#this was done for a long time and I just remembered it exists whoops
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ivorada · 19 days ago
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missing star
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bigassmoonchild · 1 year ago
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Tears
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' x Reader
Word Count: 2.2k
Summary: You'd never seen Simon cry. He was the scary Ghost, and Ghosts didn't cry. Maybe he had just grown too comfortable with you, because it didn't take long to be pushed back an arms length.
Content Tags: Fluff, Simon Simping, Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Reader Simping, Crying, Senseless Worry, Fear, Fear of Death, Thoughts of Death (NOT suicidal ideation), Hurt/No Comfort, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha! Ghost, No Use of Y/N
A/N: I am so sorry about being awol this week, my heart condition and migraines have whooped my ass. I wasn't expecting how this would turn out, but I enjoy it a lot. Mostly internal thoughts, some interactions here and there. Anyways, here's part 15!
Part 1 | Previous, Next | Headcannons, Masterlist
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The few days you spent back home, it was slowly getting better. Your father had accepted Simon, your mother was spending a lot of her time doting on you and Simon, but Clint was still gone. Nowhere to be seen, no one had heard from him.
Arthur still stayed quiet, but you remembered him as the gentle boy he once was. He'd always been that way, especially after everything your father had done when he presented. No one talked about it anymore, but your brother still stepped on eggshells around everyone.
Simon had grown to enjoy spending time with the pack pups, reminiscing on his time with Price's own. Even then, he'd never considered that he would have any of his own. It was terrifying. Clair had pulled him away, baring her teeth and threatening a few different deaths if he'd so much as hurt you.
How dead he'd be if she knew.
And that's all he could think about, watching as Clair doted on her own Omega. Watching as she loved and cared for her pups. Seeing her act like an amazing Alpha, one he'd never thought he would be. Him? Someone's Alpha? It scared him, even so long after it had occurred.
His mind was constantly warring with itself, the old him trying to get him to run, dump his savings onto you and disappear into the wilderness. The other part of him, though, saw you as you existed. In the mornings, hair a mess and eyes still tired. After sex, your eyes slightly glazed over and skin heated.
He could see you, puffy eyed as you admitted your fears to him that first night back. He heard the sobs you gave him, oh so many time.
Simon saw the fire in your eyes as you snapped on him.
And he loved you all the more for it. You were his Omega, his precious mate. What he could consider the love of his life. And yet he looked at you, admiring your older sister with a look in your eye that seemed almost... regretful.
It was then that he really thought. Deeply, on all the past conversations. He had seen a similar regret in your face while driving back to the hotel, eyes still puffy from the crying.
Price, speaking with him one night. "How many people would wish to be mated like that?" Price had once asked him. "She is living, breathing and eating with a man she does not know. You can't make this any more difficult than it is," but this had been the first few weeks of your mating.
Were the two of you still strangers? Or acquaintances now? He didn't even know your favorite color, let alone simple facts about you. And now, as he lay next to you, he feared that perhaps everything had gone too quickly.
Even as he felt your fingers grasping at his sleep shirt, feeling the press of your swollen belly against his side. Everything had happened so quickly, and he hadn't been there for the first, what? Six months? He knew, almost inherently, that it was a poor representation of him.
His Alpha groaned, baring it's teeth at the thought that he was a bad Alpha. Even as he stared at the ceiling, eyes cast over, thoughts prickling over everything. The distaste at the back of Simons throat was strange. His eyes burned, and he blinked his eyes clear.
What the hell? Tears?
Simon was able to get your hands untangled from his shirt, shifting out of bed carefully and finding his way to the bathroom. Shutting the door carefully, he flicked on the light and found his reflection staring at him.
The vision blurred, staring through himself rather than at. He couldn't see himself. Not Simon, barely Ghost, but rather the monster he often thought of in the midst of missions. A killer, someone who took lives, not create. He was a monster, claiming you without permission, and he could feel the heat of his tears pouring down his cheek.s
The door opened, and he couldn't think. Barely heard your voice, calling out, wondering why the hell Alpha smelled sour and was crying. Your arms wrapped around him, pressing a gentle kiss against his back.
You could feel the hiccupped breaths he was taking, you could see the distant look in his eyes through the mirror and his scent was horrid. It smelled purely of distress, pain, even hints of anger. Not the scent of Simon.
Grasping his hand, he followed mindlessly as you dragged him back into the main room, gently pushing him onto the bed. Standing between his legs, you ran your fingers through his hair.
"Simon," you whispered, carefully. "Love, what's wrong? Your scent is so strong, but it isn't you. What's wrong? Please, Simon," and you whispers continued. His eyes remained blank, gone. Even as thoroughly exhausted as you were, you could feel fear twinging in your gut.
You'd never seen Simon like this, but you'd seen soldiers coming back from intense battles who looked like this. Not your Simon, not him. No, maybe there'd be days that he would grow quiet and slightly distant, but he never looked like this.
Even as your hands found his cheeks, your lips pressing against his head, you heard nothing from him. You moved, reaching for the phone you'd tucked somewhere before collapsing into bed, and felt his hands grasp for yours.
His fingers entwined with yours, tugging you closer to him once more. Simons arms wrapped around you, his head resting against your chest. You could hear his sobs, muffled by your body, but you could feel his shoulders shaking.
Pressing your lips to the top of his head, you slowly rocked the two of you side to side. You stayed there, listened, held him. His sobs hurt you, nearly scared you. Such a strong man, an amazing Alpha, broken down into tears. And from what?
You thought, and thought, and thought. There was nothing, you realized, that you could think would cause this. You couldn't remember a thing that happened today that would make him break down. Maybe it had been Clint? Your family initially not accepting him, hurting him?
No. He wouldn't even think about that kind of thing. Sure, he'd had a reddened cheek for some time afterwards, but nothing that would cause him to cry this hard.
Your lips pressed against his head once more, squeezing your arms around him tighter. He sniffled, sobs breaking down into just some hiccups. You could feel your shirt wet, from his tears. You could see your silhouette from the light in the bathroom. The darkness wasn't all encompassing, not in the little hotel room you had.
It was like a gentle blanket, hiding the two of you from the rest of the world. You could feel Simon pull his head up, resting his chin against you while looking up. His eyes blinked long and slow, they were reddened and puffy. His skin was slightly blotchy, but pale from the near hyperventilation.
Neither of you spoke, your fingers brushing the stray tears away before cupping his cheeks. Pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, you gave him a little smile.
"What's wrong, Si?" You broke the silence and he shook his head. His eyes had closed, some more tears breaking free. He tried tugging you closer, your belly stopping you from getting as close as the two of you wanted.
It seemed funny to you. The pup, now seemingly forever separating the two of you just a little. More than you'd been prior to it's conception, it had now separated you. The closest you'd ever get to him would be looking in the same direction, just a step ahead of him. The pup would separate the two of you forever, maybe never gaining that distance back.
But you'd do it all for the loving smiles and little touches you got from him. You'd do it all again if it meant you'd stand right where you were, and you would never change your path. You'd take the same steps every single time if it meant you'd be standing where you were.
And you hoped he could feel it in the way you pressed your lips to his head, squeezed him a little tighter. You hoped he could feel it in the way your fingers ran through his hair, the way you'd always be right by his side.
Maybe he would never know. Even as he tugged you into bed, pulling your back to his chest and burying his face into the nape of your neck. Even while his fingers intertwined with yours, cupping the little pup resting just inches from your hands.
You could only hope, as the two of you woke, he understood how much you truly loved him as you helped clean his face up. Dried tears were a bitch, you knew. You could see the pain in the way his eyes shut a little tighter when the sun rose just a little more. You truly could only hope he would understand how much you loved him as you shut the curtains and curled back up into bed with him.
Maybe, just maybe he would realize how much you loved him while watching his interactions with the family pack pups. Seeing him allowing the little girls and boys paint his nails or play fight with him. Seeing how he treated your mother with such respect, allowing your siblings to do as they pleased to him.
And on the plane home, you could feel him squeeze your hand gently. "I truly love you, Simon," you whispered. "I wouldn't give up a single decision I've made," and he rested his head on yours. "If I had to do it all over, I don't think I'd do anything different," and you could feel his cheek shifting against your head.
"I love you, sweet Omega," he whispered in turn. "With all my heart, I truly mean it when I say I would do anything to make you happy," and his lips pressed against your head. You sighed deeply, allowing sleep to take over you.
Simons fingers brushed along your back, gently shaking you awake. You didn't want to go back, you realized. You wanted Simon all to yourself, maybe have a nice little home in the country. Maybe watch your pups just exist out where they wouldn't have to fear anything.
Keeping Simon to yourself, he would never almost die again. You would never lose each other to the trivial ideations of war. You'd never be given subsidies for his death, and you would never have to plan a funeral for the man you loved.
You wouldn't have to worry about anything if you were able to get him to retire. Maybe the two of you could open a shop, or a little clinic. Help people who needed it the most, ensure everyone was taken care of.
And in the car, you finally spoke up. "Will you stay in the military once the pup is born?" You asked, voice growing quiet. His eyes flashed over to you, his brows furrowed under the balaclava.
"What d'you mean?" He asked. "Obviously I'll get leave to be with the two of you, but I can't just leave my job," he spoke, carefully. You hummed, staring through the windshield.
You didn't look at him. "What if you die? The pup will never know you, it'd be safer to-"
"To what? Go work an office job?" He sounded surprised. "Lovie, working in the military gives me the money we'd need to take care of the pup. This is my life, I can't just drop it all of a sudden. Price is able to balance it all, I can't see why I won't," you looked at your hands, playing with your fingers.
"I'm just worried, s'all," you whispered and you could see him shake his head from your peripheral.
"You needn't worry, I've survived this long. I'm not leaving my job, not for..." he trailed off, not finishing his sentence. You could feel your chest tightening, the dream of the nice little home in the country vanishing just as quick as it had come.
He wouldn't give up his job. Not for you, not for a pup. You were dumb for even thinking it. The car was silent the rest of the drive, you had grabbed your bag as soon as he'd parked and walked yourself back onto the compound.
You would have a lot of work to catch up on, and Simon left you to be. You had entered your office, just staring at the sad little desk and papers stacked on it. You truly were stuck in this life, and you slowly grew to realize you didn't want to be just a doctor.
You'd signed up to be a combat medic, not sit safe and sound in the compound. Had you truly given up your dream? Just for an Alpha, and now his pup? Was this what it meant to be an Omega?
There was no one you would tell that you sat at your desk, door locked and quietly sobbing. You were just so tired, and you wanted to be heard. You knew, unconsciously, it was a big ask of him but you'd hoped, genuinely, that he might hear you out and understand.
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makemeimmortalwithahug · 5 months ago
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How Could You Think, Darling, I'd Scare So Easily?
Painland Week Day 2 - Myths/Legends
Charles/Edwin - post-canon
y'all remember how I said a few days ago that day 2 for @painlandweek was almost finished? Yeah,, when I went to bed two nights ago, this fic had 500 words. When I woke up again, I thought, hey, just write another 500 words and get back to it to flesh it out sometime later. Yeah, I finished this at 3am and it turned out to be *checks word count* almost 4000 words! Whoops?
Word count: 3726
ao3 link will be added
Title is from Hozier's "Francesca"
TW: body horror (Charles changing forms)
summary:
Hell has made them stronger together, Edwin is sure of that. It has, however, also made Charles anxious to leave Edwin alone for longer periods of time. When Charles doesn't return home for hours and neither Crystal nor Edwin know where he might be, everything leads to a familiar witch who wants to find out how strong the bond between the two ghosts really is when tested.
It had been exactly two months, three weeks and five days since they escaped Hell, found and lost enough to last another lifetime or two and realised the possibility of relative peace existed for them in the form of a trans-dimensional being who had never learnt what “tranquillity” even meant. Edwin agreed that most times, there was too much paperwork to be done to even try to achieve some peace of mind. 
For the most part, though, it was just an excuse. In reality, Edwin struggled with the idea that he could stop running now. After decades of looking over his shoulder, it took an immense amount of effort to direct his gaze at what’s in front of him.
Looking ahead now, all Edwin could see was the empty office, dust dancing over the furniture. The boxing gloves lay forgotten on a table near the entrance door and the football Charles always played with inside despite how much Edwin complained haphazardly rolled under the couch. Everything was still and that was only the beginning of the long list Edwin formulated in his mind of Things That Were Wrong.
