#(I put substantial effort into not allowing them to interact much to stop them from getting together) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hurricanes-art · 3 years

Note

i am interested in your hades au, would you mind giving some details about it? 👁 it looks really interesting

[This AU is from these drawings!]

*cracks knuckles* Ok! I actually got enough sleep last night so I'm finally feeling up to explaining this au lmao

Also I hope that by “some details” you meant “way way too many” because I am nothing if not long winded. Also @hades-hellsite asked for context too, here you go

The central premise is that, after he dies, Achilles manages to make an arrangement with Hades that allows both him and Patroclus to stay in Elysium together. He's not employed to work at the house and he never becomes Zagreus's combat trainer.

Hades makes a few attempts to find Zagreus a different teacher among the shades of great warriors, but being skilled does not make someone able to teach. And being able to teach one way doesn't mean someone will be good for every student. When Zagreus doesn't learn well with the few mentors Hades tries, which he barely gives a chance to breathe anyway, he's quick to decide that he must have no martial ability and declares Zagreus a failure in that as he has about so many things.

This has two major effects on Zagreus before his escape attempts begin. One, without any chance to actually grow into aptitude in combat, he's left without anything substantial to put his energy into and, more importantly, he's left without anything he feels good at and that gives value to his efforts. Two is that, in Achilles' absence, very few people in the house give him any care and support untwisted by the politics of the house and the judgment of his father. There is Orpheus, kind to him before Hades locks him away for refusing to sing, Hypnos, willing to put the house to sleep so he can find the truth though jumbled up in his own problems, and Nyx.

Nyx is the only one to aid Zagreus when he decides to try to escape. She contacts Olympus and weaves careful lies to win their support and blesses his departure. She's also the only one who believes that Zagreus has the slightest chance of escaping. Already in canon, most everyone tells him there no way he'll make it out, but here, it's so much worse. He doesn't know how to fight, his initial attempts are pitiful and his progress negligible, and near everyone lashes out at him to get back in line and stop making things worse.

He doesn't even have the Infernal Arms. Achilles is the one who brings them to him in canon; here Zagreus takes a simple bronze sword from one of the house's many displays of weapons from wars long past. He thanks the Fates that the Styx restores it the same way it does his body when he dies because he nicks and dulls the edges every time.

Despite all the disadvantages, Zagreus throws himself into escaping with unshakable determination, bone deep stubbornness. He picks up his sword and will figure out how to use it himself. Experience will be his teacher. He dies over and over and he watches his enemies and learns how they move and how he must react, mimicking their attacks for his own use and adjusting and adjusting after each failure. And contrary to Hades' adamant belief, Zagreus is very intelligent and learns brilliantly when allowed to and he grows stronger and stronger.

There's no teacher more savage than experience in something like this, though. The pursuit is agonizing and the cost is enormous and adjusting to this ceaseless violence feels impossible.

Much of my interest in this idea is how the added strain on his circumstances and relationships affects Zagreus and his mental state. At his best, Zag looks a lot like he does in canon, with his laurels unfurled and vibrant, and his feet glowing hot, but he rarely feels his best here. His laurel leaves curl in dry and crisp, muted like the leaves of autumn. Flakes of ash and soot build up over his legs and encase more and more as he suffers. So deep is his feeling of failure and being trapped that it affects him physically.

Not always, though. His flames respond to his emotions, burn brighter in his passion. Enthusiasm, love, fervor, bliss, anger set him glowing.

After a brutally drawn out span of time, Zagreus meets Achilles and Patroclus in Elysium and tbh, the rest of my interest is really in how the altered circumstances change the evolution of their relationships with each other. The pair of warriors were never separated for an extended time and Achilles is less downtrodden and resigned and Patroclus is less bitter and abrasive when Zagreus stumbles upon them.

They don't fight him, which Zagreus counts among his greatest blessings, although Achilles still seems to have an interest. It makes him twitchy and he jumps when Achilles finally lifts his spear and swings it around in his third time in their little glade only to bump the flat of the blade against elbow and tell him to keep it in more towards his body. Zagreus blinks rapidly at him before adjusting his arm.

Achilles helps him here and there, tips and tricks and valuable advice, but he never gives anything near the thorough instruction he did in canon. On one hand, he doesn't need to. Zagreus is a self made fighter and it leaves him with weaknesses but it is also a powerful thing. He is unpredictable and incredibly adaptable and he only continues to improve.

On the other hand, there's no room for it. Achilles is gentle with his guidance, but Zagreus is rubbed raw by all the fighting he's done and all that still depends on it. He doesn't want to always focus on the weapon in his hands. Patroclus notices and curbs Achilles' input when it exceeds its bounds. He sits aside and observers carefully when they spar. Zagreus doesn't need another's direction which is fine by him, who's lost all desire for combat. He gives his aid through his assortment of trinkets that carry Zagreus further to the surface.

Zagreus barely knows what to do with himself in the face of their care. He's so unaccustomed to such generous and genuine support, interest devoid of expectation or blame. As familiarity between the three of them grows, their interactions grow warmer, more tender and comfortable. Their care lays on a foundation, not a hinge, and Zagreus grapples with understanding that he really can lean on it. It all leaves him so uncertain yet so desperate because he wants more than anything to have joy and conversation and company with others where he doesn't shoulder heavy guilt from unspoken accusations over his escaping the house and to have a place he feels he belongs without being an intrusion.

He does at first believe he's intruding, though. Intruding on their time together in the peace of Elysium. It takes them time to convince him that they value his presence immeasurably. The opportunity to stay together in the Underworld has been invaluable for Achilles and Patroclus, but the peace of Elysium is a deceptive thing. It wears away and prickles at them, pressing down in odd warping ways. Patroclus is beyond pleased to have the war behind him and that it can never force him to fight again, and despite Achilles retaining an interest in competition and combat, he does feel the same way. Having a cause though, something to believe in and worth devoting their efforts towards... They didn't realize how deeply they missed it until Zagreus. It is revitalizing. They thrive in his genuine, boundless kindness and long to support him.

