#writer ego triggered

[projectbluearcadia]

Y'all, just curious, how good in your opinion (be honest) am I with being generic in x readers? I do try to be fairly ambiguous about the reader's appearance, but I'm sure I'm biased somewhere.

Also, side note/rant to the person who wrote this post and similar thinkers (**this has been edited several times as I thought about the post to try to make my points clear)

ON GENERIC READER APPEARANCE

Generic characters are difficult to write. You're not allowed to use phrases like "the brunette" or "the green-eyed woman/man." You're not allowed to have the character/narration make any reference to your appearance unless it's "You're pretty. I can't explain why though." I'm not saying it's wrong to want a character that can fit in your mind, but remember that we're limited.

Fanfic writers are deeply self-indulgent, particularly at the beginning. I was the same way. Most of my x readers were based on a cis-female, heterosexual, short-ish white woman, because that's where I see the world from. I do not have your cultural background, your build, or your sexuality. I only started to change that habit when a commenter politely remarked something along the lines of "I don't blush, girl I'm black :/"

I will still give readers scars, strange physical features, specific hair colors, specific heights, et cetera. because it might suit the story.

Marking an x OC as x Reader is annoying. I get it. I was annoyed too when I only read fanfic and didn't write it.

But I also can't deny I've been tempted on numerous occasions to do exactly that sheerly out of frustration. Try and understand; putting the OC tag your work is like pinning a big sign on it that says "I'm not valuable; I was written by an inexperienced and unskilled writer."

When in reality, I've read plenty of OCs that were incredibly relatable, funny, or were just good, solid characters. Just tell them not to do it. It's false advertising for you, but it could be scream for validation from them. They might write something you really like in the future as they learn more, and I think it's a shame that you won't read it.

ON READER PERSONALITY

I will not give much leeway for anyone on this; just going to put that out there.

There are a lot of characters that have gotten on my nerves in romance. Believe me, I've read almost as much as I've written.

Not a big fan of toxic assholes either. I don't generally market those as x Readers (with a few exceptions in the past.)

But think about two things for me.

A) A generic personality will get you a robot.

B) Writers do not have access to every personality trait in the box. In most cases, they take what they have from themselves and put it into their characters. Think about that for a second.

Most of my characters resemble me in some respect, even the characters I'm crossing you with. Some of them are extremely lonely. Some of them are too empathetic. Some of them joke around a lot. Some of them are shy and easily flustered.

My point being, that it can be very easy to feel like someone just punched you in the face thinking that you pulled the fiction out of your ass or ChatGPT.

As far as the "oh, I love them so much, I need them in my life even if they're horrible", I am a person who was wildly in love with someone to the point that if he asked me to jump off a cliff, I probably would have done it.

It is not a myth, and it is not healthy, and that is why I will put it in stories. The point is to get you to act on your own situation. I do not write stories specifically catered to your personal pleasure. I tell a story that belongs to a part of my life hoping that you like it and that you take something away from it.

The smut I write is a different story; I do cater to your personal pleasure in that case. It's smut. I'll sprinkle in a lesson about consent or safe-words in there but that's usually it.

The point of this whole personality rant is to explain that not everyone is ready with a snappy comeback or a throat chop. Fanfic writers are people just like you. In general, they're writing what they think is cool hoping you think it's cool too. They're not paid. They usually aren't in communication with you. And unless the author is poor at following story requests, you haven't made one of that author. You can't expect them to think like you do.

And if you're not satisfied with that explanation, then you can always do what every dissatisfied fan does:

Pick up your pen and become god. Add to the pool of fanfic. Far be it from me to complain about new ideas and new perspectives.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk today; I will now proceed to slink back into my chair in Lucifer's office hoping not to die of embarrassment for writing this out.

Reposting a comment I made on a post and adding to it

x Reader fics need to handle writing “reader” better sometimes

As a 6ft afab person who’s built like a man and has never been super feminine and has a more unique haircut that’s shorter I hate to read about “readers” petite, small, pale body and her “long flowy straight hair”, etc.

Reader is meant to be ambiguous!! And if it’s important to the plot please mention it at the beginning!!! If it’s not important to the plot why is it being included???

Some people who are reading may be tall, fat, skinny, short, or even somewhere in between. The readers could have a hijab, 4c hair, locks, braids, long hair, short hair, wavy, no hair and even more.

Stop making all readers so sweet and innocent, I want a reader who’s petty and sassy sometimes. I’ve noticed also that so many readers are either too baby to do anything or over powered.

Personally I also hate reading about obviously toxic men and relationships that the reader goes back to because they are “so in love”, like no please let me deck that sucker and leave them in the dust and be happier.

Also, if you label your post with the tag “___ x reader” or titled with “___ x reader” and then make descriptions and then ADD A NAME!!! It’s not an x reader fic and I heavily want to block you.

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 vice admiral

synopsis: after receiving some terrible news by news coo, you're left completely devastated. the crew does their best to console you, to no avail... and zoro realizes that, for once, his actions won't speak louder than his words... and makes a promise he's willing to die to keep.

cw: fluff with a decent dash of angst, parental death if that's triggering for you, reader calls her dad papa, comfort, zoro is once again down bad for reader, their relationship is super cute, zoro hates romance books.

a/n: listened to a lot of sad music for this

"They clashed, blades sparking and bodies twirling in an epic dance of death," you read aloud, completely enraptured by the book. "Their love was strong, but the hatred that kept them apart was stronger... It seemed that violence would once again be the driving force of their separation... as well as their rejuvenation."

Zoro gagged, keeping up the cadence of his push-ups as he rolled his eyes, glancing at you on his back with a raised brow.

Seriously...?

"You told me this book was about swordsmanship..." he grunted out, turning his gaze back to the grassy deck. "For the past three chapters... they haven't shut up about their rival families... or their... love for each other."

You let out a small snicker at his annoyed tone, a cheeky grin stretching across your lips as you turned the page.

"Well, if I told you about the romance part, you wouldn't have let me read it," you stated, simply.

"Gee, I wonder why..." he scoffed, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Hey!"

You flicked him in the back of the head, donning a small pout as he sighed, grumbling to himself something along the lines of:

"Always with the pout... she knows I hate the damn pout..."

It was Calisthenics Day, and with such beautiful weather, Zoro had decided to take his training outside, which meant dragging you out of your room to join him.

Even though he always deflected when asked about it, everyone knew that incorporating you into his workouts was one of his many guilty pleasures.

Wearing you like backpack during his pull-ups...

Having you take a nap on his barbell as he bench-pressed...

Plopping you down on his back for push-ups as you read...

He loved it.

He loved being in your presence because, to him, it felt oddly intimate—having you so close as he worked hard to get stronger, honing his body with the goal of protecting you in mind.

Not to mention it fluffed up his ego, being able to lift up and toss around his woman with such ease.

He was only a man... and couldn't help the renewed confidence he gained after every workout.

"Well, I didn't completely lie. The book's got sword-fights in it," you defended, flipping back through the last few chapters.

"Yeah, one every fifty pages," he scoffed once again. "And they're not even good. Who the hell dances in the middle of a fight?"

Your brows flattened, incredulously.

'Jeez...'

"Zo', it's figurative language. They're not actually dancing."

"Figurative... what?"

"Figurative language. Writers use it to make descriptions more interesting."

"Why don't they just say what they mean and be done with it?"

"'Cause that's boring."

"It would make this crap less confusing. Too many blinding smiles and sparkling eyes. Just say the girl looks nice and move on."

You sighed, not at all surprised by his response.

'He's so backwards...'

Zoro was a man who found it hard to say I love you, yet had no problem throwing himself in front of a bullet for you.

Really.

Most girls got bouquets and chocolates from their lovers after their one month anniversary, but you got to patch him up after he was hit in the chest by a fucking cannonball, all because you were in its line of fire.

A rather heart-warming yet terrifying problem to have.

The memory brought a small smile to your face, your lips letting out tiny chuckle as you recalled the scene.

"Gods, Zoro, why the hell did you do that?!" you sniffled, a few tears rolling down your cheeks as he coughed up another round of blood. "I could've dodged!"

He chuckled, painfully, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"With your reaction time?" he weakly teased, raising a brow as he sat up, "I don't think so."

Clutching his side, he let out a wince, pulling away his hand to see his blood was soaking through the bandages you'd applied.

"This is serious! Stop moving or you're gonna tear it open again!" you scolded, glassy eyed and wobbly lipped as you pressed your hand against his chest, forcing him to lay back down. "Gods, you're so stupid... why did you do that?"

After working tirelessly for a whole hour, Chopper was able to stabilize him, the cannonball having nearly tore off the whole of his side, and the organs along with it.

The doctor said it was a miracle, and medically improbable, that the man was still alive.

Zoro paused a moment, breathing slightly shallow as his eyes bore intensely into yours.

He knew exactly why...

"'Cause it was you..."

"Guys! News Coo's here!" Nami called, exiting her office and snapping you out of your thoughts.

Instantly, your mind pushed away the doom and gloom, making room for the wide grin that broke out on your face.

"Yes!" you cheered, jumping off Zoro's back, the man cracking a small smile at your excitement.

'Must be her dad...'

"Ooo, I wanna see!" Luffy exclaimed, swinging over from the figurehead. "I hope my bounty went up!"

"Me, too!" Chopper agreed, bursting from the med bay.

"Wait for me~!" Brook sang, jumping down from the balcony of the crow's nest.

"I call dibs on the funny papers!" Usopp perked up from his spot on the higher deck, tinkering with a new gadget of his.

"Let's see what's new in the world today," Robin mused with a smile, crossing her arms as she walked over to join the rest.

"It's been so long! I wonder how my father's doing!" you squealed, brimming with joy. "I bet he's captured a ton of other pirates!"

"Wait, (y/n), isn't your dad a marine?" Chopper asked, tugging at your arm.

"Yup!" you nodded, proudly. "One of the best there is! Back when he was in his prime, he was one of the strongest in the Navy! He even fought Gold Roger!"

"GOLD ROGER?!" Chopper and Brook exclaimed, shocked.

With a grin, Luffy threw a stretchy arm over your shoulder, literally pulling himself into the conversation.

"Yuh-huh! He and my grandpa are good friends!" your captain confirmed. "They go way back!"

Like Garp, your father was less than pleased to find out that you'd run away from home to become a pirate, much less a pirate with his best friend's grandson.

But, after some time, he learned to accept your decision, and even went as far as saying so in person, reuniting with you on Dressrosa and assuring that he still loved you with all his heart—you had feared he hated you for your decision.

He promised you both would meet again someday, and probably have to fight, given your luck.

So you promised to get even stronger, that way you'd be able to kick his ass back to the Red Line.

Let's just say your head got a good bonking for that one...

"Here, (y/n)," Nami smiled, tossing you the rolled up newspaper. "Take first look."

Giddily, you caught it, giving her a quick nod of thanks before flipping through the pages, searching for your father's name.

Until you found it.

"I found him!" you grinned, skimming through the article. "It is with a heavy heart that the Navy mourns the loss of one of its finest. Vice Admiral (d/n)..."

Your voice trailed off at the end, nearly dying completely as the words rang in the air, sounding foreign, despite it being you that said them.

Zoro froze mid-push up, eyes wide.

'Oh, no...'

Nami quietly gasped, hands rising to cover her mouth in shock, the others sharing similar expressions.

"After failing to return from a routine patrol of the sea surrounding Dunga, the vice admiral was reported missing. Naturally, the Navy sent out a search party, and discovered his ship floating aimlessly a few miles away from the island, battered beyond repair," you continued, frantically searching for some sort of catch. "According to Vice Admiral Momonga's report, upon boarding, the party found his body, along with the bodies of his entire squadron, on deck, each of them dead by varying causes."

No...

It wasn't true...

It couldn't be...

'Papa...'

You chest felt like it was going to cave in on itself, but you couldn't keep yourself from reading, still hoping for a twist.

"Of course, given the ship's close proximity to Pirate Island, it is safe to assume that the Blackbeard Pirates were the perpetrators of this deed. But, nonetheless, we are still left to grieve over this monumental loss..."

Shaking, your legs finally gave out, dropping you to your knees and your hands tightly gripped the newspaper, crumpling the pages.

"Oh, (y/n)..." Nami dropped to join you, a sorry expression on her face as she rested a comforting hand on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

You stayed stiff as a board, still in a state of shock.

Your father loved you with every bone in his body.

He was the man that taught you how to fight after finding out you were being picked on.

The man that kissed away your boo-boos after your daily adventures in the woods.

The man that held you during a thunderstorm after finding you hiding under his covers.

The man that paraded you around the house whenever you were sad, just to see you smile.

And despite the fact you ran away from home, despite the fact you joined the side he'd been fighting for over half his life... that reality never changed.

You were still the same, old (n/n) to him, and he was still your papa.

The papa... that you would never see again.

Your throat let out a wail of sorrow as you crumpled into Nami, clutching the paper tightly in your hands.

Everyone froze, hearts breaking at your sadness, expressions falling at the sight.

Your shoulders rocked with sobs, tears rolling down your hot cheeks like rivulets, your brows cinched in a look nothing short of agony.

You couldn't breathe, your chest heaving with effort as it attempted to retain the air you pushed out with your bawling.

"It can't—! I won't—!" you sputtered, coughing and gasping in an attempt to form the words. "He promised me! H-He promised me I'd see him again!"

"Don't start slackin' on me, kiddo. The next time we meet, it won't be as friendly," your dad smiled, ruffling your hair. "You may be tough now, but you better be a hell of a lot tougher if you wanna stand a chance."

"Psh! The next time we meet I'll be a hell of a lot stronger than you," you scoffed, proudly. "And then I'll kick your ass all the way back to the Red Line!"

"Like hell you will!" he exclaimed, hitting you upside the head with a haki-coated fist.

"OW! Papa, that hurt!" you loudly winced, rubbing the spot

"I love ya, (n/n)!"

"Love you, too, you old jerk!"

A new wave of tears erupted, your sobs becoming even more uncontrollable.

Your mind was completely gone with grief, only one word sticking out among the chaos.

"PAPA!"

Setting himself down on one of the mats in the crow's nest, Zoro's chest tightened, the sound of your wails on a permanent loop within his head.

After hours of consoling, Nami and Robin had finally calmed you to sleep, your body utterly exhausted from all the crying.

Sanji had made a banquet of your favorite foods for dinner, but you didn't eat a single bite.

Brook tried to serenade you with happy songs, but they all seemed to go in one ear and out the other.

Even Luffy tried to make you laugh, but it only made you even sadder, reminded of the times your father tried to cheer you up.

Safe to say, the entire crew was worried sick.

But, in a last ditch attempt to lift your spirits, Usopp and Franky banded together to build an altar in the crow's nest, using one of your father's old newspaper clippings as a photo.

It was beautifully ornate, yet simple, clearly demonstrating the skill and care it took to make it.

They hoped to surprise you with it when you woke up.

But before that... Zoro had to do something.

Using a match, he lit the incense that sat in front of your father's image—the picture of him standing at attention, arms crossed over his chest and expression pulled taut.

He looked strong, like a hero in a comic book, and twice as mean.

Though, if your stories were anything to go off of, he was apparently nothing but a big, old teddy bear.

Clapping his hands together, Zoro shut his eyes, paying his respects.

Without this man, he would've never met you.

Never seen your smile...

Never heard your laughter...

Never held your hand in his...

You were among the most important people in his life, and you wouldn't be the strong, kind, and compassionate woman he knew without your father.

That alone made him deserving of thanks.

But that wasn't the only thing the swordsman was there for...

Opening his eyes, Zoro's hand moved to grab the handle of his Wado Ichimonji, pulling the blade out of its sheath and holding it upright.

"Vice Admiral (d/n)... my name is Roronoa Zoro, and I am the man who will be the World's Greatest Swordsman," he started, deadly serious, looking straight into the eyes of your father's picture. "You don't know me, and I've never had the privilege of meeting you in person. But if there's one thing we have in common... it's (y/n)."

He tensed slightly, as if bracing himself for some harsh attack, letting out a smooth, deep stream of breath to calm his nerves.

"I love her... a lot."

He paused a little awkwardly, but cleared his throat to cover it up, pressing forward.

"Okay... maybe more than a lot," he corrected, glancing down at himself. "But it's because of that I put my life on the line for her every day... and it's because of that I'm worried about her safety."

His gaze sharpened, grip tightening on his sword.

'Bastards...'

"The newspaper revealed (y/n) as your daughter," he stated, jaw set tight. "She told me you tried to hide that, in case any of the pirates you put away managed to escape and seek revenge... but now that the secret's out... and you're dead... it's open season on her head."