Exhibit B: Charles was nowhere to be found. Which, while not particularly sitting right with Edwin, was not an unusual occurrence these days. Charles spent a lot of time with Crystal, helping her get used to her new flat or just keeping her company, watching movies. Crystal always made sure to extend her invitation to Edwin as well and he agreed every once in a while, sitting next to Charles on Crystal’s small but cosy couch, thighs touching. He also enjoyed his time spent with Crystal. She had grown on him and he was quite glad to call her his friend. Edwin lent her the detective novels he loved and in return he listened to what she called “podcasts” about psychology. 
But even so, he knew that the needling to “come over to hers with me, yeah, mate? The movie’s s'posed to be aces” was solely Charles’ doing because he did not like letting him out of his sight ever since Hell. This resulted in Charles excessively checking in on him via mirror every few hours, which most times was met by Edwin with a fondly annoyed eye roll. Edwin was quick to give in when confronted with Charles’ pleading eyes. It was not like he was any different in that regard. Spending time with them was no hardship whatsoever and Edwin had to admit that he found it quite sweet how Charles would look after him.
Which brought him to exhibit C: Charles had been gone for more than five hours and had not checked in on Edwin once in this time. Which had Edwin more worried than was probably warranted. Charles would be just fine, he was sure. He would just take a quick trip to Crystal’s and then he could calmly get back to his work for the Night Nurse. 
Edwin stood up and put the files under their paperweight. Mirror travel had been one of the most fascinating aspects of being a ghost. It required to be precise and focused while not putting any strain on his energy. It took just a fraction of a second until he found himself standing in the middle of Crystal’s living room.
“Holy fuck!” The resounding thump alerted Edwin to their psychic who was clutching her shoulder that she probably hit against the door frame she was currently leaning against, mouth twisted in pain and eyes wide with shock and irritation. “Edwin! How many times do we have to have this conversation until it sticks?”
“Yes, yes, no sudden mirror jumping into your room. I know.” Edwin pursed his lips, looking around. Better get to the point quickly.  “Is Charles here?”
“No, he isn’t. I don’t know where loverboy is, why?”
“He is not home either, has he said anything?”
Crystal flopped down on her couch. “Well, he said he wanted to come ‘round today to help me fix the sink but he didn’t show.” Reaching onto the coffee table for her phone, she checked the time. “Yeah, Charles said he’d be here around two.”
Edwin felt his stomach lurch in anxiety. It was half past five. A chilled silence filled the room as they looked at each other in question.
“Let me grab my jacket.”
“Doesn’t seem any different, right?” 
The agency lay completely untouched, nothing out of the ordinary. Normally, this would ease Edwin’s nerves, seeing as it was his sanctuary, his safe space along with Charles. Now, though, this also meant that there were no clues as to where Charles had gone. 
“Quite,” he agreed. Walking in circles around their desk, he eventually walked up to the window and peered outside. “Maybe there is something outside, he didn’t leave through the mirror.” 
They made their way downstairs, Crystal barely holding onto the railing to not slip on the steps in her hurry while Edwin simply opted to let himself fall through the floor to get to the entrance door as soon as possible. The night creeped in steadily, the shadows growing longer, twisting at their ankles. Their office was located a little off the beaten path, but not too far. When they first started flat-hunting, they were conscious that they had to balance on an incredibly fine line of finding a place just secluded enough to not bear the brunt of the daily London tourism but also don’t attract anyone who might be searching for lost places to scout out. 
This resulted in a beautiful view from their window but dark alleyways that led to seemingly nowhere, cobblestones streets with missing stones and cracks in them. The walls towered over them here, making it harder to distinguish the darkening sky from the roofs and edges. Their living neighbour had hung their bed sheets on the washing lines on the balcony and whenever Edwin blinked and tried to bring his eyes back into focus, they reminded him of David the Demon when they first exorcised him. 
It was dark, dirty and daunting. Nothing looked to be amiss. Except, of course, for the backpack that was sloped against the gutter. Edwin snatched it up and true enough: Charles’ bag of tricks. The straps showed various scratches and the top was stained. Decidedly not a condition Charles would leave his most prized possession in. Crystal was aware of this as well and carefully reached out to read it.
The few seconds that passed while Crystal’s eyes turned white and she stared into the distance were the most agitating of his existence.
Crystal gasped, letting the bag fall to the floor again, supporting herself on her knees. Edwin crouched next to her with his hands fluttering around her, not exactly knowing what he was supposed to do to help her. 
Resurfacing, she stood up again, shooting Edwin a small grateful smile that quickly blinked away again.
“Esther’s back,” she announced and tucked her jacket tighter around her. “She ambushed him here and took him.”
And Edwin’s world broke into pieces, shattering from the sky onto the puddle-ridden street and breaking the moonshine.
He didn’t say anything at first, every word vanished from his mind.
“I might know where they are, though. Or, I can find out.”
“How?” His voice sounded rough - harsh, but Crystal didn’t get angry. She knew that this was not borne of anger but sheer gripping despair.
“She had a business card on her and when Charles tried to defend himself, he caught a glimpse.”
This, more than anything, gave Edwin the determination needed to hoist the backpack onto his shoulder.
“Let us not waste any time, then. Do you think this internet you have might be of help?”
“For sure, Edwin,” she answered, petting his shoulder.
If Edwin hadn’t been out of his mind worrying about Charles, leaving him with sparsely any mental capacities to think about anything else, then he could have admitted that Coupeville, Washington was a tranquil but charming little town. With its little art stores and cafes, it gave a delightfully unassuming appearance.
Edwin hated every moment. For the sake of not leaving Crystal alone - he tried to silence the voice in his head that whispered you couldn’t take care of Charles either -, he had suffered through another flight, a ferry and multiple train rides. 
Crystal huffed as she dragged her suitcase up the stairs.
“She couldn’t have been less creative, huh? Relocating one ferry-ride away.” Which was true. Port Townsend could be reached in less than an hour. 
Personally, he could not care less whether she called this town or the bloody Empire State Building her home. All he cared about was getting Charles back as soon as possible.
They quickly checked into a hotel to get rid of the suitcase. Insisting that she had slept enough while travelling, they immediately headed to the address that Crystal had found out using the business card - a brewery. 
It must have been well visited only a few weeks ago, the dust had not properly set yet. But the lights were out and the doors were barricaded. Quickly nodding at Edwin, Crystal got on the way to find a window she could climb through while Edwin seized the opportunity to phase through the doors. Darkness enveloped him and he could not hear a single sound. 
He slowly made his way across the reception area, trying to get a feeling for how big the building really was and where Esther might have been hiding in here. If there was actually any connection to Charles’ disappearance and this place, anyway. But Edwin couldn’t stop and think about this very real possibility. 
Focusing on his surroundings, he noticed suspicious lines behind a grandfather clock on his left. And sure enough, upon examining them up close, there was a small door hidden behind it. Anxious excitement coursed through his body and he waited impatiently for Crystal’s arrival. 
“Searched for the entrance for celebrities, did you?”
“Shut it. Let’s move this clock.”
Despite taking a few tries, at last they found themselves faced with the entirety of the door. The handle was made out of iron, but Edwin didn’t hesitate to grab it despite the pain and the indignant screech Crystal let sound. 
“Are you out of your fucking mind? You might still need that hand.”
“Irrelevant and inaccurate, I won’t lose it by touching iron for a few seconds, do not be silly. And regardless, Charles does matter more right now.” He tried to hide the red swelling on his palm but he was not ignorant enough to think that Crystal actually hadn’t noticed.
“A plan is needed. I would suggest you wait here, in case Esther is not here and tries to surprise us.” 
“Alright.” Crystal nodded. “Don’t do anything stupid, yeah? Charles wouldn’t forgive anyone if you got hurt.”
Least of all himself went unsaid but they both heard it all the same. 
Edwin inclined his head, opened the door and went inside.
The room unfolding in front of him was surprisingly spacious but shockingly empty except for the enormous carpet. Sliding onto his knees, he felt the cloth and without a doubt: laced with magic. It was easy enough to counter the spell that acted as both a means to soundproof and seal without a lock whatever lay underneath it. 
Moving it aside, he was faced with a basement and without a second thought, jumped down.
Like a moth to a flame, Edwin’s eyes immediately found Charles in the completely dark room. 
“Charles,” he breathed, the name echoing off the walls like a prayer. 
Charles was slumped against the far wall, hands in cuffs mounted next to head which was lolling unoriented. When he finally looked up, Edwin was met with a disbelieving smile. But before Edwin could reciprocate, a look of blinding terror coloured Charles’ face pale.
“Edwin!” he hissed, pulling at his cuffs which brought tears to his eyes in pain. “Please, please leave, Edwin, she’s after you.” 
Edwin didn’t even think about leaving without Charles. All it took was the span of a blink and Edwin fell to his knees beside him, trying to find magical leeway for him to put the cuffs out of action, but to his dismay he realised that Esther had reinforced her strategy, not just opting for simple iron but also a curse. 
“What? What do you mean by that?” he asked, only half listening as he mentally flipped through all the knowledge he had on this kind of magic.
“She,” Charles began, coughing, “She said she was impressed that we escaped last time. She wants to get rid of me first and see how much it’d raise your pain level to drain you again. Put a curse on me too, in case you showed up.”
That got Edwin’s attention. “What?! Do you feel alright? What kind of curse?” 
“Eh.” Charles’ head lolled to the side again, as if he was losing consciousness. “She wants to try sacrificing me and if you tried to rescue me, I’d turn in all kinds of horrible beasts. Wouldn’t want to hold onto me then, she said. Wants to see how far you’d go.” 
“Charles, Charles!” Edwin held him by the shoulders, careful not to jostle him. “I’d go anywhere for you, do you understand? A curse is not going to stop me.”
But Charles was barely there anymore, teetering on the edge of oblivion. “S’ planned for t’morrow. I won’t blame you for letting go, mate, you were scared for so long, don’t need any more of that, yeah?” And then he fell into something close to sleep but what most likely resembled unquiet rest.
There was nothing he could do against the cuffs, not with no grasp on what exact kind of magic he was dealing with and no idea how much time he had left until Esther would show up.
Edwin put a hand to Charles’ cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold onto you, Charles, stay strong.”
With one last glance to his love, he began climbing back out of the basement.
Upon reading up on locations with magical and sacrificial history in Washington, Edwin concluded that their best chance was a secluded part of coastline, the stony beach along with the clear view of the sky providing the perfect atmosphere. 
Edwin and Crystal were hiding in the underwood, watching Esther where she was standing near the shore, when suddenly, something moved right in front of them. 
Crystal gasped. “Did- did the path just move?”
Quickly, he shushed her. “No, there is no path,” he whispered, “there is only the beach. That is a snake.”
True enough: a black snake slithered up to the ritual circle Esther had set up. This snake was even bigger than the one in Esther’s house in Port Townsend and tied to its back, there was Charles.
“Okay,” he said softly, “wish me luck.”
Consolingly, Crystal put her hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need luck. Go get him. I’ll deal with Esther.”
They stood up and sneaked closer. From a safe distance, Crystal started tapping into her powers. Edwin trusted her, therefore he turned to Charles straight away. 
Edwin had also found a remedy for the cuffs’ curse, which made it easy to pull him off, hugging him close and making it just far enough away to give Crystal the opportunity to handle the snake.
Tightening his arms around Charles, who was panting against his neck, it didn’t take long until he could feel Charles’ body morph. 
When Charles told him that he’d turn into various beasts, Edwin had thought about what he had been afraid of when he was still alive. After seventy years in Hell, any scary children’s story he had heard lost its appeal. When he was ten, his neighbour’s children had told him a story about Spring-heeled Jack who’d haunt the streets of London but also other areas of Britain. They told him about his terrifying looks with his claws, jumping at passersby to scratch them and then back into the night. 
Thinking back now, though, Edwin would gladly face a hundred variations of Spring-heeled Jack all alone if it meant that Charles would be safe and sound in their office come next morning.
“I’ve got you, Charles,” he mumbled. He didn’t respond and as Edwin looked up at him, he came face-to-face with a doll version of Charles, his eyes unseeing and mouth twisted in a numb smile, a hollow feeling to his body. Edwin could see his own face reflected in Charles’ eyes, unease boiling slowly under his skin. Where Charles’ hold on him had been strong and desperate only moments ago, now it was stiff and felt like porcelain. Edwin’s fear of dolls was real and tangible but he was far more scared of letting Charles go and shattering him on the stones.