The drawings of Orpheus arguing with Hades and Zagreus fighting with Nyx is from one of my plot point ideas. Later down the line, together, Hades, Persephone, and Nyx agree to forbid Zagreus from seeing Achilles and Patroclus at Nyx's behest. Similarly to how she talks about Dusa in canon, she sees mortal shades as beneath his station and that it's highly unbecoming for the prince to be consorting with them. Zagreus fights against the idea ferociously and is only smothered by the threat that, if he seeks them out anyway, Hades will void Achilles' agreement and have Patroclus moved to the proper plane of the Underworld.

It crushes Zagreus. He loves them and cares about them so much and being torn apart from them is a wound that cuts so deep. But even more than that, what breaks him open most, is the fact that it came from someone he cared for and trusted most. Nyx was the one person in the House he could depend on most and this betrayal at her hand is devastating. And for such a worthless reason as propriety and godly vanity. It's not her place to force those upon him. It hurts Zagreus to the core.

Orpheus is the only one willing to stick up for him in this, deeply empathetic to the grief of being separated from loved ones and well acquainted with the fact that such punishments will only damage, never correct. After all, his stint of punishment in Erebus didn't revive his desire to sing, it was Zagreus's dedication and vibrancy that did that. One of the many invaluable gifts Zagreus gave him, including reuniting him with Eurydice, making him happier than he'd been since her death. Orpheus can't keep biting his tongue when all these gods refuse to see any of this.

It all comes to a head dramatically and painfully and I've thought of a few variations on how it would play out. I'll leave it for now though, I might draw it or write it later >:3c Also this got really long lol. Hopefully the idea is at least somewhat interesting!

And here, have the lines from these two drawings because I like the way they look

#hades game #hades supergiant #zagreus #achilles #patroclus #nyx #orpheus #god of ash au #which is a tag i might not use again lol #my art #my writing #i guess #this is so long please forgive me #i had one thought of achilles not working at the house and it drove me to madness #apparently

259 notes · View notes

writtenjewels · 3 years

Text

Remote part 2

Part One

Father sent a message saying he would be arriving soon. Nule made sure there was no evidence that the Alliance soldier was here, then waited as Father's ship docked. Inside he was squirming against the little bit of defiance he took part in by breaking so many of Father's rules: do not speak with anyone, don't let anyone see your face, don't give out your name. Nule had justified the first rule by reasoning that he would kill intruders; the second broken rule was an accident. But the third rule he had purposefully broken.

The door opened and Father stepped inside. Nule handed him a glass of scotch he poured. “Thank you, Nule.” Father took a slow sip. “You always anticipate my needs.” Nule smiled a little at the praise. “And speaking of needs,” Father continued, “shall we continue with testing?”

“Yes, Father.” He turned and walked beyond the kitchen to the simulation room. He tapped into the most recent program he'd been working on. Father stood outside the room but with the door open so he could still observe. He lit a cigarette and took in a long drag.

“Proceed, Nule.”

Nule pulled up his biotic barrier first. It was one of the first things he learned and could now maintain it for hours even when he was being attacked-- which was the program he was currently running. He began lifting the simulated enemies and throwing them into each other. All of this was easy for him, merely a warm-up. The next part of the simulation was where he struggled: biotic hand-to-hand combat.

“Nule, I can tell you're holding back,” Father scolded him. “You can hit much harder than that.” Nule cringed at the displeasure in Father's voice. It was just a simulation, he reasoned, not real people he was hitting and kicking. He put more biotic force into each blow and tried not to think of the broken bones and internal bleeding he would be causing.

After an hour of this Father asked him to demonstrate his biotic shield. This was one of the trickier skills Nule had been working on. He only recently found himself capable of creating the shield at all; now Father wanted him to maintain it for as long as possible. Nule held his palms out, body trembling and sweat trickling down his neck as he held the barrier. He could feel energy draining out of him with every heartbeat.

“Father,” he gasped out, “I need to rest now, please.”

“Hold the barrier for one more minute, Nule. You're strong enough to do that.”

“Yes, Father.” He gritted his teeth and pushed through his growing exhaustion. He thought of all the biotics who weren't as lucky as him: they were being tortured and lobotomized simply because they were born different. All of this testing was going to help them, and if Nule worked hard enough he would be free to leave this place.

Finally he was allowed to stop. Nule collapsed onto the ground, shaking as his body struggled to cool down from all that effort. He pushed to his feet and blearily made it to the kitchen where he practically inhaled a protein bar and two energy drinks.

“You're doing much better,” Father praised him. “It's clear you've mastered a biotic barrier, as well as the pull and throw techniques.” He paused to take a puff from his cigarette. All these years and Nule could never grow used to that smell; he was grateful for the air filters making sure it didn't linger after Father was gone. “Your combat could still use some work. Remember, Nule, people will not hesitate to hurt you when they learn you're a biotic. They see you as a freak of nature.”

“I know, Father.” He heard it all a thousand times before. Nule could feel a migraine coming on but didn't dare betray that to Father. He wanted something more substantial than a protein bar so he set the fabricator to make a steak sandwich. What did real steak sandwiches taste like, he wondered?

“I want you to also work on flotation. It's a difficult technique but I believe in your capabilities.”

“I'll do my best, Father.”

“I know you will.” Father's eyes glowed at him. Nule never thought much about those eyes, but he had seen other blue eyes now and was struck by the difference. “You won't fail me, Nule.”

Nule wanted to draw strength from those words, but all he could feel was more guilt. He already failed his father by interacting with Commander Shepard. And if talking to the man and letting him live wasn't bad enough, the commander said he was coming back. He knew Father would be furious, but he also knew that telling the truth about his encounter was probably the right thing to do. Father only wanted Nule to be protected and safe, after all, and the commander might jeopardize that.

But Commander Shepard promised to tell me about sunsets. He said he wouldn't do anything to hurt me. Father's lectures on not trusting the Alliance came to mind. They used and abused biotics like him, when they weren't causing the biotics to become drug addicts with red sand. Still, Nule kept quiet about Commander Shepard. Maybe this one Alliance soldier wasn't a bad person.

Maybe he could even be a friend, something Nule never had before.