He felt anger claw at the back of his throat, threatening to spring loose.

The Navy was fucking useless...

In their lousy attempt to honor the vice admiral's memory, they had inadvertently outed you to the world, completely destroying the years upon years of secrecy your father had worked so hard to protect.

Did they forget about his notoriety?

Forget about the thousands of pirates he'd jailed?

Forget about the countless enemies he'd made?

Forget about the hundreds of dangerous Impel Down escapees?

In your state of mourning, you were incredibly vulnerable, and if a blood-thirsty, revenge-seeking pirate came around wanting to settle a score, he wouldn't give two shits about how you were feeling.

Intentional or not, the Navy had thrown you into the proverbial lion's den.

But it would be a cold day in hell before Zoro let anything happen.

"While she's strong as hell on her own, with you gone, someone's gotta step up to support... be a figure or a name attached to her... strong enough to ward off any unwanted attention..."

He tensed, glancing back up at the picture.

"Which is why I'm here."

Taking another deep breath, he turned his gaze to his sword, now more prepared than ever.

"Vice Admiral (d/n)... I am in love with your daughter. And I solemnly swear from this moment forward... that I will never let her know pain."

His brows furrowed, expression cinched tight in earnest.

"That any weapon, plan, or plot made against her will fall at my blade... that any who come with the intent to harm her will be struck down without a second thought."

What Zoro saw that day scarred his heart for the rest of his life.

To see you so distraught... so crushed... broke a piece of him as well, and it was clear based off the others that gestures would not be able to break through to you.

So, for once, he would have to let his words speak louder than his actions.

"That I will stay by her side until she no longer needs me... that I will protect her with my every breath... that I will be a friend, a guard, a partner, or none at all at if she wants me to be..."

He paused, taking a second to make sure he was ready for the next part.

"But most importantly... that I will love and care for her just the same," he finished, before firmly tucking his sword back in its sheath. "She'll be protected... so don't worry."

A smirk rose to his lips, his eyes finding their way back to the man's picture.

"Soon enough, she'll have the World's Greatest Swordsman as her bodyguard."

[lovelaetter]

https://youtu.be/T9uQzj1-I5k?si=tQzcmpNYzVy3cDQs i cant get over how good she looks lately but THIS interview i’m actually foaming at the mouth

aside from loving the concept of her being so open about past relationships…the sick part of me is obsessed with the idea of rosie being in a toxic relationship because it just fits her so well. i can imagine her in a situationship but not being able to detach because 1) she’s needy and attatched, and 2) gets fucked right so its worth it.

i just want her to cry and yell in my face, throwing stuff around, literally going batshit crazy just for her to come back in a week to say sorry with *that* look on her face to get her pussy stuffed, craving your fingers or getting dicked down (g!p) cause she “can’t do it herself.”

on-and-off relationships with her, being possessive and controlling over her when she’s in different cities - whether its for her little ysl shows, or music promotions, asking who she's with, adding in a certain comment about the skin she shows, acting like she hates it but deep down knows she loves being your fixation cuz it feeds her ego lol

loving being mean to her because she knows how to take it (and *other* things) and sometimes getting an earful back, just for both of you to end up in bed tearing each other apart. like, you getting upset about her writing a song in her album, calling you out subtly on your guys' relationship, fighting in the studio in front of her team, 'embarrassing' her just for kick everyone out so you can fuck right then and there because seeing you angry gets her feeling a way oops maybe i just like arguing - 🥀

😵‍💫😵‍💫

okay but what if: you also being someone in the industry, not necessarily a singer, could an actress, a director, a writer, just both sides being put out there by you and being equally messy, you know, equal rights and people love being nosy and everyone is like this is the worst relationship ever but the next day there’s an article saying how you got back together and people simply can’t be on anyone’s side, you both are the worst !!

look, i don’t have a thing for cheating, i hate it actually, awful thing, but it’s fitting here, let’s be real. her going full taylor swift and admitting on cheating on you on her album? exactly. the drama, just sitting in her room waiting for your call or worse, for you to bang at her door mad as fuck but instead you just text her like “okay girl i fucked someone too so what lol” BUT THE THING IS you are mad, yes, you cheated, but you ARE mad and playing it cool and now so is she and it triggers this week long ass fight that culminates in, not joking, weekend long sex, the type your agent calls you because you have schedule to follow and you pick it up just to tell them to fuck off, change of plans, more important things showed up— blondie on your door looking so pissed but also wearing the most “visiting my not-so-ex-girlfriend-we-complicated to scream some facts at her but also let her know i need to feel her deep inside me” outfit she could find. and the thing you said about controlling her? omg, doing it here, the subject the discussion you are having quickly changing once you take a proper look at whatever she’s wearing with a “and what the fuck is that?” and her being sooo entitled saying “well, i have places to be” and it’s like “you do?” “yeah” “yeah?” “uh-hm” until you are already too close to her and she has nowhere to run once your hands get on her like she’s a doll. you actually loved her outfit, she looks so hot as always, and deep down you know she did it just for you… but you simply wouldn’t let her win this game.

her people probably would think she is dead or something during all weekend unless they are smart enough to contact someone that works with you because she would tell her manager oh i’m visiting someone and just leave and they wouldn’t be able to reach her as the whole time her phone is inside her bag turned off and she’s busy laying belly down with her pretty face being into the pillows and spread out, moaning and crying out for you to (not) give her holes a break, pussy leaking around four fingers and pushing up every time you tease her little asshole.

sex so good it has you apologizing to each other by the end, hands between the other’s thighs, her mouth on your tits, awkwardly muttering “sorry” against your skin.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Vice President Kamala Harris walked onto the ABC News debate stage with a mission: trigger a Trump meltdown.

She succeeded.

Former President Donald Trump had a mission too: control yourself.

He failed.

Trump lost his cool over and over. Goaded by predictable provocations, he succumbed again and again.

Trump was pushed into broken-sentence monologues—and even an all-out attack on the 2020 election outcome. He repeated crazy stories about immigrants eating cats and dogs, and was backwards-looking, personal, emotional, defensive, and frequently incomprehensible.

Harris hit pain point after pain point: Trump’s bankruptcies, the disdain of generals who had served with him, the boredom and early exits of crowds at his shrinking rallies. Every hit was followed by an ouch. Trump’s counterpunches flailed and missed. Harris met them with smiling mockery and cool amusement. The debate was often a battle of eyelids: Harris’s opened wide, Trump’s squinting and tightening.

Harris’s debate prep seemed to have concentrated on psychology as much as on policy. She drove Trump and trapped him and baited him—and it worked every time.

Trump exited the stage leaving uncertain voters still uncertain about whether or not he’d sign a national abortion ban. He left them certain that he did not want Ukraine to win its war of self-defense. He accused Harris of hating Israel but then never bothered to say any words of his own in support of the Jewish state’s war of self-defense against Hamas terrorism. In his confusion and reactiveness, he seemed to have forgotten any debate strategy he might have had.

Something every woman watching the debate probably noticed: Trump could not bring himself to say the name of the serving vice president, his opponent for the presidency. For him, Harris was just a pronoun: a nameless, identity-less “she,” “her,” “you.” It’s said that narcissists cope with ego injury by refusing to acknowledge the existence of the person who inflicted the hurt. If so, that might explain Trump’s behavior. Harris bruised his feelings, and Trump reacted by shutting his eyes and pretending that Harris had no existence of her own independent of President Joe Biden, whose name Trump was somehow able to speak.

Hemmed, harried, and humiliated, Trump lost his footing and his grip. He never got around to making an affirmative case for himself. If any viewer was nostalgic for the early Trump economy before its collapse in his final year in office, that viewer must have been disappointed. If a viewer wanted a conservative policy message, any conservative policy message, that viewer must have been disappointed. When asked whether he had yet developed a health-care plan after a decade in politics, Trump could reply only that he had “concepts of a plan.”

Almost from the start, Harris was in control. She had better moments and worse ones, but she was human where Trump was feral. She had warm words for political opponents such as John McCain and Dick Cheney; Trump had warm words for nobody other than Viktor Orbán, the Hungarian strongman whom Trump praised for praising Trump. It was an all-points beatdown, and no less a beating because Trump inflicted so much of it on himself.

At a minimum, this display will put an end to the Trump claim that Harris is a witless nonentity unqualified to engage in debate. Harris met Trump face-to-face before tens of millions of witnesses. She dominated and crushed him, using as her principal tools her self-command and her shrewd insight into the ex-president’s psychic, moral, and intellectual weaknesses.

Will it matter that Harris so decisively won? How can it not? But it may matter more that Trump so abjectly lost to a competitor for whom he could not utter a syllable of respect.

David Frum is a staff writer at The Atlantic.

[ddollfface]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸!𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝘅 𝗙𝗲𝗺!𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

Trigger Warnings; bad writing, lovesick behavior, reader is called 'my girl' multiple times, reader is described as more 'curvy' (in LoveSick!Bimbo's specifically), fluffy, nothing too bad. If I missed anything, then please let me know ♡ Hey, I'm sorry I've been so absent recently, but that's just because of personal issues. And I'd also like to say that I'm not going to be the most active writer on the app, sooo um sorry 'bout that. I'm just not very motivated to really do anything, so yeah. I hope ya'll enjoy :)))

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.

𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙎𝙞𝙘𝙠!𝘼𝙩𝙝𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙚

All of the Above. Any way he can show you affection, he will. Nothing is holding him back from hugging you, kissing you, or holding your hand. He has no fear. I mean, what are you going to do? Push him away? Yeah, right. And this is when his ego gets in the way. He can't comprehend why you wouldn't want to touch him, besides, he wants to touch you! He wants to love you, hold you, and protect you! Why wouldn't you want that?

He also enjoys buying you things. Whether it be a fancy dress, some makeup, paint, hell, it can even be a football or something! He doesn't judge (though he'd prefer you to be pliant, little you, someone he can protect). If you need something, whether it be for classes, a hobby, or anything of the sort, he'll pay for it! First date? Nope, don't even reach into your bag; he's got you! Want a coffee/tea/etc.? Babe, I better not see your card out right now. Who do you think I am? A bum? I take care of my girl.

He likes spending time with you, too. You're practically his best friend, after all! He likes to bring you to his practices, and games, wanting you to watch him. The majority of the time, whenever you're there, he'll purposefully show off, wanting you to know that he's husband material! He can protect you and your future children, don't worry! Just let him take care of you!

But he'll also come to any events you're a part of. Say you do theater, he's coming to every performance, the same if you do any performing art. If you do a sport (he'd be ecstatic btw), then he's coming to your practices, teaching different tips and tricks, and most importantly, he's giving you a "good luck kiss" (as he likes to call them). And if you're an artist or some sort, then he'll offer to be a model for you. He's not afraid to strip if it's for you. No matter how far you two are in the relationship, there's no hesitation in his voice when he looks at you, snarkily saying, C'mon sweets, paint me like I'm one of your French girls, yeah?

His affection doesn't stop there. I've dabbled in this concept before, but LoveSick!Athlete also loves to call you nicknames, and they're never-ending. He'll think of a new one for you every day! Honestly, it's interesting to see what he'll think of next. He has a wide variety and they span from how pretty you are, to your ass, and back to your sweet personality!

𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙎𝙞𝙘𝙠!𝙋𝙤𝙚𝙩

Gift Giving. LoveSick!Poet is far too nervous to talk to you. He'd shit himself if he ever called you something sweet like 'baby' or 'sweetheart', he thinks that his heart would implode. That's far too much for him. You're too much for him, too good to him, so he resorts to giving, giving, giving. He'll sneak you little poems he made about you, all flustered when you compliment his writing, how good he is. He'll get you a bouquet of flowers, all purple lilacs. LoveSick!Poet will go down to the nearest bakery, your favorite bakery, and leave you a small box of conchas, a sticky note stuck to the top of the box. It read 'I love your dress today, it looks beautiful on you :)'. He's so sweet, isn't he?

Quality Time. Similar to gift giving, it's a way for him to be affectionate without facing you. LoveSick!Poet doesn't have the best image of himself, finding your relationship with him to be a miracle, something to be worshiped, and admired. You want to go to the mall? Okay, he's on his way. Want to go out to eat? Where? When? He'll be there, but bare with him. He's not the most well-off man in New York, money's tight, right? And don't get him wrong, he feels bad. He'll constantly tell you so, going on about how he really wants to take care of you. And I'm sorry that I can't take you to the East Side, and we're stuck at the small cafe... I want to treat you, you really deserve the best, d-darling...

He just enjoys your presence overall, so any time he spends with you is a good time for him. LoveSick!Poet doesn't mind just sitting in silence, watching you do what you love. If you work at a cafe, restaurant, or anything of the sort, he'll show up to your work and just watch you do your thing. Depending on how you take his constant staring, he'll ask you for your number or how you're doing. He'll order something and have some, albeit awkward, small talk with you, wanting to know that you're doing well.

𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙎𝙞𝙘𝙠!𝘽𝙞𝙢𝙗𝙤

Physical Affection. LoveSick!Bimbo is very, very, very affectionate with most people, but it's doubled whenever she's around you. Honestly, she can't help herself. She has to be touching you at some point. She just finds you to be so adorable! She wants to show her appreciation for you and your body! Of course, she'll always let you cop a feel, if you want.

She wants to have a hand on your thigh, intertwine your fingers, and even hug you. She'll always have her chest pressed against your arm, not matter you height. And believe me, she's a tall girl, but she doesn't seem to mind the stares you get from men and some women.

Verbal Affection. Not only is she physically affectionate, but she's also very sweet with her words. No matter what time of day it is, or where she is, she'll always be calling you some sweet name. She likes to compliment you and your body, making sure you're never feeling insecure. After all, she can't have her darling feeling bad about themselves when they look like that! You're always beautiful and she'll make sure you know it. She can't help but let compliments slip out, saying how your body is just so perfect! You're literally like my missing puzzle piece, babes! Like what would I do without ya' curves!!

𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙎𝙞𝙘𝙠!𝙁𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙

Verbal Affection. Now, she's not complimenting you constantly (like LoveSick!Athlete and LoveSick!Bimbo), but she does give you affirmations. If you did well on a test, then she'll tell you how you're so smart. I'm just so lucky I got stuck with a sweet girl like you. You make me so proud.

She'll never hold back saying 'I love you', nope, never. She's very caring in that sense, seeing as you've been friends for so long. She knows what you like, after watching you and your exes interact. LoveSick!Friend isn't afraid to pat your head and kiss you on the cheek, but it's not her go-to, y'know? So she always falls back on giving you assurance, that way you'll never doubt yourself. You're doing so great, babe. Just keep doing what you're doing, I'm here to help.

Acts of Service. LoveSick!Friend washes the dishes, does the laundry, and cooks the dinners. If you're ever feeling under the weather, then she'll become your little servant, always at your beck and call. She just wants you to be taken care of. She wants you to know that she's always going to be there for you, and you don't need some man to be here. All you need is her, so you should just delete that dating app, no?

𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙎𝙞𝙘𝙠!𝘼𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙩

Verbal Affection. LoveSick!Artist is sweet with his words, knowing just what to say to get you all flustered and embarrassed. His voice is deep, soft, and comforting. He'll give you reassurance and soft words, speaking softly to you. He doesn't call you pet names too often, though he'll sometimes pull out 'sweets' or 'baby' if he's feeling extra nice that day. Most of the time, he prefers to use your name, finding it to be comforting. He likes your name, pleased by how the syllables roll off his tongue. It's the name for you, he prefers that you use his given name, instead of 'babe' or 'bubba'. It makes him feel closer to you and he'll tell you that. He'll go on about how, y'know, you're voice is real sweet, just prefer hearin' ya' say my name all the time. Makes a guy all giddy inside.

Gift giving. He likes to draw you, a lot. Whenever you pop into his mind, which is every waking second, he'll draw you, having to express his thoughts somehow. Sometimes, he'll have you right in front of him, modeling for him.

He likes to give you these drawings, well, only the PG ones. After all, he doesn't think you'd be able to handle it, getting too flustered and overwhelmed by how detailed he can get. But that's not the point, the point is that he likes to draw you, and for you. He draws the world around him and then gives it to you, wanting to share his talent with you. And you're always excited about it, enjoying your boy/friend's (depending on the timeline) talent.

Quality Time. Listen, LoveSick!Artist is very monotone, preferring to be calm, and by himself. He doesn't like parties, being in big groups, or loud music. He just wants to be with his close friends, you. It doesn't have to be a shared activity, where the two of you are talking. Actually, he prefers to do his own thing, and you do yours, just the both of you enjoying each other's presence. He'll be painting and you'll be doing homework, cleaning, reading, writing, whatever. He doesn't care too much.

