#writer ego triggered | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ddollfface · 10 months ago

Text

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 :)))

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.

237 notes · View notes

maul-of-shame · 1 day ago

Note

Oh my god you’re out here acting like you’re some badass queen for having a horrible ship but you just sound like a middle aged bored mom who read a Colleen Hoover book and now makes it their entire personality because they’re bored. Also what’s with the big red letters? You don’t sound like a mean girl who’s making a point, you sound like a loser who’s in desperate need of a dose of reality.

Galadriel is like an older sister (or even a mother figure) to Elrond, which is why their relationship is so comforting. You trying to ruin that does make me upset cause I’m tired of people having no sense of media literacy. Not everything has to be shipped and definitely not something as dumb as this.

Also, fuck that stupid Sauron/Galadriel ship. It’s straight up people romanizing abuse and it’s disgusting. Canon!Galadriel would have never fallen for Hallbrand’s shit or Sauron’s charms and the way the Rings Of Power writers took a strong, mature female character and made her in to an immature schoolgirl (when she’s literally one of the oldest elves, older than Gil-Galad) is fucking stupid and actually misogynistic. I’m so tired of people taking strong female characters and watering them down to make them into a love interest for the villain or make her a cringy villain too. It’s dumb

So yeah, fuck Rings Of Power for destroying canon and destroying Galadriel’s character, fuck those Sauron/Galadriel shippers for being weird, and fuck you for taking a comforting, platonic relationship ship between two characters who have both been through a lot of shit and romanticizing it.

Also, fuck you for erasing Celebrian. I know you probably can’t comphrehend a female character being great without a sword in her hand so take that sword and shove it up your ass.

A word of advice, don’t touch the Lord Of The Rings when you clearly do not understand any of the characters, their relationships, or the meaning behind them. Just write your own book at this point with your own characters and leave the beautifully written stories of Tolkien alone.

Oh nooooooooo, did I offend you and your little Nazgûl toys? Did my horrifying act of (gasp) shipping two FICTIONAL characters make you sprint to the safety of the anonymous ask button, cloak fluttering dramatically behind you, so you could deliver this righteous tirade?🥺🥺🥺

Oh, how will I ever recover from being called a middle-aged Colleen Hoover mom by someone who’s clearly more pressed than the One Ring under Sauron’s hand? Truly, I’m shattered.🙄

Better a badass queen than some self-appointed Warden of the Fandom Wastes, skulking around like Gollum clutching your “precious” canon interpretations. Honestly, the only crown you’d ever wear is made of your own insecurities and bad takes, and even that sits crooked because it’s weighed down by all the irrelevant, unsolicited opinions you can’t stop flinging around. At least I’m out here enjoying myself—what’s your excuse?

You’ve got thoughts on the big red letters, do you? How utterly precious. Let me roll out the crimson carpet for you, since it seems they’ve left such a deep impression on your clearly delicate sensibilities. Here, let me give you more big red letters, because I wouldn’t want you to feel deprived of the melodramatic theater you seem so desperate for:

BIG. RED. LETTERS. JUST. FOR. YOU.!!!!

How’s that? Feeling better? Maybe this will soothe whatever irrational rage my formatting has triggered in that oh-so-fragile ego of yours. You’re acting like I personally painted the Eye of Sauron in your living room. Imagine being so pressed over font choices on the internet as well. It’s giving “I’m mad at PowerPoint for existing” energy, and frankly, it’s embarrassing.

You're embarassing yourself honey.

I wrote a reply, but I doubt you have the intelligence to understand it—or to hear it over the sound of your teeth grinding. Don’t worry, though! I hear Nazgûls get special dental benefits under Sauron’s health plan! Might want to book that appointment before the Mouth of Sauron starts mumbling your excuses for you!🦷🦷🦷

[TW: long salty rant]

First of all, if you’re so confident in your opinions, why are you skulking in my inbox as ANON, like Gollum trying to steal his precious back?

If you’re going to talk big about media literacy and "ruined characters," at least have the courage to do it without hiding behind the shadowy safety net of anonymity. You don’t sound like a defender of Tolkien’s legacy.

You sound like someone who got rejected by the Council of Elrond and has been bitter about it ever since.

Second, your entire rant reeks of irony. You complain about media literacy while writing paragraphs of projection, completely ignoring that this is fan content.

FAN. CONTENT.

You know, the space where people explore different interpretations and tell stories that resonate with them? Oh, but no! We must all bow to your singular, unyielding interpretation of Tolkien’s work, or else risk being smote upon the mountains of your judgment! Get over yourself. Seriously.

The best part? You’re mad about me "ruining" Galadriel and Elrond’s "comforting" dynamic by exploring a different take, but in the same breath, you’re tearing down Rings of Power Galadriel for being "immature" and "cringy." Sweetheart, pick a lane. You’re out here defending canon while also trashing it—what is this, the mental gymnastics World Championships? I have to say, your flexibility is impressive, careful of pulled muscles.

And so I have a sword up my what now?

Oh, my dear anonymous bard of bitterness, that’s quite the reach for someone who’s clearly got a scroll of the Silmarillion shoved so far up their ass that they probably recite Quenya conjugations in their sleep.

What’s next? Are you going to accuse me of erasing Melian because I didn’t write her into my Elrond and Galadriel fic either? Or maybe I’ll get yelled at for not including Bill the Pony in a Kingsman AU (he will be besties, don't worry)?