#kaidan alenko #au #mass effect

6 notes · View notes

alexmitas · 3 years

Text

Why I’m Just Like Crime & Punishment’s Raskolnikov and so Are You: A Brief Analysis of Dostoevsky’s Most Famous Novel

Just last night I finished Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. After mulling it over for a day (likely not nearly long enough to have substantiated a complete analysis, but with my memory I risk forgetting things if I move on to another book before writing about one that I’ve just finished), I’ve decided to get some of my thoughts down. Firstly, I will say that I am struck. While I’m clearly neither the first nor last person to be amazed by this novel, a work as significant as this one still deserves its praise where it’s due. People will often preface praise based on their interpretation of a creative endeavor by stating that its imperfection is obvious, even though that it’s also the best-est or their favorite, or one of the best-est or their favorite creative works that they have ever encountered, or something of the sort. I won’t be so bold to as to make that statement. That’s because, without a doubt, this was a perfect novel. After all, if something is so close to approaching a spade, by all reasonable measures, and only becomes better and better, and more and more like a spade, with age, then why not call it a spade?

Since the beginning I had a certain kind of resonance with Raskolnikov, the novel’s main character. But just as you can’t fully judge a story unless you consider it as a single, coherent piece (that is, until you have read from beginning to end), so too did I not understand the reason for my resonance with Raskolnikov until I finished reading his full tale. He’s young, he’s handsome, he’s intelligent: check, check, check; these things all apply to me, at least to some minor degree - that much was obvious from the very beginning - but while this superficial resonance was my first impression upon dining, it paled in comparison to the impression I had after the final bite of desert; to say nothing of the pleasant after dinner conversation among friends, the latter of which, of course, I use as a metaphor for the epilogue[1]. Every flaw I see in Raskolnikov, I also see in myself; for every action he takes, I can imagine a world in which I could be drawn down a path that would lead me to make the very same decisions, and to take the very same actions. I don’t know what could possibly be a better model than that for a main character.

Perhaps Raskolnikov’s biggest flaw is his overinflated ego, which is hardly out of the ordinary for someone his age, and isn’t entirely unjustified - as I said, he has three of the most promising traits one could hope for: intelligence, youth, and good-looks – but which does, in his case, lead him down an ideological rabbit hole of naivete, a hole which he creates for himself by dropping out of school, refusing work when it’s offered to him, and letting his resentment for the world grow as he lives off of a handful of meager sums sent to him by his mother and sister as a debt ridden fool in a poor Russian city during the eighteen-hundreds. This ideological thinking, which we shall not confuse with illogical thinking, for it is very much logical, brings Raskolnikov to the thought that, yes, it would in fact be a good idea to murder and rob the wealthy old pawnbroker whom is commonly considered amongst his peers as a mean-ol’ crone, holder of many a promissory note, rumored to have left her wealth to the building of a statue in her image through her will, rather than to her own children, whilst also being a generally unsightly and disagreeable woman, and, having done this, could aim to put her money to a more just cause, perhaps distributing it to others, or perhaps using it to further his own career which he would certainly payback in the form of greater value to society later on. And it isn’t such a crazy sounding idea, is it? After all, what is but one crime if the outcome provides a much greater net good? I’ve known many people, including myself, who’ve had thoughts not so unlike this one, and I suspect you are no different, dear reader. So having rationalized this to himself, Raskolnikov goes through with it, and thereby provides us a story of his Crime, which occupies only about one-fifth of the length of the novel, and his Punishment, which nearly occupies the novel’s entirety; with these proportions themselves giving us an idea of the many-fold burden of consequences for actions, as well as foreshadowing what is to come. And this rationalization runs deep. It isn’t until later, that we learn of truer reasons for Raskolnikov’s action, beginning with the discovery of an article he was able to have published while still enrolled in school, and ending with a true confession of his deepest motives to Sonya, to be discussed later.

This article that he wrote sometime before the crime, “On Crime,” reveals deeper rationale for his decision to commit the murder: and that is that he does it as a way to become something more than he is; to break down the cultural and religious structures around him, and more than that to supersede them; to rise above his fellow man as a type of “superman” or Napoleon, as he puts it, becoming someone who is able to “step over” the line which divides who is ordinary and who is great, a line that’s substance consists of rules for the hoi polloi only; ultimately inferring this idea – which, from what I understand was prevalent in Russia during the mid 1800’s – that the best way to view the world is through the lens of nihilism, which employs utilitarianism – the tenet which proposes that actions should be considered just insofar as they help the greatest number of people overall, and where acts of evil may be balanced properly, without the need for consequence, in the face of equal or greater acts of righteousness, especially if that person can prove themselves of some sort of higher value – as a central axiom. Pulling back to a macroscopic view of the novel, this sense that Dostoevsky had to instill within his characters arguments for what at the time was – and still in some sense very well are – contemporary issues, and eternal ideological and philosophical battlegrounds, rather than thrusting his own opinions through the narrator, is something I found to be brilliant and endearing, not only for the sake of keeping the author’s own bias more subdued than would otherwise be the case, but also just as a means to see what happens; to let the characters in the story have the fight, leaving both author and reader alike to extrapolate what hypotheses or conclusions they may as a consequence. In this regard, other characters – including Raskolnikov’s friend, Razumikhin, and state magistrate, Porfiry Petrovich – have the chance to debate with the nihilistic ideology of Raskolnikov after interacting with “On Crime.” This provides depth to contemporary discourse, without reeking of contrivance, and also allows us to see Raskolnikov argue for himself also, even though what he, ‘himself’, stands for is ultimately not clear; not for the reader but also seemingly not for Raskolnikov, as even after deciding to commit the crime, Raskolnikov’s opinion on whether or not it was a just event osculates frequently throughout the novel. It is this osculation, in fact, which constitutes most of Raskolnikov’s early punishment and suffering, as even though it appears as if Raskolnikov has managed to get away with the crime in the domain of the broader world[2], his conscious will not allow such an event to be swept under the rug, or even allow Raskolnikov to continue to live his life unhindered by spiritual corruption, mental destabilization, or physical trauma – all three of which plague him constantly both during his initial contemplations and later fulfillment of the crime. Ultimately, these ideological battles and inward rationalizations do not provide Raskolnikov with the accurate prognostication needed to foretell the outcome of his own state of being after committing such an act; and thereby lies Raskolnikov’s fatal flaw, derived from his arrogance and naivete, where he is left blinded by an ideology which never fulfills its promise of return. Oh, but if only he had a predilection for listening to the great prognosticator within him, his conscious, which, despite his waking thoughts, was calling out to him in the form of dreams.

