I’m always more than happy to help someone else with their own problems but when I have one I feel like I have to solve it on my own.

Asking for help isn’t easy for me. It never has been and albeit that’s gotten me into trouble in the past. I have an amazing husband and a group of incredible friends who are more than willing to sit and listen to me vent but I just don’t know how to. My way of trying to sort through my emotions is to do it alone and push everyone away. I haven’t quite figured out that it’s never going to work.

Everything is a mess and I don't know how to get out of it. I’m not sure if it’s even worth it at this point. Every time I feel like everything is going okay, something happens to fuck it up and I’m back to square one.

All of it swirls around my head, knocking into each other and beating me down again and again. It’s like a chorus to a song on a constant, rapid loop. Sometimes it gets so loud that I can't hear anything else. It drowns everything else out until I can’t even hear myself think anymore.

Everyone hates you.

You’re useless.

You’re a failure

It all twists like a knife and all sense of reality spins away for a moment. Every one of my insecurities, every scabbed over wound feels like it's all being torn open again and are left to fester.

It all just keeps getting louder and louder and then...it goes silent. I’m left sitting in a room on my own that hasn’t changed even though it just felt like the walls had started to close in. There’s no one to talk to because I've managed to push everyone away.

Liam and my mom have suggested counselling but I’m not all that keen on the idea. I'm not stupid. A therapist couldn't care less about my problems. All they care about is getting their money at the end of a session. They’re paid to care. Maybe that’s just in my head too. I just find it hard to believe that anyone could actually give a damn about my problems. That’s partly the reason I’m not sold on the idea of venting to a stranger once a week, another part of that is if I can't talk to my family how can I talk to a complete stranger? The last time I had given it ago didn’t turn out so well. It didn’t help in the slightest.

I’m tired of being tired.

It’s been a really, really challenging few weeks. I don’t even know how long I've felt this hopeless. Maybe it never really went away to begin with.

I climbed out of the bed and headed into the conjoining bathroom. I turned on the tap and splashed some water over my wash in the hope it would wake me up a little bit. When I look up at the mirror as the water drips down my face, down my chin and onto my shirt; I don’t recognise myself anymore.

I don’t recognise my eyes, they're dull and no longer have the same twinkle they used to; they make me look years older than I actually am. My cheekbones look sharper than they used to. Actually, all of me looks skinnier than I used to.

I dry off my face and avoid looking at myself again. It only makes me feel worse but in a way it makes me understand why my parents and husband are so concerned. I would be if the tables were turned. I look like a zombie. It’s so draining thinking that it’ll all get better but It just doesn't.

I understand that life is made up as the bad and the good moments but why does it seem like mine is only made up of the bad?

All I really want to do is crawl into bed and sleep for days because life is just too hard. Surely my problems can’t follow me into my dreams, right?

I want to get out of this hospital too. I just want to go home, back to my own bed, my own stuff and maybe then I’d be able to get some sleep.

After my first miscarriage I wanted to die. I wanted for the ground to just open me up and swallow me whole. I didn’t know how to continue, how to move on after what had happened. Everyone had convinced me that it would get better but...it just doesn’t. I’ve tried pretending that everything is okay for so long and I’m tired of pretending to be happy. All of this had just proven that wishing it away doesn’t work.

I’m not sure why but this all reminds me so much of what happened when I was seventeen with Ben. If I recall correctly that’s when I started to feel like this. I don’t think it ever really, truly went away.

** I’m awake but I can’t open my eyes. I had tried but the lights stung them so I opted to close them again. Physically I feel weird, I try to move but I can’t.

Why can’t I move?

I’m trying. I’m really trying to get my body to move but it feels as if I’m paralysed. What’s happening to me?!

Nothing makes sense. I don’t even know what the last thing I remember is because everything is foggy.

I can’t think.

I can’t move.

My eyes flutter back open and this time I know to squint to avoid being blinded by the harsh lights above me. I let my eyes adjust a little bit, the room around me started to become clearer.

I realise that I’m looking up at a ceiling- It’s white as most ceiling’s are. The room smells almost sterile...like a hospital. Am I in a hospital? I’ve spent enough time in them over the years to recognise this overwhelmingly sterile smell anywhere.

Why am I here? I don’t understand.

I feel myself beginning to panic. I just don’t understand anything….What can’t I move?!

It’s a question I keep coming back to. I don’t understand why or how I’m here and what they’ve done to me. It feels like my body has been magnetised to the bed beneath me and there’s nothing I can do to free myself from it’s hold that it seems to have over me.

I just need to understand what’s happening. If I could just start to remember something maybe I’d start to feel better.

I want my mom and dad.

(Karol’s POV) I’m sitting beside Riley’s bed. She looks so much better now that she doesn’t have that tube shoved down her throat. She looks like she is actually alive.

They had extubated her a short while ago and now we’re just waiting for her to wake up. Micheal and I are here after we had sent Josh home to get some rest. I feel so impeccably guilty that I haven't been here every minute of the last few days. The first time seeing her was...I’m not sure there are words to describe what seeing my little girl like that did to me.

I’m sitting on her right and Micheal on her left. Neither of us know how to feel. We feel like this is our fault and the worst thing is that it kind of is. We should’ve noticed that Riley wasn’t taking her medication. We should’ve been more strict with her. We should’ve spoken to her about what happened with Ben… We should’ve done something If we maybe this all could’ve been avoided.

The doctor’s words from the other day continue to echo in my head. “In some cases of convulsive status epilepticus, particularly when it has gone on for this long, sometimes causes brain damage.”

Brain damage?

That could mean so many things. What if she does? What is her life going to be like? There’s so many things, so many consequences just those two words could possibly mean.

All of this makes me feel physically sick. It’s the worst feeling in the world to watch your child go through something and you have no control over any of it. I wish it was me.

I remember the day Riley was diagnosed and the neurologist told us that she would need medication, I was in a state of denial and maybe I still am. It’s hard to accept that there is something wrong and that I can’t do anything to change it.