Let me make this very clear for you, Elvish Choir Master of Overreach, Herald of the Screeching Essay, Defender of the Lore That Nobody Asked You to Protect, Wielder of the All-Caps Argument, and Keeper of the Scroll That’s Shoved So Far Up Your Ass You Probably Quote “Ainulindalë” When Ordering Your Morning Coffee (truly, your titles grow longer than Treebeard’s introductions, yet none of them seem to include “Maker of a Valid Point.”!")-

Celebrian is not missing because I "don’t comprehend strong female characters without swords." She’s missing because, brace yourself, not every single piece of fanfiction has to feature every single character from Tolkien’s works.

Shocking, I know. Truly, I can hear the Valar themselves weeping at this revelation.

But here’s the thing: I’m not writing a Celebrian-centric fic. And you know what? That’s okay. You can unclench now.

Let’s really talk about your oh-so-bold suggestion to shove a sword somewhere for a sec. That’s your masterstroke? That’s the hill you’re dying on?

If we’re being honest, your insult is so dull it wouldn’t cut through soft butter on a sunny day, let alone make me flinch. Sting is officially handing in its resignation because it’s mortified to even share a sentence with you. You’re out here acting like you’ve got the sharpest blade in the Shire, but all I see is someone frantically flailing with a broken spoon.

And then there’s this laughable attempt at moral superiority. You’re swinging around words like you’re a defender of Middle-earth itself, valiantly protecting Tolkien’s legacy, when in reality, your argument is about as sturdy as a sandcastle at Helm’s Deep. You’re not a warrior—you’re the Mouth of Sauron after a bad day, spewing nonsense and hoping someone will think it’s profound. Newsflash: it’s not.

Let’s be clear: your little temper tantrum reeks of someone who just discovered the caps lock button, a bunch of adult words and decided to let it do all the heavy lifting.

I’ve seen hobbits throw better shade after three pints of ale.

You’re no mighty protector of canon—you’re just another basement-dwelling troll who thinks yelling loud enough will make people take you seriously.

And your sword suggestion? I’d recommend you point that creative energy inward, maybe use it to figure out how to construct an actual argument instead of regurgitating clichés you probably heard from your "leader" of choice in your private toxic fandom echo chamber. Don’t worry, though—I doubt you’ll hear any of this over the sound of your teeth grinding or the faint whistle of your Nazgûl screech echoing through your mom’s basement.

Maybe take a break, Denethor—chew on a tomato or two, cry into your cloak, and try again when you’ve leveled up from hobbit insult level: preschool.

Honestly, you’re not even mad about Celebrian being “erased.” You’re mad because I dared to write something that doesn’t align with your precious headcanons. And instead of just scrolling past, you decided to play Tolkienquisitor in my inbox, as if you’ve been personally tasked by Eru Ilúvatar to uphold canon.

I'm sorry (no) to break it to you but nobody crowned you King (or Queen) of Arda.

Not every single piece of fanfiction needs to involve every canon character just to meet your Tolkien purity test. If that’s a requirement, maybe you should write the fic. Oh wait....- you’re too busy spamming inboxes with this unhinged bullshit. My bad.

Here’s the thing, Bearer of Misplaced Rage: nobody asked for your unsolicited essay about the sanctity of Celebrian. But please, do continue climbing the Tower of Tolkien Purism like you’re on some holy quest. Maybe at the top, you’ll find the self-awareness you so desperately lack—or perhaps just a mirror to reflect your ridiculousness back at you.

You wanna talk about erasing characters? Fine.

Let’s talk about how you erased common decency, social awareness, and basic literacy by barging into my inbox with this drivel. The lorebros tirades and scroll-up-the-ass syndrome are bad enough, but now you’re out here flinging insults like “shove a sword up your ass” as if you just invented edgy. Sweetheart, that’s not edgy—that’s the kind of thing a D-list internet troll would type before running out of Wi-Fi.

So, let me leave you with this, oh Guardian of the Fanfic Gates: the next time you feel compelled to compose another Screed of the Self-Righteous, maybe take a moment to ask yourself, “Does this make me sound like a reasonable human being, or just a Balrog throwing a temper tantrum in a lava pit?” Because right now, I’d wager Smaug hoarding gold has more chill than you do.

And let’s not even start with your hilariously misplaced outrage about me shipping Elrond and Galadriel while we both apparently agree that Saurondriel is not our cup of tea. You’re yelling into the void about something I never even said or supported. Congratulations! You’ve officially argued against a strawman!

Here’s your Orcish participation trophy!

Thank you, Supreme Chancellor of Canon Policing, Overseer of the One True Interpretation, and Gatekeeper Extraordinaire of Tolkien’s Sacred Scrolls. I am truly humbled to be graced with your unsolicited advice, delivered with the self-importance of someone who thinks they’re the Mouth of Sauron but comes off more like Gollum arguing with his own reflection. Truly, I don’t know what I’d do without such pearls of wisdom.

But let me give you a word of advice, oh Lore Purist in Chief, President of the Fanfiction Police Union, and Guardian of the Shire’s Moral High Ground: I will touch Tolkien’s world, twist it, flip it like a pancake, and build something entirely new on top of it because guess what?

I’ve already done it.

And I’ll do it again.

And the best part? I don’t give a single, solitary fuck about your opinions, your outrage, or your sad little attempts to gatekeep Middle-earth like it’s your family heirloom.