It's like that one friend, the one where you can not talk for months and months, but when you two reunite, you're acting as if nothing changed. That's exactly how he treats your relationship. He doesn't need to be with you 24/7, if anything, he prefers to have some alone time.

Now, for this last part, I'm not too sure what category this would be under, but LoveSick!Artist is quite built, meaning he works out a lot. He's very strong. And he gives off scary dog privileges, much to your content. He enjoys protecting you, holding you close, and making sure no man is giving you any funny looks.

I think that may be described as physical affection, but it still doesn't feel right to me. LoveSick!Artist isn't necessarily the most touchy person, seeing as he likes to keep to himself, but that won't stop him from getting possessive. He's very, very, very aggressive towards other men, especially when you're involved. He already doesn't trust men, but when he sees the way they look at you, it causes him to spiral. Out of all my LoveSick!Characters, I think that LoveSick!Artist is the most likely to kill in your name. C'mon don't be like that, did ya' see how he was looking at you? Like a piece of meat, is what.

[itsmeeleanorstill]

Romantic sft headcannons about HABIT

Warnings: he deserves a whole trigger warning, murder, mention of a tiny bit lf blood, wierd romance, dark romance (or something like that?)

Authors note: dude is getting special treatment if my theme changed a bit just for this post pluss since nobody is posting about him i will be

I dont know how you would get him to date you or how you stayed alive around him but u ate with that

Hes not really romantic and when i say not really i mean that he is he just chooses not to be most of the time so no dates no nothing

He will sometimes bring you a few stuff that he thinks you will like mostly stuff he stole from his victims so just i dont know wash the blood off and stuff

Something almost every writer who writes for HABIT agrees that hes very touchy and my god does he bite a lot

His hands constanly on you on your shoulder ass or any part of you basicly

Like i said he loves to bite not nececarily sexual or anything he just does no reason

And he looovveees if you are just as touchy or you bite him too sure you could not even make a mark on him he loves to see you try

Feed into his ego and he will adore you he may seem like an anoyingly cocky bitch but deep down we all know hes insecure

He will probably make you be there when he kills people loves the idea of you watching as he tortures people (once agin not in a sexual way just in a wierd twisted way)

He may or may not try and persuade you into commiting murder

If you dont do it he will just whine about it but if you do he will be so exited basicly jumping out of his (or not really his) skin

Passing the knife to you to let you make the final stab to kill the victim

[bodybeyondstories]

Story prompt: a guy asks his ex to meet him to talk about the end of their relationship (the person who asked the date was cheated on by him and wants revenge), before asking for the meeting he cast a curse on him, every time he says the word "ego" his dick and balls will swell, the goal is to make him become a human parade balloon. ;)

If I were a better writer, I would've worked in a runaway growth scene triggered by someone blasting a mashup of Ego (Beyoncé) and Alter Ego (Doechii). Alas!

And PSA: Please try and talk things through with your significant other before resorting to chaos magic. You will be held responsible by municipal services.

1010 words

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"Look, I know endless apologizing and groveling won't make things right, but I'm here to listen and put aside my ego-ooof..."

"Hm? Your what?"

"Sorry, I'm just really...um...uncomfortable, in these--"

"I'd be uncomfortable too, trying to set aside an ego that big."

"I--aughhh--meant these pants. They're really--don't give me that look."

"Oh don't worry, everyone in the park has seen how great your legs are. You got your daily ego massage."

"That's not fair. What's that supposed to...to...mean...sorry is it hotter out here? It's hotter, right? I feel very..."

"Stuffy?"

"Stuffed. Look, I'm really trying to be present, but I have a little bit of a...situation developing."

"Yet another 'situation,' of course. My mistake to take up a whole five minutes of your time. I thought you were putting down the ego--"

"Ego, ego ego! Yes, I am, I just mean--AUGHHH!"

"Shit, are you okay?! What's...what's that sound."

"I think it's my zipper."

"Your...oh wow, that's a lot to stuff."

"It won't...stop...growing. I don't know what's going on."

"A lot more..."

"I feel like my pants are about to bur--wait, what?"

"...A lot more than I expected..."

"You've got to be kidding me. You did this didn't you?"

"It--it was just supposed to be a small hex."

"This doesn't look very small."

"I mean it was just supposed to manifest by a certain percentage when activated by the trigger word. So whenever someone says--"

"Don't."

"--ego."

"Fuck! There goes the zipper. Was the goal to get me in trouble for public indecency? My briefs don't have much longer, and they're already soaked through. Was that also part of the curse?"

"Not even a full curse! Just a hex. A small hex. I wanted to teach you a lesson and make your most prized possession reflect your ego."

"Fuck, that was a big one. These pants are done for, they're in tatters."

"You know I'm still learning spell craft. I just maybe got the order of operations wrong."

"Yeah, maybe. Jesus, this thing's huge. It's not even fully hard and it's pulling my underwear apart. Can you please pause whatever this is? I can't even wear normal clothes at this point."

"Ok, um, maybe I can fix this. I just updated my spellbook app, there should be a straightforward reversal incantation. What's the opposite of ego? Oh shit."

"Ughhhh. It's...it's so big...it's not stopping."

"Are you actually getting hard?"

"I can't help it. It feels so good. It reaches up to my lips, that's so hot. I wonder what I taste like."

"You actually found a way to flip this in your favor."

"I'm already a freak, thanks to you. Just let me enjoy this."

"It's...just...massive..."

"Maybe the biggest cock ever. And it's all mine."

"A little egotistical, don't you think?"

"Wait, please, stop!"

"Whoa, it's past your head now."

"I noticed. It's not...it's not stopping. Why is it not stopping?"

"I don't know! I didn't say ego--"

"Fuck, that was the biggest spurt yet. My dick is about to rival my entire body, we have to hide somewhere until I can get this down."

"I don't think we're going anywhere. Look at your balls."

"Why? I can't even see them. Help me up--oof!"

"Careful, careful, they're weighing you down. They're already the size of beanbag chairs."

"Please, babe, you have to reverse this. I don't think it's stopping!"

"Okay, okay, I'm checking the app and...well there may be not be an easy fix."

"Are you fucking kidding me?! You're always doing reckless shit like this. Always half assing, not thinking anything through."

"Oh so now it's about me?"

"Yes, per usual, you have successfully managed to make it about you. Congratulations, yet again."

"God, you were always so insufferable, what was I ever thinking falling in love with a massive, throbbing--"

"Do not say it--"

"Ego!"

"Oof, I'm pinned to the ground. This thing's taller than me. This is messy even by your standards. I can feel it pulsing, it feels so good, so full."

"Messy?! I think it was pretty messy to hook up with your boyfriend's coworker at the holiday party!"

"Look, please, it was just the one time, there was the mistletoe over the doorway and we were being cute--"

"You should see how cute he is now. I don't think he'll be able to fit those cheeks through a typical doorway ever again. Oh, did that turn you on? You'll drown in your own precum, it's like a broken faucet up there. Maybe your boy toy around the corner can help clean up?"

"Please, that was just a fling, I made a mistake, I thought we already worked through that."

"Or the hunk from the moving company can help ferry you around with those balls."

"C'mon, were we even exclusive at that point?"

"Actually, they might soon be bigger than his truck. Looks like you're really enjoying this, huh? I can almost hear the eruption building."

"I, I, I can't help it. It's...too much...my dick is a monstrosity, just like my actions, I think you've made your point. C'mon, it's the size of a flagpole."

"Not quite, but almost! Maybe we can rush things a bit since you keep trying to rush closure. Maybe the whole world should see the manifestation of your egocentric--"

'Wait, no!"

"Egotistical,"

"Can we please just talk about this--"

"Ego--um--ist behavior!"

"Ooo I can feel it stretching, my balls are churning they're so full. It's...it's too much, I can't think, I'm...I'm losing control."

"Now you know how it feels. Your cockhead can probably be seen across half the city, and these balls are the size of SUVs. You want to be community dick, go ahead and flood the neighborhood with jizz."

"Can't, can't move. Gonna...cum..."

"I can already hear sirens a few blocks away. And looks like some news trucks beat them to it. We're gonna put on a show. So everyone can see how big that ego really is."

[creature-wizard]

I know that constantly seeing posts warning people about Project 2025 and Agenda 47 can be very frustrating and even bad for one's mental health, but even so it's very important to distinguish between content that's actually trying to shame you, and content that's trying to warn you. This whole notion that if something makes you feel bad, then it was meant as an attack on you and your ego is actually a very reactionary idea. I see it all the time among conservatives who think that teaching racism in schools is an evil conspiracy to hurt white kids' self-esteem. I see it among anti-vaxxers who think that being told that their kids are at a heightened risk of death if they don't get them vaccinated is fearmongering and malicious manipulation.

If a post makes you feel shame, please take a moment to ask yourself whether the writer was actually shaming (did they actually say you'd be a bad person if you didn't do what they said?), or if that's something you projected onto a post trying to warn you (ie, they said there would be consequences). Remember, a lot of people are (very justifiably) frightened right now, and are trying to sound the alarm as best as they can.

If your mental health is taking a toll from these posts, then do what you have to to protect it. Block triggering blogs, take a break from Tumblr, do whatever helps you. And also, be mindful of the difference between posts that are attacking you, and posts that feel like they're attacking you.

[thespirtualist25]

Messages you need to hear rn.

Choose a number 🌸

Pile 1 .

You need to be in present moment, life is giving you a chance to change. You have got your life with good karma, don't worry whatever you have done well you will receive good fortune for it. Hidden faces of people will come out.

Pile 2.

It will take time to heal, take holy bath if required it will heal you, take some time away from social media you need it. Stay in nature and with animals. You are being given opportunity to give others, your energy is sacred use your fuel to the fullest. Plan your future, be rebel for yourself. I see you are doing good for society. Use your energy to the fullest. I see many of you will be writers and poets. Inspiration will come from nature, fortune is in your hands. Be inspired and use your creativity pour your heart in your work. And see Lord in everything. You work from your heart and that is your strength, stand still my child.

Pile 3

Take care of your sleeping schedule, don't worry abundance is coming. You can't receive it without giving proper actions and time wait and work for the blessings. The universe understands you the wait is worth it. You are going to receive more than you asked for, also the lesson is to learn to share it with others. Appreciate people around you who contribute in your work. Your ego is a blockage you think you are one step ahead but in reality it's not like that. Work on yourself and fix your trigger this message is only for few and I feel for people with taurus and libra placement.

[horseshoegirl]

Damn Those Dog Tags: Part 15 - Have You Ever Seen The Rain

📖I need to make two apologies. First, I am so sorry for the long delay. While work was beating my ass, I actually received a rude comment on my Wattpad account for the last chapter that triggered a horrible writer's block. It was taken care of, and it didn't bother me at the time, but I didn't realize how much it affected me until I started to write. Then I decided to use it for inspiration!

Secondly, I'm so sorry for what is about to unfold. This one was planned from the get-go (which is also probably why I struggled because this is the one chapter I dreaded having to write).

(I'll be running from the pitchforks as they come, Woot Woot!)

❗️+18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, Mentions of an original child, Shitty family dynamics, Angst, verbal fights, sexist implications, one slap across the face, and Jake being Hangman.

#6k words

Part 14 | Masterlist | Part 16

The story behind how you started ego-checking some of the cocksure pilots at Hard Deck is less interesting than one might think.

It all started with a game. 

You weren't kidding when you told Jake you were a library, loving geek who'd rather spend her time deep in the stacks. That was the plot of your entire post-secondary experience. You didn't know how to flirt. You stayed clear of frat parties and cliquey groups. And if a guy tried to flirt with you, you ran for the freaking hills without a backward glance.

You only decided to take that bartending job in building H's damp, dark basement because you were dead-ass broke. But the thing about being a bartender on a University campus, there were moments when you had nothing but time on your hands.

You had to get creative.

Looking back, you would blame the writer-orientated part of your mind that decided to create that little game of making up stories for the people who regularly visited the miserable bar.

The quiet girl, always sitting in the back corner, cramming for a test or writing a paper. Did she like the ambience, or was she avoiding the library? Or was she trying to work up the nerve to ask out one of the bussers, waiting for the perfect meet cute?

Maybe the nerds who gathered every Friday at the arcade-style game consoles playing Pac-Man needed to leave their dorm because Friday nights tended to be the one night everyone liked to party.

Those popular girls sitting around a table with their $5 cocktails, lowcut tanktops, and jean shorts, always on their phones gossiping over the latest social media post from their favourite celebrities. Did they have Regina George in their ranks? Which one was sleeping with the other's boyfriend? How much blackmail did they have on each other?

Which one would murder the other first?

That little game you invented for yourself got you out of your shell. It also made it easier to deal with the persistent football jocks who'd try to flirt with you for a free shot.

Ridley would always get a kick out of it whenever you told her. You'd always imagined her curling up in a ball and kicking her feet back and forth while she squealed in laughter over the phone.

"Be a character in one of your freaking stories. Or better yet, act it out! You're a damn writer, Lizzie."

She was right. So you did. 

You'd never forget the laughter of that football jock when your rejection of his flirting attempts to weasel a free drink out of you resulted in his childish reply of, "Well, nobody's perfect, Sweetheart, least of all you."

"I never said I was," you had said with a smile.

You must have said something right because a few minutes later, Penny was introducing herself and chatting you up, asking if you wanted a better job bartending.

You were all too happy to leave. But nothing could have prepared you for the hotshot, ego-driven, and stupidly horny Top Gun pilots who frequented the Hard Deck. 

Between remembering their drink order or what side of the room they tended to gravitate towards, you needed more than your little guessing game to figure out their tells. You did pick up little things about them, though.

The WSOs were the kindest; ironically, they stood out in the crowds. Always a kind smile, never a bad thing to say about anyone.

The female pilots were always badass. At least, you thought so. Strong. Always commandeering the room the second they walked in. Always nice, no question about it. But mess with them; you got schooled hard.

They were the literal definition behind the saying, 'Do no harm, but take no shit.'

And with each new group that came in, the male pilots, the single flyers you had called them, paled compared to those jocks. They never changed. A pair constantly vied for first place with each new group that came through the Top Gun program.

Always a pair of males. Women always knew there was more at stake than a freaking trophy.

Those guys talked to you. Well... properly flirted at you.

That's where your little game came in handy. Picking out the little things about them, letting your mind do the creative parts next. It's how you turned Jake down so quickly that first time.

But the guy currently approaching the bar? He did not fit the bill of any regular customer you had seen in a while.

Tourists came and went without question. They stood out like a pack of flies, unsure where to go, with friendly faces and always asking what the best places were. They tipped great, and they never returned.

This guy? 

Not a tourist.

He was from out of town. The plaid shirt, jeans and cowboy boots were unusual for a California bar. It was also how he gaped at the walls and ceiling, taking in all the Navy memorabilia Penny had collected over the years. If you hadn't been paying attention, you could have sworn there was a look of distaste on his face with each new item he saw.

But what irked you was the sense of familiarity you couldn't place while looking at him. Blonde hair and a sharp face. Something in how he carried that toothpick between his teeth, not in the way god forbid fucking Tyler had, but as if it was a piece of grass. Also, in the way he walked.

Then he openly leered at a woman's ass as she walked by, and it all made sense.

Ah, a Wham, Bam, Thank You, Mam.

He sat in the empty chair directly in front of you, still watching the women's retreating form. You didn't want to serve him, but a tiny part of you hoped your assumption had been wrong.

It had been a while since you had to rebuff flirty advances; the newer pilots going through the Top Gun Program hardly said anything to you except smile and relay their order.

You suspected Jake was behind it.

"What can I get you?" you smiled at the guy. He slowly pulled his eyes away with a sly grin. The second he caught sight of your face, his mouth stretched even wider as he leaned forward on the bar.

"Your number and the name of a good hotel."

You should have known better. 

If it looked like a duck, it quacked like a duck too.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you straightened the line of shot glasses under the bar, not once looking up as you answered him. "Well, I can answer one out of two of those questions, but I'm afraid the only hotels around here are resorts. There is a bed and breakfast about ten minutes down the road that will give you a good deal."

"Will they give me a good deal if I mention your name?"

"Only my friends know my name, and you are simply a customer sitting at my bar wanting a drink?" you raised your eyebrow, tapping your finger against the bar.

He made a show of thinking about it, rocking his shoulders back and forth. He finally nodded, leaning forward to answer you.

"Whiskey. Straight."

You recognized his accent as you reached beneath the bar to grab the bottle. It was more pronounced and slightly more profound, but without a doubt, he sounded like Jake.