I’m scared. After I had gotten mostly past that state of denial; I became overprotective over my daughter. I was upset, It was like I was grieving for the loss of a ‘normal’ child, I hate that I felt that way. Of course, I would prefer Riley not to have epilepsy but she’s perfect the way she is. I didn’t let her do so many things out of fear that something would happen. I hate dropping her off to school in case she has a seizure and somebody deals with it incorrectly. I didn’t let her go to camp during the summer or stay at friends houses in case something happened. I’ve babied her for so, so long and now I have no idea if she’ll be okay when she wakes up.

Her life could potentially be so incredibly different...What if she can’t do so many of the other things that she could before this? What if she never gets to do the thing i stopped her from doing? I’m dreading finding out if she’ll have any lasting side effect from this.

“Karol,” Micheal called, quietly. I looked up from my lap and looked over to him. He gestured to Riley who was just beginning to open her eyes. I stood up and moved closer to the bed, leaning over the rails to look at her as she sequined as her eyes fluttered open. “I’ll go get the doctor,” my husband announced as he stood and walked out of the room.

I ran my fingers soothingly through her hair. Her eyes darted around the room. She must be so confused. “It’s okay,” I whispered, “You’re in the hospital but you’re okay, Ri. I’m here. Dad’s here too, he’s just gone to get the doctor,” I explained to her quietly.

“C-can’t m-m-move,” She tells me. Her voice is raspy and quiet; I can barely hear her. I don’t really understand what she just said.

“What Honey?” I ask as I lean in closer to her over the railing.

“M c-can’t m-move,” she repeated. Panic immediately washes over me. I don’t understand what’s happening.

Why can’t she move?

I continue to run my finger through her hair. “Shhh...It’s okay, Ri.”

Just then my husband re-enters the room with Riley’s new doctor, Dr Jane Stone, trailing behind him. I move away from the bed and take the doctor to the side. I signal for Micheal to just go over to comfort our daughter as I try to get to the bottom of this.

“She can’t….W-why can’t she move?” I ask the doctor in great concern.

She gives me a small smile. How is she being so calm? “This is a common side effect of coming out of a coma, Mrs brooks. She should start to regain feeling very soon but she still will be weak. Four days doesn’t seem like a long time but it is when you're constantly laying down and not moving,” Dr Stone explains to me but I’m not convinced. “She’s doing really well,” she added, “just give her some time.” She gave me a small smile but it did nothing for my nerves.

The doctor leaves after checking Riley’s vitals. Now I'm left with Riley and my husband. I walk back down to the bed and look down at her and run my fingers through her knotty, greasy hair. I can see that she’s scared by the expression she has on her face. I just feel so, so incredibly helpless. She’s my daughter, I’m her mother and yet I can’t do anything to make this better.

“S-scared,” She whispered. She winces at the pain in her throat that the tube had caused. Her voice is barely audible.

“You don’t need to be, sweetheart,” Micheal reassured. I can’t speak; I don’t know what to say even if I could.

I can’t begin to imagine how scared and confused she is right now. She’s just seventeen years old; she doesn’t deserve this. Nobody does.

“Tired,” She murmured.

“Get some rest,” I tell her. It doesn’t take long for her eyes to flutter shut. After I'm sure she’s asleep I explain to Micheal about what the doctor said.

(Riley’s POV) I open my eyes, thankfully the lighting is much dimmer than It was earlier. It still stings my eyes a little though. I blink a few times until my eyes adjust and I notice my brother sitting in the chair next to my bed, more occupied with scrolling through his phone than looking at me.

“Josh,” I whispered. My throat feels like it’s burning; I wince at the feeling and bring my hand up to my throat which requires more effort than it should.

Josh looked down at me and turned his phone off.

“Hey,” he greeted, quietly. “The doctor said your throat will be a little tender for a while,” my brother explained to me after noticing my hand was still resting over it. “Don’t talk if it hurts,” he recommended.

I vaguely remember talking to my mom earlier but I can’t tell if that was a dream or not. It felt real but everything is still fuzzy and doesn’t make sense. “W-what h-h-happend?” That’s new; why am I stuttering? It’s not because of my throat. A sore throat doesn’t make you stutter.

“What’s that last thing you remember?” he asked with an almost sad expression on her face.

“I-I d-don’t-” Why is this happening? I’m trying to think back but I can’t because I’m so focused on trying to figure out why I now have a stutter. I don’t remember having one prior to this.

I looked around the room.

Where am I?

I think it's a hospital room by the looks of it. There’s annoying beeping coming from just behind my bed. Talking of the bed; it feels like it’s made of nails.

“You’re in the hospital,” Josh confirmed. I nodded; I’ve already figured that out but thankful for the confirmation.

“W-why?” God my throat hurts. “I w-was a-at h-home…”

“You had a seizure,” he explains, “it didn’t stop. I had to call an ambulance, they couldn’t get it to stop either and then the doctor’s had to put you into a coma to stop it.”

The last thing I remember is laying down on the couch to have a nap after I got rid of Sally. I’m suddenly very concerned about Sally; I told her to leave me, I...Wait, Josh said he called an ambulance, how did he know?

“W-what?” I question. None of this makes sense to me. I don’t even know how time has passed.

Is it the same day?

It is weeks later?

Josh said I was in a coma but not how long it was for. I don’t understand any of it. The last thing I knew I was laying down for a nap and now I’m in a hospital. “H-how l-l-long for?” I ask, getting increasingly concerned and confused.

“Four days,” he responded.

Four days?!

96 hours?!

“W-wh-” I just don’t understand. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest; my breathing quickens. Fuck.

A loud beeping fills the room and my brother leaps forward, putting down the railing so he can sit on the end of the bed. He takes my face in his hands to make me look at him. I can’t breathe.

“Riley, it’s okay,” he tried to soothe but it’s not. It’s not okay. None of this is okay.

My eyes darting around the room. It feels like someone is sitting on my chest! I’m trying to get air into my lungs but it seems like the harder I try, the amount of air I’m actually getting decreases.

My heart is thudding against my rib cage.

I’m scared.

I’m confused.

I look back up to my brother as my tears start to well up. I’m crying now; I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t understand how this happened.

I can’t breathe.

I’m now only able to take in a few strangled breaths. The panic I’m feeling has already gotten its vicious claws in and I can’t shake it off.

I’m scared.