You think your tired, sanctimonious “write your own book” line is a gotcha? Sweetheart, I already have. Several, in fact. And guess what? I’ll write more—more stories, more ships, more reinterpretations—and there’s nothing you can do but sit there in your self-proclaimed Chair of Canonical Superiority, furiously typing out essays that no one but you cares about. Go on, keep clutching your pearls and scribbling your fanfic hate manifestos, but let me promise you something: I’m not stopping. Ever.

It’s honestly adorable that you think your little decree will somehow shame me into putting my pen down. What next? You gonna summon the Valar to smite me for daring to reinterpret a fictional world?

Send an eagle my way, please—I’ll need it to carry all the fucks I don’t give about your opinion.

And let me be clear, Warden of Tolkien’s Spirit: your outrage is just fuel for my creative fire. Every time you whine, I just want to write more. So congrats, you’re officially my muse now, Pontiff of Perpetual Fan Rage!

You know what’s truly laughable? Your holier-than-thou act of pretending you’re the sole arbiter of what Tolkien “meant.” Tolkien’s works are complex, layered, and ripe for reinterpretation—that’s the beauty of storytelling. But no, you’ve decided you’re The Chosen One who understands it all, while the rest of us mere mortals stumble around in the dark.

Honey, if you’re the shining beacon of understanding, I’d rather take my chances in Moria without a light.

So, High Inquisitor of Gatekeeping™, continue shouting into the void, continue crying about my creative choices, and continue being mad about fanfiction. Meanwhile, I’ll be over here doing exactly what you hate: writing more, creating more, and caring less about your irrelevant opinions.

Go back to your dark little corner of Middle-earth, chewing on your bones—or was it cherry tomatoes this time?—and maybe weep dramatically about how "nobody understands your self-proclaimed brilliance". Honestly, your energy is giving less "Steward of Gondor" and more "Steward of Mom’s Basement."

Do you light a big, dramatic bonfire every time someone disagrees with you, or do you just sulk under the glow of your monitor, waiting for someone to tag your ship so you can descend like a Nazgûl in a hissy fit?

You’re out here acting like you’re defending Tolkien’s honor, but let’s be real—you’re just pressed that not everyone worships at the altar of your very specific, incredibly narrow, terminally boring interpretation of his works. It’s okay, really. We get it. You’ve been sitting there so long with that “scroll of canon” shoved up your ass that you’ve convinced yourself you’re a scholar.

Spoiler alert: you’re not. You’re just the guy crying into a bowl of instant noodles, mad that someone dared to take creative liberties with a fictional story.

To my knowledge, the Tolkien Estate is NOT sending you a paycheck to defend their lore. You’re not a martyr. You’re not a scholar. You’re not even the fun kind of fan who shares cool lore facts. You’re just the guy screaming, “That’s not canon!” into the void while the rest of us are out here enjoying our fandom like adults.

Here’s a thought: maybe instead of crying about other people’s ships, you could take that energy and, I don’t know, apply it to something useful. Learn Elvish. Build a model of Barad-dûr out of your tears. Or maybe, just maybe, stop weeping over cherry tomatoes and touch some grass. I hear the Shire has a lot of it.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have characters to write, ships to build, and a very long scroll of I don’t care to finish signing. Good day, Esteemed Minister of Misguided Rage.

Morning people! It's just above 8am but a Lorebro called (screamed)! XD

#elrondriel #galadriel #elrond x galadriel #galadriel x elrond #the rings of power #elrond peredhel #rings of power #trop #annatar #lotr fic #lotr #lord of the rings #the lord of the rings #trop s2 #trop season 2 #trop spoilers #halbrand #trop fic #rop

22 notes · View notes

creature-wizard · 4 months ago

Text

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.

#politics #uspol #us politics #american politics #mental health #self care #reactionary thinking #critical thinking

44 notes · View notes

itsmeeleanorstill · 1 month ago

Text

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

#slenderverse #everymanhybrid #evan myers #habit emh #habit everymanhybrid #habit x reader #AM BACK YALL

33 notes · View notes

thespirtualist25 · 5 months ago

Text

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.

#astrology #divination #free readings #trending #tarot cards #witchblr #tarot #tarot reading #witchcraft #witches #tarot witch #witch community #witches of tumblr #the witcher

33 notes · View notes

horseshoegirl · 1 year ago

Text

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.

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? 👀

Tag List:

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233

@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby

@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn

@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia

@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @dakotakazansky

@keyrani @craftytrashprincess @hisredheadedgoddess28 @abzidabzy @memeorydotcom @vicsnook

Part 16 - In the Blood coming soon

Wickett ;)

166 notes · View notes

see-arcane · 2 months ago

Note

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.

#I love putting Jonathan Harker in situations so much #jonathan harker #dracula #alexander anderson #alucard #hellsing

17 notes · View notes

wandering-winchesters · 2 years ago

Text

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

340 notes · View notes

fireflysummers · 1 year ago

Text

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 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.

#good omens #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #good omens s2 #good omens meta #good omens 2 spoilers #good omens 2 theory #good omens 2 analysis #long post #text

109 notes · View notes

wutheringmights · 5 months ago

Note

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.

#i skipped over a lot of things so feel free to ask additional questions #your bonus fun fact is that there almost was an Icarius appearance this chapter until I realized it fucked up the pacing #me rambling #lu ctb #ask #linked universe #ctb commentary #ctb spoilers

17 notes · View notes

ppeonppeonhan · 9 months ago

Text

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.