He pressed Charles closer to him.
He stayed in this form for a while until Edwin felt a shift again. This time, Charles resembled the demon that had dragged Edwin to Hell. He was a familiar sight albeit an unpleasant one, so Edwin just put his forehead to Charles’ shoulder and waited it out, the haze around them slowly dissipating.
Next was the thing one of his demons had traded him to. He maintained that it was worse than a demon, for the simple reason that there were characteristics one could apply to a demon, it was possible to create a definition and know what to expect when one encountered a demon. This thing, however, was less a physical form and more a foreboding. The feeling deep in the bones that something horrible was imminent and no matter how hard one would try to work against it, failure was predestined. A looming presence - a threat. There was a voice in the back of the mind, whispering knowingly about every mistake he ever made and it was all your fault, right? Niko dying, Charles getting hurt, Crystal being dragged along to all of this, having been in Hell? But you don’t need me to tell you that, you already think so.
It was a sick trick and his only enemy in this was his own mind. But Edwin had grown, he had realised that thinking something didn’t have to reflect reality. And while he did blame himself for all these things from time to time, it was a passing sorrow. None of the people involved in these thoughts would want him to condemn himself and after his second time in Hell, Edwin had understood that he needed to show himself self-respect as well. Hell was an error Edwin had had no control over.
He did, however, have control over not letting Charles fear that he would be afraid enough to leave him. Because he was quite sure that underneath these appearances, Charles was conscious of what was happening and scared out of his mind.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “It’s alright.”
The fourth form was the spider-doll-demon. Its many arms were gripping Edwin’s back, the dolls’ heads pressing into his chest and neck. Edwin tried to slow his breathing. He spent more than seventy years running away from this demon and being so close to it was associated with blinding pain, being torn apart over and over again. 
Maybe now was the time to finally stop running and face his fear head-on. And so he looked straight at it, staring lovingly beneath its surface where he knew Charles was.
One second to the other, the demon was gone. There was no other figure, but Edwin still felt Charles’ presence and he tensed up at once, realising what this particular fear resembled: Charles was invisible, gone from his sight. No means for him to see him again, the only thing left for him to do was anxiously grip where Charles’ shoulders were supposed to be and not let Charles jerk away if he saw the horror on Edwin’s face. This was the only shape that compelled Edwin to screw his eyes shut. 
Time passed until he felt Charles change one more time. This was the only one not tailored specifically to one of Edwin’s fears and it showed him that he had been right in assuming where Esther had drawn her inspiration for this act from.
Charles resembled a burning coal, the heat licking at Edwin’s skin. He embraced him tightly, stood up with him and dragged him into the water. Below the surface, he could see Charles turning back into himself, his bright eyes the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Nothing had ever felt as right as holding Charles in his arms.
Bubbles appeared in front of Charles’ mouth even though he didn't need to breathe and Edwin erupted spontaneously into laughter at the ridiculous sight of Charles trying to speak underwater. Despite being in the water, he felt himself get teary-eyed. He didn’t even try to fool himself into thinking that they would not both be sobbing messes as soon as they resurfaced. But for now all he needed to do was drink in Charles’ smile.
Back on the shore, Crystal was busy brushing off her jeans.
“Boys!” she yelled as soon as she saw them, running towards them and pulling them both into a hug at the same time. “Esther’s gone, let’s hope for good.”
“Yeah,” Charles whispered, putting one arm around Edwin’s hips. 
Crystal pulled back, smiling knowingly but in a comforting way. “So glad you’re both alright. I’ll go check to make sure no one here accidently saw me fighting a huge snake and a witch. Meet me at the hotel, yeah?” With that, she walked back in the direction of the trees. 
Charles turned to Edwin, smiling shyly. “So, you kept holding me,” he stated.
“Nothing has ever been easier, Charles.” He put his hands on Charles’ shoulders again. They fit so well there.
They hugged once more.
“You know,” Edwin mused, playing with Charles’ hair, “it was like Tam Lin.”
“Mhh?” Charles mumbled, he sounded tired. “What’s that?”
“A legendary Scottish ballad. Not letting your love go, no matter what.”
“Oh.” Charles’ eyes were wide. “Does that one end in tragedy too?”
Edwin smiled. “No, it ends precisely like this.” And Charles’ smile was brilliant as he leaned in and kissed Edwin.
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acerathia · 1 month ago
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pink camellias || Chapter 6: morning glory
Chapter Summary:
morning glory: affection
Wordcount: 2.7k
Read on AO3 || Masterlist
Pairing:
Bakugou Katsuki / Reader
Tags/CW:
royalty au, inspired by Mulan, war and its consequences, violence, childhood friends to strangers to companions to lovers (i am sorry), Angst, Acts of Service, Character Death (Major, and Minor), swordfights, misogyny, f!reader, kidnapping, implied torture, let me know if I missed anything lol
Note:
anyway, i posted this days ago on ao3, but im too lazy for tumbs whoops, enjoy
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You had lost count of how many battles you fought through, no, rather you refused to count in the first place, the guilt of their existence more than enough for you. Still, you didn’t close your eyes to the situation, you kept your eyes wide open, making yourself remember what was happening in front of you, by your own very hands.
That meant that you fully realized what you were doing, yet never dared to stop the blade from cutting your way free. But your steady hand in battle did not mean your body didn’t lurch and shake afterwards, rather you only learned to push it farther away, to hide it into the corners of your body and to let it only fuel you afterwards.
Despite your ability to cope, you needed some time after each battle, just to sit in silence, to let yourself calm down, lest you swing a fist at someone approaching you. And at first, you sat alone, only your sword in one hand and a wheatstone in the other. Until the Captain started joining you, and you couldn’t outright walk away, as there was no other calm place beside this one. At least he had stayed quiet, not even greeting you when arriving there. So, in the end you allowed him to be there, allowed yourself to come down in his presence, only hearing the sharpening of two blades in the same space.
In a way, this meeting turned into checking each other, nodding to each other as a sign, ‘yes, i survived once again, and you did too’.
So, of course your goal in every single fight was to just sit there, just to survive another day. Even if it meant gritting your teeth and elbowing someone. A splatter against your cheek, and you ensure your life for another couple of minutes.
For a moment, you just stood over the person you had just fought, breathing heavily before you could resume the senseless battle. But before you fully regulated your breath sufficiently, you noticed a shadow looming behind you, and you barely managed to dodge the oncoming strike. Their blades missed your vitals, but it dug itself into the flesh of your thigh.
A hiss escaped you when they ripped their sword out of you, and you began to retaliate before they got ready for another attack. It didn’t take long for you to dispose of them, but longer than you had anticipated. By the time you were done with them, your own blood had soaked through your pants. You cursed and shifted your weight, as more blood seemed to pour out of you the more you used that leg.
Without another choice, you slowly retreated. But you were aware that you might not make it back to the camp in time, much less all by yourself. So, you did leave the battlefield, but rather found some covering behind a tree on the edge of the field.
Slumping against the trunk, you sat on the ground, taking all your weight off your wounded leg. With trembling fingers you grabbed the dagger, the one to only use if your sword and ax were nowhere to be found, but you doubted you could use them in the moment, at least not without making anything worse than it already is. You squinted, trying to focus through your current dizzy spell while slowly cutting through the fabric around the wound. But despite getting rid of that barrier, you were barely able to see the cut properly, blood pooling, making everything homogenous. So, you grabbed the hem of your shirt and cut some stripes loose. Ripping it in half again to make it longer, and you began to wrap it around your thigh, trying to stem the blood flow while also bandaging the open wound.
After putting a knot over the cut, you leaned your head against the trunk behind you, ruminating about the next steps. You didn’t know how long the battle would last, and you doubted anyone would find you in your little hiding spot. And you had to be honest to yourself, you had no idea how much longer you could remain here, as despite your clumsy wound-dressing you still were slowly bleeding out. The makeshift bandage already felt somewhat wet, and you thought to see a tinge of red peaking through already.
A sigh escaped you moments before you noticed a shadow looming over you, and for a moment you thought it might be the enemy as you grabbed your dagger, which you had carelessly thrown onto the ground. Pointing the blade to whoever was standing in front of you, only to lower it slightly. The person crouched to be at your height, and for a second all you could see was the sunlight filtering through strands of gold.
“Hey, what the fuck are ya doing?” he asked you with a scowl, yet his eyes kept flitting over your facial features, as if the answer was going to hide underneath the grime on your skin.
“How the fuck does it look like? I’m having a nice picnic, Captain,” you answered with mocking intonation, especially his rank.
His blazing gaze finally left your face to scrutinize the rest of you. And if you weren’t more concerned about the whole dying ordeal, you would have felt a tiny bit of shame at your sorry state, but you were too dizzy to care. Still, you could pinpoint the exact moment he noticed the blood staining through your pitiful bandage, because you didn’t know that the furrow between his eyebrows could go that deep.
Before once again, his eyes returned to watch over your face, trying to read you and your expressions. And without any more words, he stood up and reached a hand in your direction, waiting for you to take it to help you stand up. You did. You took his hand with no hesitation, because it was so easy to trust him, for some reason. Also, you didn’t want to keep bleeding out behind the trunk of a tree.
Once you were on your feet, he carefully slung an arm around your waist to support your weight, as you barely could use your leg at this point. This way, you both gripping, clinging to each other, you once again walked by his side, him leading the way, all while adjusting to your walking speed.
Your fist was hooked on his cape, only tatters left of the once majestic fabric. Still, you noticed the way his clothes were a painting of orange and the numerous splatters of red. And you couldn’t help but feel some sort of guilt, a guilt about letting him carry you to safety, once again, a guilt about not asking him about his well-being. But now it was too late to ask, wasn’t it? So, you stayed silent, following his footsteps with a twinge of pain running down your leg, imitating the warm drops of blood slowly running down, taking the same path.
Before you knew it, you both stopped in front of a wooden door, and you barely had the time to formulate a question in your head, as he immediately just opens it and enters the small cottage, dragging you like dead weight inside.
The door closed behind you with a decisive kick by him as you conveniently fell onto a chair, and you suspect that he tipped your balance on purpose. It was easy for him, considering the difference in strength and, of course, the wounded leg of yours.
For a moment, you just stared at him with a dumbfounded expression as he lit some candles and immediately began to rummage through one cabinet, obviously looking for something, but failing to do so, as indicated by his low curses.
But before you could get back onto your feet, he turned your way, some proper bandages in hand. And of course, you stretched your palm out to take them and use them. He was faster than you though, and he got the bandages immediately out of your way.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Your hands are bloodied, you’re only going to fucking sully this stupid wrapping,” he sniffed with a roll of his eyes.
“Fine, fine! What do you want me to fucking do? Wash my hands? I also want that, but after, you know, avoiding bleeding the fuck out,” you raised your hands in surrender.
He scowled at your words before simply kneeling beside the chair. His free hand grabbed the ankle of your hurt leg, and put it into a position in which your muscles weren’t tense. After glaring at you, silently telling you to not move, he reached for the dagger in his belt. The mere sight of a blade made you scrunch your face, as you immediately expected some sort of pain, as weapons did.
But you didn’t feel any pain, none at all. That was because he was simply cutting the fabric of your pants away, making the hole you already made bigger and getting rid of the pieces stuck onto your skin. At least none were glued to your open wound, and you were glad that you had some foresight for once.
After your wound was freed, he pulled some sort of clean towel out of nowhere, and he started tapping it on the skin around your wound, the cloth slightly damp. And the moment he pressed it against your cut, you hissed involuntarily, realizing that he had put some alcohol on the fabric.
The sting brought some tears into your eyes, and you glared at him. But he only raised one eyebrow. “What, some silly burn is making you cry? If that’s all it took, then I should’ve tried that earlier,” he scoffed a little snicker, yet you didn’t feel the heat of his insult, as there was none.
You were aware that he was only trying to distract you with the usual fighting of yours. It didn’t work quite as well as he probably hoped, because for some reason you felt something else entirely stir inside you, something else but the usual anger and annoyance you usually felt at his sight.
Soon, the towel was put away, and he began to wrap the bandage around your thigh. And you were watching him slowly and carefully put layers upon layers onto your skin. You couldn’t help but notice the way the flickering flame made his cheekbones more pronounced, the way his eyelashes glittered like mist under his focused eyes, the way his hair glowed like molten honey. So, you kept staring at him, wondering who he was, who he truly was as a person, rather than his status in this army. Wondering why looking at him, why his presence gave you such a calm mind, made your chest stir.