I can feel my brother’s hands on the side of my face but his touch isn’t doing anything to comfort me.

“Ri, look at me.” My panicked filled gaze flicked up to meet him. “It’s okay. You’re okay,”he tried to soothe. “Copy me, okay?”

I nod. I just want to be able to breathe properly again and to understand what’s going on. My brother took a deep breath in through his nose and exhaled out of her nose for a few seconds. I tried to follow suit but I can’t. It’s too hard.

There’s other people- doctor’s I presume but I can’t hear them. All I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears. I think they’re telling me to do the same thing my brother is, don’t they realise how hard it is?

Telling me to breathe isn’t actually helping me too!

I somehow manage to follow my brother’s lead; following his breathing pattern. I feel myself start to calm down, the beeping stops and the other people disperse out of the room.

My brother stays sitting on the end of my bed. I look up at my eyes welling up. “I-I d-don’t u-u-under-”

“It’s okay,” Josh interrupts. “You’re okay; that’s all that matters.”

“F-four d-d-days?” I ask. I need some more information. Finding out that I’ve been unconscious for four days is a pretty big, alarming shock. Josh said I had a seizure...was it really that bad? “S-seizure?”

He nods, “Yeah, you had a seizure.”

“H-how l-long d-d-did it l-last?”

“Over twenty minutes,” he replies. Josh explains the rest of it. Sally left me, apparently I called Casey, she called him and so on. I feel bad; I told Sally to leave and go to that party. In hindsight that was a spectacularly bad idea.

By the time our conversation ends, I’m exhausted and just want to sleep. It’s so much information to process. I’m still not sure that I understand all of it just yet.

** It’s a week later and I’m finally being discharged! No more hospital food. No more being woken up every few minutes in the night by the constant beeping or nurses coming in and out the room. No more sleeping in the uncomfortable hospital bed. I’m finally going home.

Recovery is apparently going to take a little while. I’m still a little weak so they’ve recommended some physical therapy to regain a little bit of strength. I haven’t really been allowed to get out of bed since I woke, mainly due to the fact my legs felt really weird for a long time, and I’m still ridiculously sore from the seizure.

Speech therapy is also another thing I’m going to have to do. My stutter seems like it’s going to be somewhat of a permanent fixture. It’s erm...it’s definitely not helping my confidence. I used to stutter a little when I was a kid and was bullied severely for it...I guess it’s a good thing that it doesn’t look like I’m going back to school for a little while.

The last weeks have been one of the scariest things that has ever happened to me. It terrifies me how quickly things can go wrong. One moment I’m fine and the next I’m in the ICU in a coma and a tube shoved down my throat. It’s mortifying. I am so beyond grateful that I’m still here and that my brother was there to help me.

I had managed to get my parents to lay off Sally a little bit. I convinced her to go therefore I should take some of the blame. Mom and dad didn't really agree with that but had left her alone.

My mom had stayed the night and drove me home this morning. When we arrived back the house was quiet. Everyone else is apparently out doing their own thing. I’m happy about that; I don’t need everyone crowding around me like they had done in the hospital. I’m fine.

That’s probably just me being stubborn though. Nothing’s fine. I had a seizure, which led to doctor’s having to put me into a coma and scared the undying shit out of everyone in the process.

It's later the same day, everyone is home and we’ve just eaten dinner. I’m about to head toward the stairs and head to bed for an early night when my mom speaks, “Can we talk for a sec?” She asks as the entire family moves out the kitchen and into the living room.

I look at everyone quizzically. “Sit down,” my dad orders. He sounds serious.

“O-okay,” I stutter and sit down on the couch. Casey sits beside me, Sally beside her and Josh, my mom and dad take the couch opposite. “W-what is t-t-this a-a-about?”

“We just want to talk to you about something,” My mom explains.

“We know that you weren’t taking your medication.” I nod, they’d mentioned it while I was in the hospital. “You can’t keep doing that.”

“Do you know how dangerous it is to just stop taking them?” Mom asks. I shake my head; I knew that if I stopped I'd probably have more seizures but I didn’t know that I could put myself at risk of Status epilepticus. “We need you to promise that you’re not gonna do that again. That you’re gonna take your medication.”

I promise that I'll do that and then they finally allow me to head back up to my room and to bed. I’ve learned my lesson after all and I’m exhausted.

** - 2 weeks later.

It’s just gone noon after my physical therapy appointment. It had gone well- I had so much more strength in all four limbs that I previously did. My mom and I have just stopped in a store to pick up some much needed groceries before we head to Macdonald’s for some lunch.

Lately, I only get out of the house to go to my appointments. It’s not that I used to go out a lot before all of this but it’s the fact the choice has now been taken away from me. My already protective family had only grown all the more protective.

Recovery is taking a long ass time. It’s annoying. I just want my life to go back to normal.

By now, everyone at school is aware of what happened. Jake- one of Ben’s friends lives opposite me and had apparently seen the ambulance that night. I’m not sure how everyone knew the details but they did regardless of how they had discovered them. Luna had told me about it when she came over the other day.

My mom had kindly trusted me to go and get some milk. Seriously, I've barely been left alone since the incident. I headed down the aisle, opened up the refrigerator and took out a carton. I closed it then turned around about to head back to my mom when Ben and his goons rounded a corner. It’s a Wednesday afternoon! They’re probably skipping school again.

I try to get away quickly, however, I'm still a little sore from my appointment and so they see me. “Riley?”

That’s Ben I realise. I slowly turn to look around at him. He let out a chuckle at the sight of me. “So you woke up?” He asked with a stupid smirk plastered across his face.

“Yes,” I said. Thank god I didn’t stutter. I wanted to punch him but hurting my hand isn’t worth it.

“That’s a shame.” How did I ever have feelings for this douche bag? “You should’ve died because let’s face it your family would be much happier without the freak.”

“S-s-s-shut u-up!” I exclaim.

He raises an eyebrow, a wicked smirk spreading across his face. “What?”

“L-leave m-m-me a-alone.”

He cocks his head to the side, “What? I d-d-don’t u-u-u-understand,” he responded, mocking me.