#bl drama #thai bl #bl series #thai drama #dead friend forever #dff the series #dff spoilers #bl review

30 notes · View notes

white-poppie · 2 years ago

Text

Stay with me

Character: Gojo x Gn! reader Genre: ANGST to comfort Warnings: Self-Starvation*, toxic relations (kinda), wounds, PTSD*, Gojo being an ENTP 😧 WC: 1.3k+ Writer:@white-poppie

A/n: I was already feeling sad and this fic made my eyes water.

~ Synopsis: Gojo is a pathetic man. he never sees anything beyond his inflated ego, not even your cry for help. It takes him quite long, to realize how incredibly wrong he has been all this time.

Cw: This is a very triggering fic, it has heavy topics such as depression, abuse, ptsd, anger issues

The first time Gojo noticed something was wrong, before you actually told him, was a week before.

There are days when you can't find the strength to leave the bed, let alone clean the room. When Gojo came home after exorcising a particularly annoying curse, his agitated mood turned into fury seeing the state of the room.

"' Toru please try to understand, I am trying my hardest," you whimper out at his scrutinizing expression towards your messy room.

"Yeah? I can't see you 'trying', sweetheart," he scoffed, a deep frown on his face.

"I can't get myself to leave the bed, everything seems so grey and exhausting to me, I am sorry," you buried your face in your palms, refusing to meet his cerulean eyes.

He scoffed and a loud clattering was heard, he was stuffing the dirty clothes in the laundry, "I don't know sweets," he grumbled, 'seems to me yer' just being lazy."

"You can't say that, 'Toru," you forced yourself up and looked at him with a miserable face.

His frown only washed for a second when he saw you forcing yourself to pick up the junk in the room.

He is not sure what's wrong, but he seems to have sprinkled salt on the wound.

After all, Gojo is oblivious. He seems insincere, loud-mouthed and nonchalant. He seems as if he only cares about himself, but you know that more than anyone that it is completely untrue.

Gojo is a caring man, but his ego blinds him.

He sees only the larger picture. Ignoring the details, the sufferings and the emotions. Gojo has a habit of arriving at the end moment, sweeping everyone off their feet and saving the day. Why the hassle?

He doesn't worry, he doesn't have to. After all he is the strongest. His saviour complex acts at the rightest times and boy does he love the praise. He only knows how to save people from physical danger and is completely oblivious to emotional and mental pain.

Sometimes it seems as if he chooses it to be this way. He prefers to ignore the 'weak people' who can't even control their own turmoil.

And right now even the biggest canvas screams that something is terribly wrong.

Gojo thinks it might just be a momentary blue, giving you a little space before realizing how further away from reality you had started drifting.

You toy with the food on your plate, and the dark circles sink deep into your skin, like a pathogen invading your marrow.

Satoru frowns as he taps on the table, drawing you away from the haze.

"What is going on with you these days," he booms, his voice hitting that one nerve in your brain that webbed its way to your ears, pounding and static-- the sheer feel of the blood that follows through the peripheral makes you dizzy.

" 'M not hungry," you say while sucking a deep breath, eyeing the expensive liquor in front of you. Satoru's jaw clenches as he runs a hand through his jelled hair.

"You could've said so already instead of making me book the most expensive restaurant in the city," he says deeply with a growl, making this uncomfortable coldness run down your spine. The back of your eyes burns as you realise they are getting glossier.

"So moody," he grumbles under his breath.

"Sorry," you squeak out and he scoffs, biting back the vitriol about to drip from the tip of his tongue.

Satoru sighs and calls the waiter, fetching money from the wallet in his inner coat pocket and keeping a good amount of cash on the table alongside the tip.

Your heart seems to have ceased beating, plummeting to your stomach you felt as if you were going to get physically sick.

Gojo walks out of the restaurant and opened the car door harshly.

"Sit," he orders and you complied, if the void in your heart didn't kill you, Gojo's anger would definitely.

You put on the seatbelt as soon as you do that, Gojo speeds through the road with his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turn white.

"Toru' stop!" you cry out, gripping the dashboard for your dear life.

This calms him down, and he slows down until he stops the car in your house's parking lot. Removing the seatbelt from himself and you, he takes a deep breath and turns his head to your side.

"'Sorry for getting angry like that sweets," he reaches out his hand towards you, nimble fingers running down the crevice of your cheek like sin.

"'ssokay," you whimper, leaning towards the warmth of his hand.

A smile breaks on his face as he removes his glasses and keeps them on the dash.

"What's going on with you these days, Y/N?"

You bite your lips and looks down at the leather seat, “I’m sorry. We were supposed to have fun today.”

Gojo stays silent, his eyes scanning your features, urging you to continue.

“This is stupid--I’m stupid.” you cry out, the tears you had been holding for so long finally escaping.

Gojo pulls you in his embrace, hand running on the small of your back, shushing your hiccuping sobs, "you are not stupid, sweets." He says so but he is frozen cold, he can never get used to people crying, let alone you.

Satoru didn't know what to do when he pulled away and sees that self-destructive hurricane swirling in your eyes.

"You know Satoru, my childhood hasn't been the best one," you sniff out, "my guardian was emotionally abusive and that affected me a lot growing up."