And then he looked up, his eyes met your gaze. Those ruby eyes, those eyes filled with fire, with sunset. Blooming up at you like a red bouquet of azaleas, of anemones. Once again, you felt your chest stir, but this time your heart was joining, beating a message only you could understand. And you finally did.
Oh…
Oh.
Upon this dawning realization, you simply avoided his gaze, suddenly thankful for the sparse light, as you seemingly could not control your facial expression for a moment. You gulped a couple of times, trying to calm the flutter inside your veins, lest he noticed them.
Still, you glanced back to take a look at him, only to see him back on his feet and tinkering with something you could not discern from your spot. You ought to stand up and see what he was up to, but before you could even coordinate any movement, he was already shooting you a glare over his shoulder, one you only raised your hands in surrender once again before simply leaning back into the chair.
Luckily, you didn’t have to wait for a prolonged amount of time before he turned around, holding a bowl with some water in it and a towel, this time simply handing you both with no instructions. You didn’t need any, of course, so you let the towel sop up some water and began to slowly clean your palms and the rest of your sticky hands until you started washing your face in a circular motion, putting in the effort of truly reaching into every possible crease and corner of your own skin.
After being done, the water all murky after cleaning the cloth in it, you didn’t necessarily feel cleaner, but rather less sticky. Setting the bowl aside, you leaned into the chair, again, and wondered what you were supposed to do in this situation, because you had to admit that you had no idea where this little cottage was located and how far it was from the base. You assumed the reason for its invisibility on cards was because it probably was some sort of safe house, so you were lost about your current whereabouts. Well, at least the Captain was apparently well aware of this place, so you weren’t completely lost, unless he just left you there.
Your eyes immediately jumped to where he was once again tinkering with something, staring at his back. And no, he didn’t seem to plan some sort of escape, and you quickly averted your eyes before your heart began to think for itself once again.
Something rustled outside of the window, and at first you thought it might be just a harmless animal. That was until a group of masked people almost kicked the door down or entered through the window. Your hands fumbled around at this intrusion, looking for some sort of weapon to hold, to prepare to defend yourself.
They had taken the Captain off guard, yet he was able to fend them off. But for some reason it didn’t seem like they were targeting him to begin with. And you were still vulnerable, no weapon in sight. You glanced around, looking for the dagger he had used earlier for the fabric, and you found it on the commode close to the bed.
Slowly, you leaned to the side, trying to avoid their attention for as long as possible. But someone stood in front of you, tutting as they noticed your plan. With your way blocked, you had no way to reach the weapon, so you had to improvise.
You grabbed the bowl from earlier and smashed it on the head of the person standing between you and the dagger. It broke into shards, and some cut into your skin, but that didn’t matter in the prospect of your enemy staggering and slumping. With this move, the way to the weapon had opened itself to you once again and you take your chance, almost yanking the dagger away from the top of the commode.
You glanced in the direction of the Captain who was still fighting off multiple masked people with ease in this enclosed space, and you immediately tensed up, ready to jump in whenever an opportunity arises. But before you had any time to even target one of the enemies, you felt a prickle on the back of your neck. Swatting away at whatever that was, you turned around to face someone slightly shorter than you holding some sort of syringe.
“Good night!” a young girls voice came from their direction, and you furrowed your brows, wondering what she could have meant with that.
Until a wave of dizziness suddenly hit you, making you sway slightly, your hand clutching the frame of the chair as you tried to hold yourself together. You almost forgot about the dagger, but the last remnants of your mind were conscious enough to make yourself slump over to be able to slip the weapon into one of your boots. You didn’t even have enough time to check if it was going to hold before you slipped from the chair and onto the ground. barely feeling your extremities anymore. Still, you tried to move anything, even the tiniest twitch of your fingers.
The last thing you saw were your fingers reaching for the Captain as he began to struggle with the mob. And you met his eyes before everything drowned into a silent black.
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undertale-fic-librarby · 3 months ago
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Hello! I know a lot of FANTASTIC fics, and I think they should be read more!
I can't link anything on anon, so I'm only able to give the titles, summaries, and who wrote them :(
Two Too Cool Assholes Share A Body by TheInevitableSense Teen and Up, unfinished [WARNING for suicide and suicidal thoughts] "In which mistakes are made that can't be taken back. Mistakes that land Sans and Mettaton in another reality. One where they are share the same body. Whoops. Surrounded by friends that don't remember they even existed as separate entities, can our heroes find a way back to normal? More importantly, can they survive each other until then?" (god I love this fic so much.)
Sugarless Milk Chocolate by starrylitme Teen and Up, unfinished WARNING for suicidal ideation "“I’m really tired, so... You win, kid. I give up.” And, as awful as it is, those words are liberating. (In which Chara really needs a new method of making friends to murder with. Granted, this method they're going with might just work. Vaguely. Like, they have their moments at least. Circumstances are still pretty terrible, but it's still something.) (Also known as "Wow isn't that story title cute. Yeah uh, this story isn't very cute in context.") (This one is edgy but it's edgy in a way that's actually so cool and I love it so much and I can't stand how much I love it aghghg)
bone to be wild by SquareFriend Not Rated, oneshot (In my opinion this one can be rated as General Audiences, if you ignore all the cursing) "Sans and Undyne make a grocery run. It goes about as well as you’d expect." (Their dialogue feels very in-line with canon)
Core the Apple by Devcipher Teen and Up, finished WARNING for a suicide attempt and sparse energy consumption that could be interpreted as an eating disorder. "Nightmare has grown weary of the constant strife between himself and his brother. Every time he manages to fuel the ever-persistent need for negativity in his system, Dream and his friends immediately sap it out of him. So, Nightmare has decided he was done. If they believed the multiverse was better without negativity, he was okay with that. He'd well descended past apathy years ago." (I read this years ago, I should read it again.)
(I love these fics so so so so much)
I might suggest more in the future, because BOY do I have a lot of recommendations.
Oh, and here's one of my own fics: If I killed someone for you by SundogSkies Teen and Up, oneshot "Nightmare had given Killer an ultimatum. Either Killer cut ties with the human himself, or Nightmare would execute them. Because of course. Of course things would turn out like this. Why did he expect anything different? No matter how hard he tried, no matter what it was he loved, whether it be a rock or a human or a- a cat, he could never have anything good in his life. Not- ... ...Not while Nightmare was still alive. Or: Things have been building up for a long time. Maybe it was inevitable Killer would break like this. Or or: Did you know that canon Killer used to have cats, key words being 'used to'? It's a relevant detail." It's not the best, I'm aware, but I think it's still enjoyable.
I hope you have a good day :)
-SundogSkies
Howdy, & thanks for the recommendations! The fics being recommended are…
Two Too Cool Assholes Share A Body by TheInevitableSense (Teen And Up, Incomplete)
In which mistakes are made that can't be taken back. Mistakes that land Sans and Mettaton in another reality. One where they are share the same body. Whoops. Surrounded by friends that don't remember they even existed as separate entities, can our heroes find a way back to normal? More importantly, can they survive each other until then?
Sugarless Milk Chocolate by starrylitme (Teen And Up, Incomplete)
“I’m really tired, so... You win, kid. I give up.” And, as awful as it is, those words are liberating. (In which Chara really needs a new method of making friends to murder with. Granted, this method they're going with might just work. Vaguely. Like, they have their moments at least. Circumstances are still pretty terrible, but it's still something.) (Also known as "Wow isn't that story title cute. Yeah uh, this story isn't very cute in context.")
bone to be wild by SquareFriend (Not Rated, Complete)
Sans and Undyne make a grocery run. It goes about as well as you’d expect.
Core the Apple by Devcipher (Teen And Up, Complete)
Nightmare has grown weary of the constant strife between himself and his brother. Every time he manages to fuel the ever-persistent need for negativity in his system, Dream and his friends immediately sap it out of him. So, Nightmare has decided he was done. If they believed the multiverse was better without negativity, he was okay with that. He'd well descended past apathy years ago.
If I killed someone for you by SundogSkies (Teen And Up, Complete)
Nightmare had given Killer an ultimatum. Either Killer cut ties with the human himself, or Nightmare would execute them. Because of course. Of course things would turn out like this. Why did he expect anything different? No matter how hard he tried, no matter what it was he loved, whether it be a rock or a human or a- a cat, he could never have anything good in his life. Not- ... ...Not while Nightmare was still alive. Or: Things have been building up for a long time. Maybe it was inevitable Killer would break like this. Or or: Did you know that canon Killer used to have cats, key words being 'used to'? It's a relevant detail.
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arise-ascend · 1 year ago
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oh shit i forgot this blog existed again whoops
i think it’s the one year anniversary of me grabbing it with my little raccoon hands
ramble about the passage of time under the cut:
it’s been a rollercoaster, but pretty great year for me overall. there was some disappointments, but i mostly remember the good parts.
saddest part was that the move i was hoping for fell through, meaning starting T has been delayed another year. we’re giving it another shot next year. pun not intended.
on the plus side, I completed my last required college course for my certification!!
…had a bit of a mental breakdown during the process. but that also helped me unpack some shit and I think I came out the other side of it with a better understanding.
i’ve explored new relationships this year, and i have three partners who mean the world to me. our relationship is unconventional to say the least, but we’ve been so, so happy.
i don’t know what’s been going on with the person i originally nabbed this url from, and i don’t particularly care to find out. but i have to wonder, has this year been as good to them as it’s been for me? i’ve struggled, sure, but overall, i’ve been happy. truly happy, for the first time in i don’t know how long.
it’s hard to imagine someone who spends their time purposely surrounded by hatred would be very happy. are they still being just as vile as they were when the year started, or have they grown as a person? i’d like to think that they’ve done some self reflection too, but i suppose i won’t get my hopes up.
this blog got more attention that i thought it would. it was so nice to get so many nice messages and fun jokes from people. thanks for helping spread the joy. hope you all had a good one; i’d love to hear about it if you did.
happy holidays and i hope you all have a great new year!
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The Process For "Heart Behind The Strings"
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Unlike with my first drawing, since I'd already gotten pretty used to the brushes, the first session was a lot more productive. I remember the hair took me a while to flesh out the way I wanted it which is pretty consistent even now. Hair is usually my favorite part to do and I like to really take my time with it.
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Session two was not nearly as productive but hey, the hand with the sword is in! Hands have always been the bane of my existence... they're so hard to draw! I definitely used a reference for both hands in this drawing. It should be noted that for a while, I didn't really do "first drafts" and liked to get each stage done and just move on. This is consistent up until the literal last drawing I did where I experimented with rough outlines for positioning. Who knows if I'll stick with it! Being consistent is not really my strongsuit.
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I usually like to get the sketching done before I even touch color. However, the front hand was giving me so much trouble that I switched to color because I got so frustrated. But on the brightside: I finally figured out how to screenshot properly so the quality from here on out is better! (Took me an embarrassingly long time.)
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The front hand has arrived! It took me way too long to draw this in but the reference helped a lot! It appears I forgot to turn off my guidelines on Kris's face and armor when I took this screenshot... whoops. The other primary addition is the scarf changing a bit. Scarfs and capes are my other favorite thing to draw. They're abnormally fun to outline for some reason.
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The flat color has been laid out (except for the armor). And apparently some shading on the underside of the scarf. Also I noticed the background color keeps changing in between. Sometimes I change the color so it's easier on my eyes but then forget to change it back for the screenshot.
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Almost everything is colored and shaded by this point! Except the scarf is not fully colored with the stripes yet for some reason. This session also introduced the sweat on the left side (our left) of Kris's face. It's pretty hard to see since it's so small and even harder on the actual one since this isn't the final size of the piece!
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The stripes on the scarf have arrived! You'll also notice Kris's body and the back plate are different! The body shape felt off somehow so I changed it here to the one in the final! On another note, you might notice that the shading sometimes looks weird on my drawings. Shading and lighting are still something I'm in the process of learning (and I wasn't taking classes at all during most of these drawings!) so that's why it looks off. I try to look at references or for hair I have a way I like to shade it on top of that.
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With Kris complete I moved on to the soul and the gray hands in the back. I'm pretty sure I basically drew one hand then copy and pasted it onto the other side (flipped it too of course). Like I said earlier: hands are hard! I think I liked the black background and just ran with it. It also helped to make the hands kind of just come out of nowhere but still implied to be tied to the soul in some way.