I opened my mouth to say something but I don’t want to give him more ammunition so I shut it again. My stutter had become something that I do feel insanely insecure about. I didn’t ask for it like I didn’t ask to have seizures all the time. Over the last couple of weeks my family have gotten used to it but I haven’t. I hate it.

“W-what g-g-got n-nothing else t-to s-say?” He asked. I shake my head; what did I ever do to him to make him hate me so much? I can’t think of anything.

Maybe it was because I got some stuff on his carpet when I had a seizure at his house….

Maybe I’m not pretty enough or smart enough…

Maybe he’s lashing out because I scared him…

What did I do?

I must’ve done something, right?

I can feel the tears pricking at my eyes. I turn away from him as a tear slips down my cheeks making the boy erupt into laughter as I walk away.

Why does that have to happen to me?

I soon found my mom. I hide my now tear stained face for her as we pick up the rest of what we came for then paid.

We found where my mom had parked the car and loaded out shopping into the trunk. When we were loading in the items my mom caught sight of my face. She stopped what she’s doing to look at me.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, confused. She had only left me alone for not even five minutes.

“N-nothing,” I muttered, defeated. I placed the last few items in then jumped into the passenger's seat. My mom soon joined me and turned in her seat to look directly into me.

“Ri?”

“C-can w-w-we g-go h-home p-p-please?” I ask.

“You don’t wanna go get food?”

I shook my head. “N-not h-h-hungry.”

“Okay,” She murmured and turned away from me to put the keys into the ignition. Thankfully she doesn't ask anymore questions on the drive home.

Does my mom and the rest of my family wish I had died too?

I’m in the garage, my fist is connecting with the hung up punching bag again and again. My knuckles stung as they made contact. I cried out in pain, frustration, annoyance as I continue to beat the shit out of the bag until my knuckles start to bleed unbeknownst to me right now.

Stupid.

Freak.

Useless.

You should’ve died.

Ben’s words echoed in my head mixed in with my own thoughts. Both my hands continue to make contact with the bag only making the wounds that now little red my knuckles worse. I. Hate. Everything!

Why can’t I be normal?

Why did I have to get the fucked up brain?

Why can’t I just be like everybody else?!

I kept hitting the bag. Each question I came up with makes me hit harder. Harder and harder. I went to hit the bag again but someone’s hand clamped around my one wrist and pulled me away from the bag. I went to hit it again with my other hand but someone came to stop in front of me.

“Riley, stop!” I looked up to see my brother looking down at me with concern written all across his face. “Just stop,” he said quietly.

I yanked my arm out of his grasp then looked down at my now bloody knuckles. I had barely felt it.

“What’s wrong?” Josh asked, prompting me to look up at him.

“I-I s-s-s-stutter.”

“That’s okay,” he reassured.

“N-n-no i-i-it’s n-not! I-I s-s-stutter -a-and h-h-” I paused for a minute. Why can’t I just speak normally?! “H-have s-seizures.”

“That’s not your fault. It doesn't matter. Riley, what happened?” he asked, “This isn’t like you.”

I took a moment to figure out what I’m going to say in the hope that it would make a difference. “I r-r-ran i-in t-” I paused again; my strategy was making no difference whatsoever. The stutter lives on.

Josh placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Take your time.”

He doesn't understand that I don’t want to take my time. I want to be able to have a conversation without it taking forever to say just one word. “I r-ran i-i-in t-to B-B-Ben,” I explain.

His face fell. My family all knew about what Ben had done; how spiteful he is. “What did he do?” I can tell that he’s angry but he’s trying to hide it from me. I don’t answer his question; afraid of annoying him more with my answer or because how long it will take for me to tell him. “Ri?”

“I-it d-doesn’t m-m-m-matter.”

“It does,” he insisted. I shook my head and tried to walk past him and into the house but he moved to block my path. “Talk to me,” he encouraged.

I sigh. He’s going to find out one way or another. “H-he s-s-said t-t-t-t-that i-i’m a-a f-freak a-and t-t-that I s-should h-h-have d-d-died.”

I see anger flashed across my older brother’s face because he takes on a more somber expression. “You know none that is true, right?” I don’t answer and choose to flick my gaze down to the floor. “Ri?

“H-he s-s-said t-that you w-w-would all b-be b-b-better o-off,” I tell him. I can feel the hot tears pricking at my eyes once again.

“Ri-”

“L-l-like I s-said i-i-it d-doesn’t m-m-matter,” I interrupted, matter of factually. I then moved around Josh and back into the house before he could respond. I don’t want to talk about it. There’s no point.

I just reach the stairs. I stay standing at the bottom when I see Casey come out of her bedroom and approach the top of the stairs. I wait patiently for her to walk down them. She raises an eyebrow when she reaches the bottom and see’s my bloody knuckles.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say, as I push past her, up the stairs and into my bedroom. Ben’s words continue to echo in my head. I’m angry, upset and I need to let my anger out somehow and so without thinking I decide to take it out on my wall.

My first makes contact with the concrete wall and I immediately feel a fiery pain lacing through my hand. I’m not sure if my stomach flips because of the sight of my quickly swelling, bloody knuckle or it’s something else.

I’ve been good with blood but I quickly decide that laying down is probably a good idea. I take a pillow off my bed and put it on the floor near where my head will lay, deciding if this is a seizure that going on the floor is better so I don’t fall off the bed. I carefully lower myself down and lay on my side with my head resting on the pillow. My stomach flips again and my arm begins to tingle.

Oh no.

I feel sick but I know that I need someone to come and help me. I’m scared; I’m really scared because of what happened last time.

I open my mouth and scream, “Josh!”

I hear footsteps pounding up the stairs and just a second later my door is pushed open. He kneels down beside me. “Are you going to have a seizure?” he asked me calmly.

I simply nod in response to his question. “It’s another shaky thing,” I say as I try to breathe through the nausea. My voice is slightly slurred and everything doesn’t really make sense anymore.

I start to try and squirm away. I don’t really understand why I’m on the floor. “Just try and relax, Ri. It’s okay.

The last thing I hear is my brother reassuring me that everything is okay as the word fades to black.