Satoru's breath hitches when he hears the rumble of emotions that floods you.

"The things they said..." you choke and he rubs circles on your palm, "they keep coming back like a Tsunami. I feel so pathetic and worthless 'Toru, I don't know what to do anymore."

Satoru gulps and closes his eyes for a moment. He feels like the scummiest human to have existed on the planet, even more than your abuser.

You were right there, waiting for your silent cries to be heard, to have someone pull you out from the web of darkness that even the strongest sorcerer couldn't have overcome if he were you. He was a shitty husband to you.

"And as I grow older, I realize they weren't exactly wrong," you bite your lips till you feel a tangy and metallic nectar in your mouth.

"They weren't wrong when they said I am 'lazy', 'useless' , 'high-maintanance'," you aggressively wipe your tears.

Gojo feels his heart drop as if the circulatory system in his body had shut down.

"That's not true!" he proclaims, wrapping you in a breath-stealing hug, " 'm so sorry baby, I am the most stupid person, acted blind when my sweets needed me."

He kissed your knuckles gently, "y'know even though I have acted like an ass until now, only caring about myself, I hate it when you cry or feel sad."

After all, Gojo is oblivious. He seems insincere, loud-mouthed and nonchalant. He seems as if he only cares about himself, but you know that more than anyone that it is completely untrue.

Gojo is a caring man, but his ego blinds him.

It takes you hanging onto the darkest ebb for him to realize that people aren't weak. they cry when they have been strong for too long.

"I'll be there for you now Y/N," he whispers, kissing your temple. His lips brushing past your skin, ignite a warmth, deep within your heart.

"Let it out love, I know I can't change what those nasty people said to you, but right now I know you need a catharsis," he says, "Scream, scream as loud as you want, scream at the stars, scream at the clouds, just scream until you feel better,"

Your sobs turn into soft hiccups as you look at him with pearl-filled eyes.

"And once you are done, I'll be here to tell you how incredibly wrong those people were and how you are so much more than your bad memories."

♠︎ 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜

⤷‧₊˚ Jujutsu Kaisen (呪術廻戦)

🥀 BYI/DNI ♡⌇ Request Rules 𓏸 🗝️ ₊﹒ 《 Join my Taglist •

Tags: @renster05 @innerpurple, @akumicchi, @rintaroubby, @nanaseishiro, @denkis111, @jazzylove, @kristaline2dmensimp, @futuristicallykawaiiturtle

238 notes · View notes

skaruresonic · 3 months ago

Note

Remember me? To start off: I'm sorry about triggering some terrible and mentally painful memories when I went off about how I felt about the state of Flynn criticism. I never intended that. I wasn't defending or, heck, even trying to invite discussion about Flynn's rabid fanatics anyway. I could've chosen my words better, but aside from the detractors' mentalities, I meant to focus on Flynn ONLY. And I have nothing against your or their fan fictions. I do fan fiction, too. I just noticed what seemed like extreme shilling surrounding their exposure. I don't aim (and never did) to change minds about the dude, but I find the constructiveness of the critical discourse has been long lost.

Fitting that I received your ask on the first-year anniversary of my visual novel.

And I have nothing against your or their fan fictions. I do fan fiction, too.

Then why bring it up? What does "and your fics aren't even that good" add to the conversation about another writer's work?

I just noticed what seemed like extreme shilling surrounding their exposure.

Ah. There it is.

Look, I'm going to be brutally honest with you. But before I do, I want you to know I'm not angry with you, just annoyed - and perhaps angry in general at the overall situation we're in.

Honestly, the current climate is reminding me of the time antis gentrified Half-Life and caused the old guard to disperse. Everyone in our mutual circle is drifting away from Sonic in some form or another because it's such a toxic cesspit, and what's worse, they blame us for it. Would you want to stay in a situation like that?

Anyway, I have no patience for "you keep shilling your work" anymore because that standard only seems to apply to us. If we held everyone else to that standard, this entire Chili's would be revealed as hypocrites in an instant.

The fic mocking is not an isolated event. I've seen it happen over and over again, for years. Folks mocked Crusher's fic and OCs on TV Tropes. Folks mocked Darklight's OCs on Twitter. Folks sneered that we were too stupid to comprehend storytelling, and once someone said "none of them can even draw."

They can never leave it at "their criticisms suck." No, they have to make things so much more personal than they need to be. In the absence of an actual argument, they call you names, say you deserve all kinds of punishment, including but not limited to death and rape. Crusher had to delete hundreds of threats from his inbox. So please forgive me if my patience has waned paper-thin.

Folks feel the need to knock us down a peg because they think it's "warranted" on the basis of "we have egos." Which is a riot when, again, everyone on social media shills their work. That's what fandom does. You cannot throw a rock in here without hitting someone who thinks their AU improves on the games. I don't know why IDW is so sacrosanct that saying "I could probably do better" is considered blasphemy.

Whether or not my friends shill their own work as being "better" than IDW or whatever else is irrelevant. IDW staff are professionals (or should be, anyway); what do they care if some rando thinks they can do better? Besides, have you heard Flynn's recent grumblings about how he's tired of having the same conversations about his work since he was in high school? Why does he keep answering questions he doesn't want to dignify with a response? Why does he sound so miserable for someone who essentially Won the Game(tm)?

People telling you your work sucks a couple of times, yeah, maybe you can chalk that up to trolling. But when damn near everyone takes the excuse to hit below the belt, you start to feel less like "don't feed the trolls" and more like you're deliberately being targeted as a punching bag.