And it's a wrap! On another note: I made a new post on my main blog that may have an alternative version coming to this one later.... (maybe)
Next time, I'll be taking you through "To The Punishment Shack!" That one is actually rather short with only three sessions.
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sesamestreep · 6 months ago
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hi hello I'm here to ask about "write a loving letter" and "mystery door no. 4"
how dare you make me format TWO excerpts??
“write a loving letter boy” should maybe not be on here because it’s not exactly an active WIP because I’ve fully forgotten the actual plot I had in mind for it, but I love the draft title so much I can’t delete it (see below if the reference eludes you). The basic idea was yet another daredevil college au (what can I say, I have a Type) but in this case it’s…like a Cyrano de Bergerac AU?? where Foggy ends up helping one of their classmates woo Matt because he “knows him so well” and ends up discovering his own feelings for Matt that way?? I watched an episode of Bones that was obviously a Cyrano pastiche but they refused to acknowledge it and it made me so annoyed, I had to write this AU instead. Also thought I was very clever for thinking of a queer Cyrano retelling and then remembered “The Half of It” exists. Whoops.
Here’s the only scene I have, which is Foggy talking to the girl who wants to date Matt, who ended up just being the most fun OC to write:
“I was going to ask you something, actually,” Willa says, in that precise way of hers. Foggy likes her, based on the few conversations they’ve had, but he imagines she makes a lot of people their age feel a little frivolous, just based on her general energy. Foggy already knows he’s pretty frivolous, as a person, so he doesn’t take it too personally, which probably helps. “Sure. Shoot. Go ahead.” “You’re really good friends with Matt, right?” “We’re roommates, yeah,” Foggy replies, as he brings his drink to his mouth. “Right. I know,” Willa says, frowning. “But like…you’re friends too?” “Of course.” “I’m not friends with my roommate,” she supplies, explaining her clarification without actually explaining it.  “Oh, sure,” Foggy says. He likes the way Willa’s brain works, he’s just remembering. It’s like he can see the gears moving inside of it. It’s kind of fun. “Yes, Matt and I are friends as well as roommates. Why do you ask?”
title reference for page break reasons
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“mystery door no. 4” is actually not fanfic, it’s an original novel I’m kind of working on (I am working on it, I just have no real vision for what I’ll do with any of it should I actually finish it, is what that sentence means, ftr). It’s based on an old idea I did for the made up movies meme on here years ago and I’ve been mostly handwriting it as an excuse not to look at screens during the spring/summer when I’m a lot more headache prone. I went through a period of about 2-3 months where I hated every fic idea I started and was just miserable about writing in general and decided to try writing some original fiction, which is not something I’ve done since I was like 12 (a long time but redacted amount of years ago) and it’s been very fun so far though I’m keeping my expectations low.
here is an excerpt, featuring my new OCs who I’m sure I’ll start tagging in stuff soon as the next step in my full descent to madness:
“Again with these words!” Aleks groaned. “Didn’t you just wake up?” “Not just.” “Still. ‘Puerile’? I couldn’t use that in a sentence correctly with three cups of coffee in me!” “Was that a hint?” “Hmmm?” “Do you want coffee? Were you asking me to make us some coffee?” “Are you part sheep dog or something?” Aleks asked. “Will you go crazy if I don’t give you something to do?” “Maybe,” Eugene admitted reluctantly.
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boilingrain · 1 year ago
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Rain Draws Squirrelflight, Leafpool & Bramblestar a Few Times
Since these three won my poll on which protagonists I should draw, here they are!
They don't get as much art per character as Ashfur did, because that was one character and this is three. Trust me, this was faster and more do-able
So anyways, first up is the Squirrel herself!
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I draw Squirrelpaw generally softer & bouncier looking than I draw Squirrelflight, because at this point in time she's just a kid. She has not yet witnessed the Horrors(tm)
Even when I was reading The New Prophecy for the first time as a kid, I always imagined Squirrelpaw/Squirrelflight as having little round ears. Maybe it was just the "Squirrel" prefix, but that trait has always stuck with me and I've always drawn her with small ears.
This isn't a trait unique to Squirrelflight with my designs though! In her family alone, Cloudtail, Alderheart, Lionblaze and Nutmeg also have small, rounded ears (Princess might also have them, but I haven't decided yet. I also haven't decided if any of Cloudtail or Lionblaze's kits have the rounded ears, but at least one probably does)
I wish that she had kept her telepathy thing with her sister, I honestly thought it was interesting. It's a shame that the Erins quickly ran out of uses for it and decided to pretend it never existed. This may or may not be why in my rewrite of Warriors that exists in my head (like many others in this fandom), the telepathy thing didn't stop existing as soon as it wasn't super useful the plot anymore.
Admittedly, she's always been my favorite of the cats who journeyed to the sun-drown place (though tbf, most of them didn't really get any proper development, and the other one was Brambleclaw. I do have a soft spot for Stormfur and Tawnypelt, though).
Also I... forgot to color Squirrelkit's mouth. Whoops
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The lady with a somehow worse taste in men than her sister, Squirrelflight!
Please Squirrelflight, you could've done so much better than Bramblestar. You deserve so much better than Bramblestar.
That aside, Squirrelflight has been one of my favorites for a long time. I just think she's a fun and interesting character
I think I said basically all of the things I was going to say when I was talking about Squirrelpaw, tbh. Also, much like a lot of the fandom for some reason, I don't really remember much of what happened during OotS? I don't think Squilf was particularly relevant during that arc, but it's possible she was and I just genuinely do not remember.
Why is Omen of the Stars basically just a void in everyone's memory. What's going on there.
Anyways, those aren't the final designs for Lionkit, Hollykit & Jaykit in that little doodle. Those are just kind of rough concept designs for them, and when I eventually draw them they'll probably look different. Also this is tortie Hollyleaf propaganda
If Lionblaze can be golden (though I typically draw him as cream) when both of his parents are functionally black (brown = black when it comes to cats. Also Leafpool shouldn't be a brown tabby anyways, because her dad is red and her mom is cream, which is a dilute version of red. I should stop talking now, before I get too deep into rambling about cat genetics), then Hollyleaf can be a tortie. (Jayfeather's fine btw. Gray is a dilute version of black, and both of his parents carry dilute. Crowfeather from Ashfoot & Leafpool from Sandstorm)
Okay, I'll finally shut up about cat genetics now
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If Squirrelstar doesn't happen, I will eat my hat. I will eat several hats.
I actually don't even know how old Squirrelflight is currently in the books. It doesn't help that the Erins are weird with ages and don't seem to know how cats work.
For my purposes, I choose to believe that the Clans have been at the lake for at least a decade, making Squilf at least 10 1/2 - 11 years old, depending on how old she was when the Clans left the forest territories. And putting her around that age would, in fact, make her a senior (for a house cat, at least. Real feral cats don't typically live that long, but tbf the clans have medicine and stuff, so their life expectancy might be longer than regular feral cats. But cats are considered seniors once they hit 10 years old)
Also all things considered, she's probably been stressed as hell for a while and experiencing the Horrors(tm). So she gets some gray on her muzzle from a combination of age and stress.
Honestly she deserves to go on a nice, relaxing vacation where she doesn't have to deal with the Erin's less than good writing choices and shitty treatment of female characters.
Anyways Squirrelstar's leader mark is her nose spot becoming star shaped, because I love it when leaders are depicted with some sort of star shaped marking. I eat it up every time.
I'll talk more about leader marks and how I do them at a later time, though.
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Leafpaw! My sweet baby Leafpaw!
My version of Leafpool is big and very fluffy, and you can't stop me from drawing her that way
Right off the bat, you'll probably notice that her design has changed a bit from the original concept design that I posted, as she's now a tortie instead of a regular brown tabby. Admittedly, a big part of why she's a tortie now is that I just love torties & calicos haha
If anything, her name makes even more sense now, because the combination of brown and orange makes her look more like leaves during fall! :)
Why's Leaf a tortie but Squirrel isn't? Maybe Squirrelflight is a secret tortie, or maybe she's trans, who knows? (The actual answer is that I had already finished all the Squilf art when I randomly decided to have Leaf be a tortie, but I didn't want to go back and change Squilf's design because I love it)
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I hope it's obvious that I love Leafpool a whole lot
Once again, Holly, Lion & Jay's designs in this are not their final designs and when I eventually get around to actually drawing them, they'll definitely have at least a few design changes.
Also it's really hard to draw tiny little newborn kittens on a small scale like this.
Anyways I've never actually read Leafpool's Wish, so I don't know if it proves or disproves what I'm about to say, but I think that with how much Leafpool loved her kits, I believe that she would've raised them herself if she had the ability to.
I also personally believe that if Squirrelflight hadn't decided to take in the kits, or if Leafpool had decided that she wanted to raise her kits instead of her sister doing it, Thunderclan wouldn't have done shit about it. I mean, she definitely wouldn't be as trusted as she was before, but I don't think she'd lose her job (at least at first) or be exiled. She was their only medicine cat, they literally couldn't do shit about it. Additionally, she's Firestar's daughter and also related to Sandstorm and Squirrelflight, who are both individually forces to be reckoned with.
She'd probably have to train an apprentice as soon as possible and then have to step down from her role as medicine cat, but I definitely don't think she'd be exiled or anything.
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Leafpool but she sparkles
For anyone who didn't see my Ashfur post, some of the rules I have for Starclan designs is that Starclan cats are lighter in color and have sharper & more star shaped markings compared to when they were alive. They also have their appearances change over time in a way connected to their names, which is why Leafpool is starting to grow leaves out of her neck fluff.
Additionally, Starclan cats will typically have a sharper shape, to go with their sharper markings. You'll notice that while she has the sharper markings, Leafpool's fur is still soft and rounded.
I feel like Leafpool's whole thing with her trial would affect her Starclan appearance, but that's not really something that results from a trial, so her not becoming sharper in shape is the exception rather than the rule.
I didn't design a Dark Forest Leafpool, but I imagine that the changes she'd get there (because my DF cats have their appearances change based on their crimes) would be that she would still grow leaves out of her body, but she'd also grow feathers and would have particularly long and sharp claws that she wouldn't be able to sheath. Each of these things is representative of the "crime" that she was sentenced for (even though Spottedleaf, a Starclan cat, literally encouraged her to do that)
The leaves would specifically be holly leaves (representing, well... Hollyleaf), the feathers would be a mix of jay and crow (representing Jayfeather & Crowfeather) and the claws would represent Lionblaze (though for this one I went with something meant to represent his power instead of his name. With Leafpool being a medicine cat, I think it fits)
If Leafpool doesn't give Squirrelstar a life we riot
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The bramble man
Honestly even as a kid Brambleclaw wasn't exactly my favorite character. I wasn't really old enough to really process how he sucks, honestly I just kind of remember thinking that he was boring. Maybe that's just the fact that I've always liked Squirrelflight & Leafpool way more than him, but I just didn't really care for his POV chapters during The New Prophecy
I did love the Hawkfrost scene, though. Because I wasn't on any warrior cats forums or anything as a kid, I didn't get spoiled about stuff like Hawkfrost's death or the Fire Scene (along with many other important scenes), so I think those scenes hit way harder for me.
When I was a kid reading Po3 for the first time, I genuinely didn't even suspect that Squirrelflight and Brambleclaw weren't Hollyleaf, Lionblaze & Jayfeather's biological parents. So you can probably imagine how shocked little elementary school me was
But anyways, yeah. While I didn't hate Brambleclaw as a kid, I just didn't really care about him.
On another note, my Brambleclaw/star design is pretty similar in shape to my Lionheart design (just with extra toes and not as big of a mane). Since Lionheart was Goldenflower's brother, I thought it would be interesting if while everyone else just saw Tigerclawstar in Bramble's appearance, Goldenflower didn't.
My Tawnypelt design has a more similar shape to Tigerclawstar, though.
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Bramblestar!
Leader marks are usually an already existing marking that becomes star shaped (like how I made Squirrelstar's nose spot star shaped), but sometimes a new marking entirely will appear as the leader mark.
While I easily could've made one of the spots on the backs of his ears into a star shaped for his leader mark, I have plans relating to Bramblefake/The Imposter and Bramblestar's mark.
You'll see said plans in a moment, but what I will mention about it is that my Ashfur design has a broken heart shaped marking on his chest.