** I’ve just arrived back at the palace. I’m pretty sure my parents and husband followed behind me in a separate SUV. Discharging myself probably wasn’t the best idea but I didn’t want to be there anymore. Sitting alone in that horrible little room wasn’t helping me.

I walk through the halls towards the apartment. I pass Maxwell and Drake on the way...Since when do they hang out together? Anyway, I ignore them and continue on my way.

I unlock the door and slam the door behind me and head straight into the living room. I nearly jump out of my skin when I see my brother sitting on the couch.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He stood up and walked closer to me where I’m standing in the doorway. “Is this a game to you?” He asked me, an unusual bite in his tone. “You can not play with your health like this, Riley. You fuck up and there are real like consequences…”

“Josh,” I said, interrupting his lecture.

He holds up a hand, “I’m not done. Listen to me; you’ve promised mom and dad, you’ve promised Liam and all your friends that you're going to stop putting yourself at risk like this and take your medication. You know what will happen if you keep doing this. People rely on you, people need you-”

“No one needs me!” I yelled cutting him off, “I am fucking useless, Josh! Y-you can’t understand! You don’t live in constant fucking fear that you’re going to have a seizure. You don’t have a fucking disorder that makes you feel utterly useless or like your sick and need looking after. You don’t have to reassure people multiple times that you're fine before they even consider leaving you alone...You didn’t basically ruin your partner's dream of having a kid…”

“Ri?” he interrupts.

“Just leave me alone,” I ordered as I set off toward my bedroom. I slam the door with an almighty bang. When is everyone going to stop treating me like I’m a baby?

#my story #tw; seizure #tw coma #tw blood #tw pregancy loss #the royal romance #trr #choices trr #trr liam #trr riley #riley brooks #liam x riley #wacky drabbles #tw bullying #tw panic attack

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naoyatoudo · 4 years ago

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i need to rant about how zzs was treated in shl hold on spoilers for the end of the drama

still pissed. i hate HATE HATE that zzs was shoved to the side and became the little side piece to wkx’s story of revenge. hello? he’s the MC. ZZS is the MC. WKX is the ML. this is not the wkx story this is the zzs story, literally, he is the main character. why does he just drop back into the background at some point, shoved into a corner, used only to make wkx look good? hello? how the fuck is it that he was captured and tortured for days but no one asks after him or shows much care when he comes back...........it just goes to wkx’s stupid plan that he DOESN’T TELL ZZS ABOUT? HELLO?

and after wkx “dies” no one even thinks to keep an eye on zzs despite him literally trying to commit suicide to follow after him before. how the fuck could they just leave him alone?? and then even when zcl and jby and wx learn about him taking out the nails they just are like. ok bye :) at least zcl cries but THE FOCUS IS STILL ON WKX??????????? THE ENTIRE FUCKING TIME OUTSIDE LIKE 5 MINUTES??? AND WKX OF COURSE HAS THIS WEIRD OOC MOMENT AND LIES TO ZZS AND ACTS LIKE ZZS DESERVES IT AS IF HE HASNT LIED TO ZZS MULTIPLE TIMES NEAR THE END DESPITE THE FACT THEY HAVE A WHOLE THING ABOUT NOT LYING TO EACH OTHER BUT WHATEVER. HAHA. WHO CARES RIGHT? AS LONG AS WKX LOOKS SYMPATHETIC AND GOOD! FUCK. IT’S SO OBVIOUS THE SCRIPTWRITER HAS A WKX BIAS IT MAKES ME FEEL ILL.

I’M SO ANGRYYYYYYY HOW ZZS WAS TREATED LIKE SHIT IN THIS. LIKE GREAT SO YOU TOOK AWAY HIS DECISION WITH HIS LIFE TO SACRIFICE YOUR OWN SO HE’D LIVE FOREVER AND TRAPPED ON A MOUNTAIN AND CAN ONLY EAT SNOW. ALONE. FOREVER. HOW KIND OF YOU. IT’S NOT LIKE YBY HAS A WHOLEEEEEEE EXTRA ABOUT HOW MISERABLE THAT IS OR ANYTHING IN THE NOVEL RIGHT? FUCK OFF. HOW DARE YOU DRAMA WKX.

NOT TO MENTION HOW THE COSTUMES AND MAKEUP WERE CLEARLY HIGHER QUALITY FOR WKX...LIKE REALLY? REALLY?????/ ASIDE THE NEW YEARS ONES IT’S SO STARK HOW MUCH MORE MONEY WENT INTO WKX’S LOOK. AND THE AMOUNT OF TIMES WE HAVE TO SEE THE SAME STUPIF FUCKING FLASHBACKS OF WKX YES I KNOW HIS PAST YES I GET IT I DONT NEED TO SEE IT EVERY EPISODE 3 TIMES.

THE NOVEL. IS ABOUT. ZZS. IT’S ABOUT HIM LEARNING TO MOVE ON AND SPEND HIS LIFE FREELY. WITH HIS OWN DECISIONS. AND BE HIMSELF. SINCE HE COULDN’T DO ANY OF THAT WHILE STUCK SERVING THE EMPEROR (PRINCE HERE, WHATEVER). AMAZING HOW WKX TAKES THAT AWAY FROM HIM AT THE END OF THE DRAMA AND IT’S PLAYED AS GOOD AND ROMANTIC. WKX’S REVENGE PLOT IS IN THE BACKGROUND AND IN THE END HE LITERALLY /LITERALLY/ CHOOSES TO LIVE SO HE CAN BE WITH ZZS. THERE IS NO SACRIFICE ON HIS PART. ZZS DOES NOT GET INVOLVED IN HIS SHIT EXCEPT TO SAVE HIM AT THE END. ZZS LITERALLY STATES WKX’S PLOTS ARE HIS OWN AND HE HAS NO RIGHT TO BUT IN IN THE NOVEL.