And I'm sorry, but I have no patience for that stuff. Take whatever umbrage you want with the state of criticism these days, but leave the fic out of it. That's all I ask.

#asks

13 notes · View notes

thevegandarkelf · 1 month ago

Text

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Thirty

Masterlist

AO3 link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Please please please proceed with extra caution for this one & read the TWs for this chapter below. This is your warning. Take care of yourself first 🖤

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death, PTSD

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family, her bestie, Jake, and Adam (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, blood, violence, gore, vomiting, someone who was raped being taunted by their rapist (seriously, proceed with caution), guns are used in this one, memory loss around a traumatic event, victim blaming, a sex toy is used as a weapon, allusion to past rape

Word count: 3.3k

It’d been a few days since I came clean to Daryl about my past. He was out on a hunting trip for a couple of those days, which gave me a lot of time to think over 1) our relationship and 2) everything I had said in the follow-up, particularly about how I didn’t think I could ever go by Lydia again. I’ll admit, I didn’t totally hate the way my name sounded when he said it. But it wasn’t in the cards right now. Maybe one day, he’d have permission to call me that. Maybe. Or maybe I’d just go by Vec forever. I don’t think he cared either way.

But he was back now, and he had taken me out for another day of hunting practice.

We were somewhere outside the walls, far enough out that we had to take the car to get there. Daryl and I had to practically beg Rick to take it out for something other than a run. Why not the bike, Rick had asked. But after a series of stories from me about people I’d fixed up in the ER after a motorcycle accident, and me putting my foot down and refusing to get on the bike without a helmet, he obliged.

Hunting practice was still just target practice for me, but calling it hunting practice in front of the others did a number in terms of boosting my ego. My skills had certainly improved over time, and I was so damn close to being able to hit a target dead center. I was past the point of needing to balance the bow on a log or another surface to steady it, but Daryl always insisted on having a hand, or two, on me to help keep me steady. A need? No. A want? Yes.

I was on the ground on one knee, and the scrap of paper on the tree in front of me was my target. I’d hit close to the center a couple of times, but I was determined to hit the center at least once before we were finished. Daryl had his hands on my hips, “keeping me steady.”

“Think ya got this one,” he encouraged as I loaded the crossbow one more time.

“Know I got this one,” I said. I lined my eye up with the scope, balancing the bow on my shoulder and aiming center like I had so many times before. I took a deep breath, and on the exhale, I released the trigger. And this time, I hit the paper just off of dead center. The excitement coursing through me nearly sent me catapulting into the air like a cannonball.

“I did it! Holy shit, I did it!” I dropped the crossbow next to me and threw myself around to hug Daryl, falling into his arms and nearly knocking him over in the process.

“Knew ya could do it,” he congratulated. The tight embrace he had me in, with his perfectly sculpted arm muscles flexing and relaxing against my back, was better than any trophy I could receive for such an accomplishment.

I picked up his bow and handed it to him. “I’ve got the best teacher around. Of course I could do it.”

He got up to grab the bolt out of the tree, and I slung my backpack over my shoulders. We’d been out there for hours, the sun was high in the sky, and I was in desperate need of sustenance. Daryl twirled the car keys in his hand, the soft jingle echoing through the otherwise quiet wooded area.

“Gonna hafta start bringin’ ya on huntin’ trips,” he commented, “y’know, good luck charm ’n all that.”

“To be honest, my hunger was the primary motivation,” I confessed as we stepped out of the tree line near the car.

“Hey Vec?” Daryl asked. He grabbed me lightly by the arm to turn me around. He looked nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. And his eyes were darting between mine and my lips.

Daryl had never looked at me like that before, but I knew exactly what he was about to ask.

“Yeah?” I replied, unable to keep a huge grin from forming on my face. I kept my eyes locked with his, and my cheeks were quickly changing from baby pink to an electric fire-engine red. He brought a hand to my face, his fingers lightly dancing over my cheek. I feared the heat radiating off my face would burn him.

“Can I—“

A rustling in the trees across from us followed by a figure stumbling out interrupted our blissful moment.

Daryl whipped his locked-and-loaded crossbow around. I didn’t have time to grab my spear out of my bag and unsheathe it, so I grabbed my gun out of my leg holster. It wasn’t loaded, but whatever just stumbled out in front of us wasn’t going to be around long enough to find out, I hoped.

Its back was facing us when it came careening out of the tree line. At first, I thought it was a walker, but it wasn’t making any of the typical moaning or groaning noises that were quintessential to walkers. Then it had to be a person, but the way they were walking was off, like they had two left feet.

Or like their feet were backward.

He stumbled around to look at us, and his horrifyingly familiar face came into view. Immediately upon seeing him, I recognized him. That evil smirk warped its way across his face, eyeing me up and down, realizing it was me. My body physically recoiled, and without even a second of warning, I turned into the grass and started vomiting.

“No, that’s how you’re gonna react after not seeing me for so long?” His voice was like nails on a chalkboard, and I covered my ears so I wouldn’t have to hear him speak. Hot waterfalls of tears began to flow freely, already clouding my vision.

This can’t be happening, I thought. It shouldn’t be possible. There’s no way he would’ve survived, and even if he did, his limbs…how was he walking?

Daryl’s crossbow tapping on my back pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. “Vec, you know this guy?”