On an unrelated note, Bramblestar should have someone else name warriors for him because great Starclan is he bad at names.
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There's totally nothing wrong with Bramblestar, what possibly could've made you think that
Anyways, a combination of the whole being possessed thing & Ashfur's broken heart marking have caused Bramblestar's leader mark to "break". It actually doesn't get fixed after he's no longer possessed, his leader mark stays that way.
The Imposter's fur is darker and droopier than regular Brambkestar. I don't have a real reason for the darker color (other than that it looks cool), but the fur is Ashfur's doing.
Another thing that is Ashfur's doing is the blue pupils. Bramblestar is supposed to have red pupils (due to him training in the Dark Forest in TNP), but being possessed kind of overrides that and so The Imposter's pupils are blue. They do turn red again after Bramblestar is no longer possessed, though.
Honestly, I still kind of wish that the theory that Bramblestar had rabies was canon. The possession was interesting, but I don't think rabies has even been mentioned in the series. Which is a bit surprising considering that it's basically a soap opera with cats, but then again the Erins sure do love taking the opportunity to ignore possible interesting new plots. Why do anything interesting when we could instead have a billion more badly written romances
But I will admit, it was interesting to have Ashfur come back to be awful again. I'm still mad that he got let into Starclan after trying to kill at least 4 people because he "loved too much" and that gave him more of an opportunity to pull this shit. They absolutely butchered Yellowfang after she died. Not really even recognizable as the same character as her living self.
I'm not doing more art for this post. I'm tired and I'm going to go get some sleep. Tomorrow I will get back to work on hypokit requests, but for now it is time to put away my art supplies and lay in bed.
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honeyedwordsandblades · 1 year ago
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Was writing out tags on agothorn's post about Astarion/Tav and how Tav could've been another Sebastian if they had met Astarion before but I got pretty carried away and instead wrote not an essay but a whole goddamn novel??? And did u know Tumblr only lets you put 30 tags top on a post? (And it still wasn't enough, lmao whoops.)
So here are those tags, a bit reformatted to be a text post instead. Thank you in advance if you decide to go on this crazy ride of my dumb ramblings!
--
Honestly, I imagine when they get down there and see all the vampire spawn, all his previous targets/victims (and the other six's I'm sure), Rose immediately thinks back to the beginning of their journey together. Of the early days where she was so smitten and head over heels for Astarion, without really knowing him or his past.
And looking at all his past victims, all in front of her (especially with his interaction with Sebastian), she immediately realizes that if they had met another way, if they had met before the mindflayers kidnapped them all, she would have also been so easily manipulated and played. Lured just like the rest of his victims straight to Cazador. Like a lamb to slaughter. Like a fool lured straight off a cliff. And so happily too. So blissfully unaware and ignorant of her awaiting inevitable fate.
She knows, in that instant, if they had met before instead of when they did, she'd be down here with the rest of his victims. And, more than likely, afterward he would've just completely and entirely forgotten about her. Assumed her dead and had been done with it.
She wouldn't even be a ghost of a memory to haunt him for eternity, for the rest of his undead life. She'd been nothing to him.
(I'd like to believe that wouldn't be true though. He'd remember her just like he remembered Sebastian. Another poor innocent soul that, in their very short time together, she would have undoubtedly left quite the impression and mark upon him. He would always remember her. And, yes, she would absolutely haunt him for the rest of his undead life. Such a naive girl with such a big loving caring heart. How could he ever forget her? And her soft brown-hazel eyes and her lovely up-done brown hair. And the biggest smile he's ever seen. All just for him. Because of him. He'd never truly forget her. But I digress (too much). We're talking about Rose's point of view not Astarion's, lmao.)
She'd mean nothing to him as he found a way to usurp Cazador (if he was able to at all otherwise. But assuming if he did.) and would so easily and readily sacrifice her and all his and his "sibling's" victims in order to become the ~Vampire Ascendant~ .
Because she would mean nothing to him. Or, at least, (after seeing his panic and slight hesitation after talking to Sebastian) he would try to make himself believe that. Push away all the rising guilt suddenly trying to claw itself up from his dead heart and out his throat. Push it all down, hoping it would return from whence it came and just shut up and never return. That this is what he wants. What he's always wanted. (Right?)
And, after they speak with Sebastian, Rose would speak with Astarion personally. An argument as 'old as time' (i.e. as long as their relationship has been) started fresh and anew once more. About Astarion doing the ritual himself. And she would say in no uncertain bitter terms all that i've described above to him, to his face.
And maybe he's thought about it before. About how easy a target she would've been. How she would've been another poor lost soul. Gone. Disappeared into the night. Far from reach from family, from friends, from anyone and everyone. So easily snatched from her life. Not a trace of her to be found. Almost like she never existed. (But he would remember her. Gods, her smile. Her eyes. She would haunt him.)
But now, after seeing Sebastian, seeing all his victims in front of him... Discovering that they hadn't died and were very much (horribly) alive and undead, vampire spawn just like him and his 'siblings'. All of them connected to him, not just as his past victims, but through carved scars just like the one on his back. All for this grim infernal ritual where they would all be sacrificed (including himself if his plan to kill and usurp Cazador in the ritual didn't succeed).
But now presented with Rose's theoretical... To imagine her right alongside Sebastian and all his other victims, in just as terrible and poor a state as they are. And, instead of seeing her lovely brown-hazel eyes, being meet only with undead vampiric red burning straight into his soul... It instantly sends a chill down his spine. And it makes him sick to his stomach to even think, to even imagine such an image.
But Rose presses on, despite his reaction, despite the clear look of horror that passes on his face. And brings his imagination further. Spelling out as clear as she can exactly what her fate would end up being if she had been one of his victims. If he took up the ritual in Cazador's place- She would die. Right alongside all the other vampire spawn. They were meant for sacrifice after all. And that's the role they and, more importantly, she would serve.
He'd have everything. And she would be dead.
Sacrificed for the power he would then have.
He's too stunned to speak, but he knows what she's doing. Her manipulations are too obvious. But perhaps that's the point. She's not trying to manipulate him, she's trying to persuade him. Or better put, she's pleading. Begging him to see the terrible horror of the atrocity he's planning to commit. (As if he doesn't already know. As if he didn't know it all along. Although, admittedly, not at this scale. It was only 6 before, not 7,000.)
All by placing herself in the role of one of his victims.
And he has to admit: It's working.
He'll try to reason with her (twist and manipulate it back). That she's not. And, besides, he's doing it for both of them. So they can both be safe. With such power he can-
She huffs exasperated, disappointed. And she's already shaking her head. Somehow disbelieving that he's coming up with the same excuses as he always has.
But he knows they both heard his voice as he spoke. Quivering, uncertain. Clearly reaching, relying on old scripted justifications. But he still clings tightly to old hopes, old plans.
And, here and now, just before the end, just before the finale, is when she finally pulls out the ultimatum she's been mulling about for ages.
He must not go through with the ritual. If he does... She will ensure he never takes it.
She stares straight into his eyes as she tells him. Eyes (and heart) hardened. Walls up. Back straightened. Looking at him defiantly.
The look of a Hero.
He's only seen her do it a few times before but never to him. And now that she is... Now that he's on the other side of it. Well, he won't lie. A cold feeling of fear runs down his spine. He knows when she's like this that she means every word she says and will absolutely commit to it.
Before he can even speak, she softens, breaks. Pain written plainly across her face.
Ever so softly, she pleads with him not to go through with it (the ritual). She admits she doesn't want to, but she will- end him (What a nice way to say "kill him where he stands". Almost like she can't even bring herself to say it.) And he fully believes her.
Her earlier pleading, her theoretical, may have (deeply) shaken him, but this- This ultimatum... certainly gave him pause.
Although not as much as her next words.
"Please don't make me kill you."
Hushed, soft. An almost whisper that, well- metaphorically speaking, kills him on the spot. Like a stake to his undead heart.
The image of him beginning the ritual and her swinging her sword, one good ol' swing through his neck, his head suddenly gone enters his mind.
She would do it. He knows it.
Would he risk it? Attempt the ritual and, if he succeeds, if she doesn't chop off his head, beg for forgiveness? (Command her to forgive him even? He quickly pushes the thought from his mind.)
But staring into her pained, pleading eyes, her words still echoing in his mind like relentless ghosts haunting him, he knew his choice had been made.
Only a bit reluctantly does he promise her then and there that he would not go through with taking Cazador's place in the ritual. They would stop him and nothing more. Promise.
He can see that Rose is hesitant to believe him but she does relax some. Perhaps naively hoping that he had in fact come to his senses and was actually going to follow through with his promise. (After all, he's made promises before and kept them. Right?)
And he does.
(Although when he finally has the staff in his hands and he hesitates for just a small second, she's very kind to not bring up that moment later on.)
(And yes. She noticed. But after he continues on to save and free all the vampire spawns, both his siblings and those in the cells, she quickly forgets about it. All forgiven.)
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wanderingchocolateeclair · 11 months ago
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the e!jeanist character study i literally wrote last year and we both forgot about until now haha whoops
Tsunagu thinks back to himself- the unclear but very present line of his before and the after. The lie and truth. At the start, it was… well. 
He starts thinking of it like this: 
Grassfires. There is a tradition- burn the old to make way for the new, to send the grass up in flames and leave the roots belowground to grow again. He is a grassfire. The fire is time. Time eats everything up in the end, be they legacies, memories of body and mind, problems, stories. The roots are himself. The grass would be things that had happened. Ashes after the fire were- memories, hazy, unclear things. 
What had happened, in the during just before the after, the not-quite-yet-before, was… not any of this. A lightning strike, maybe. A bomb. Tractors on the land, razing it and ruining it- not ruin. That’s a bad thought. Tsunagu remembers talking this out with his judge-mandated therapist. He was not ruined- and even if he was, kintsugi existed for a reason. People ruined themselves and remade themselves all the time.
It’s just. He didn’t- Tsunagu wasn’t… he was his fault. He had sat through lectures on manipulation. He’d read about it, words flowing in and out of his sometimes-seive of a brain. He remembers most of it. And Tsunagu- knows this. Clearly not in application, he’d tried that and it did not work, but in theory. 
When he looks back at his time with Rai, all the warning signs were there. Red flags hidden in plain sight- then again, Tsunagu himself had been kind of a red flag. Rai had made him feel… seen. Loved. Wanted, and he’d taken to that like a starving animal to a corpse. At first. It was almost like that starving, chained, muzzled dog from his childhood years. The first person that showed affection to it was the one it imprinted on. Would die with. Would stay with forever.
The path downwards to, -he doesn’t want to say abuse. It wasn’t abuse. It wasn’t that bad, people who were actually hurt by others deserved that word more- to, getting hurt more by him had been slow. It was loving looks at the dinner table turning into stilted conversations where Rai wasn’t interested. 
It was Rai slowly edging away from him. Pointed comments. Arguments ending in Tsunagu crying and him leaving their apartment for a few hours. His phone being stolen by Rai, once or twice. Back then he hadn’t thought anything of it. It was an accident, right? Rai wouldn’t hurt him. And if he did, then it was on Tsunagu- he was too sensitive, too traumatized, shouldn’t have done what he did… but Rai hadn’t done anything. Anything much. It was small things. So it was always, always his fault.  
Then it was like nothing had happened. They sat at the dinner table and chatted about their days. Cuddles on the couch. Banter. Kisses on the forehead and holding hands while they… while they. Were intimate. 
Repeat. And it was always after Tsunagu had done something Rai didn’t like. One time he’d been talking to Kuugo about how it was in Japan, and Tsunagu had laughed at a comment he’d made, and then the internet had cut out in their apartment. And then his phone had been broken, and… Tsunagu had lost quite a few numbers, that day. He’d gotten them back, but then Tsunagu had just slowly isolated himself from his friends. 
Rai’s ‘anger’ wasn’t really worth it, back then. He’d felt… battered, almost, as he made excuses to avoid going out with them.
Tsunagu doesn’t like thinking about it. Whenever he thinks on it too long there’s a buzzing noise in his ears, and a raw, animal feeling scrabbling at his ribcage. Tears spring to his eyes. He has always been somewhat of a crybaby. 
He takes a deep breath and pinches himself right in the meat of his arm. The sharp, expected pain snaps him right out of it. 