Good old southern Texas Charm.

Normally you'd engage in small talk, but you wanted nothing more than to leave this asshole alone. Thinking he'd leave it be after you poured him his drink, you slid the glass forward, then made your way over to the other side of the bar.

The words he called out after you made you stop in your tracks.

"You must get attention all the time. Having your pick of the litter each year."

You whipped around, offended. " Are you calling me easy?!"

He shrugged. "I'm just saying a good-looking woman like yourself, in this place... you clearly aren't sticking around because of the pay."

Oh, you wanted this guy gone. That could have been one of the most double-standard comments you had ever received. Old Liz would have sputtered, maybe run into the back fridge and asked one of the other bartenders to handle it.

You now? No chance in hell. If he were going to give it, you would give it right back. You weren't going to play the boyfriend card. You could fight your own battles, and something told you even if you told him you had a boyfriend, he'd think you were lying. He seemed like the type that wouldn't take no for an answer.

"You've got some nerve." You crossed your arms, matching back to him from the other side of the bar. "Let's get one thing straight. I'm not here because I'm looking for attention or have trouble finding a date. You've spent all of two minutes sitting at this bar, talking shit, while I've been fighting the urge to point out your confusion regarding basic anatomy." 

He raised his eyebrows at your reply. "My confusion?" 

You leaned forward, resting your arms upon the bar, eyeing him sourly. "Is your mouth your asshole, or are you just one?" 

It was one of the more cruder remarks you had ever responded with. But this guy was trying to go for gold. Unphased, he leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands up. "Hey, no need to be aggressive. You should take it as a compliment. I never called you anything derogatory." 

You huffed, pushing yourself away from him, rolling your eyes. "Calling me good-looking, then proceeding to say I'm only working here because it's 'easy to access' is still calling a woman a slut. You don't need to say the word to imply the meaning." 

You ripped the dishrag from your shoulder, running it under the tap, muttering more to yourself, "There's no way that shit works on women."

"It does on the women back home," he answered you.

"Oh, so are you staying? Don't tell me you're a new pilot at Top Gun."

They'll beat that attitude right out of you.

"Oh, I'm just passing through. I figured I'd scout out the area. I heard this was a Navy bar. Don't understand what all the fuss is about." 

You didn't answer him. Opening your mouth only led to him replying, and the quicker he finished his drink, the faster he'd leave. He took your silence as a means to continue. 

"Still playing hard to get?" 

"You ask me a question. I might choose not to answer." 

"Wow. Subtle." 

You turned, a hand on your hip. "You can't honestly expect me to speak to you, a complete stranger, after the way you just undermined my job because I'm not giving to your attempts. There is nothing to get." 

He smiled, holding out his hand. "George Seresin. There, not a stranger."

Well, shit.

You wanted to hang your mouth open like a fish. You were staring down Jake's brother.

Now you understood Jake's reaction to Janet's warning. His anxious behaviour in the back of his truck. His lost-in-thought stares or the way he couldn't stop looking at you and Sadie when he came home from work this week.

George Seresin was a very unwelcome, uninvited and long-awaited guest.

Something snapped in your stomach, a twinge of weariness that Jake didn't confide in you. Then again, your slight disappointment was overshadowed by something greater.

Clearly, you were fated to ego-check both Seresin brothers while standing behind this bar. Because the idea came without warning, without doubt, or any sense of hesitancy. 

George Seresin was at the Hard Deck.

He was right in front of you, trying to flirt with you without any idea who you were. 

And he was sitting in the best spot in the entire place.

It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

You stepped backwards, turning to lean up against the bar. As you did with Jake all those months ago, you took the rag and started to wipe.

"So let me get this straight," you said, dragging the damp cloth around his glass, not once looking up. "I tell you my name in some effort to prove we are not strangers. I'm supposed to forget about your 'comments,' so you can use that good old Texas charm to woo me into your bed with a promise of a good time?"

You finally looked up, George only staring back at you with a heated smoulder.

"Something tells me none of those loose cannons cannot even promise you a good time. A quick roll in the sheets before they let some brass monkey in a fancy suit tell them where to shoot. You look like you could let loose for once in your life."

You froze, losing your grip on the rag and fingers twitching. Scanning Jake’s brother, you leaned against the bar, resting your weight on your elbows, throwing the fabric over your shoulder as you got inside his bubble. You never once broke eye contact as you pinned him down.

George bought it, hook, line and sinker. He was so focused on you and your face that he was oblivious to everything and everyone around him, including how your hand slowly reached up toward the rope hanging from the top of the bar.

The second he looked at your lips, you tugged.

Cheers and music flooded the Hard Deck when everyone heard the distinct ring of the barbell. You guessed the song right away, old habits dying hard.  Slow Ride, its distinct beat letting you know Jake was here and he had seen the whole thing.

George reeled back, shocked as a few people came up and slapped him on the back, thanking him. You laughed softly at his reaction, pushing yourself away to help the few customers you knew who would take advantage of the free drink.

You had never rang the bell for someone like him. George Seresin would be the only exception.

"What the hell just happened?" he called after you. You didn't bother turning around, flinging your hand to gesture over your head, "Read the sign!"

George followed the direction of your hand, landing on the piece of wood dangling by the silver chain.

You disrespect a lady, the navy, or you put your cell phone on the bar, you buy a round.

You had already helped a few customers when he managed to tear his eyes away to glare at you heatedly. You turned to face him with a gleeful grin. Instead of asking him which one he thought you rang him out for, you started teasingly singing along to the chorus.

You hadn't done that in a while. It felt good.

"What did he do to warrant that?" 

You smiled up at Jake as he approached the bar. He never took his eyes off you as he leaned on his elbow against the top of the bar beside George. 

"What do you think?" you laughed at him.

Jake smirked. "I'd say he didn't take no for an answer."

"He did a little more than that. Tell him to put his cell phone on the bar, and he'd get three out of three."

"Ouch," Jake dramatically drawled. He finally turned his head, nodding once in his brother's direction. "Hi, Georgie." 

You stiffed a giggle. 

George huffed, jutting his chin out in your direction. "This one is trouble."

"Don't I know it," Jake said, looking back at you. "Pulled the same trick on me the first time I met her. Only she didn't ring the bell. Guess I did something right, considering she let me come back."

George glanced between you and Jake several times, and you could see the gears grinding in his head. 

"Hi," you beamed at him, walking over and holding out your hand. "Elizabeth Beck. Your brother's girlfriend. I guess we aren't strangers after all."

George stared down at your hand, then gritting his teeth, knocking back another gulp of whiskey. He spat out his following words with the glass still to his lips, "So you are real. Jake, there's no way you're dating her."

 You didn't try to hide the snark from your voice as you lowered your hand. "You thought I was imaginary? Sorry to disappoint."

George still chose to ignore you. "What's the matter, little brother? Need your girlfriend to speak for you?"

Jake stiffened, and it took everything in you not to ring the bell once more. Cause you knew if you did, Jake would be the one to help throw George out, and you didn't know what repercussions he could face.

"At least he has a girlfriend," you scoffed. "I can't imagine you've ever had a meaningful relationship with how you treat women."

You spied his empty whiskey glass, grabbing it firmly.

"Wham."

Sliding it across the bar's smooth surface, you caught it in the palm of your other hand.

"Bam."

Reaching into the pocket of your apron with your free hand, you slapped his bill down in front of him, rounds and all, attempting your best version of a Texan accent.

"Thank you, Mam."

Not wanting to waste more time on him, you turned to Jake, slightly worried. Some of you didn't know how to act around Jake when he was like this. When he was so... Hangman.

You gently touched his wrist, murmuring softly, "I'll see you in a half hour?"

He twisted his arm in your grasp, sliding his hand down so he could gently squeeze yours. But his eyes screamed a different, intense, unsettling story. As if he was assessing you for any threat.

"Sure."

You tried not to let it bother you, his non-chalent reply. Trying not to frown, you let go of his wrist to serve another customer, calling out as you walked away, "It was nice meeting you, Georgie!"

Jake watched you go with a slight turn of his head, proud you one-upped his brother but wishing you didn't leave him alone.

He knew why George was here. What he wanted him to do. No amount of smirk, cockiness, or even Hangman, could save Jake from this. George was the grave reminder that no matter where the Navy sent him, whether in California or on the other side of the world, there was no end to the metaphorical leash the 'hell bringer' had on both of his sons. 

George scraped his chair back to stand. "Come on, little brother," he gruffed out, tossing his credit card onto the bar. "We need to have a chat."

—-

With Ridley's Jean jacket in hand and your bag, you placed them on the bar as you greeted Jimmy after finishing your shift. "Can you watch these for a second, Jimmy? I'm just going to the bathroom before I find Jake. We're going to pick Sadie up from Penny's and take her out for dinner."

The older man smiled. "She's feeling better?"

You nodded. "Mild concussion. She was okay after a few days and back at school. Bummed about not being able to play in soccer playoffs, though. Hence the trip."

"That girl loves her soccer. What a shame."

"Jake's is making it easier on her. I don't know what I would do without him."

He tilted his head towards the bathroom hall with a knowing grin. "Go get ready for your date."

You blushed, walking away, calling over your shoulder, "It's not a date!"

After freshening yourself up, you took a few moments to stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You saw the famous callsign board hanging on the wall behind you. You scanned the names from the mirror, looking for Jake's, doing a double take when you couldn’t find it. You turned, properly facing the wall.  

Like the sign in the bar, it was a piece of wood with the words engraved into the top, “Ladies Beware: Navigate the Hard Deck with Care!” and underneath that, “Pilots who fly solo.” Several metal slots were glued to the surface, designed so she could easily slide plastic slate with a pilot’s callsign into place. 

You recognized a few, even Rooster's, though his was listed way further down, out of harm’s way. But Jake's was nowhere to be found. 

Then you realized - Penny had taken his name off.

She didn't do that for a lot of people. You could only recall one other instance when she removed a pilot's callsign from that board. She prided herself on it, so much so she never removed Maverick's at the top of the list, even after they got back together.

You needed to tell Jake. 

With a hint of a smile, you eagerly walked out of the bathroom to find him. He was standing with George at the pool table, the elder Seresin brother lining up a shot as he spoke. As you approached them, you honed in on Jake, realizing he looked uncomfortable. Stiff, shoulders square, and his fists were clenched tight.

The closer you got, the more you heard of their conversation, and when you heard Sadie's name fall from George's mouth, you froze. Hearing him utter her name, especially in that hardened tone, was a punch to the gut. The urge to hide behind one of the support pillars in the middle of the room at the last second was too great to ignore, and you made yourself as small as possible. 

You had stumbled upon a conversation you weren’t supposed to hear. George’s voice accompanied the sound of the eight-ball scattering the balls across the table. 

"Come on, man," he said, his tone laced with arrogance. "Think about it. She threw her whole life away for her niece. She's tied down now, and you deserve someone who can give you more than that."

Jake remained silent. George continued, encouraged by his lack of protest. "You're a Navy pilot, for crying out loud. You could have anyone you want. Why settle for a girl with so much baggage?"

You weren’t stupid. You knew enough about George to realize he was the golden child, the favourite used to getting his way. George would only see you as Jake’s attempt to one-up him on something. 

“You know why I'm here,” you heard him say firmly. “Dad doesn’t approve. He wants you to know if you continue on with her, you will never be welcomed back home.”

You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your stomach. There would never be a time when you asked Jake to choose you over his family, even with what you knew. You wanted to go out there, but this was Jake’s battle. Storming out to threaten anything but a kick to the balls was out of the question. 

But when Jake finally spoke, his words were like shards of ice piercing your skin.

"Yeah, you're right."

A strangled noise escaped from you, a sound of raw pain and disbelief. You clapped your hands over your mouth, trying to muffle the sob threatening to escape. George’s reply triggered the blood rushing through your ears, the pain in your forearm from your nails biting hard into the skin. 

“You know I am,” he laughed, another clack of the pool balls sounding out. “

There was only one way you saw this - Jake played you like he played those other bartenders. 

You couldn’t hide any longer. You pushed yourself away from the pillar, swerving around to confront them. 

“So Sadie and I were just a game to you?” 

Jake turned sharply, shock in his eyes. “Liz,” he held his hands out in front of him. “It’s not what…” 

“Not what?” you said heatedly, tears streaming from your eyes. “I heard plenty!” 

He opened his mouth to say something, but the words died in his throat, confronted with your beat red face and tears. You were not supposed to hear all that. 

The shock on his face was not enough to erase the sting of his words.

"Come on, Liz. You don't understand... it's..."

"What's there to understand, Jake?" you interjected, your voice seething with a volatile mix of pain and anger. "That I'm just another one of your bartenders?"

“Liz, don’t.” 

“Enlighten me, Jake.” You crossed your arms. “Tell me all the reasons why. That bringing me flowers wasn’t a game. That getting close to my niece wasn’t a game. Asking me to give you a chance, taking me out on a date.”

 You sobbed. “Taking me up in that damn plane.” 

The thought was erupt, tearing itself from the deepest part of your mind. You couldn’t help it, the words spilling out in blinded anger. “Was my grief an opportunity for you to get into my pants? Telling me it would be alright so you could leave me high and dry? Telling me it was going to be okay?” 

There was a sudden shift in his expression, his gaze hardening. As if a switch had been flipped, the warm, understanding man you knew disappeared, replaced by a stranger draped in defensiveness and sarcasm.

"Oh, excuse me," he declared. "I didn't realize I was your knight in shining armour, rushing to your rescue the second you need all your problems fixed. The girl who never had a relationship, thinking a man would solve all her issues."

The words hit you like a physical blow, your knees nearly buckling beneath you. Jake's harsh gaze didn't match his usual soft and protective demeanour. It was like looking at a stranger, someone you didn't recognize. The man before you was not the Jake you'd fallen for.

This man reminded you of your father. 

Was this his plan all along? You racked your mind, searching for any indication this had been coming. But what only stood out was Rooster's words echoing in your head where you found none. 

Did you really only add your name to the list of women Hangman had pursued?

Because here and now, those months of working through the trauma of losing Ridley didn't matter. 

Was anything about this past year even worth it? The moments you worked through when you would avoid anyone mentioning her because acknowledging her in the past tense was too much. Avoiding the things that reminded you of her. Till helped you through it.  

She would know what to say right now. She would be the one beating his ass with verbiage and scathing remarks. She would nail the moment and get it right. 

It hit you, the hidden weight of how desperately you missed her. 

Suddenly, you were that girl again, starting her first shift in that basement bar, wondering what to say to the students who saw you as a mere bookworm with no character or class - because you couldn't compare to the girl sitting in the corner writing her paper, actually having the courage to ask that busboy out. 

Or the geeks in the corner cheering as hard as they did when they beat their high score on the console, uncaring of strange looks. Or that girl, finally standing up to her 'so-called friends' when one had been spreading rumours and crude remarks about her to the others behind her back. 

He really did leave you out to dry. 

"Stay the fuck away from my niece," you managed to gasp through your tears. "And stay the fuck away from me."

You wanted to believe your assumption that Jake was merely putting on a front. Hangman, his alternate self, was his attempt at protecting himself. 

You had a hard time doing so.

There, plain as day, across his face was the most condensing grin you had ever seen as he dramatically drawled out slowly, "No fucking problem, sweetheart."

You didn't believe in thinking about everything you regretted throughout your life. Ridley was the only exception; if you had done more, moved back home after school, or gone to the police the day you kicked Tyler out, maybe she'd still be here. You couldn't change what had happened in your life, so spending time thinking about it in the present wouldn't do you much good. 

So it was no surprise to you when you followed through with your knee-deep reaction, your hand coming up out of nowhere, open and firm, slapping Jake hard enough across the side of his face, his head turning with the force of it.

You knew you shouldn't have. You weren't a violent person by any means. Next to Tyler, you never had raised a hand to anyone. You were too hurt to care you just slapped him.

That should have scared you shitless.

Rather than voice the obvious, you remained silent, allowing every repressed thought, every buried emotion to resurface.

Ridley - dead. 

Sadie - hurt. 

Tyler - lurking. 

Bradley - damaging.

It was all too much.

George's figure stood out from behind Jake amongst your blurry vision, tears creating a vignette in your line of sight. You tore past Jake, sticking your finger out only to push George square in his chest. He stepped back at the force, hand shooting out to balance himself against the pool table.

Jake wouldn't have done that had George not shown up. Had he not played with Jake's emotions.

"You need a fucking ego check and to grow the fuck up," you seethed at him. "I don't know whose got your balls on a very tight leash, but you have no right to go around and fucking up other people's relationships."