I whipped around and held my gun up at the man, my hands shaking violently, unable to keep the weapon steady. I spoke through gritted teeth, afraid I would start vomiting again if I opened my mouth. “Daryl, look at him.”

“All I see’s some jackass—“

“No Daryl, I want you to really look at him.”

He stared at the man for a minute, looking him up and down over and over again, scanning over every small detail. I saw a shift in his face when it finally clicked. He didn't have to say anything. The look of realization on his face said it all.

The man who had raped me, whose wicked face and lifeless eyes haunted my dreams every single night, who should’ve died over a year ago, was here, alive and well, right before our very eyes.

“Vec, you’re shakin’, put the gun down,” Daryl instructed. He stepped around me towards the man, getting between us and blocking his view of me. “Ya gonna get one of us hurt.” He didn’t know it wasn’t loaded, but that didn’t matter.

“How is it possible?” I whispered, my jaw starting to ache from how hard I was gritting my teeth together.

“Put the gun down,” Daryl demanded. I could tell he was trying his hardest to speak softly to me, like he always did, but the rage was seeping through. The redness of his face and the bulging vein in his neck further corroborated that.

“Name’s Adam. Maybe you can help me,” he asked as he put his hands in the air, his face still donning that horrific smirk. That was the first time I’d ever heard his name. “I’m looking for a place called Alexandria. Supposed to be a safe zone. Just point me in the right direction and we can part ways peacefully.”

Every joint in my body weakened, and I was on the verge of collapse. The heavy dose of adrenaline pumping through my system was the only thing that kept me on my feet. I slowly lowered my gun, sliding it back into my leg holster and reaching for what was supposed to be my knife. However, in the chaos of that morning, it'd appeared I accidentally grabbed my most unique weapon, the vibrator, and put it in the holster instead. It was going to have to do. I pulled it out and held it in a way that hopefully, from his distance, would make it look like a knife.

“Peace ain’t an option for ya,” Daryl seethed. He was practically foaming at the mouth in anger now.

“You’re not g—getting anywhere n—near my p—p—people,” I snapped, my voice beginning to shake as violently as my hands were.

“Your people? Would you look at that. We can be together again.” Adam paced back and forth in front of us, hands still in the air. He still hadn’t pulled out any weapon of his own, and he didn’t look like he had any on him. It was as if he had a death wish. “Do you remember all the fun times we had? Though you weren’t conscious for most of them.”

I turned to the grass beside me and began vomiting once again. My face was soaked with tears, and my vision was so blurry, I almost couldn’t see anything. Fun times, with an S? As in plural? As in more than once? My head was spinning, and I was sure I would pass out at any second.

Daryl reached into his pocket and absentmindedly threw the car keys back in my direction, not taking his eyes off Adam for even a second. The jingle of the keys landing at my feet cut through the thick tension that lingered in the air. “Vec, get in the car.”

“Yeah Vec, be a doll and get in the car,” Adam taunted, “let the men talk.” I wasn’t sure what I hated more—him calling me ‘doll’ or him calling me Vec. He turned his gaze to Daryl, gesturing to me. “This your woman?”

Daryl and I hadn’t made anything official yet. I expected him to say ‘no’, ‘none of your business’, or nothing at all. But he didn’t say any of those things.

“And if she is?”

Under different circumstances, I might’ve had the energy to ask what he meant by that.

“Did she tell you? She’s damaged goods, buddy.” Just when I thought I’d emptied my stomach of all of its contents, I threw up in my mouth, the acid singeing my teeth and tongue. I leaned over and spat it on the ground, coughing and gagging as my stomach heaved, attempting to pump more acid up my esophagus.

“Vec, get in the damn car!” Daryl ordered. Though I didn’t appreciate being snapped at, I knew he was just trying to protect me from Adam’s vile words and soulless eyes. He probably still felt guilty about what happened with Jake and didn’t want me to have to go through the same thing again.

I slowly knelt down and grabbed the keys, keeping my eyes locked on Adam, though I don’t know why I bothered. My vision was so clouded with tears that everything before me was a blur of vague shapes and colors. I put the keys in my pocket. Thankfully, I hadn’t accidentally thrown up on them.

“You two are cute,” Adam teased, far from complimentary, “you got him whipped, doll?"

"Ya best shut the hell up 'less you wanna get whipped, doll." Daryl took a few steps closer to him, his crossbow aimed at the center of his forehead. I shakily walked up and stood next to Daryl, the sex toy in my hand poised and ready to knock him upside the head if he so much as leaned further in our direction. This wasn’t Daryl’s fight to be had—it was mine.

“I’ll f—fucking k—kill you,” I threatened. My trembling voice made the threat seem far from credible.

“Couldn’t do it the first time, you coward,” he taunted. He was eyeing me up and down, and I could only imagine what sorts of thoughts were swirling around in his sick and twisted mind. It made me queasy.

“C—c—could a coward f—fuck up your limbs that b—badly, y—you f—f—fucking incel?” I swallowed hard and tried to control my rapid breathing. If it got out of control, I was going to start hyperventilating and pass out.

“Oh yeah, these,” he acknowledged, holding his hands up in front of him and lightly kicking his feet up one at a time, “took some getting used to. Learning to walk again took ages. You’re a pretty good doctor.”

Didn’t matter how good of a doctor I was—they never should’ve reattached in the first place. But we now lived in a world where the dead were walking around with the living. Stranger things had happened.