WHY DID YOU WRITE ZZS LITERALLY THE OPPOSITE OF WHO HE IS? I GET CHANGING THINGS TO MAKE HIM PALATABLE FOR A WIDER AUDIENCE BUT COME ON. AND HIS CRYING AND SIMPERING..LIKE..>???????????? EVEN THEN FINE. BUT THEN YOU TURN HIM INTO A SIDE PIECE WHO JUST IS THERE FOR WKX TO LOOK GOOD. I AM SSSSSO MAD AND I’M GLAD APPARENTLY CHINESE FANS ARE TOO (?) . he deserved better. he did not deserve to be cast aside so the limelight can be on wkx. i feel so bad for zzs and for his ACTOR because even with the actos everyone is soooo focused in wkx’s actor.

wkx’s actor did well don’t get me wrong, glad he is getting attention, but zzs’ actor did really well too.......ugh. the way people are so into wkx and just use zzs as a piece for him even in fics now..like whya re so many fics zzs crying over wkx dying or being a comfort for an upset wkx?? zzs is the one who is literally in pain every single day, was literally tortured and betrayed, lost EVERYONE from his sect, and the whole shit show with wkx’s fake death HE WASN’T TOLD WAS FAKE. SO HE HASTENED HIS DEATH. but no it’s all about wkx and wkx’s emotions right? fuck off.

i’m gonna write so much stuff for zzs. im gonna write jby noticing zzs is upset and confronting and comforting him. for a supposed best friend in the drama he didn’t do fucking much. idk why wx and jby were even there, in the novel they cure him but here they just. what give him medicine so he can live an extra week? wow great.

im so sad we didnt get to see all the things zzs thinks in the novel that show how affected he is by everything and how traumatized he is. i hate how they made his shizun this friendly father figure when he was a rough person who died and left everything for zzs to handle alone at FIFTEEN. i hate how they made zzs the prince’s cousin for NO FUCKING REASON when zzs was just some guy from a family in the jianghu who befriended the prince to help his sect survive.

why is it the series starts off well and with zzs as the mc and switches at some point to be the wkx show? i still like wkx but im so........disappointed. im so disappointed if my rants didnt say it enough ufbhvndskm, especially how the other characters dont notice how upset or pained zzs is at any point?? how the fuck did jby not??? amazingly zcl is the best with it...T__T

also why is it they fight constantly and even though zzs is literally right usually wkx is the sympathetic one and they never talk it through zzs just kind of goes back over to him and they act like normal?? hello??? yeah, uh, zzs was RIGHT. INNOCENT PEOPLE WERE LITERALLY BEING KILLED FOR WKX’S PLAN. YES ZZS WAS RIGHT. IT’S HIS LIFE IF HE WANTS TO JUST DIE FROM HIS WOUNDS AND NOT LOSE HIS MARTIAL ARTS HE CAN. does no one remember in the novel when wkx tries to destroy his martial arts zzs stops him with a “if anyone should understand, it’s you..” and wkx just stops and says “yes...i..i understand...” and respects zzs’ wishes???

what were their other stupid fights? oh yeah zzs again saying innocent people die and oh look he was right again. when wkx betrays zzs’ trust and does his fake death without telling him zzs doesnt even get mad at him. meanwhile wkx raged at him for choosing his own path in life that wkx didnt want...right, that’s good. then the fucking end with wkx saying it’s his turn to lie to zzs like he didnt before. i would punch wkx into the ground for that. fuck you asshole, are you kidding me with this shit??

also why did it take so long for zzs to realize who wkx is in the drama?? in the novel they figured each other out right away almost... why is zzs weaker physically and not as smart.. T_T and he took his disguise off earlier so the fangirls wouldnt have to deal with the “ugly” (wasnt even ugly) look...i know it would never have happened but i feel like wkx’s reaction to his real face was kind of understated. i’ve already said i dislike the shidi-shixiong thing but i do get why they did it so whatever.

im mostly mad about how zzs was picked up, slapped around, and thrown outside.........

scriptwriter why do you hate zzs.......?

#rant

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wak-after-dark · 5 years ago

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Still not able to come up with an argument about the Epilogue treating Gamzee (the murderous corpse molester) better than Jade (sat around for 3 years with depression only to have a dog dick and then be abandoned by her friends) huh? Guess you're just an idiot and willingly sucking Hussie's dick for a job at Whatpumpkin down the line. Maybe write some incest porn like IPDG and you'll get hired.

Wow get a load of this guy.

Okay I should probably just delete your comments and not give you the time of day, but you’ve been periodically sending me this kind of ask, and I really have to ask, do you really, really believe you’re someone with some sort of Moral High Ground right now? Like I’m not even defending the Epilogues as masterpieces or trying to shove them down people’s throats. I am literally just enjoying the content the WP Team put out and talking about it, and you come to my Inbox, to spew this accusatory nonsense and flinging insults. If you can’t read the Epilogues in a positive manner, and think they’re dogshit, sure, go ahead, but you’re like, trying to act like I’m some sort of brainwashed sheep and you’re trying to make me see the light. Also “Still not able to come up with an argument“ very passive-aggressive there, I have talked about the Epilogues, my opinions and takes on them, and how I feel about the way they deal with characters at LARGE here, if you haven’t bothered to look for the info, and the several responses to some of your asks, then don’t blame me for it. But sure. Let me talk about every single point you JUST mentioned here like some sort of big Masterpost, and when you don’t agree with my point either way, stop fucking harassing me on Anon, seriously you alone have been making me consider turning anon off entirely, which all things considered may just be the healthiest option I could consider, but here I am!

Okay let’s begin with Homestuck proper. Gamzee is a Villain. He’s framed as such, people have constantly shown backlash against his character because he’s got fans that would like to see him redeemed, since a good chunk of his story happens with him brainwashed or mind-altered in some sort, but every time he’s shown to go back to doing awful things and killing people. He abuses Terezi, kills Karkat, and gets killed by Kanaya in return in one Timeline, and in another he gets locked up in a fridge, ends up in Caliborn’s planet, and trying to serve his Lord just gets beaten up, shot, left half-dead, until his final appearance in which he gets cut in half and absorbed into Lord English. Then, the Epilogues happen, and he becomes the butt of a joke about undeserved redemption arcs. His very existence in Candy is a joke that he’s not worth redeeming, actually, but tries to force himself to ‘seem’ like he has, despite ruining Dirk’s funeral, making Jake and Tavros’ lives miserable, supporting a Fascist ruler, taking advantage of a potential minor, and it all ends up with him being choked, killed, and his corpse being used as a Weekend at Bernie’s joke. Like... Is that really what you consider ‘good treatment of a character’? He gets away with a lot of bullshit, but he’s like. Constantly, and consistently, shown to be unpleasant, gross and awful. Like. He’s an awful person, and a comic relief, that does fucked up shit for most of his appearance, and I am not sure how any of this can be read in any sort of positive light. I’ve seen Gamzee fans MAD at how much he gets shat on.