George didn't answer you, taking his hand off the table to stand properly. You pressed him again. "Does it give you some sick fucking pleasure to hurt your brother? Dad loves me best, so I'm going to remind everyone just cause I can?"

George was still avoiding your heated glare, fixating on his football ring, twisting the piece of metal back and forth. It only pissed you off further.

"My eyes are over here, Jackass! Have the decency to look me in the fucking eyes when I'm talking to you."

If nobody had been watching when you slapped Jake, you clearly had their attention now. Even with the music blasting from the speakers, every conversation in the Hard deck had gone quiet. You could feel everyone's eyes on you, but you couldn't care less.

You were too far gone.

George slowly cocked his head to face you. Your breath was harsh, your body jolting with each gasp as you gave in to the anger. "My sister died, and I took in my niece. What's so fucking wrong about that? That I threw my life away, that I have no future?" 

He shifted on his feet, about to transfer the pool stick into his other hand, when you reached out and snatched it out of his grasp, tossing it behind you with a clack. 

"You're damn right I did! That's what you do for people you love. I would sacrifice my entire life so she could have hers. And I would do it again in a fucking heartbeat. I will stay on the other side of that bar for the rest of my so-called miserable life, getting catcalled and dealing with assholes like you if it gives her the best shot with the shitty hand she's dealt. You, George Seresin, have no right to judge the choices I've made in my life." 

Your breathing was harsh, ribs aching with effort. Every vein, every pore, was consumed with pure white rage. And yet, you still found yourself growling out, "You have no right judging your brothers either." 

Even after breaking your heart, you still stood up for Jake. 

"He risks his life every single time he goes up in that jet just so the whole world can fucking survive. So you can go on day in and day out and let your father control what you want to do with your life. So you can gallant around letting someone who has lived their life decide what you do with the rest of yours? So Jake’s here for you to bully and control every time he comes home? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The burning sensation in your cheeks mirrored the fire in your eyes, unshed tears making them shine brighter. The salty sting of tears blurring your vision did little to diminish the searing gaze you levelled at George.

"My sister believed everyone deserved a chance. That people cared, regardless of what they did or who they were. I had forgotten that until my niece invited Jake to a barbeque, till she invited him on a hike because he was being treated differently. Despite what I heard and everyone telling me otherwise, listing off why I shouldn’t. That he will hurt me and my niece, and I still gave him a chance.”  

Squaring your shoulders and balling your hands to fists at your side, you take a step forward, a dangerous glint in your eyes. You lean towards him, your face close enough to feel his breath, your jaw clenched and muscles tight.  

"You are the first person ever to prove my sister wrong,” your voice is dangerously low, underlying anger accompanying each word. “You sure as hell don't deserve that sentiment." 

As you stepped away, George lifted his head to glance around the room, everyone's eyes pinning him down. The older Top Gun instructors had stood at their tables and chairs, arms crossed. Some of the current students in the program also stood, the others sending him the most scathing glares they could manage. Even some regulars who weren't aviators were casting him a scornful glance.

You spun, ready to leave him in embarrassment and escape this literal fucking mess, when you caught Jake's bewildered gaze, his mouth hanging open in slight shock.

You weren't sure whether it was that look or the dying embers of your outburst that made you spin back around to snarl, "So, leave your brother the fuck alone! Live your own goddamn life without judging others for the choices they make! Cause you sure as hell don't know what it means to sacrifice something for those you love. If you need an example, look around this goddamn room."

Jake reached for your wrist as you charged toward the front door. The second you felt his touch, you shook your hand loose, a wrenching sob tearing through your chest.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

You didn't bother seeing his reaction to your remark, rushing to grab your bag and Ridley's jean jacket off the bar.

The skin around your wrist burned from his touch, the rough callouses once a comfort but now felt like coarse sandpaper. You wanted to get under a shower or jump in the sea, hoping to remove the feeling of every memory, kiss, and word.

God, you let him touch you. Do things with you.

You were going to throw up.

God forbid you didn't want to walk home. But you needed to go, be anywhere but here, and you didn't have your car. Barely keeping it together as you took off toward the door, you had half a mind to look up to watch where you were going, deaf to Jake's shouts of your name.

There was Bradley, sitting in the first booth by the door. His brow furrowed as you made your way over to him, probably having witnessed the ordeal. You were too upset even to question why he wasn't marching across the bar, ready to knock Jake to next Sunday.

It had been weeks since the fight, with no communication in between. But it was a distant memory compared to this. 

It didn't matter what he implied. It didn't matter what happened in your hallway.

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

You just needed your friend.

With each step you took toward him, your shame only grew greater. You couldn't even look him in the eye when you stopped, standing next to his side of the booth, hugging yourself tighter.

"Can you take me home, Bradley? I don't want to be here anymore."

Bradley's opportunity to act smug had finally arrived. But he didn't do anything other than frown. Standing up from his booth, he threw a few bills onto the table before blocking everyone's view of you. He placed a comforting hand on your back, gently pressing you forward as he uttered quietly, "Of course I can, Liz."

You kept your head down as you stepped towards the door, but Bradley, so willing to help you without so much of an 'I told you so,' made whatever resolve you had, crumble. Your knees wobbled, and your heart dropped into your stomach. You fell, and Bradley's arm whipped out, gripping your hip and pulling you tight to his side to support your weight.

Burying your head into Bradley's shoulder, you hid your face. You didn't want to see the looks of everyone in the Hard Deck, whether pity, concern, or applause, as another wave of tears wrecked your body.

Closing your eyes seemed better than reliving the truth.

And because you kept them shut, you didn't see George place a hand on Jake's shoulder, preventing him from going after you. Nor did you see the look of devastation wreck his face; the weight of every wrong decision he had ever made coming back to haunt him. 

Whether Jake turned on a dime to punch George square in the jaw, you heard none of it. You hadn't even bothered to turn back to look as Bradley carried you out the front door.

.... So... Who is going to pitchfork me first? 👀

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Part 16 - In the Blood coming soon

Wickett ;)

[see-arcane]

I came across your Jonathan in Hellsing posts and read and reread them enough times to burn them into my brain. The ideas you come up with are fantastic! But I was wondering if you had any thoughts on a Jonathan vs Anderson dynamic? Not necessarily physically fighting (though they definitely could) but like, in regards to their morals, relationship with god, and interactions with Dracucard.

(Ps. Obsessed w your Dracula sequel book and I hope it gets made into a movie that remains true to the characterizations you write and reshapes how the collective public views the characters forever!)

Thank you, this will sustain my gremlin of a writer ego for days

Jonathan and Anderson would have an interesting dynamic. Naturally they have to wind up in opposition if Jonathan's nominally on Team Hellsing. Anderson is fighting using holy magic and sci-fi/Christ sorcery-based regeneration and strength: Cool! He's using all of that to slay monsters: Cool! He has no filter when it comes to what he deems a 'monster,' no matter their actual innocence or level of humanity: Not Cool. In fact, it likely triggers a very specific flavor of ire Jonathan had to swallow back after seeing a certain Wafer burn.

(God is love. But that love is conditional. A truth that holds across the multiverse, apparently.)

((Cue the ringing of steel against steel. Because they've got to get into some kukri versus bayonet action.))

Actual confrontation has to happen when Jonathan either witnesses some arbitrary zealot-edged murder or he jumps to defend Seras or others from his pouncing. Anderson probably lumps Jonathan in with Alucard and Seras' situation at first--up until he learns that the only scar on Alucard's person, the fresh red line over his brow, came from Jonathan.

"Stole some sacred blade for him to play with, did you?"

"Oh no." A grin from Alucard, delighted to tattle. "A shovel spade. Just to prove a point. I do believe he might put us both out of the job before long. He doesn't need any specific toys to play this game. It's all him, Anderson. God picked a favorite whether he likes Him or not."

(And it wasn't you. He may put me down before you ever get the chance. Ha.)

((Notably he never defines what 'god' he refers to, but this framing twists the knife in Anderson better as well as making Jonathan a bit twitchy. It's complicated.))

Anderson takes this. Weirdly. He doesn't have quite the same 'Only I can do X! Only you can do Y!' fixation that Alucard seems to have about someone special~ doing the deed of killing him/being his equal et cetera. His whole deal is an obsessive need to Slay the Monsters. So he looks at Jonathan, sadly Protestant (probably? still? again, complicated), but obviously roiling with reflexive Hate for Alucard, possessing the ability to actually put the overpowered fucker down, and not doing it. Why?

"What is it they have on you, lad? Who has your leash to keep you from doing what comes natural, eh?"

Another clang.

"He's on a leash," said like lead. "He's being put to work for," bitter, bitter, bitter, "a greater good. And the sins I hate him for are long dead."

Sins slightly askew from those he recalls in his history. Van Helsing--no, Hellsing--would not let them slay Dracula back then. Enslaved him instead. Made a thrall of the one who wanted thralls. It is...somewhat uneasy to think of. Enslavement is a position far worse than destruction; it's the same way the Count meant to prey on them. He doesn't like it.

He hates Dracula. He is nauseous in Alucard's presence. But still. He does not like this. Yet where else is there for a time and universe-displaced Victorian cryptid to go?

"That power was given for a reason. Use it, lad. Put it to work against the foul things it was made for. Iscariot's got room for your like if you only repent and turn that knife the right way."

"My life was saved more than once by faith and by the faithful as you know them," Jonathan admits with a bow. "God is love," under his breath.

"That He is--,"

Slice.

Blood spills. The wounds do not heal, the bayonet cannot be gathered up in either shaking hand.

(This Power wounds monsters.)

"No. My god is Love. I have seen your God's love in action. I have been shielded by it and seen it betray the most virtuous soul in Creation. I cannot put my faith in anything so fickle. Especially not in you, who would murder a girl for her sharp teeth or strangers who dare to point out you have acted against a mutual peace. Go home and pray the pain away, Father. Now, or you will not leave with all your pieces."

Anderson exits. Alucard is going to combust out of sheer glee. Iscariot is put on alert alongside Millennium, both groups getting cagey about the concept of new unprecedented competition. Iscariot doesn't like Hellsing having another anti-supernatural ace up their sleeve and the Major and company hate the thought that someone else might have a chance at putting Alucard down (if the bat bastard allows it; he's waiting for Jonathan to juice up as a weightier cryptid for a proper throwdown).

In the meantime, Anderson ponders his cut arms, slowly healing as an ordinary man's would. He shoves Jonathan back on the same shelf as Alucard. Another monster in need of slaying--a blasphemous one of a different make. Some pagan divinity must be at his shoulder. No other. No other.

His arms ache.

[ym4yum1]

Preface — My favorite Spy (4)

November, 2024.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

Far worse than the sterilization itself was how AoU framed it.

Troubled, Bruce admitted, "There's no future with me. I can't ever… I can't have this. Kids. Do the math. I physically can't."

Natasha opened her heart, "Neither can I. In the Red Room where I was trained, where I was raised… They have a graduation ceremony. They sterilize you. It's efficient. One less thing to worry about. The one thing that might matter more than a mission. Makes everything easier. Even killing. You still think you're the only monster on the team?"

After hearing her emotional confession, Bruce's answer was a flat, "So, we disappear?" That was the end of it.

Infertility is a deeply painful experience for many, and it should never be equated with a person's humanity. Ever. Yet, that's exactly what this infamous exchange implied, even if unintentionally. How did no one — writers, editors, directors — catch this?

Bruce's implication, "I'm a monster, therefore I can't have kids," could never justify or suggest Natasha's conclusion, "I can't have kids, therefore I'm a monster." Right?

Both are deeply flawed — and damaging — ideas.

So… was AoU any good for Bruce Banner's arc?

The scene described above was an unnecessary, uncomfortable moment made worse by his passive reaction, which seemed to tacitly affirm the degrading notion that infertility diminishes a person's worth. Given his expertise in biology and medicine, Bruce should have questioned Natasha's distorted logic, responding with empathy and compassion even if he felt conflicted. Instead, the film depicted him as almost heartless, undermining his intelligence and emotional depth. Both characters were sidelined during a vulnerable moment that could have fostered genuine connection.

Bruce's iconic line, "I'm always angry," in The Avengers (2012) and Hulk's controlled demeanor when the team confronted a defeated Loki in the end of the movie suggested that Bruce had begun to achieve a degree of balance with his troubled alter ego. But in AoU, his sudden dependence on Natasha's "calming lullaby" trope — reminiscent of Beauty and the Beast — felt like a regression, undermining his hard-won progress.

The romantic tension between Natasha and Bruce in AoU also felt problematic, especially in light of Bruce's emotional struggles in The Incredible Hulk (2008). In that film, his physical intimacy with longtime girlfriend Betty Ross was constrained by his condition — any intense emotion, including arousal, could trigger his transformation. In AoU, Bruce's line, "I physically can't," could imply that he believed intimacy, and therefore fatherhood, were out of reach for him. In this context, Natasha's flirtation and sexual innuendo almost felt like emotional torment. Was she knowingly taunting him? A cynical view could suggest that it was all an act — that she was merely manipulating the man to tame the beast. Her actions come across as dismissive and ultimately undermined and trivialized them both.

Side Notes:

In The Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes (Season 2, Episode 9, 2012), Bruce was hit with an adrenal inhibitor that temporarily prevented him from transforming into the Hulk — a potential solution if he wanted physical intimacy.

In She-Hulk: Attorney at Law (2022), Smart Hulk introduced his son, Skaar, in the season finale. In the comics, Skaar is the biological son of the Hulk and the alien Caiera from the planet Sakaar — where MCU Hulk was during Thor: Ragnarok (2017). So, yes — he only needed the right partner after all.

P.S.: I will post the full text here in parts, but you can read it all in the preface of the story posted on Fanfiction, Ao3 or Wattpad. Please, let me know what you think! 🤗😘

[wandering-winchesters]

Crossroads

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Prompts: "You- you can't leave me like this!", “Sweetheart, please don’t cry…” & “I’m not ready to live without you.”

Word Count: 2,736

Summary: (SPOILERS) Based around the time period of Season 2, when Dean makes a deal with the crossroads demon. The reader finds out that he made a deal, and what follows. Part 2 here,

Triggers: None really, sadness mentions of death.

A/N: I owe many thanks to @octoberclidan , they helped me get past the writers block I was having and helped me come up with the ending! Requests are still open, please send them my way!

Masterlist

The bunker is quiet when the boys are gone, the only sounds are soft and monotone. My eyes are red, face raw from the tears that have finally stopped. Bobby called me this morning, an update on the boys. Sam had died. Dean had made a deal with a crossroads demon, to bring Sam back. Now, he only had a year. The roller coaster of emotions that rushed through me during Bobby’s call, we’re still hanging heavy on my shoulders. Anger, fear, sadness, grief. After learning that Sam was alive again, it was less sadness and grief and mainly anger. Anger at Dean. The man I loved, and who supposedly loved me, threw away all possibility of a full life together. He successfully put a timeline on our life together, 365 days, 8,760 hours. Time, that in the past seemed so much longer than it really is.

I sit at the table in the kitchen of the bunker, my knee bouncing constantly, unable to control my movements. Bobby’s words, “Dean didn’t want me to tell you, but I know better than that.” Run through my head, over and over. Ruminating, they’re sharp as a knife. The pain that it causes almost physical.

I hear the impala pull into the yard, gravel crunching under the tires. I hear their voices, approaching, soft, somber. Yet the second the bunker door opens, I’m greeted by smiles and laughter- a facade they enacted to keep me in the dark, little do they know I’m already up to speed. My arms are crossed against my chest, lip tucked firmly between my teeth, eyes boring a hole through Dean’s chest, unable to make eye contact with the green eyed hunter.

“Hey! I missed you!” Dean says, crossing the room to pull me into an embrace, I pull away from him, dodging the kiss he goes to place on my cheek. He’s taken aback, his voice falters, eyes searching my face for an explanation. My tear stained face, red rimmed eyes and runny nose spoke for itself. Realization crossed his face, his hands dropping to his sides and resignation settles.

I stand up, pushing past him and embrace Sam.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” I whisper, hugging him just a little tighter than normal, he hugs me back and I can feel his regret washing over me.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, we’ll figure it out, I promise.” He whispers, only loud enough for me to hear. I pull away, a tight smile formed on my lips. I turn, and walk down the hall stopping in front of Dean and my shared room. But I don’t go in, I continue down the hall to the room that was mine before Dean and I became a thing. I open the door, walk inside and slam it shut behind me.

I’m not alone for long, there’s a knock at my door, I ignore it refusing to answer. Dean opens the door slowly, his eyes finding me immediately. For the first time since I met him, Dean seems small. His ego nonexistent in this moment, sadness and anxiety plastered across his face. It tugs at my heart for a moment, before anger replaces it once again.