In what is one of several dream sequences observed by characters in the novel, Raskolnikov dreams himself a young spectator, holding the hand of his father, as the two of them watch a group of misfit boys pile into a carriage. The carriage master, no more than a youthful fool, whips a single mare solely responsible for pulling the carriage. Overburdened and unable to do more than struggle forward at a pathetic pace, the mare whimpers and suffers visibly as the cruel and drunken carriage master orders it to trudge on, whipping it forcefully, all the while calling for any and everyone around the town to pile into the carriage. Laughing and screaming hysterically, the carriage master turns brutal task master when he begins to beat the mare repeatedly after with much effort the beast finally collapses to the ground in exhaustion. Horrifically, a handful of other people from the crowd and the carriage find their own whips and join in on the beating of the poor mare until it finally dies. Young Raskolnikov, having witnessed this event in its entirety, rushes to the mare after its brutal death, kisses it, then turns to the carriage master brandishing his fists before he is stopped by his father. This is the reader’s first warning of the brutality to come, and had Raskolnikov payed heed to what his conscious was trying to communicate to him in his dream, he may have noticed, as we as readers do, that the reaction the young Raskolnikov had to the barbaric murder of the mare very much predicted what Raskolnikov’s ultimate reaction to his then theoretical crime would be – regret; and, therefore, repentance. A second dream of Raskolnikov’s, which very much enforces this idea, pits Raskolnikov in the act of once again murdering Alyona, except this time, when he strikes her atop the head with the same axe, she simply brandishes a smile and laughs uncontrollably instead of falling over dead. This all but confirms Raskolnikov’s suspicions to himself, as his subconscious relays his foolish inadequacy, as a man who thought that he could elevate himself above others by “stepping over” the moral boundaries all of his societal peers abide by (and for good reason). Again, through this tendency that he has to stubbornly ignore his conscious, I find Raskolnikov eminently relatable, to some degree, and it is no wonder: it is a rare individual who finds obeying their conscious to be anything but onerous (then again, perhaps this is only most common in individuals who are still relatively young and naïve, a trait which I share with Raskolnikov, but one in which you may not, dear reader; but I digress). Of course, just because a task is onerous, does not mean that it is impossible. The characters which have been placed around Raskolnikov, and specifically the ones which serve as foils to his character, provide examples of contrast with individuals who at the very least are able to combat the compelling desire that we all have to ignore our consciouses. The three most blatant examples of foils for Raskolnikov are his sister, Dunya, his best friend, Razumikhin, and his eventual wife, Sonya Marmeladov.

The first example of this contrast apparent to the reader is in the character Razumikhin. Razumikhin is also a student living within the same city as Raskolnikov. Unlike Raskolnikov, however, he has not bailed out of university for financial necessity nor wanton of a grand ideological narrative. There is also no reason to believe he has more financial support than Raskolnikov, as he also appears to be poor with no hint of endowment, instead supporting himself through the meager-paying work of translating for a small publisher. And while Razumikhin is even more naïve than Raskolnikov – having never once suspected Raskolnikov of so much as a dash of malevolence – he lacks the same venomous arrogance, whilst showing no signs of lower intelligence. Dunya, Raskolnikov’s sister, provides another example of similar contrast. This is because, as his sister, and, again, with no reason to believe that she is any more or less intelligent or attractive than her brother, Dunya comes from the same upbringing, whilst holds no apparent resentment towards the world around her. Even when she is given the choice to harm someone else – when she finds herself on the side of a gun pointing at a man who has locked her inside of a room against her will (arguably giving her a modicum of a reason to kill another, depending on one’s own stance on morality) – she is unable to do it, instead casting her tool with which to do so aside and letting fate take care of the rest[3]. Lastly, and this may be the most apparent example, presenting what may be Raskolnikov’s true foil, we have dearest Sonya, stepdaughter of the Marmeladovs. Sonya, who in the face of two useless parents, takes it upon herself to prostitute herself so that her family, including three young siblings, may eat, makes Raskolnikov look privileged and morally woeful in comparison. Recognizing this himself, Raskolnikov does his best to look out for Sonya, in what is perhaps his most genuine form of empathy. Despite this – or perhaps, in fact, in spite of this; for early on Raskolnikov identifies Sonya as the sole individual whom may be able to help him redeem himself – Raskolnikov obsessively pushes Sonya to read a verse from the bible involving the story of Lazarus, as a redemption for himself, but also for Sonya, projecting as he does his misdeeds unto her and equating his murderous acts with her soiling of her sexuality for the sake of providing for her family. The story of Lazarus is a story which promises resurrection of the individual as Jesus Christ resurrected Lazarus from the dead. In this way, Raskolnikov probes, a part of him reaching out ever fervently for the means of the rebirth of his soul, despite his hitherto forthright determination to escape his guilt and conviction, looking for proof of Sonya’s moral purity, which he already suspects, despite his accusations, to which she responds by admitting herself a sinner, asking God for forgiveness, and later by bestowing upon Raskolnikov one of her two precious necklace and crosses. And it is in a kindred vein to these three examples of contrast in which the final contrast is made in small part by every character in the novel; for in some sense this novel represents the journey of one man as he isolates himself from a community he loathes to subordinate himself to; of a man who wishes to supersede his place in the world and become a “superman”; of a man who places his individual ideology above the morality of his peers; and it is in this way that the ordinary character, subservient to religion, provides contrast for the atheist who mocks them, not with critique, but with arrogance.

…

…And that ought to be enough for now.

TLDR: 10/10 would recommend.