Meanwhile, let’s take Jade. A huge theme of her character, sadly, is loneliness and isolation. I dislike that, like many Jade fans. She’s forced into depressingly helpless situations where she lacks agency or control over her own body, or the situation she’s in, and it’s shown affecting her greatly. I want my girl to be happy as well. So when the Epilogues came, and had her getting Callie-possessed, that was bad, it was like, AGAIN she gets the shaft. I want her to be happy and do what she wants to do and be badass with her powers! But- Oh wait, none of that is what you’re complaining about!!! You keep insisting on the Dog Dick instead of any of the genuinely heartbreaking things that happen to her. Jade has a dog dick. It is mentioned once in the entire Epilogues. It mildly affects her desire to have a child with Dave, but she doesn’t even shown herself that broken up about it, and had been looking about potential alternatives, even having Rose as a surrogate. There’s not a single joke made in the Epilogues about her HAVING a dog dick, nor any sort of isolation that happens as a product of her genitalia. Is it a weird choice to canonize that headcanon? Yeah! It kind of is! But this is also a reality where Obama and Dirk make out. And if someone is uncomfortable about Jade having a dog dick, or doesn’t like her being more openly sexual, then that’s fine!!! If they have a transphobic read on Jade, that’s fine!!! You can dislike it, and Homestuck, and the Epilogues, and the writers! But I, as a trans woman myself, and one who’s horny on main a lot of the time, liked the freedom Jade expressed to just do whatever she wanted with new partners on Earth C, and her seeming acceptance and lack of conflict at just, having junk. She does fuck up with Dave and Karkat, because she pushes them a bit too hard, specially Karkat, trying to use the Quadrant System to insert herself in a Black relationship. In Candy, this culminates with political tensions breaking Karkat away from the triad, which is bad for everyone involved. But in Meat, Jade states that they can tell her to just stop and she will, because she genuinely likes both Karkat and Dave, but their feelings are too deeply bottled and complex to just come to light. Does this put some tension in her relationship with them? Yeah! Does this ISOLATE her from her friends? No! Karkat and Dave DO still wanna hang out with her even if she’s a bit too much. John and Jade apparently chat online a bunch, and Jake seemed to have a good relationship with Jade before the whole Jane thing. She is close enough with Rose and Kanaya that Rose considered the surrogate mother thing. She has friends and ties! The major things that happen to isolate her is, Karkat leaving- Caused by Jane’s rise to power- Dave dying- Caused by Ultimate Self Timeline Shenanigans- And being possessed by Callie- All things outside of her control. I want her to get her agency back, but beyond that, her, as a person on Earth C, was not abandoned by her friends, and your obsession over her dog dick as a root of her issues and the bad stuff that happens to her says more about you than about the Epilogues in my opinion.

Guess you're just an idiot and willingly sucking Hussie's dick for a job at Whatpumpkin down the line. Maybe write some incest porn like IPDG and you'll get hired.

You know what? Yeah I would love to have a role at WhatPumpkin. Because I’ve seen the people working at it do other things, and I’ve seen their passion for Homestuck. The people currently doing Homestuck love Homestuck, and this is not up for fucking debate. As for the incest porn thing? Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, and a thousand fucking times fuck you. Once again, trying to get some stupid moral high ground mentioning incest. “Oh look at me, I am criticizing someone for something they wrote years ago”, is how you actually sound, and that’s only on the surface. V from Homestuck was never confirmed to be ipgd. V got harassed, and ‘doxxed’ by dubious sources and, I believe, Kiwifarms shit was going on at that time, so that was extremely shady and shitty. And the result of them being equated ended with ipgd being told to kill themself because of old fic they’d written, which, GUESS WHAT, was actually a critic to the way Incest was extremely popular in Fanfic back then, written by ipgd themself, a god damn survivor of that same bullshit they wrote about!!! Congratulations! THAT is the kind of bullshit people like you pull. You just cling to some idea of what’s right and wrong, and end up hurting real people that’ve gone through real shit, instead of considering nuance to your actions and thinking that, HMM, PERHAPS I SHOULD NOT HARASS SOMEONE ON THE INTERNET BECAUSE THEY DID SOMETHING I DON’T LIKE OR HAVE AN OPINION I DON’T AGREE WITH! But nah, let’s go send death threats to people we don’t like, riiiiiiight????

My fandom wish for homestuck 2 is the characters are treated with respect but since every single one of the new authors hate women and only want dirk and jake as well as Dave and Karkat to fuck on screen while Vriska gets comphet child raped by gamzee why bother lol.

Like, I don’t even know what to say. Have you seen like... The rest of the work the WP Team is doing with Homestuck stuff? Addressing actual issues? Doing right by the characters? Acknowledging their fucked up stuff while also showing them in positive lights? A good chunk of the Team, too, is queer? Like if they were all cis straight dudes I could see your complaint but they just. Aren’t??? At all???? Even Taz, who’s probably the biggest Dirk-Jake fan around, absolutely wants the best for other characters, yes, Jade and Rose included, you are just too jaded and blinded by your perception of the Epilogues. Vriska and Gamzee... Yeah that’s iffy. I am not going to defend that, whether it was a mistake with the ages or it was just Gamzee being more awful, that was extremely nasty. There’s also like, suicide and abuse and dictatorship in the Epilogues though. All of this shit that happens is awful, but also it’s not PROMOTING it or saying it’s a good thing? It’s... Fucked up. Comphet though, I dooooooooo want to elaborate on that, because, while I do like the reading of Vriska as being more into women, she does show a near-consistent fascination for Nic Cage and, then, ARquius as someone with a similar aesthetic? Like don’t get me wrong, Vris-Rezi is absolutely the way to go and the healthy thing for Vriska, but also I am not 100% sure if you can gloss over every single one of her relationships with guys as Comphet? (Compbi? Since it’s Trolls) Not to say it justifies anything with Gamzee, that was just nasty. But I feel there’s nuance to talk about Vriska’s sexuality.