“Y/N, can we talk?” He questions, stepping into my room and shutting the door behind him. I don’t respond, but I keep my eyes locked with his, my eyebrow raised in a way that says I’m listening.

“I take it Bobby called you.” He says, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he glances down at his feet.

“Yep.” I confirm my voice bitter, I cross my arms over my chest once again. I can feel tears forming, but I refuse to cry. I brush them away angrily and go back to staring him down, letting my frustration over take me.

“Y/N, listen. It was Sammy, I had to do something. I couldn’t let him die, baby, you’ve got to understand.” He pleads, crossing the room towards me, his hands coming to rest on my elbows, gripping me tightly.

“Oh I understand Dean, I get it. Doing anything and everything for someone you love, I get it. That’s not why I’m angry.” I push his hands off me and walk over to my bed, sitting down on the edge. “I’m angry because you were gone for a week, 7 whole days and during that time you didn’t call me once. Didn’t call me to tell me what happened to Sam, what you were thinking, what you had planned. You just shut me out!” He starts to interrupt me, “No, you listen to me now. We finally admitted we had feelings for one another and now, what? We have 365 days left, not even at this point. You went and made this decision without even considering me, you made this choice without telling me. Were you even planning to tell me? Or were you just going to let me in on it when the hell hounds came for you next year?” I’m visibly shaking, my bottom lip trembling and tears are forming. I don’t care at this point, I’m too tired to try and stop them. Dean sits down next to me, keeping some space between us as to not set me off again.

“Sweetheart, please don’t cry. It’s going to be okay, I am going to figure something out, I promise you.” I glare at him, daring him to keep talking. To go further, to make more promises that he has no means to guarantee.

“I don’t want to hear it Dean, you can’t promise me anything right now. Crossroads demons are nothing to play around with, I can’t even look at you right now.” I play around with the idea of cursing him out, but there’s no point. He won’t listen, it’ll just turn into an even bigger argument. One that I don’t have the energy for at this moment in time.

“I need you to leave me alone for a bit, I don’t have anything nice to say to you right now.” I mutter, picking at an invisible piece of dirt under my finger nails.

“Y/N, I-“ he starts, his hand reaching for my own.

“Please, Dean. I need time.” He stops, standing up from the end of my bed, he hesitates before he leaves, reminding me that he loves me. He then turns and walks to the door and closing it behind him. 

The second he closes the door, I lose it. Sobs take over my body, tears stream down my face. It was true. My worst fear, was true. Not only am I going to lose Dean, I know the day that I’m going to lose him. Overwhelming dread, takes over my thoughts and my senses. I lay back on my side on the bed, pulling my knees to my chest and let all of the emotions wash over me. Deans going to die, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Unless. I sit up, my brain going a mile a minute. I could make my own deal, save Dean. The only problem, is I don’t know where the crossroads demon was, somewhere in Mississippi. Where exactly though, I’m not sure. Before I can even process what I’m doing, I pull my phone out and dial Bobby’s number. He answers on the first ring. 

“Hey Y/N, how’re you holding up?” He asks, his voice steady and unwavering. 

“Fine, Bobby, I’m working on some research but I don’t want to ask Dean, because I’m not talking to him at the moment.” I hear Bobby sigh, but hum in agreement. 

“Do you know where this crossroads demon was? I know the boys were in Mississippi, but I don’t know what town they were in.” 

Bobby hesitates, deciding whether to give me an answer or not. 

“Greenwood, they were in Greenwood. Now Y/N, you’re not going to go off and do something stupid are you?” He asks, I can hear the suspicion in his tone. 

“No, of course not. Thanks Bobby.” 

We say our goodbyes and hang up the phone. 

I immediately start packing, I grab a change of clothes, throw on my boots and grab the bag with gear in it that I always keep packed. I holster my gun, slipping it into the waistband of my pants. Thank god for the back door allowing me to get out without the boys noticing, I sneak around to the front of the bunker throwing my bags into the back of my truck, easing the door shut. Before climbing into the drivers seat and starting the engine. I reverse out of the driveway, buckling my seatbelt. What exactly is my plan here? Switch places with Dean? Try to kill the demon myself? I don’t know the answer to that. But I have a bit of a drive to figure it out. The radios is on in the background, classic rock, the station Dean had set it to the last time we went somewhere together. 

Dean. I loved him more than I thought possible. The thought of losing him, was just too much to bear. 

-

The drive passes quickly, my mind wandering everywhere but here. I still didn’t have a plan, I knew I couldn’t kill the demon, but maybe I could barter with her. Me for Dean. 

I pull up to the crossroads, I sit in silence for awhile. Weighing my options, neither one more appealing than the other. I die, hopefully in ten years or Dean dies in less than one. It’s an obvious answer. I open the door to my truck, hand reaching to make sure my gun is still secure in my waist band. Even though it’ll do no good. I grab the things I would need to summon the demon and walk towards the center of the crossroads. I take a deep breath, centering myself and start to dig. Once I’m finished, I sit back on my heels and wonder how long I’ll have to wait. The answer, not long at all. 

“Well, who do we have here?” Lilith chimes, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. 

“I took a bet that you’d come calling. I can’t wait to claim that prize. Everyone knows you are Dean’s greatest weakness.” She smirks, a quick laugh escaping her lips. 

I stand, crossing my arms over my chest and stare right back at her. 

“Then you know why I’m here.” I spit back, anger still clouding my judgment. 

“Oh sweetheart,” she croons, sarcasm dripping from every ounce of her. “I know exactly why you’re here. Did Dean send you? Too desperate to be with good old brother Sam, he asked you to sacrifice yourself for him?” She tuts, her lips turning down at the corners in fake sadness and sympathy.  

“He doesn’t know I’m here, I came of my own accord. Now, can we talk business or do you want to keep ignoring the obvious?” My patience is growing short, anxiety bubbling from within. I just want to get this over with. 

“My life, for Dean’s. All I ask is 2 years. Just a little more time.” I plead with her, my voice faltering, no longer angry and strong. 

Lilith silently considers my proposal, her face unreadable. She walks towards me, her hand reaching out, tilting my chin up towards her. She walks a circle around me, as if she’s inspecting me for the next top model. 

“Oh how I want to say no, rip your little heart out and make you beg. But… the thought of Dean finding out his precious sweetheart traded her life for his… even better.” She laughs, heartless and bitter. I shudder at her touch, but remain firm in staring her down. 

“One more condition,” I start, she raises an eyebrow but continues to listen. “Dean can’t make another deal to save me. It has to be me, not him.” She nods curtly. 

“You’ve got a deal.” 

Just as fast as she had appeared, she was gone. I was left standing on the roughed up patch of dirt that I had dug just a little while before. I slide down to my knees, my hands coming up to my face and realization washes over me. What I had just done, the timer that I had put on my life. It was almost as if I could heard the clock ticking, counting down to the date of my death. Instead of worry and anxiety, I embraced it. A sense of peace washed over me and I laughed. I was so distracted by my thoughts, I didn’t hear the Impala pull up and park next to my truck, nor the car door slam. I didn’t hear the footsteps running towards me, the loose dirt flying. I didn’t hear anything, until I heard his voice. 

“Y/N!” Dean. I turn around and he’s standing, two feet from me, Sam a few feet behind. Dean's eyes rimmed red, his face pale as a ghost. “Please tell me you didn’t do, what I think you just did. Please tell me I am not too late to stop you. Fuck, please Y/N.” He crouches down in front of me, pulling my hands away from my face and clasping them in his own. His green eyes search every inch of my face, looking for any answer any inclination as to what had happened. 

“How did you know that I was here?” I ask, looking back at him, my voice calm and unyielding. 

“Bobby called me, he was worried. You called him and asked where the cross road Demon was located. I checked your room and you were gone, so I obviously knew you were here. I drove as fast as I could, but you still got here before me. Y/N, please, what did you do?” He begs, tears brimming in his eyes. 

“I made a deal, a new deal.” I whisper, looking past Dean, towards Sam. Who stood a few paces away, a look of concern plastered across his face. 

“What Deal, Y/N?” Dean hissed, his face growing red now with anger. 

“My life, instead of yours. Two years, instead of one.” I state, still refusing to meet Dean’s intense gaze. 

“What the hell Y/N!” He yells, his voice so torn up that I flinch. “You can’t leave me like this! What were you thinking?!” This gets my attention, my anger flares once again. I look him dead in the eyes. 

“Do I need to remind you what you did? You think I was okay with you leaving me? I am not ready to live without you! So, I did what I had to, in order to ensure that I didn’t have to. All of those emotions and feelings that you have right now? I had them too, but I did something about it. Don’t even try to make a new deal, I made sure Lilith wouldn’t let you.” It is at this moment that I can see him crumble, his walls break and it all comes crashing down. Tears begin to stream down his face, his hands reach for me and pull me into his embrace. I can feel his body shaking, the anxiety coursing through his veins. 

“I am so sorry sweetheart, I wasn’t thinking clearly. But I had to do everything I could to save Sam. I love you, with all that I am. I promise you, that I will find a way to stop this from happening. No hell hound will harm you on my watch. I swear to you.” He kisses my forehead, pulling me tighter against him. It is in that moment, I decide to let everything go. All of my anger at him, all of my fear around dying. I let it go, I hug him back, as tight as I physically can. I know, deep down, that there is nothing that can be done to break the deal. I know that my should will be going to hell in two very short years. Yet at this very moment, it is all worth it. Dean will live. Sam will still be here. They will have each other. They will be alright, even without me. Dean will survive. 

“I love you too, De.” I kiss him, a long meaningful kiss. Trying to convey exactly how I feel about him in this one moment. One way or another, everything is going to be alright. 

--

Ah, I had a blast writing this. Find Part 2 here

[fireflysummers]

Final Thoughts on GO S2

I'm probably gonna pull back on discussing S2, at least publicly, after this. I did actually like a lot of the season, but it's triggering some of my religious trauma and also the fandom is already stressing me out. So here, let's have some final thoughts.

First and foremost: I am not a Gaiman simp. I've read a decent amount of his work: comics, short stories, essays, and novels. Aside from Good Omens, I've liked Coraline and The Graveyard Book the best by far, whereas American Gods just. Did Not Connect with me, even though it's should have, given the stuff I tend to enjoy.

However. Regardless of whether I like a given work (or even like how he adapted it, a la parts of The Sandman TV series), he is a veteran writer who has proven that he does, actually, know how to write a story with consistent characters.

Beyond that, I do actually believe that he's trying to do right by Pratchett, and loves and respects the story and characters they created together. He's generally shown up as an ally to a variety of social causes, and directly and respectfully responds to fans on Tumblr. While no saint, I feel that there is cause to give the benefit of the doubt that things will resolve satisfyingly in S3, and that there is Intention about some of the things in S2.

This, of course, does not absolve it of being "bad," but even here I think we need to articulate better the different types of "bad" that people are reacting to. There seems to roughly be three camps here: 1) People who thought it was "bad" because of how it ended, with the breakup and a lot of unresolved plot threads; 2) People who thought it was "bad" because it struggled on a technical level with its set, lighting, directorial choices, editing, etc; 3) People who thought it was "bad" because they felt the characterization was significantly off and that the internal logic of the series had been violated.

With regards to Point One, the only solution is to Wait and See. Judgement should be reserved until the story is properly finished--easier said than done, especially considering the current media landscape, and the number of series or franchises that fail to live up to their promises.

Point Two isn't something I understand well enough to contribute meaningfully, except that I suspect the pandemic affected this aspect the most and am willing to give it a bit more mercy. That aside, I for the most part I don't find it bad so much as not as good as S1. Except for the parts with epilepsy warnings, surely there could've been a better way to do that.

Point Three... that's the stumbling block for me, and I find it interesting that most of the folks who struggle with this point in particular are long time fans of the book.

I trust that instinct.

There are two different directions to go from here. The first is the assumption that these problems are a result of ego, carelessness, or lack of skill from the showrunners/writers/director. It's cynical but not unjustified. The second is the belief that the breaks in lore or characterization were intentional, building towards a much grander conspiracy. Of course, even in this case I don't think it forgives the lack of signposting that would indicate that this is a choice rather than an accident. It just makes it feel clumsy and poorly constructed, a major risk on a show that hasn't had its third season confirmed.*

However, regardless, it still feels salvageable. I've enjoyed reading a lot of meta on all this, and I've pulled some things from others (particularly That Theory by @ariaste), but I don't really want to put forth a single, defined theory myself. Instead, here's some questions I've got, why those questions are important (to me, at least). Actual theorizing comes after, and anybody who snidely mentions Sherlock in the comments or tags is going to get auto-blocked. Like seriously, I'm aware that some stuff is a stretch, but it's fun??? To theorize????? And I'm here for me and my peace of mind rather than trying to argue a point.

*I have some suspicions here, particularly with Gaiman stating that the decision from Amazon would come much faster than The Sandman's second season (which was four months). I don't know enough though to say if that's actually significant.

Questions

Who the fuck is telling this story?

This is the most important piece, in my opinion. There's this assumption when reading books (or research papers, newspapers, etc...) that the narrator who is writing the words is a non-presence, Neutral and objective. That's not the case, and an important part of literature critique is figuring out who the narrator is, and what their goals are. Oftentimes, the narrator and the author are the same person, but with Pratchett's work, particularly on Good Omens and Discworld, the Narrator was its own unique character.

This is why people struggle adapting Discworld to live action--that medium requires a Reason for having a Narrator, and especially in the age of method acting that's often considered immersion-breaking. Good Omens worked so well because they not only kept the Narrator, but they made Her God.

This added some really interesting new dimensions, such as the scene where Crowley speaks to God about his fall and the destruction of humanity. He doesn't receive an answer, but we're watching from God's perspective, so we as the audience know that She's listening.

Another advantage of making God the Narrator is that it justifies all the goofy little asides we get into the lives of minor characters (i.e. Leslie the Mailman), without losing focus. It helps the world feel like it’s full of people, rather than characters and plot contrivances, and the theme that individual people and their choices are important. The Narrator is such a central character of Good Omens that without it, the story struggles to stay focused.

It also highlights a key difference in the writing styles of the two authors. Pratchett’s work tends to introduce four or five totally unique plot threads that feel completely disjointed until the last act (if not even later), when it turns into a Chekhov’s Firing Squad. Plot twists around secret identities and backstabbing and schemes are relatively rare, as the omniscient Narrator doesn’t lie about the intentions of people or their actions.

Gaiman’s writing is typically not like that, to my knowledge. He buries characters in misdirection and hints, and you never know the true identity or motives until all the chips are down. It’s a perfectly valid way to approach storytelling, but it makes it jarring to see it in S2. The lack of a Narrator is a huge reason why S2 doesn’t feel like Good Omens to some folks.

My gut feeling is that the decision to shift from the original Narrator was highly intentional. It helps to obscure the thoughts and intentions of people, and it also muddles the insights that we’re supposed to take away. (I would have loved hearing God monologue about what’s going on in Jim’s head. I think it’d do a lot to make him seem less.... obnoxiously stupid.)

More than that, it brings up a reasonable potential plot point of: Where did God go? Why isn’t She present in the story? Even in her early appearance in the Job flashback, she doesn’t sound like the narrator for last season. After the first part of her speech (which Gabriel later quotes), her tone turns casual and condescending, which might line up with her being a bit of an asshole, it doesn’t line up with the whole “dealer of a mysterious card game who is always smiling”).

Also, I don’t think it’s safe to assume that nobody is telling the story either. Just because they’re not making their presence known doesn’t mean they aren’t there, and in a story like Good Omens, that’s concerning.

Wait, where's Satan?

Another person I saw while scrolling the tags pointed out that Satan is nowhere to be seen this season. He's really only mentioned in reference to a bet God made in Job, but then Crowley is the one on the ground causing mischief. There's no Hail Satan among demons (like Hastur and Ligur did at the start of S1).

That's might be because the writers didn't want us to think it was important (a la Hastur), but that feels off. Given that Satan speaks directly through the radio to Crowley in S1, complimenting him on his work, it's safe to say that he was at least aware of and involved in the goings-on in Hell. The fact that he wasn't even an worry for Beelzebub in abandoning their post? Feels weird.

(Also if you know where that post is, I'll happy credit + link)

What is Maggie?

Look, I love cute lesbians in love as much as the next queer, but I don't like Maggie. I don’t think she’s a person. Contextually, she’s a plot device, but I agree with That Essay that she might be an actual Plot Device.