Thanks for reading,

- Alex

[1] The epilogue, from what I’ve observed from others’ critiques, seems to be controversial in that some believe the novel stands alone better without it. It is not until the epilogue – well into the sentence of punishment by the state for his crimes – that Raskolnikov finally gives up his idea that, essentially, ‘the only thing he did wrong was improperly rob the old lady and to then fall emotionally and mentally apart afterwards’; where, too, he finally gives up his last bit of arrogance and outward loathing for the world and his circumstances, and accepts responsibility for his actions, likely brought on by the outwardly visible sacrifices made by his then wife, Sonya, who he looks to for repentance. However, critics argue that without the epilogue, we would simply be left to assume on our own that Raskolnikov finally gave in to repentance when the novel ended with his confession, and that that would be preferable to what is otherwise a heavy-handed ending, condensed as it is compared to the rest of the novel. This would make sense and likely be fitting enough of an ending. However, in defense of the epilogue, without it, a reader’s main takeaway from the story might be only, ‘do not underestimate how much opposing your conscious will degenerate your soul,’ while with the epilogue, the takeaway is more likely to also include something along the lines of, ‘beware denigrating religion and the multitude of cultures which it has produced, for without the ability to hold yourself accountable for your own deeds and also to be redeemed, there is nothing standing between you and self-destruction and misery, to say nothing of the destruction and misery of those around you,’ which of course is realized by the death of Raskolnikov’s mother as well as the sickening of himself and his wife, as a consequence of his refusal to actually accept his punishment and repent even after his confession (which without acceptance of responsibility is still only a selfish act), outlined in the two chapters proceeding the end of the novel. So if I’d had the genius necessary to write this story, I’d also have looked to include an epilogue to ensure that the totality of my characters’ lessons would also be realized by the reader, for whatever that’s worth.

[2] While Raskolnikov does seem to commit the crime of murder and robbery without getting caught, this does not mean that things go according to plan; in fact, far from it: while Raskolnikov manages to murder Alyona, he very poorly robs her – leaving behind a large bundle of cash she had under her bed, which he missed due to his state of unanticipated frenzy. He also ends up killing Alyona’s younger sister, Lizaveta, when she arrives immediately following the murder, in an act of pure self-perseverance, which just goes to show: when you take the fate of the world into your own hands, when you ‘step over’ the boundaries that your culture (or God; whichever) has deemed should not be crossed – when you arrogantly and naively take the fabric and truth of the universe into your own hands – you do not know what it is you are doing; you do not know what the consequences of your actions will be. It isn’t made clear the degree to which the killing of Lizaveta changed the outcome for Raskolnikov’s soul. Perhaps committing one crime constitutes the same moral weight as committing two crimes simultaneously, but also perhaps it was everything; the one factor unaccounted for which destroyed his evaluation of just outcomes and, having done so, his resolve.

[3] Here is a specific instance in which Dostoevsky’s propensity to pit ideas against each other in the form of characters playing out their practicalities in a real-world context comes to bear. This specific battle, represented by the juxtaposition of the aforementioned scene with Raskolnikov’s murdering of the two women, pits morality against ideology, while leaving a clear winner: for it is one which leads to the eradication of two lives and the degradation of more than one soul, and it is another which leads to the absolution of a dangerous conflict. These two specifically – morality and ideology – clash frequently during the novel’s entirety, with morality often taking its microcosmic form of religion.

#fyodor dostoevsky #crime&punishment #essays #novel analysis #classics

12 notes · View notes

anomander-dragnipurake · 3 years

Text

Vengeance and Ambition

This was supposed to be a full story with Fawful and King Boo being victorious in the end. I was super excited for it because it's my 2 fav Mario villains teaming up and winning. But then it slowly dawned on me that no one would care in large part because Fawful's not a popular character. And while I have no issues writing solely for myself (I stopped expecting any kind of substantial interaction with my writing a while ago now) how hard Fawful's dialogue is to write (I don't even know if I did it right but I tried my best) makes the fact that virtually no one's gonna read it quite demotivating, killing my enthusiasm. So, because I still really like the idea and worked hard on this part, I decided to just upload this.

Fawful came to as if waking from a long sleep, slowly regaining consciousness. Which… wasn’t right. One would expect oblivion on the other side of exploding what was left of the Dark Star’s power within themself. He’d been dying anyway so might as well go out with a bang and bring his enemies down too. But nope, he opened his eyes to see that he was in the courtyard of Peach’s castle, very much still aware. Which included awareness that something was wrong with his body.

A quick look down at himself confirmed his growing suspicions. He was transparent and floating, his body tapered off into a tail instead of legs. He was a ghost; dead but not gone… free of the Dark Star’s power though. Presumably it had dissipated, leaving him here, powerless and defeated again. … Maybe not entirely though; his foes could still be dead, he had to exploded himself right in front of them, there was no possible way they’d escaped… right?

What if they’d also become ghosts though? … He’d deal with that problem if and when it presented itself. He didn’t even know the criteria for when or why someone turned into a ghost upon death.

So, eager to know the full outcome of his last-ditch efforts for at least a partial victory, he started for the castle. Floating along was quite simple, it was just a matter of wanting and choosing to move forward. He could even ascend and descend freely; so much more convenient than his usual means of levitation.

Where the final encounter had gone down, he wasn’t sure, but judging based off the position of the sun in the sky it was late morning. In his last clear memories, it had been past sundown. Meaning he’d lost some time and thus whatever or whoever was left after his explosion would’ve likely been cleared away by now. With no clear leads on where to start looking for what he wanted to know, he’d head for the throne room first.

He was in luck, Peach was there. Along with her elderly Toad advisor and… the red and green plumbers. They were alive and well, seemingly undamaged by Fawful’s explosion. Ugh! Twice now they’d beat him down and took away everything he’d had, coming away unscathed from it. How? He’d worked and planned so hard to get them out of the way while he took over the Mushroom Kingdom. It had been the perfect plan and should’ve worked… it would’ve if Bowser hadn’t far surpassed Fawful’s expectations for him.

And now he was back at square one. Less than that actually because he was dead. He didn’t have even an ounce of the Dark Star’s power anymore.

Holding back the urge to curse and shout, he floated closer, intending to eavesdrop on his enemies’ conversation. He was too late though, they were already getting ready to separate.

“See you later,” Peach said with a smile as the brothers walked away.

They strode right past where Fawful floated invisible. Green slowed down as he looked around, pulling his arms in a little as if he were cold. His eyes slid right over Fawful of course but it couldn’t be a coincidence, he had some sense of Fawful’s presence and possibly of the hate Fawful was glaring at them with too.

“You okay bro?” Red asked.

“Uh… yeah, I’m just tired, I guess. It’s been a long day.”

With that, Fawful turned away from them as they moved on.

The throne room was still a mess from when he’d forcefully taken it over. Many of his statues were still up in here as well as outside. He’d had it in his grasp, he’d been so close. … Too close to just give up. He would take out the plumbers and he would take over the Mushroom Kingdom, he just needed a new plan.