Hussie doesn't like his fans or care about Homestuck, how you can read the Epilogue and say the opposite it honestly insane and a complete bold faced lie. Any author that cares about their work would read someone demanding a character be given a dog dick and say no. Any author who cares about their work and their fans wouldn't have released such a purposely bad and painful epilogue and then demand payment for a resolution. Just give up. That's the moral of Homestuck. Give up. It's pointless.

Nah man, you’re just jaded and hurt and projecting. Hussie and the WP Team love Homestuck. It would’ve been so fucking easy to just stop doing Homestuck and move onto something, not even release an Epilogue. It’s like when Homestuck ended. People accused Hussie of a rushed ending with Act 7 back in the day, of disliking Homestuck and the Fans, of having just wrapped it up quickly, but like... If you want to wrap Homestuck up quickly... There were a million fan theories and endings out around that would’ve been so much simpler, easier and basic than what we got. The fact we got Act 7 and all it entailed, the shit the characters go through the Epilogues, of course a lot of awful shit happens, but like... Precisely? If you’re tired of doing something, you just wrap things up. You don’t set up new plot points and mess with the characters and push a new narrative outlook on something. This is the work of an experimental team that still do love the content and characters. Again, you return to the fucking Dog Cock like it’s the biggest sin the Epilogues commit. You haven’t even mentioned Jane’s fascism a single time, but you’ve mentioned Jade’s Dog Fucking Cock like fucking twenty times. Who the fuck cares about what sort of junk Jade has, the Epilogues themselves barely even care, it’s mentioned in the passing and it hardly affects a THING at all. You ask me how I can ‘read the Epilogues and see the opposite of what they say’, and I ask you the exact same thing, because despite all the awful things that happen, Rose and Kanaya keep fighting against tyranny in Candy. Kanaya realizes she’s been brainwashed and chases after Rose because she’s NOT giving up on her wife. Roxy explores their gender identity and finds new things about themself. Karkat gets to live his rebel leader dreams in one Timeline, although with a bitter split from Dave, but ends up together in a proper relationship in Meat. John’s arc in Candy about feeling isolated from a world that seems fake, before realizing his nihilism has hurt the people he cares about and wanting to fix it. Jake’s morale of ‘better late than never’, working up the courage to take Tavros away from Jane- And in HS^2, working as a double-agent trying to sabotage Jane from within? Jane’s been shown at her worst in candy, but in Meat she’s shown to still be redeemable, and that’s exactly what the team’s aiming to do, too.

Like... I can see all the bad stuff that happens. And I find the reactions of the characters to these awful situations are interesting, and the political conflict among friends and the pushing forward in such a dark situation, resonates with me, personally, and some of my own experiences? Not to say, the Epilogues are a Game Over scenario? They are a low point. HS^2 sets up to be the high point. Like... When Game Over happened, a lot of people were like “Welp, Hussie just killed everyone, lol, guess he just got tired of Homestuck”, despite the Retcon Powers being there as the obvious solution. Epilogues, lots of shit happen, and similarly there’s still like a hundred ways to build up from there to a satisfactory resolution? Storytelling can have low points you know. It hurts when it’s characters you care about, duh, specially when it plays into the weaknesses they already acknowledged but fell into again despite themselves. I see why so many people would dislike them and take a more negative vibe from them than they actually convey. But I am still baffled as to why people like you feel entitled to shit on the WP Team and send harassment and insults to people who do enjoy them. You’re not helping anything. You’re not doing anything good. You’re just being a dick.

As for the “demand a payment for a resolution”, they didn’t demand anything? I will be the first one to say that I don’t like the Extra Bonus for 5 bucks, and think it would be better if the Bonus got released like, a month or two after it has for Patrons, an ‘early access’ scenario like I do with my Patreon. And I hope they change this. But aside from that??? The Patreon is optional to support the creators because, it’s not just Hussie, it’s a big team, and they’re also using the Patreon to help them with other projects like Pesterquest and Hiveswap, because we live in a capitalistic hell world and need money to be able to pursue passion projects. The main updates every month- And twice a month starting February- Are completely free for people to read, still, the paywalled content still circulates around the community despite being paywalled, and other paid projects like, Pesterchum, for their scope and the amount of fun they’ve given me, they’re super cheap and worth it.

You ask me how I can ‘see the opposite the Epilogues say’, you tell me that I am an ‘idiot sucking Hussie’s dick for a job at WP’, you act like I am scum and brainwashed and there’s literally no reason why I should ever like something you don’t.

You know what I am though? I am happy and excited about the things I’ve been given! I am happy with the representation I’ve seen the Team push lately. I’m happy with the way the characters have been treated in Pesterquest and have high hopes for HS^2. And I am interested in the events of the Epilogues, while acknowledging that of course a lot of fucked up shit happened in them.

Back when the Epilogues happening and I was reading them, I was reading Candy at like 4 AM and was LOVING the fucked up-ness of the Timeline and wondering what may happen in Meat. I got a PM from a friend asking me to make a channel in a server I’m in, to quarantine Epilogues Discourse, and was genuinely confused as to why there was Discourse going on. I went through the rest of Candy and Meat with some dread waiting for some ball to drop and something to turn really controversial, and I finished them still enjoying them? Obviously there was a lot of awful shit. Obviously there was a lot of things people wouldn’t like. Obviously they were tales that likely alienated a chunk of the Fandom that was looking for a happy ending. But honestly, the unbridled fury and subsequent harassment of people over them is just plain embarrassing. It was confusing then, and it’s even more confusing now, well over half a year since their release, and still sending random Tumblr Blogs this kind of bullshit.

So there you go! All of your questions and your bullshit, answered! Now let’s get this out of the way: You’re not going to like my answer, you’re not going to agree with a majority of what I just said, you’re not going to CARE about any of what I just said. Spare me the fucking asks and anon hate. Just move on and do something productive with your time.

#Homestuck #Epilogues #Discourse #HSE #After Dark #Anon Hate #Long Post #Longpost

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