Her characterization is simple and relatively shallow—a bit of an airhead, ray of sunshine that’s supposed to remind you of Aziraphale. When she describes her past to Nina, it’s almost robotic (also, her story implies it was Mr. Fell who first rented to her ancestor, not Mr. Fell’s great-grandfather like Nina implied). Her emotions are over-dramatic and seem to be turned on and off at random (scenes with her crying to Aziraphale about her woes had my “manipulator” senses going off for some reason).

When asked about a song, she not only IDs the song, its singer, and its year, but how and on what it was distributed. (Honestly thought this would’ve been something interesting, because she’s been pretty ditzy so far, it’d be interesting if she had like... an insane memory for music history.) And then she’s the one that sets Aziraphale on his little investigation by giving him the transformed records, while also planting the seed about her love troubles with Nina. Later, her advice to Crowley is... not awful, but feels insincere and a bit too forward, given her own self-proclaimed lack of relationship experience.

I don’t know what she is (a demon, hastur with amnesia in disguise, a literal plot device inserted by the current storyteller, etc...), but there’s something not right with her.

(Also the joke of “who listens to records anymore, it’s so old fashioned” just doesn’t land, lots of people buy records, and I’m saying this as somebody who has worked at a record store before.)

What's going on with Aziraphale?

There’s something Off about Aziraphale, and it’s not his choices at the end of the season. That makes total sense if you read him as somebody with severe religious trauma getting dragged back into the abusive system because other people need him and he’s been promised the ability to change things.

But I do think something is happening to his memory. Nearly all the flashbacks are from Aziraphale’s point of view and retelling, which means that they’re less reliable than God’s version of events in the previous season. Many of them don’t make logistical sense (post-church scene in 1941), depict Crowley as meaner or more sinister than we know he is, or frame events... weirdly. The scene with him trying food for the first time feels Really Bad, especially when the series has previously established that he’s a) prim and proper and b) his interest in food is one of the beautiful things that connect him to humanity, not some kind of gluttonous sin. Also he turns down alcohol.

Their meet-cute at the  start of the universe also doesn’t line up with their reactions to each other in Eden, or the fact that knowing each other Before has never come up or been hinted at anywhere ever. I don’t know what’s causing this to happen, only that Aziraphale repeatedly looks pensive when coming out of flashbacks, and Crowley is never there afterwards to corroborate said memories.

His actions also seem pretty inconsistent with what we know of him—i.e. I refuse to believe he would ever mistreat his books, even if they’re just old encyclopedias. Also, he feels a bit too...forceful in trying to get Nina and Maggie to fall in love? I mean, he didn’t exert that much direct influence on even Warlock, when he was actively hoping that the boy would turn out angelic rather than neutral.

I don’t think this removes his agency in that last decision, so much as explains how he was in such a vulnerable place at all. He still needs to apologize and fix things, because he messed up, and even if he hadn’t he still seriously hurt Crowley.

What's going on with Crowley?

There’s something Off about Crowley. The most obvious thing, of course, is his memories. At multiple points in the present day, characters state that they remember him or have met him before, only to be met with confusion. This is especially concerning given that he has a nigh photographic memory for faces (something mentioned in the book when he immediately IDs Mary Loquacious, 11 years after a 30 second conversation).

Overall, he seems to be better known by other supernatural entities this season, in ways that often tie him back to his angelic identity (i.e. saying they fought together in the war, Aziraphale stating he knew the angel he used to be, etc...). This doesn’t feel right, because S1 we see that Hell is largely apathetic towards his schemes, and definitely does not defer to him at any point in any capacity.

Then there’s the issue of his power level. It’s always been speculated that Crowley was a powerful angel prior to falling, when he mentions in S1 his involvement with star making, his seemingly unique ability to freeze time, and creating a pocket universe for Adam before the confrontation with Satan. He also has a tendency of breathing life into inanimate objects, like his plants or car. He also has the regular demonic skillset: miracles that can adjust physical appearance; the ability to change inanimate objects (like paintball guns into real guns); the ability to manifest clothing and similar items; and summon hellfire to his fingertips. This, plus the way he monologues to God with a degree of familiarity rather than reverence seems to indicate that he was Somebody Powerful and Important Before.

But in S2, his skills are significantly expanded upon. The miracle he and Aziraphale summon sets off alarms in heaven and hell, and it’s powerful enough to mask Gabriel from the Archangels. He summons a miniature sun to rain fire on Job, which is way bigger and flashier than anything we’ve seen him summon in S1. (If he needs fire, he alters the course of a dropping bomb, without creating one himself.)

Yet he’s able to cloak his presence so well he goes wholly unnoticed in heaven, or in front of heavenly agents on earth (i.e. the Job flashback). Muriel can’t clock him as a demon, or even as another supernatural being, despite their auras usually being pretty significant, such Aziraphale immediately sensing the archangels when they arrive.  He’s able to interfere with files that Muriel claimed required clearance (although I feel like that might just be a snark about Obeying Without Thinking? I would really need a Narrator to know.)

I might be misremembering, but I don’t think we’ve seen angels or demons transmogrify living beings before either. In the book, Crowley brings Aziraphale’s dove back to life after the failed magic show, and occasionally sinks ducks, but he doesn’t alter them? Not even Adam demonstrates that skill in S1. But he has no trouble turning Job’s children into lizards, however temporarily. Boy that would’ve been convenient during the flood. Or when the guard stopped then from getting to the air strip.

I might be misremembering, but I don’t think we’ve seen angels or demons transmogrify living beings before either. In the book, Crowley brings Aziraphale’s dove back to life after the failed magic show, and occasionally sinks ducks, but he doesn’t alter them? Not even Adam demonstrates that skill in S1. But he has no trouble turning Job’s children into lizards, however temporarily. Boy that would’ve been convenient during the flood. Or when the guard stopped then from getting to the air strip.

I don’t have any real issues with his characterization in the present day parts of S2, but there’s something weird happening with Crowley.

Where's all the people?

I really like a lot of the new characters, but how were there only like, 2.5 new humans named in the present day? Flashbacks don’t count bc the humans are all dead and can’t affect the story.

As much as I like Nina, she and Maggie don’t drive the story beyond being an occasional and awkwardly inserted plot contrivance? Both are actively robbed of their agency at several points, forced into situations that they could not have avoided or escaped. I’m not really sure what growth they’re expected to experience other than deciding not to date each other after everything. I literally can’t tell you anything about Nina other than that she remembers her regular’s orders, runs a coffee shop, and has a textbook abusive partner we never see. The only meaningful interactions they have are between those two, or in conversation with Aziraphale and Crowley.

Compare that to S1, where Anathema gets hit by Aziraphale and Crowley, but her primary relationships are with Newt, Adam, and Agnes Nutter (I think that counts as a relationship). We know that she’s got a wealthy family back in Puerto Rico, and that she was literally raised to save the world, and that she isn’t happy under all that pressure. Newt on the other hand is connected to not just Anathema, but Shadwell and Madame Tracy. He never even directly interacts with Aziraphale and Crowley. We know about his hobbies, his struggle to hold down a job, and his almost supernatural ability to destroy any electronics he touches. I don’t necessarily like how their relationship came together, but they were both very, very well fleshed out characters with unique backstories and goals. They weren’t just... waiting around to give Aziraphale and Crowley a new questline.

And while there’s no requirement to include a large cast of human characters that are exerting influence over the story, the lack of it is another aspect that makes this season feel not like Good Omens.

Also, it's just. Really weird to me that the events of S1 aren't really referenced at all? Like, Adam isn't mentioned, nor is Warlock. I don't expect them to keep track of the humans they met on the airfield for 20 minutes, but none of it is ever specifically referenced as far as I can tell, beyond Crowley threatening Gabriel. Like, I get that it's been a few years, but the pair caused a big enough disturbance that you'd expect some kind of ripples in their supernatural communities.

Promised by the Narrative (Obvious Chekhov's guns that I will be legitimately upset over if they do not go off)

A sincere apology from Aziraphale to Crowley that doesn't come with the expectation that Crowley will come back to him, but because he deserves an apology, even if the choices Aziraphale made were done with good intentions. Aziraphale does not expect forgiveness, and is shocked when Crowley grants it without hesitation.

A clear declaration of love from Aziraphale, which can't be rationalized away by either of them.

An "I'm Sorry" dance between Aziraphale and Crowley, but with greater sincerity and gravity. The most important piece is that they end up dancing together, which signifies a mutual apology and dedication to come together.

Since kissing is on the table, I expect an actual joyful, mutual kiss between these two assholes.

A shared cottage in South Downs.

Predictions/Theories (just some fun thoughts I've had)

When Adam declared that Satan was not his father, he didn't make himself not the antichrist, but accidentally crowned his human dad the King of Hell. Nobody knows this, because Adam doesn't have a good measure for "normal" supernatural situations, and Mr. Young because he's so "normal" that he explains away all the magical bullshit that's started going down.

When Adam declared that Satan was not his father, he erased Satan altogether. However, this left a vacuum in both power and reality. The defection of both Gabriel and Beelzebub only widens that crack. In an attempt to Fix things, reality is warping the story. Crowley has become leagues more powerful between S1 and S2, as the narrative is trying to force him into the role of his previous boss. Aziraphale is unknowingly being pulled into a similar version on the Other Side, perhaps to replace Gabriel or perhaps to replace God herself, who has been fairly absent in all this. The alterations to their memories or past have come about to keep the narrative running smoothly.

When the Metatron asks Nina whether anybody has ever asked for death, he was actually referring to Death, the sole remaining rider of the apocalypse.

If Maggie is indeed a Plot Device, it would be a fascinating exploration of Free Will to see her become aware of this (cue existential crisis), and then fall in love with Nina on her own terms, rather than because she was written that way.

Hastur will be back. Somehow.

The reason why S2 focuses so much on the supernatural characters is because S3 will be about how the events in S1 have changed the political landscape of heaven and hell. Angels are questioning their roles, demons are yearning for something more. It's scaring upper administration, and then the two most reliable folks in employment run away to alpha centauri. Recruiting Aziraphale and getting him back in line prevents him from becoming a martyr, control the range of his influence. The series reasserts its theme of choice and agency by highlighting that Aziraphale and Crowley aren't that special, they've just had the chance to live and grow, and that the others have free will too, if they want it.

The reason why they wanted to separate Aziraphale and Crowley, is not to get Aziraphale on his own, but to get Crowley on his own. He literally stopped time and made a pocket universe in front of Satan last season. He's powerful and dangerous and somebody wants to see that reigned in.

Wishlist (stuff I desperately want to see)

Crowley getting an audience with God and an opportunity to ask his questions, only to refuse to do so because he's found his own Answers and he no longer needs hers

Aziraphale and Crowley growing more into their book incarnations. Aziraphale becomes confident in his sense of morality, which he developed the hard way through millennia on earth besides humanity. He slowly learns what it means to be loved, unconditionally, but also is better at asserting and maintaining his boundaries. Crowley, still anxious and unwinding, works through his fear of abandonment, providing him opportunities to be kind and gentle and nurturing--all traits that he's aggressively hid since being a demon.

Hand holding. I know that Gaiman was referring to Ineffable Bureaucracy, but I still feel like we'd benefit from meaningful hand holding, especially since that got cut from the adaptation of the book.

Shifted focus away from the supernatural shenanigans, and back onto the humans that actually drive the story.

Cameos from S1 characters (if not a more substantial appearance).

The Four Other Riders of the Apocalypse.

Cursed Thoughts (why I shouldn't be allowed a social platform)

Ineffable Bureaucracy turns up in season 3 because Beelzebub got Gabriel pregnant somehow.

[wutheringmights]

Commentary for latest CTB chapter???👀👀👀👀

Thank you! You guys are as prompt as ever. Unfortunately, I needed a few days to get my thoughts together (and honestly would have taken even longer if I wasn't going out of town this weekend).

I kinda struggled a bit to have Important Thoughts about this chapter (I have been so tired all week), but I did my best.

(Triggering content from the chapter are discussed below).

I’ve mentioned many times already that I suffered from a massive bout of writer’s block during this chapter; and it’s a bit hard to pinpoint what exactly caused it. 

On one hand, I think the last chapter was just so much that I may have burnt myself out on an emotional level. Usually, a week or two off is all I need to fix it, but I also had a lot of personal responsibilities that took up all of my bandwidth. 

And, frankly, there’s a part of me that is a little freaked out that I’ve been working on this story for so long, and that I might not be able to finish it within my self-imposed deadline (if I have to see CTB’s 4th birthday, I am gonna lose it). That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy writing CTB or that I feel pressured to keep going; I just felt exhausted and overwhelmed by how much of my life I’ve sunk into a story that not only refuses to end in a timely manner, but that I can’t share with anyone I know in real life. 

My burnout required a few months' rest to get over, but that’s not to say I didn’t try to work on this chapter that entire time. 

So I actually started this chapter back in April, right after I published STP. I wrote this opening scene of Link ruminating over the past and got stuck trying to transition to him being found. I got so stuck that I ended up bouncing over to the present-day section, where I got stuck in a new and novel way (which I’ll talk about more later). 

That means that everything else in the past I wrote the day before posting. On one hand, I was raring to go and I felt really good getting all those words onto paper. It did a lot for my ego. On the other, I really wish I took more time to revise a lot of this. I think the pacing overall is really strong, but there’s a few ideas I threw out into the story that I really wish I lingered on. 

For example, I mention that Link’s physical abuse was a relatively short stretch of time compared to how significant it is. Him being violent towards the engineer feels like it went on forever and forever, but it only lasted about 4 months. I like this detail so much because it helps to illustrate how even short-term abuse has lifelong effects on people. If I lingered on this chapter a bit more, I would have found more ways to ruminate on it. 

I almost had Ayane discover Link in his house. I ended up changing it to Jakucho since, as much as Ayane likes Link, she would not care enough to go check up on him.  

For the longest time, I imagined Link’s room at the Miyashita estate to be the same as the one he was held prisoner in post-Kakariko Well. But I ended up stating in that chapter that the room was located in a part of the house he had never seen before. So Link’s room was changed from a formal guest room to a study.

In universe, this is so that he’s encouraged to read books and is easily within Jakucho’s reach.

I personally got a hearty chuckle out of Link being denied chopsticks by default; he’s probably very good at using them in the present, but during this time he’s probably really shit at it. Real white boy behavior. 

If I gave myself more time to work on this section, I would have played around with the idea of him being haunted by an imaginary engineer, just as he had been haunted by an imaginary version of his old self on the way to the Kakariko Well. I don’t know if I would have committed to it, though. On one hand, it would have been a cool way to illustrate his inner thoughts. On the other, it implies a mental break I don’t think he’s experiencing. 

On a similar note, I worry that this chapter wasn’t that effective because it was way less (for a lack of better words) dramatic than the past few “Link Has A Breakdown” chapters have been?

Let me explain. So nearly every time Link has been under emotional duress before this, I’ve played with the prose to show how his reality is being warped. Take chapter 24 for example. Link gets stuck on the engineer leaving him, so the passage of time in that chapter becomes unclear-- both in him not realizing how quickly time is passing and him constantly going back to the day he realized the engineer was gone for good. The prose is written in a way that conveys that reality has broken. It’s very melodramatic. 

But for this chapter, reality is firm. Link’s mind has cleared enough to see what happened in the past clearly. The prose can’t dramatically screw with perception because that’s not what’s happening. The passage of time and the depiction of reality has to be crystal clear. 

So despite making these long, semi-experimental passages one of my signature moves, I couldn’t use it here without actively detracting from the story. On one hand, a more grounded chapter effectively shows how this breakdown is different. On the other, it’s a little basic. 

I have a bit of a problem where past!Ayane is a bit too similar in personality to Linkle. Ayane in the present day is supposed to be a cool teenager who is probably a bit of a mean girl at school-- the kind that will grow out of it the moment she leaves for college. But I wanted to show her entering this stage of life in the past, so she’s less bratty and more troublemaking.

Speaking of which, any reference to Ayane “going through a phase” is supposed to refer to her becoming a moody teenager. I didn’t realize until literally yesterday that it might come off as her family being transphobic. They’re supportive of her being a girl; they just get fed up with how much of a kid she is. 

The point of the chapter that made me start tearing up in the coffee shop is when Ayane got mad at Link for destroying the journal. I’ve been that kid who understands cognitively that a parent in your life is not well but still struggled with what that meant on an emotional level. Her family definitely explained to her that Link isn’t well and etc, but that can be kinda abstract for kids to really understand. So when the mental illness causes him to react badly, it seems to her that he is hurting her because he does not care about her. 