“Pretty good at a few other things too,” he taunted. I couldn’t see his face, but I could feel him undressing me with his eyes.

My body couldn’t handle the stress any longer. My knees gave out, and I dropped to the dirt road, catching myself and falling on my butt. Tiny pebbles dug into my hands and the back of my legs. The jagged dirt particles scratched my skin, the heat from the road bathing in the sun all day adding to the pain. I wrapped my arms around myself, like I was giving myself a hug. In reality, I hoped that if I squeezed tight enough, I would shrink down so small that I’d vaporize and disappear.

If I was with anyone other than Daryl, the embarrassment coursing through my veins surely would’ve killed me.

Daryl had decided that that was enough, and before I could say or do anything to stop him, he launched himself in Adam’s direction, tackling him and sending them both flying back and onto the ground a few feet away. Daryl started wailing on him, and he wasn’t holding anything back. Blood was flying, but thankfully, none of it was Daryl’s. He alternated between punching him in the face or chest and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and slamming him into the ground. I’d seen Daryl angry before, but I’d never seen him this angry. I didn’t witness him beat the shit out of Jake, but if I had to guess, this was worse.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill ya!” Daryl screamed, once again grabbing him by the collar and slamming him into the ground head first.

I knew Daryl was going to keep that promise. If I let him continue, Adam would be dead in minutes, if not sooner. But something came over me. Whatever little fight my body had left in it came shooting to the surface, swelling in my chest and dancing across my fingertips, making them tingle. A small, almost non-existent glimmer of hope flickered in my eye.

This was my opportunity to do what I should’ve done a long time ago.

“Daryl!” I cried out. He ignored me and kept swinging. The only sounds echoing through the quiet forest were the man’s cries and groans of pain and Daryl’s fist making contact with him. I shakily brought myself onto my hands and knees, calling out to him again. “Daryl, let me do it!”

I got myself to my feet, my legs shaking like a baby deer as I stumbled my way over to them. Daryl was holding him up by the collar of his shirt, his legs straddling the man and keeping him pinned in place. As I approached them, Daryl took his eyes off of him for the first time since he’d shown up. He looked back at me, and even though I couldn’t see his beautiful face through the waterworks, it brought me some comfort to have his eyes on me.

“Let me do it…I wanna do it,” I choked out. A set of fingers touched my boot. It had to be Adam’s, so I stomped my foot onto his hand and twisted it back and forth, causing him to cry out in pain once again.

“Ya sure?” Daryl asked. I nodded and swallowed hard, my throat bone-dry from all my vomiting and heavy breathing.

“I need to,” I iterated, “I should’ve done it before. Let me do it.” He nodded and let go of Adam’s collar, his body and head hitting the ground with a loud thud.

Daryl got up and grabbed his crossbow off the ground, handing it to me. I took the stealthy weapon in my hands, which were still trembling ever so slightly. Daryl’s fingers touched mine, offering little strokes of encouragement. I turned my attention to the bloody pulp of a human on the ground, his moans and groans further evidence of just how much pain he was in. I stepped forward and stood over him, one leg on each side of his body.

“Shut up,” I ordered, bringing the crossbow up and striking the side of his face with it. He screamed, and based on the breaking of his voice, he was on the verge of tears. I dropped to my knees, using them to keep his arms in place. I brought the crossbow up again and struck the other side of his face. Y’know, to even it out. Daryl stood behind me, occasionally patting my shoulder, making sure I knew he was there to back me up.

“Fuck…you,” he seethed. He attempted to spit on me, but he was so weak that it just dribbled out of his mouth and onto his chin. I held the crossbow up, the bolt centered on his face.

"There's a special circle of Hell designed just for you,” I sneered. I aimed for his face, but not his brain. I didn’t want this to be the fatal shot. I had another idea for that.

I placed a quivering finger on the trigger and lined the bow up with his mouth. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger. The bolt hit the back of his throat at point-blank range, causing him to scream the loudest he had so far, followed by a string of sick, twisted cackles. I expected him to start crying at this point, but he didn’t—he started laughing.

I tossed the crossbow beside me and rubbed my eyes with my fists, clearing my vision for the first time since the waterworks had begun. I saw his face, crystal clear on the ground in front of me, covered in blood and dirt. There wasn’t a single sparkle of life behind those cold, dead eyes. He was smirking, but not smirking like he did when he was undressing me with his eyes or recollecting the day he assaulted me. He was smirking like he was pleased with me, delighted by my actions even. I grabbed the vibrator, which I had tossed on the ground earlier, and held it up to his face, ready to deliver the fatal blow.

Taking my rapist out with a sex toy felt fitting.

“Well look at you,” he coughed, spitting blood up onto me. The tone of his voice was that of a proud parent. “You got it in you after all, Vec.”

I brought the vibrator up, pointed end facing him, and used every ounce of measly strength I had left to force it into his eye socket. He howled in pain as blood poured from it, his howling becoming slightly gurgled as some of the blood pooled in his throat. I pushed it in slowly, as I wanted to make sure my voice would be the last thing he heard before death scooped him up in its arms. As it penetrated his brain, his screaming began to die down, and his body went limp underneath me. Before he faded completely, I locked eyes with him and hissed the final words he’d ever hear as I pressed it all the way into his head.

“My name is Lydia.”

Taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley

9 notes · View notes