First things first, he went back to his workshop hidden away in the sewers. He got lost for a while phasing through walls and thus eventually settled on following the paths the way a living person would have to. He’d been so sure he’d never have to venture down here again but… ugh. Failure was even worse when he’d been the sole person in charge.

Maybe if he’d still been working with Cackletta things would’ve gone better. Two heads were better than one after all, right? It was impossible to say though and it wasn’t worth dwelling on; she was dead and gone, even her ghost had been destroyed. … He’d have to be careful to ensure he didn’t suffer such a fate.

By the time he reached his hidden workshop behind his mostly failed attempt at a shop – he’d had to settle for sneaking out to steal things instead until he got a bit more clout – he was equal parts anxious and furious again. He’d lost Midbus and his entire robot army that he’d spent so much time and effort building, how was he supposed to rebuild from here? He’d thrown everything he had at his plan and it wasn’t enough. How could he possibly have done anything more? Why did fulfilling his ambitions and getting vengeance have to be so hard?

He may have allowed himself to wallow around in his workshop for a while. He deserved a bit of self-pity at this point though, didn’t he? And it wasn’t like anyone was around to see anyway so who cared? In the process though he found he could no longer sleep which sucked really hard because it meant no more breaks from his thoughts or anything else. It meant he had to get up and get to work sooner than he otherwise would’ve too because lying in bed unable to fall asleep was the worst.

What should he do though? Maybe look for Midbus, it was possible he’d survived and if so trying to patch him up was probably a good idea; he’d been a good minion. And if he was dead, Fawful was a ghost so maybe Midbus would be too and thus the same principle still applied.

If he’d still had blood it would’ve been boiling at the sight of what was left of the Dark Star extractor. A group of Toads was dismantling it with all the technological grace of a particularly stupid mountain goat headbutting a brick wall until it finally broke. All the many, many hours Fawful had put into designing, building, and perfecting it – not to mention everything else that had gone into this plan as a whole – and they were just ripping it apart like it was worthless scrap. And to top it off, there was no sign of whatever had become of Midbus anywhere in the room.

He floated over to grab one of two the spare hammers left on the ground and flung it at the nearest Toad. Unfortunately, it missed, sailing right over his head, but he screamed anyway, drawing the attention of the rest of the Toads. Oops, maybe Fawful shouldn’t have done that. … Oh well, he was too mad to really care.

“The hammer levitated and flew right…” the Toad was saying, cutting off with a small yelp as Fawful lifted the other hammer to throw as well. This one hit the Toad squarely in head. He teetered for second before going limp into the arms of the Toad beside him who, along with the other two, screamed and bolted for the door, dragging the unconscious Toad with them.

Fawful zoomed over to grab the hammer again and throw at them. It hit the door right as they closed it though. Ugh!

He snapped back around to face his invention again. It was almost entirely dismantled, there’d be no saving it. Not that he had any further use for it anyway, the Dark Star had been destroyed and it was all Bowser and the two wretched fink-rat plumbers’ fault.

But… as angry as he was, he should focus on finding Midbus. His help would be nice for whatever Fawful’s next plan would end up being.

After searching the whole castle and the ground surrounding it, there was still no sign of Midbus. He was either dead and gone, a ghost who’d decided not to stick around the way Fawful had, or alive and recovering from his wounds elsewhere. The latter two might be because Midbus had figured Fawful had been completely destroyed or as was more likely the case that he didn’t care enough to even think to look and was choosing to abandon Fawful.

It didn’t really matter though because no matter what Fawful for sure no longer had Midbus. Which was… fine, he didn’t care, why should he? He’d been on his own before and risen so far, he could do it again. And he’d be successful this time, third time’s the charm after all, right? … Hopefully.

***

Being trapped in a portrait was in some ways worse than in a vault and in some ways better. In the vault he could move even if there wasn’t much space to do so, and speak freely even if no one could hear him, but he couldn’t see anything that was going on outside. In a portrait though, while trapped and unable to move, he could see what was going out in front him.

E. Gadd could’ve easily put something over him, depriving him of even that. But he didn’t. Instead he’d hung King Boo up in the front part of his lab. There wasn’t much to see most of the time but it was better than nothing and he could bide his time here. He’d been dead for a long time so time meant little to him. … Except he’d always been impatient compared to how long he’d existed for.

One could only cycle through all the ways he could’ve improved his prior plans to make them more likely to succeed or about possible new plans and what he’d do to his enemies if/when he finally defeated them before even that got old. And now he was just thinking about being bored for the umpteenth time, making it a boring thing to think about too. Truly one could not get any more bored than that. And yet there was nothing else to do but think and think and be bored and hate the people who’d done this to him and be bored some more. If only something would fucking happen.

As if the thought had brought it about, the doorbell rang. It was most likely just Luigi coming for a visit because he did that sometimes or a door-to-door salesperson but it would break the boredom of staring at an empty room for a little bit at least. And if he was really lucky, Luigi might even glance his way with a nervous expression before following E. Gadd into the lab proper.

As was often the case, it took three rings before E. Gadd came out of his lab to answer it. He didn’t spare King Boo a single look as he walked over to open the door. “Oh hello,” he said in a tone that indicated that it wasn’t Luigi at the door. Which could only mean it was someone new. Awesome! Too bad King Boo couldn’t see them from this angle.

“This be the residence of E. Gadd, yes?” The voice had an odd quality to it almost as if it might be coming over a speaker or radio.

“Yes, now might I ask why a…” He cut off as a cloud of thick purple smoke engulfed him, centering on his head. “What is…” Another cloud puffed in from outside. Whatever was going on here was getting more exciting by the second.

Before the smoke had cleared, a little green drone flew into them room. It looked around for a bit before it seemed to freeze looking at King Boo. It zoomed over for a better look.

“Aha!” whoever was controlling it said through it. “I have success! … I think. It could be being a painting that is normal. Hopefully and probably not because why would E. Gadd be having a painting of King Boo if it is not being actual King Boo?”

Weird way of talking or no, whoever this fellow was had just made King Boo’s day. … Assuming he was here to rescue King Boo anyway, it was possible he just wanted to steal the portrait. But even that would be exciting and changing hands would increase the likelihood of his boos being able to come in and free him.