And there are a whole slew of issues you can explore with that idea alone, like how culpable is Link for his actions when he is unwell but still the adult? I’ve already started exploring bits of it with the child’s relationship with Link and the engineer. But exploring this idea from a different perspective (the child and his fucked up emotional issues vs Ayane’s normal preteen perspective) is always interesting. 

Link impulsively trying to kill himself was not in my original plan for the chapter, but after everything... yeah, he would try. This might have something to do with an episode of You’re Wrong About I was listening to work last week where they talked about the percentage of suicides that are impulsive decisions versus premeditated.

(Of course, today I listened to the episode on copycat suicides and now I am very nervous about this chapter being used as an instruction manuel)

I was going to have his attempt be to freeze to death outside, but then I thought of the obi belt, and I really could not resist alluding back to the hanging scene in chapter 13

It ended up being a good transition into a scene I’ve wanted to do for a while now: Ayane’s mom asking him to continue acting like Ayane’s older brother. 

I originally wanted that moment back when their friendship was just starting out, but decided to toss it to his depression arc to act as a moment of encouragement for him. What I didn’t expect was to stumble into this scene being both a way to talk him out of suicide, as well as him realizing he’s a shitty brother. I’m a terrible brother is a monumental realization for him, and I stumbled into it by accident. 

I was tempted to remove Ayane’s mother from this scene and put Jakucho here instead. But Jakucho would never ask Link to play an older brother role. Plus, I like the idea that a random, near-stranger accidentally talked him down without realizing what they were doing. 

And of course, having Ayane’s mother talk helps to develop the Miyashita family dynamic and give a better idea as to why Shigeo is estranged. 

Ayane’s mother also has a very tiny appearance earlier in the story-- chapter 9, when we meet Jakucho for the first time. Granted, I think I only referred to her as Impa’s sister. 

I also stumbled accidentally into the moment with the koi fish and using them as a symbol for perseverance. I really like that scene. I almost named the chapter “The Koi Pond” in its honor. 

I also admit that until fairly recently, I also didn’t know fish could live in frozen water. 

I went back and forth about whether I wanted to make a big moment at the beginning of the chapter about Link going non-verbal, or if I should let it build up slowly; I ended up going with the latter.

I didn’t want to make his non-verbalness the center of his issues when it’s just a consequence of his depression. He’s not depressed and non-verbal. He’s non-verbal because he’s depressed. So waiting until the second half of this section to address it homely drove home that this is only a symptom of a larger issue. 

This chapter also gave me the opportunity to address my sign language headcanon; it’s standard taught in school, but not in a way where everyone is actually good at it. It’s like learning Spanish in elementary school; you grow up remembering a few phrases and words, but never actually become bilingual. 

I like the way the bell motif is used in this chapter. In the past, Proxi’s bells are a sign that things are going to get better. In the present, the Castle Town bells signal that things are about to get a whole lot worse. 

But, yes! After all this time, Proxi is finally here. Hopefully the long wait for her introduction/return will be worth while.

For the present day:

Remember how I said my writer’s block struck for this part of the chapter as well? I solved it in the dumbest way possible. 

One of my big issues was that I didn’t know how to string everything that I needed to get done into a cohesive chapter (because if the chapter isn’t good, then I would have wasted so much of my time on a story that isn’t good, and etc.). My solution was to write a flat draft with only the stuff needed to move the plot forward (talking to Ganondorf, getting on the boat, etc), and then do revisions where I added character moments.

Except, I did character moments by the character. So I would spent a week adding scenes about Spirit, then another about Time, and so on. I said in this post that I turned a 5k draft into a 12k draft. Yikes. 

Because I wrote the chapter like this, I think the pacing is not great. The dinner scene and the post-Midlink gossiping was originally one scene, which I split into two to accommodate other character stuff. But I also think this is one of the most well-balanced chapters in terms of how many characters got a moment to shine. 

I’m really enjoying how much you all enjoy Ganondorf. I think nearly every comment on the chapter so far has mentioned him. I almost regret keeping him in the Zora’s Domain right now, but have no fear. He will be back. 

I am endlessly amused by this moment when Warriors realizes he has to talk to Spirit again, and he thinks “Spirit. / Fucking Spirit.” Is he cursing him out, or is he remembering... you know...

I mentioned a long time ago that one of the issues I had to fix when starting this chapter was finding something for the rest of the Chain to do in this final act. I figured out what their deal is, and a lot of tiny moments in this chapter is the set-up for that.

In a similar vein, I feel like I lost the thread on Time for a hot while there. I really had to mull over what his problem is, how he was going to respond, and how I can show Time responding near Warriors so that the reader can know. I’ve never had this much difficulty writing him-- or characters in general-- before. Hence, my on-going battle against writer’s block.

Another amusing moment that only I think it funny: Spirit lifting Warriors up by the scruff of his neck to haul into the alley way, like he’s an old cat. Honestly, I should write more jokes based around Spirit being strong enough to lift Warriors now.

Now that I think about it, I have a scene in my head where Warriors bitches so much while traveling that Spirit just throws him over his shoulder and carries him like a sack of rice. Is it out of character for both of them? Yeah, but we can imagine it happens in the AU where they are friends.

I have been wanting to provide some form of a resolution for Midna and Twilight for so long, but there hasn’t been a good moment to make them talk-- or at least, a moment where they can talk while Warriors is nearby to listen.

I really enjoy striking a comparison between how Midna and Twilight hashed everything out versus the bullshit Warriors got up to last chapter, especially because Midna and Twilight’s solution was to just give up. It’s not going to work out ever, so they might as well enjoy themselves now.

I love MidLink so much, but part of that love is in how it 100% would not work out between them. As Midna says, they would hate each other in a year. But they keep trying anyway because they love each other right now and that’s what matters. 

Speaking of which, Midna’s “we’ll hate each other in a year” line is a reference to the Greta Gerwig Little Women movie. I love that movie so much, enough that I can forgive Timothy Chamalet for being in it. He has a scene where his proposal is met with basically the same sentiment from Saoirse Ronan’s character. 

Tiny little headcanon: Skyloft’s theater style is very similar to ancient Greek theater, with heavy use of masks and choruses. That’s why he mimics holding a mask when performing Twilight’s line for Lana.

His line was originally something Twilight actually said, but then I went in a revised the MidLink scene and got rid of it. I kept Sky’s mocking of it because I thought it was more realistic.

I won’t say much about what the boys talked about post-confession scene, except to point out that they were kept up by the noise, they might have an idea of the timing of when everything went down during the Hot Mess

I’m glad everyone found my joke about always going to Wild’s era funny lol

Chateau Milk (aka: alcoholic milk beverages) is a tiny little world building detail I have been dying to do for ages. I wanted to use any scene of milk-drinking to shove in a joke about Hyrule being intensely lactose intolerant (he’s immune to all bad food except dairy), but I couldn’t squeeze it it. 

The ribbon kinda got a disproportionate role considering how briefly I referenced Spirit losing it last chapter. 

The reason Warriors was sharing a room with Four was so that I could finally do a follow-up on the Four Swords stuff I started forever ago, but it has once more been punted off to another chapter. Maybe one day...

By the time I got to this second conversation with Time, I was feeling much better about how I was writing him. Between this and his earlier appearance, this is definitely the stronger moment. 

I also deeply amused by Ganondorf and Lincoln have to pretend to be very bitchy with each other in order to not seem like they were married. I wanted to write a scene where Ganondorf argues that Lincoln needs to show him the proper request so that Lincoln would have an excuse to kiss his hand, but I ended up not having the energy or will power to go back in and add it. 

Spirit is so not used to anyone having a genuine interest in his senses that Sky’s question totally caught him off guard. Thank god Sky is the type of person who would ask because I got a good moment to clarify more of the limits of Spirit’s senses-- mainly, that a lot of the info he gets is so contextual that most of it is nonsense to him

To clarify, Spirit’s senses freak out people outside of his era. In New Hyrule, where the idea is a bit more common place, it’s considered rude to ask just as its rude to tell people what you sense. Lokomo customs, and all that.

I didn’t plan on having Spirit cut his hair, but I was deep in the throes of writer’s block and felt like I needed to write about Spirit doing something a little insane to respike my interest. Cutting off your hair because the guy you hated saved your ribbon fitted the bill nicely.

(Nonetheless-- RIP Spirit’s long hair. You were much beloved)

Spirit and Lana’s relationship has always been very underbaked on my part. I didn’t do a lot with them at the beginning of the story, and I haven’t done much with it now (or even much with Lana in general). Here is a vague attempt to salvage my mistakes. If I could ever revise the whole of CTB (I will never), this would be one of the things I would improve

Oh God... the Nephus stuff...

Like, I knew this was going to happen. What I worry about is whether it feels cheap to just have a character go back on their word like that. It’s realistic, if only because Warriors’s deal was really shitty. But on the other, it’s not very satisfying for the reader. You want the characters to have complex reasons for everything. I’m not sure that this qualifies. 

And this applies to all of the war stuff this chapter. Did Nephus lie about not wanting the Triforce? Whatever the answer is now, it’s not going to be satisfying. 

I know I said previously that Lincoln had no suspicions as to what happened during the Hot Mess. Well, I lied. Guy had it figured out fairly early on and only needed the opportunity to ask.

I just hope this scene with him and Spirit shows how Lincoln can be Warriors’s dad. Warriors is his mother’s son, but some of his insanity is from his father. 

Also we’ll pretend Lincoln has had that arm tattoo this entire time. The tattoo is not plot relevant, but it’s important to me.

Legend’s “it’s always the fucking Triforce” speech is my favorite Legend line in a chapter.

On a subconscious level, I was basing Castle Town on Boston. Why? I have no good reason. Just felt right. 

I really wish I managed to get us to Castle Town any time before this part of the story, if only to explore all the various neighborhood ideas I have. I managed to squeeze in the Gerudo neighborhood, but I have more thoughts on neighborhoods for the Zora, Goron, Rito, and even regular-old humans. 

I’m going to tell you right now that the girl in the graveyard is not plot relevant. I had a whole thing about the grave being a memorial for all the heroes across the eras and her praying to the memorial for a new hero that I just never got around to explaining

“Shines with humility” is another line that deeply amused me. Like, buddy. That is not how humility works.  

The Master Sword rejecting Warriors is supposed to feel very fitting and very unfair, all at once. I wanted people to understand why he’s lost the right to use her while still being frustrated that he was still being punished. I wanted this to be another opportunity for complex feelings. I don’t think the scene hit the right way, but that’s alright.

There was a point of time where I was plotting this half of the story when I realized I could use the Triforce scar idea that I had previously abandoned. I like the idea and the scene a lot, but I wonder if it feels forced? Like the whole story bent over backwards to make my silly idea possible. Let me know if this feels like a natural conclusion, or if I messed up somehow. 

That being said, this whole scene where Warriors and Spirit were cutting the Triforce into his hand was a lot of fun to write. Nothing breaks writer’s block like writing an insane character dynamic. 

I feel like I should talk more about themes and what this means for them, but you have eyes. You probably get the point by now. Instead, I will inform you that I did try to read that section to my writing friends, who all agreed that they did not have enough context to understand what the fuck was going on. And, yeah. That’s fair. 

I really wish I waxed more poetry about Warriors reentering the public eye. I did not have enough willpower to revise the hell out of that scene. However, I love the ending bit with Warriors asking Hyrule to make sure he gets the scar. 

One last thing-- I really should have done a revision because an important plot element may have gotten lost in it. I won’t say what, but hopefully it won’t cause problems down the road. 

And that’s the chapter! I feel like I didn’t have a lot to talk about this chapter, despite taking a near-week to write up all my thoughts. Next one should hopefully come sooner, but note that I still have a few more weekend trips and real life responsibilities to handle. My life is not settling down again until the beginning of October. 

I really want to emphasize that my bitching about my writer’s block and the source of it is not something I really need sympathy for, and it’s really not something encouragement is going to fix on it’s own. I appreciate the thought, but a lot of my issues right now just require some self-reflection on my part. I don’t want anyone feeling forced to drop a nice word or feel worried I’ll drop the story without it; I’ll still dedicated to finishing CTB. I just need some time (and to stop hanging out with my extended family). 

In other news, my friend offered to bind CTB into a book for me. Well, books. She knew the word count going in, but I have heard many complaints about how long CTB is. Apparently, it’s 6 volumes so far. Some volumes only have two chapters. When I told her I updated last Sunday, I saw the light leave her eyes. I love her dearly, and I will find a way to pay her back for this. 

[ppeonppeonhan]

Dead Friends Forever Q&A-Style Review

I listen to a movie podcast called The Rewatchables, and they have interesting categories that I want to examine this series through.

Most rewatchable scene: It has to be the last one, because we've been talking about it nonstop since it aired. Plus, it lives in my head, rent-free, like Non is haunting me. Like WE failed him. 😱

But since I'm a BL girlie, who loves a well-crafted sex scene, I also have to include both of Phee and Jin's high-heat moments when Phee's trying to seduce him on the balcony and when they have rough sex in Jin's room. I'm not gonna lie: That was some king shit on Ta's end.

Best quote: "No one could leave this abandoned house — not even one." Come on! It foretold the surreal ending and fulfilled the victim's wishes. Gold.

What aged the best? The way that even the bullies perceived teacher Keng as a groomer, who took advantage of a desperate child — that will most definitely make that subplot still bearable even a decade from now.

What's aged the worst? The unaliving and SA montage in the finale that some have said was insensitive/irresponsible to have included. It was like trigger after trigger after trigger — practically a machine gun of traumatic scenes. The fandom could sincerely organize a class action lawsuit against the writer and director for them to pay for our therapy bills.

Scene-stealing location: The lake. Such a beautiful setting for romance, betrayal, and revenge. 😈

Best shot: Definitely the one of Tan from above when he's successfully drugged all of his victims. Iconic.

Are we sure this person is good at their job? Tee's uncle. The fact that he has so much riding on two teenagers is ridiculous. He didn't just start being a con man / mob boss that week. How does he not have a more stable criminal infrastructure at this point?

Best use of food and drink: Obviously, Tan spiking the beverages, knowing it would be the easiest way to poison everyone.

Was there a better title? Absolutely not. The play on the phrase "Best Friends Forever," an archaic term popularized in the '90s that puts way too much pressure on kids to find their kindred spirit and hold on to them through adolescence and adulthood, was inspired. It truly encompassed the impossibility of it all. There are just so many obstacles ahead of you, like peer pressure, family obligations, love triangles, bullying, ego, insecurity, and cowardice, that it's a lofty promise to make when you've barely finished puberty. Plus, it kind of hints at the ending...

Overacting award: Some could argue Barcode, but part of his performance was meant to be surreal, because it was in the dream state. I, personally, vote Jet (Top). Sometimes I felt like his character was in an entirely different, far more slapstick genre.

The "That Guy" Award: This category is for the actor/famous person you see all the time, but don't know the name of. I noticed a lot of people were excited to see Perth, so I "saw him all the time" on my feed. When I Googled him, that's when I learned that he was on a reality show with other Be On Cloud stars. 

Scene-Stealer (with very few scenes): Honestly, whichever extra/stunt double they had wearing that mask, freaking us out. The most memorable of which was when its creepy hand groped Tee.

Recasting couch:

I think Nanon (Bad Buddy) could've been interesting as the tormented Tan, because we would've bought his innocence longer.

It could've added to the mystery if we had the BL twins, AJ and JJ, confuse the narrative. 

I would watch Neo in almost anything at this point, and he could've played the morally conflicted Tee as he showcased those skills already in Only Friends.

A younger Mark (Last Twilight) would've fit so well into this cast. He plays lost and guilty quite well.

Picking Nits: This category is for pointing out things that just don't add up.

Why didn't Phee's cop dad have more questions about his son's behavior and activities after he saw who his son was involved with?

What teenager is fine going somewhere that has no wifi or reception? Even I wouldn't do that and I've had wifi as long as these characters have been alive.

Why was Non, a teenager, being medicated for mental health issues, but not being monitored by a mental health professional?

If Tee's uncle didn't want to be at a loss if Non died unexpectedly, then why didn't he let him get his wounds treated and get some rest? Unless the plan was always to harvest his organs, which would still have merited rest. Nobody wants shitty organs.

Unanswerable Questions

If Jin and Phee survived, would they have got back together?

If Non were alive, would Phee have ditched Jin?

What did they do with Non's body?

And, of course, after succeeding: Does Tan recover from his grief and move on with his life? Does he successfully escape arrest? Does he leave behind evidence of what the boys did to his family to further persecute them in death? Is his revenge plot really over...?

That was fun! Tag me if you answer the same Qs.