Therapy assignment. Right. Yes. Reflecting on… on emotions about Rai and Tsunagu’s time with him. It hadn’t been all bad -rot rarely extends throughout all of it, at minimum the surface has to be intact to lure animals in- but it was- rarely all good, either. He was a manipulator, Hakamada, the therapist had said. He was ‘good’ to you, yes, but was there a catch? Was there something he was trying to get from you?
And the answer was almost always yes. Yes, there was something that Rai had wanted. Yes, there had been something he wanted Tsunagu to overlook or be distracted about. When he’d come to this conclusion, he wanted to throw up. Tsunagu felt dirty, almost, thinking about this- he should be grateful, be thankful that there had been somebody who loved him. Wanted him for something. 
What was different between love and want, anyways? What was the difference? Selflessness? Letting another person go? Acceptance of another’s wants? Both of those had them. All of that was under one or more categories. Want and love, no matter how pathetic it was- it was a sense of belonging, in a way. A feeling of somebody wants me.
Tsunagu had wanted that, almost a year ago. Rai had given him that. He can’t fault him for that. All the blame lay at Tsunagu’s feet, anyways, from start to end. He had been the one to jumpstart their relationship. The first kiss. Everything other than them moving together. 
That had been an unanimous decision, happening over a month or two. He’d started finding Rai’s things all around his apartment, and eventually, without him really noticing, it had become theirs. Tsunagu had felt… less alone. Less safe. More judged. And he didn’t know what to do with those emotions, back then, so he’d tucked them all away and out of his heart the best he could. Out of sight, out of mind. 
It had worked for a while, even. 
And then there was the loathing. The first time Tsunagu had snapped a little bit, and shouted at Rai. It had been a silly, little, small thing. He had left his phone on Tsunagu’s nightstand. And he didnt’ know why, but. Well- Tsunagu had been so angry. He’d just. Snapped, like a frayed thread. (Looking back, that anger scared and rejuvenated him. It was a force of nature in motion, waves crashing onto shore, the moment where ice shattered-) 
He’d stormed into the kitchen and thrown the phone at Rai’s face. And then, well, Tsunagu’s anger ran cold, mostly. In the scale of hot and cold anger- well. He kept his bottled up, chilled, frozen, so when it leaked out Tsunagu could brush it off as just a bad day. But with pressure comes heat, and when the bottle breaks, it breaks hard. Release of pressure, expansion, a lava-hot explosion of rage. 
But back then, the bottle hadn’t broken. Yet. The shouting and anger-laced tones and the boom of the explosion had come when Rai grasped his shoulder, asking-telling Tsunagu if he was alright. Shouting. He doesn’t really remember what he’d said.
And then Tsunagu had left. For a night, just to stay at a hotel and to clear his mind. 
…He’d gotten so far off topic. Tsunagu glares at the paper telling him to write down the emotions you feel when-
Emotions. How would one go about catagorizing them? Bit by bit, box by box, until you could point at one and say that is happiness. That is sadness. That is the emotion I felt when I learnt about the stars. That is hate. That is heartbreak, or was Tsunagu supposed to look at it, examine it from every angle until he knew the exact details of how, when, why about it? Was he supposed to print them on words, into paper? 
He bites down into his cheek. Alright. What did Tsunagu feel when he thought of- those few days. Yes. Well. 
Avoidance, is the first thing he writes, trying his best not to think about it. Betrayal is next to arrive on the list. Tsunagu had been- it was- 
Kuugo had said that it wasn’t his fault. Shinya didn’t know. And the therapist had also said it wasn’t his fault. So. Logically. By democratic vote, it was a tie. Rai had said it was his fault, and prisoners still have the legal right to cast ballots in an election. Tsunagu… Tsunagu knows what he thinks. 
(It’s his fault.) 
So it’s a tie. 
Tsunagu scribbles out Betrayal because he’s writing with a pen and not pencil- actually, he should go get one. As well as an eraser. To get rid of the mistakes, yep. But… he needs to finish this before the next appointment. And Tsunagu’s been, um, putting it off for a few hours. Days. Almost a week. 
He goes to see the therapist -Tsunagu’s never asked for her name, and she’s never given one- twice a week. And they’ve made… some? Progress? Yes. Some. He can actually stay here and not drift off. And the anger issues are… not gone, Tsunagu’s not sure if they’ll ever be gone, but he’s in more control over them now. He spars with Kuugo whenever they’ve got time. It helps. Control in any form he could get it helps. 
(Tsunagu hasn’t eaten today. Because that is something he can take control over. It is his life. It is his body. He can do whatever he wants to it. Whatever. Not whenever, but whatever- he could carve bloody fractals into his ribs and nobody would notice if he didn’t want them to. Tsunagu hasn’t slept in days, probably.)
(It all blurs together at one point or another.) 
But. Anyways! Back to the exercise. Emotions. They sucked. Chemical fomations in the brain. 
…Sadness, Tsunagu writes down. Irritability. Wait, he still needed to get a pencil and eraser. He gets up from the desk and goes into his room… where did he put the stationary holder again? He looks around -bed, beanbag, bookcases, plant, ceiling plant, glow in the dark stickers, small desk with computer and charging stations…- oh, there it was. 
It was on the windowsill. When Tsunagu picks it up and walks out with it, quietly shutting the door as he leaves, the pens and suchlike are still warm. He absently tips the container over, pens, pencils, a pair of chopsticks, a exacto-knife, two long erasers, and whiteout tumble out. 
Tsunagu contemplates this for a moment. He really should try to work on this thing. But, on the other hand, he could also make a little stationary tower. Like the Tower of Babel. Christian bible stuff. 
The tower was smote by god due to their… hubris, right? And then languages had happened. The Christian Icarus’s tale, except this one only warns of too much ambition and pride. It does not warn of the dangers of apathy, of flying too close to the sea, of not trying hard enough and only settling for the lowest-hanging fruit.
…he doesn’t like this thought. Oh well. Back to making a stationary tower he goes- Tsunagu’s hands have done most of the work, anyways. He starts humming a song while doing so. And then his eye catches back onto the paper- 
Ah. He’d almost managed to forget about it, too. Tsunagu sighs mournfully and picks up a pencil from the top of the tower, spinning it. Does he… really have to do this? Ugh. Tsunagu, objectively, knows that he does. Logically he does. Emotionally he very much doesn’t want to confront this problem. Maybe with the depths of freezing-cold rage -he’s not sure when that got there and why- Tsunagu had picked up somewhere along the way. Maybe when he’s drunk. Maybe when it hasn’t been just one or two months after it happened. …he needs to finish this assignment or else Kuugo is going to shout at him in a friendly, Kuugo-like manner. And then, well, before he would have gotten a hug. Now he gets a snack or a drink. Tsunagu sprawls back down on the floor. What other emotions? Flightyness? Was that an option? Was that even a word?
---- -story anon (hello eclair :D)
Another banger from Story Anon!! This time e!jeanist edition :D
So- uh, this is relating to my jeanist backstory -which i have yet to really post a summary for- and theres some big stuff in there.
But yeh!! this is one of my favourites, thanks for popping it into my inbox as always :D
@laughteronsilverwings
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storybookprincess · 1 year ago
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20 questions for fic writers!!!!!!!!! tagged by @ilgaksu (yes, we HAVE been mutuals since the dawn of time & yes we HAVE diverged fandoms wildly and yes we DO deserve this as a treat!!!!!!)
1. How many fics do you have on AO3?
87………… dear god……
2. What’s your total AO3 word count?
377,923
dear god……….. take 2!!
3. What fandoms do you write for?
pretty exclusively animanga fandoms these days. hunter x hunter has been my home base for a while, but i dabble in other series too!!!
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
personally i don’t enjoy discussing stats (outside of word count) because i think it encourages comparison, even if unintentionally, and i used to struggle a lot with that. sort by kudos exists for the curious, of course, but i don’t want to go out of my way to emphasize stats
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
oh gosh, i used to be RELIGIOUS about replying to every single comment i received, but that's since become a bit unmanageable with my current work & life schedule. i'd like to get back to replying at least a little bit, though!!
6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
i'm a happy ending girl through & through so i think the closest i have to an angsty ending is this tiny lil 1k leopika oneshot i wrote for the greed island server!!!
7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
what i'm getting from these questions so far is that i do not remember my own fics very well anymore & might want to go revisit them someday bc i am struggling to answer this one!!
that being said, i am a bit fond of this one from facts about stones, which was my big bang fic this year!!
“Let’s stay together.  For as long as you’ll have me.” “Forever, then,” Gon replies. Killua used to hate the thought of forever.  Life was something to be survived: minute to minute, second to second, breath to breath.  If his mind ever wandered further into the future than a few days, a sick, dizzy feeling would overtake him; the thought of this misery stretching on, gray and endless, was more than he could tolerate. But now, as Gon leaps over that very creek they’d played in so many times with a loud whoop, Killua finds that something has changed. “Longer,” he says. “Forever would be too short a time.” “Okay,” Gon agrees, a smile in his voice. “You and me. Forever, and then what comes after.”
8. Do you get hate on fics?
i was about to say that i've been fortunate enough never to get a hate comment BUT THEN i remembered how someone once wrote me a five paragraph essay (i'm not kidding) about how a character's behavior in a fic didn't make sense & was poorly written. god that was incredible
but on the whole, no, i'm quite quite lucky that i don't receive much negativity
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
not yet..............
10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?
i'm a very boring person & thus don't vibe particularly much with crossovers. the most i've done is like........ very vaguely fairy tale inspired aus & the like. i wish i were a more adventurous writer bc some of the stuff people come up with in crossovers is ridiculously creative
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
not a whole fic, but back in my bnha days, i had someone lift a scene literally beat for beat from a tddk fic of mine. i was a lot younger & less experienced in the fandom space back then, so i'm very glad, although perhaps a bit surprised, that i just closed the tab & moved on. life's too short to stress over that sort of thing
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
yes, one into russian & one into spanish on wattpad!!!!!! they both felt like such huge honors!!!!!!
13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?
i could pretend to give this some thought & come to a difficult decision, but it's killugon. it's far & away killugon. let's not kid ourselves here
14. What’s a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?
color in your cheeks
i think the idea has a ton of potential, but my execution of the first two chapters strikes me as rushed & impatient & a bit sloppy as a result. i think my only option is rewriting it from scratch so i can have a product i'm satisfied with
15. What are your writing strengths?
i pay a ton of attention to the flow of my prose & really endeavor for the sentences to have a lyrical quality. outside of syntax, i think i'm quite good at describing physical & emotional experiences extremely vividly
16. What are your writing weaknesses?
well well well, if it isn't my old nemesis, actually having a plot....... we meet again
17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?
i don't have enough fluency in my non-native languages to pull this off & i find it challenging as a reader, but i think just about any choice or device can work if it's serving a narrative purpose & doing so effectively
18. First fandom you wrote for?
the year: 2008
the platform: fanfiction.net
the fandom: rent
listen we all start somewhere & i had a BLAST writing those silly little musical theatre fics, even if both they & the source material don't hold up 15 years later
19. Favorite fic you’ve written?
i worked so hard on it that i just have to go with divine magnets
am i missing a question???????? is this really only 19????? i'm so confused!!!!!!!! anyway tagging @ladycrescentvenus @clood @carochinha @chubsthehamster and @anyone else who wants to do this just say i tagged you!!!!
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pdaliceliveblogs · 2 years ago
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asks pt 3 (last for now)
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Yeah, Mike pointed that out to me on discord at the time, I just forgot to bring it up on the blog... jaysus. Love these disasters.
(my point still stands that at least they’re not her own feathers haha)
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No yeah I’ve been thinking about that too! Either it was in the Owl House, which means it’s in the Bonesborough Precinct warehouse (uh, or they saved it when they got François, but we didn’t see them do so) or Hooty swallowed it... so really, it’s up to if Hooty remembers he has it/that they took it. Hooty’s very good at forgetting about important things, but he’s also good at suddenly remembering them....