The ghost of a beanish person with swirly eyes, wearing a cape and holding what had to be the drone’s remote control floated through the still open door. “Stay in corner,” he snapped at E. Gadd who was kind of just standing around now. “Fawful has no time for the gloating yet, in humans mind control spray be wearing off faster than the joy of eating the last cookie in the jar.”

“Yes, right away, Lord Fawful,” E. Gadd said, his cadence almost normal as he moved to obey.

Fawful then looked down at the controller to neatly land the drone on the desk. He placed the controller next to it before zooming over to pull King Boo’s portrait off the wall. He poked and prodded at it a bit before turning it over, presumably do poke and prod at the back too for a few seconds before flipping it back over.

“E. Gadd! How one be freeing King Boo from the frame?”

“Shine a dark light on it.”

“Where is dark light? Fetch it for me, quickly.”

The sound of E. Gadd walking out of the room indicated that he obeyed. He returned a few seconds later to hand one of his flashlights to Fawful. “The switch on the side turns on the dark light.”

“Good, go back to corner.”

King Boo was mentally vibrating with anticipation as Fawful leaned him back against the wall. Next, he floated back to shine the dark light squarely on the portrait. The sensation of being pulled out of it was odd and uncomfortable as always but as soon as he free, he was laughing with exhilaration. Freedom at long last was his!

The very first thing he did with this newfound freedom was levitate the now empty portrait out from behind him and float over to E. Gadd to put him inside it instead. It was harder to do without an enchanted crown to channel his magic through and lacking its stored power to assist him but he got it done. E. Gadd, still affected by the mind control spray didn’t fight it, resulting in a rather calm looking portrait of him. … Expressions of fear were preferable but whatever; King Boo was free and E. Gadd was trapped and that’s all that mattered right now. He might try to fix it later but for now…

Leaning the portrait against the wall to be retrieved later, he snapped back around to face Fawful again. “I appreciate the rescue. I know you didn’t do it for no reason though. What do you want in return?” As long as it was reasonable and within his means, he’d probably grant it. He was that grateful and being generous had gained him many loyal followers in the past and he was always open to more followers.

Fawful grinned wide, even chuckling a little as his ghostly tail curled in visible anticipation or perhaps nerves. “I have the wish to offer an alliance.”

King Boo had been down this road before with Hellen and that had turned out terribly but it didn’t hurt to hear him out. “What kind of alliance?”

“Well… as new ghost, Fawful was wondering around Peach’s castle unseen, hearing many things, seeing many more. Whispers about King Boo were common, your hatred for the red and green plumbers clear as a glass of wine after one has found nothing but sorrow at the bottom of. So the alliance: Fawful will be helping take down plumbers and at the same time, King Boo will be helping in the conquering of the Mushroom Kingdom for my taking.”

“You want to conquer the Mushroom Kingdom, huh?” King Boo wasn’t into kingdom conquering himself, he was perfectly content with the land he had and didn’t desire any more especially if it was infested with living.

“Yes.” Fawful nodded. “I be wanting a kingdom and I don’t be liking the red and green plumbers so I will be taking their kingdom. With our alliance like the icing on the cake, I leave the vengeance of them to you.”

Given how many times Luigi had sucked him up into that wretched vacuum of his, King Boo might actually be willing to go along with this even if to an outsider looking in, Fawful would appear to be getting much more out of it. But really, a good chunk of the work in taking over the Mushroom Kingdom would be done with just taking out Mario and Luigi. If it worked, King Boo desire for vengeance was more than strong enough to make assisting with the rest of it worth it. But… “How do I know you can carry your weight in such a scheme?” No way was he going to be doing everything himself with his supposed ally barely helping.

“Because if was not for a certain spiky snack being much spicier than expected, Fawful’s last plan would’ve been success.” With that, as if eager to share his tale, he launched into it explaining his last plan and how close he’d gotten to succeeding.

Honestly it was a rather entertaining tale, especially the way he told it. King Boo had been around more than long enough to know about the Dark Star so that gave credibility to his tale because few living knew of it by now. He had gotten rather close to succeeding though.

“And so,” Fawful said after his tale had winded down, “I be thinking in terms of evil schemes we are near equals. Our goals don’t align but they be overlapping like multilayered cake of ambition and vengeance. Working together we could perhaps be making a plan that is unstoppable like large boulder made of vengeance and knives rolling down steep cliff crushing any daring to be standing in its path, including nasty plumbers.”

Maybe King Boo should take a bit to think about this, confirm Fawful’s tale of near success over the Mario bros with one of his castle spies, but after spending who even knew how long trapped in a portrait after his third defeat, he was rather eager to set in motion some vengeance. Besides, he was starting to like Fawful, he was odd but in a way that made him interesting, far more so than Hellen – not that that was too difficult to do. And who knows, maybe all King Boo’s plans had been missing was a horde of killer robots. So… “All right, I’ll agree to an alliance.”

With an excited snicker, Fawful extended a hand out of his cloak to shake King Boo’s hand – something that stubby boo arms always made weird but he didn’t say anything about it – sealing the alliance. If this didn’t turn out well then so be it, it wouldn’t be the first plan or even first failed alliance King Boo had attempted. But it was worth a try in case it worked and regardless it should at least make for an interesting time. “First though, I need to free my boos. Then we can go somewhere to discuss the finer details.”

#My writing #super mario bros #Luigi's Mansion #Mario & Luigi Bowser's Inside Story #King Boo #Fawful

15 notes · View notes

amxwolf · 3 years

Text

Here is why conventional healthful-thinking is not working on Millennials.

Have you ever had that terrifying dream where you are stuck in a dark forest or sketchy alley, frantically running for your life from some kind of feral monster or mad man? Most of us can personally recall at least once being roused from sleep in a cold sweat because their brain had spent the last few hours perfecting the latent image of a made-to-order nightmare. While that experience is certainly not exclusive to Millennials (rather quite the opposite), the waking reaction or at least how it is processed later by this roughly categorized group of mislabeled people is unique to say the least.

For years now, people in marketing have been fervently dissecting and attempting to recreate what has been loosely categorized as "Millennial Humor". And in all of their efforts to connect with this flock of black sheep, the grand majority of them seem to be missing a key factor in the psychology at work here. For all the unwarrantable bilge that modern advertising haphazardly cobbles together, only a small percentage of the nonsense is seasoned perfectly with the secret ingredient. What is this singular spice? Well, while indulgent to profess and speculative, from someone "sitting in millennial class”, it's obvious: A touch of salt.