(it, uh, may be relevant to the fic I’m kinda sorta writing rn)
(I should get that done before the next ep comes out, it’s just speculation on what’s been happening on the Isles during the time period of Thanks to Them)
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He really is an excellent manipulator... until he runs up against someone who realizes that’s his game and is willing to play it too. One of the things I really enjoy, thinking back on his presence throughout the show, is how much of what we saw him say was just... lying. Here we all were, trying to piece together what he wanted to ‘purify’ magic for, why he wanted to bring the Titan to the human realm like in that vision, what the Big Plans were that he had for Hunter... and even when we figured he had ulterior motives, there’s this kinda “play by the rules” assumption that made us figure that he was just misrepresenting the things he was showing us, rather than making them up out of whole cloth. (The ‘plans’ for Hunter were to sacrifice him, etc) But no, yeah, ‘purification’ was just a buzzword to help get everyone sealed, he never meant to bring the Titan to the Human Realm and it just made a dramatic show for the Coven Heads, there were never any plans for Hunter besides being the next Grimwalker assistant. He doesn’t play by the rules. He’s not a noble demon, even to the viewer.
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I actually touched on this in my fic We Sing It Anyway! Terra definitely knows, though I had her a bit more subtle about it. This is shortly after the previous Golden Guard’s death, and Hunter-- who hasn’t appeared yet, nobody knows he exists-- is too young to take on the mantle, leading to a few years without a Golden Guard and Lilith heading the EC under her own name.
“He really did kick it,” Ulrich said, and Darius’s eye twitched.
“I’m not surprised,” Terra said, leaning back in her chair. “He was getting reckless. I’m surprised he made it this long— there were two before him, since I’ve been a Head Witch. Can’t imagine who’ll replace him; there are no obvious candidates.”
“I heard it’ll be Clawthorne,” Aconia put in. “Good head on her shoulders, that one. Would have scouted her within my own coven, had she not joined the Emperor’s.”
“That little tiger lily doesn’t really fit the profile“, Terra said, eyes twinkling. “Besides, she’s not even the strongest Clawthorne. Did you never meet her sister?”
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Whoops, thanks for the tip! It’s fixed now.
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Neat, I know a couple people who are really enjoying it! That said, if I’m gonna blog anything other than Owl House, it’s gonna be Princess Tutu, which I do really want to get back to! I was really enjoying it as a show, I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to get the ~activation energy~ to blog it. Getting back to Tutu properly is one of my intentions for this new year, though!
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Note
DMC Questions Anon here!
Before you read this next question:
I was informed that it would be a good idea for my questions to be answered with a specific tag so if people wish to block it they could. Please tag your answers to any question I send you with "dmc questions anon" and I think that should work.
If you wish to be taken off the list, ask. If somebody wishes to be placed on the list, ask. If your anon asks are off and you wish to participate, just make a post answering the question you see going around.
Remember you do not have to answer every question, so please don't feel pressured to do so.
Please also remember to take as long as you need! Do not rush yourself, this is supposed to be a fun activity and I don't want anyone to feel stressed out by trying to rush to answer questions.
Now onto the actual question:
How would you rank the 5 games in the Devil May Cry series? (By story)
Separately, if you want, how would you rank extended material? (The DMC1 Novel, The DMC3 Mangas, The Anime, The DMC2 Novel, Deadly Fortune, Before the Nightmare, and Visions of V, all of which can be found (along with other stuff) here: https://originaldmc.github.io/DivinityStatue/Downloads.html)
If you wish, how would you rank all of it together in one big list?
Omg hiii anon!!!!
I’m gonna be honest and say I haven’t made my way through all the dmc side content yet, I’ve only managed to read Visions of V so I guess I have to rank that number one. Ive also watched some of the anime, but not enough to really give it a firm rank. I’ve been kinda busy lately so I just haven’t had the time to finish reading all the novels
And onto the games!!!!!!
Number 5:Dead last
Devil May Cry 2. Okay yeah this should not be a surprise. DMC2 failed in pretty much every category when it comes to games. The story is just mind numbingly boring. Let’s move on
Number 4:Pretty Eh but doesn’t really hold up well with the later entries
Devil May Cry 1. Someone on Reddit said this the best but when you compare it to later entries DMC1 kinda feels like filler. I am all for a DMC1 remake of it means giving Mundus a much more satisfying ass whooping (and more screen time for Trish!!!! She deadass isn’t there for half the game!!!! I literally forgot she existed in that game halfway through!!!!)
Number 3:Concepts were great but man they missed some potential
Devil May Cry 4. The concepts of a religious cult ruling and island and creating angels from the power of demons rules. And putting us in a position where Dante was the “bad guy” was actually really cool. But half of the game is just backtracking as Dante which puts the story on hold. The scrapped concepts for DMC4 were so cool and so should’ve been included man :((
Number 2:Overcoming your daddy issues
Devil May Cry 3. Dante and Lady both had amazing arcs throughout this game. With Dante accepting his repressed past and demon side and proudly claiming himself as son of Sparda who harbours his soul. It’s enough to make a grown man cry. And Lady’s arc of learning that not all demons are evil, and finally being able to extract revenge on her father. And who can forget that famous “even a devil May cry when he looses someone he loves” line. And I ain’t gonna pretend Vergil wasn’t a banger part of this game’s story cause he was a banger part of this game’s story. A man who seeks power to the point of self-destruction. Who is just as fucked up as Dante but refuses to let himself feel those emotions, and instead filling the blanks with raw strength. And the post credits scene with Mundus…..biting and chewing and killing……ough the post credits scene with Mundus…..
Number 1:That’s intergenerational trauma babyyyy
Devil May Cry 5. As much as I mald and seethe about how dirty Lady and Trish were done in DMC5 I truly do fucking love DMC5. Watching Vergil finally gain the capability to express his emotions and be able to reconcile with his past and his trauma and work for a better future got me wailing and weeping. Watching Nero be able to prove that yes, he is powerful and capable as a devil hunter got me weeping and wailing. Seeing Dante and Vergil finally being able to reconstruct their sibling bond after so many years and keep their sibling rivalry on less violent terms got me weeping and wailing. Everything about V got me wailing and weeping. Nico was such a good addition to this franchise with her personality and how she bounces off the others with her snarky little remarks and was a good source of comedy relief during rough times. The passing of the torch moment was honestly so powerful and I’m actually really looking forward to seeing how Nero can carry on that torch through the series. And the references to the DMC anime in the forms of Patty and Morrison were really neat too.
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lampmanliveblogs · 2 years ago
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The false 'outer layer' of Philip's mindscape shows a rather disturbing reality to the man. His constant lies and distortion of the truth to those who meet him, him adopting the various different 'masks' and identities he needs to convince people he's trustworthy, his constant alteration of events to suit his perception... It's not just that he's manipulative and wants events to proceed a certain way to suit his goals, he really does think that's how events happened. Luz cracking his mask, exploding the portal and freeing Eda was spun into a 'triumph against Wild Magic ' inside his own head, where no-one else would ever see it. Wittebro falling in love was turned into a 'betrayal' against him, and a 'Mistake' that the Grimwalkers keep repeating, not because they have basic morality, but because they're 'flawed and broken' and it's better to start over than trying to 'Fix' them. Luz isn't disagreeing with him because he's wrong, it's because she's crazy, and if you can't talk a crazy person off a ledge, maybe it's easier to just push them off and get it over with. Even his true memory portraits are damaged, indicating just how hard Philip's willpower is distorting his perception.
And all this is spun off his need to control events, to have reality play out the way it does inside his head, because that way, he's right and everything he's done and will do no matter what is also right in the end. Philip cannot be reasoned with at all, because he's spent centuries locked up inside his own head and twisting his mind until it's a hollow shell of a rational human being's. He's lied so long and so loudly to everyone he can force to listen, that the ugly truth of reality compels him to violence every time somebody confronts him with it, because he can't handle the truth. In an ironic way, despite being analogous to a rigid authority figure that wants to force luz to 'grow up' and let go of her childish fantasies, Philip is the one that's spent centuries living in a fantasy world, whereas luz has been growing up from her time on the isles, and since this truth demeans him and all he's done, he denies it and the fact luz is right, even as the vision of 'reality' that awaits him outside the little kingdom he's built no longer exists. Philip is the last witch Hunter in existence, and the profession itself was not the heroic endeavour he seems to see it as, but and excuse for greedy individuals to seize land from the accused once the 'witch' was found guilty, but nobody seems to have told Philip this when he was a young boy, and as he got older, he only got better at ignoring the signs from reality that conflicted with his perception of events.
To paraphrase a certain talking head, "one thing to remember about liars, lad- they lie. They do it on principle. No issue too big or too small. They lie about anything they can get away with, and some things they can't, just to demonstrate their power over reality".
In a tragic way, Philip lies the longest and the loudest to himself more than anyone else, making him his own greatest victim of his delusions.
I think that at some point while doing the liveblog, I thought of talking a bit more about how Belos own mind distorts the reality of things in a way that makes him look better; the "Triumph Against Wild Magic" painting in particular, showing him as the victor, while in reality, it was more of a tie. Luz didn't defeat him outright, but she got one up on him, managing to get away with Eda and the others AND slowing down his plans by destroying the portal (and taking the key with her; if Hunter hadn't managed to take it from Amity, the portal would still be essentially useless).
Why didn't I do that? Because I forgot. Whoops.
These are some great insights though, much better than what I could've said. Especially when it comes to his need to control the world around him. Even after Hunter got the key for him, which he needed for his plans to work, he reacted with barely contained anger. Because even though he got the last piece he needed for his great master plan, Hunter disobeyed him, and he can't stand that.
I doubt there is anything that would make me sympathize with Philip/Belos at this point, but I will say this: The idea of him being the last witch hunter, someone who has so blindly pursued this false ideal for centuries, doing all the evil deeds to fulfill a crazy plan for the sake of a world that has moved past that and would condemn the things he did for them... there is something tragic there. He believes his works are for humanity's benefit, but everyone (well, most people) would be filled with horror if they heard of what he has done.
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reilleclan-blog · 9 months ago
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I don't recognize my hands I don't recognize my face I don't recognize my hair. I sleep for hours to wake up wondering why I'm still here and who am I to be here. Yes, I feel extremely alienated since I was a little kid I wish someone protected her. Now I'm here in her place I wish someone protected me I wish my existence mattered to the ppl around me. I suck at making friends I never realized why I was different, and my differences everyone else noticed family, school, strangers. I miss my dog, yes child we finally got a dog he sadly had his final days almost 4 years ago and I still miss him. In a way he was my only friend I could talk to even to him I wasn't the best I miss him all the time. He was my only friend constant lonelyness constant being alone and abused I have no one. The world will tell me for a couple days "it's not so bad" until I remember why I choose to separate myself from so many ppl. Most ppl don't see me as a person a living person. I'm not even here to them I'm not here to myself. I am alienated I am unfinished unnamed. Why would I be cared for. Why would someone know my name, or date me or care for what comes out of my mouth. I want community but community is not safe I am not safe I am not ok I'm not well. I'm sick. I can talk to myself for as long as I like I can go on morning walks and try to reach for companionship but it will never come cause I'm not meant to exist to anyone I'm not here. I can't be here this place is the worst. This is not a joke ig this is a cry for help but idrk. I'm physically here and yes u can touch me, but mentally I'm not. I'm not sure what having closeness with a person is. I wonder if the world would be a kinder place if everyone experienced what a black autistic woman had to deal with. From the moment we are born we are no longer seen as human. I wish this place wasn't so painful I wish I didn't care about anything and some days I unironically think Pain from Naruto had the right idea. Nobody cares until it's themselves so give everyone the same painful experience will ppl care then?
Also I'm so fucking tired of telling ppl how out of touch with the world I feel(alienating or alienated) and that person's response is "well u can still change that" I understand maybe ppl don't know what to say or they genuinely believe "if I could do it u can" that's not the same for SOMEONES LIVED EXPERIENCES. It's just not maybe u want to say something positive b/c it's easier or b/c u aren't living what I'm living thru but please stfu about this "positive lifestyle" bullshit. "Don't stress " WTF THANK U FOR TELLING ME SOMETHING I WISH ID HAVE THOUGHT OF THAT. SUCH KIND HIGHLY GOOD WORDS THOSE ARE. If u don't have anything "affirming" to say u can just say nothing or stop fucking talking to me. Just "stay positive" in a world where CHILDREN AND ANIMALS ARE BEING KILLED AT A RAPID RATE WHILE "HUMANS" watch it like it's the fucking Super Bowl. Yes I'd love to "stay positive". Anybody that says shit like that.. just fuck u. Yes whoop whoop u overcame ur obstacles that's great but ur not me. I'm so tired of the arguing and fighting just listen to me actually listen to me.
Me me me care about me listen to me love me. Tell me I matter to u and actually show it. I'm fucking done
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