Never will I sit here and cry to the general public about how unhappy I am that the modern advertising industry is just not scratching my itch for the wares it’s peddling, but I think it's important for us now to look at how this systemic lack of understanding is reaching beyond the world of subliminal profiteering. Society has other significant quality-of-life effecting systems that are also missing the mark when trying to aim and reach out to help this specific group of people. Puns aside, "a touch of salt" as I quipped, is flavoring the lives of a lot of people in their mid to late 20's and early 40's. And the most frustrating and difficult to reconcile attempts that I personally have made to better myself, have been those that were guided by people who just cannot seem to put their brain into that salty head space.

For example, trying to focus on and internalize a well-organized medical presentation about the encompassing negative effects of stress or insomnia and its seemly simple solution of just "changing your thinking", is about as easily digestible as a two-decade-year-old fruitcake for someone who is imprisoned daily by the symptoms of chronic stress. While I may sit there and give listening (ironically) "the old college try", the sound quickly turns to fuzzy white noise the deeper the lecture dives into positive thinking.

You see, Millennials are not generally fluent in positive thinking. More and more of them seem to be speaking a very distinctive dialect of realism, which incorporates a robustly cultivated sense of sarcasm and a somewhat grim shade of hopelessness. A lot of millennials grew up with a laughably poetic twist on "Growing Up" and "Being Successful", which in turn has colored their day-to-day interactions and created this defeatism-culture. Millennials will openly joke about their death as a needed release, their eulogy as a retirement card, or emotionally decompile themselves over something simple like saying "you too" in a situation that doesn't warrant it.

A good percentage of Millennials were old enough to understand the destructive consequences of the most recent housing market disaster on a very personal level; At an impressionable age, watching their own parents, who may have worked excruciatingly hard at the expense of any number of personal or family goals, lose just about everything resonated in a way that cannot be unheard. Then add the borderline criminal and unscrupulous "sheep-shearing" that became common place when the generation was herded off to college, trade school, or other form of career-building education. Not to mention the fact that upon completing said programs, a proverbial "step-in-the-right direction", a substantial number of these "hopeless wanderers" were faced with yet another barbed-wire hurdle when the job market in countless fields were oversaturated with potential employees. Many positions had not been vacated as they normally would have been with the age of retirement being stretched further and further down the road due to increased cost of living and financial demands; the finish line or lap marker was just not getting any closer. To add insult to injury, Millennials, sometimes unbelievably hardworking, are frequently being listed as perpetuators of the clashing reality we have today. This being what the modern media is calling "The Great Resignation"; a dubious combination of a labor shortage amidst an unemployment spike fueled by uncompetitive wages left unchecked, the government's inability to reel in the situation, and a general devaluing of laborers overall.

Oh. And also, we were killing the diamond industry at the same time. Or was it simultaneously the marriage and divorce industry? Wait! I think it was cinema? Or no....maybe it was fabric softener. For a complete dissertation of all the things Millennials brutally murdered over the last two decades, perhaps I'll include a link below if for no other reason to drive my point home.

You have this group of people who are conditioned to endlessly swimming upstream, against the current, with nothing but chastising and bitterness to listen to. So, when it comes to something universal like learning to "sleep better" or "problem solving", the indifferent but somehow time-honored approach of saying "it's as easy as just taking control" is over time if not immediately rejected as dissonant information.

These people don't feel like they have control; some of them feel like they never had any to begin with.

Why is this a problem?

Our society is not developing a taste for "salt" at a pace in which it can prepare social-sustenance for its population. We're not getting any younger, and neither are the generations in front of us.

Millennials are already, by some definitions the mass-population of workers, voters, and other titles that we've yet to embrace. And our lack of interest is not because we do not have a passion for positive change (even on a global scale). Millennials have voiced over time that they feel they are the silent majority amidst a group of people who will not give them breathing room and don't respect the validity of their opinions and ambitions. And it is by no means restricted to one region or country on this planet. This is a global phenomenon.

I could spin a vast yarn about the political ramifications of continuing to exclude the Millennials from the metaphoric Counsel of Elders, but I'm more concerned about the neglect that is spreading elsewhere. We need our leaders in the medical and social fields to really respect and dig deep into how to incorporate "Millennial Thinking" into their treatment and development plans. A large amount of the global population is going to need carefully tailored treatment for things as old as depression, bi-polar tendencies, or schizophrenia as well as newly discovered mental encumbrances like imposter-syndrome.

While “positive-thinking” may have been easily cultivated in the past, we may need to start from a more negative approach and build from there to educate and treat a group of down-on-their-luck millions. Pumping drugs into a populace is not going to permanently patch the leak either, so there truly is precedence for a rehashing of how we should prioritize mental health in modern society.

Stop spending so much time and energy assigning blame to modern technologies and social norms. Are these going away? No? In that case, those things are much like our other daily stresses that are unavoidable. Yes, you can change your nightly routine to de-stress the same way that you can change a job or a daily commute, but there needs to be a fundamental shift in accountability divvied to circumstances out of a person's control rather than scolding them for not being able to manage it.

Do I have all the answers? No.

But this was less about offering a solid a solution and more about opening a dialogue. A starting point.

So yeah. I've had that dream of being chased through the woods by a life-leeching alien. It felt very similar to being sucked dry of my pitiful wages for an education that was at the time, barely panning out. Even now, as a 32-year-old, slightly more successful version of the starving student I've become, I still feel as though my rat race will end when my heart gives out; and all I can hope for is enough money when I drop to cover the ambulance ride to the over-crowded emergency room and a large pit to rot in. But I just hope that the generation behind me has the benefit of a system that understands how to create and sustain “Millennial Inspired” social structures that will allow them to flourish in what little we can leave behind for them.

Also, could you pass the salt?

#rant #millenials #heavy thoughts #random thoughts #seriously though modern mental medicine is a joke

1 note · View note

bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years

Text

Incentive

Day 6: Second Chances

Pair: Azula/Mai

Summary: Azula struggles to recover and make the most of her second chance. Mai helps her work through it.

Azula isn’t sure that this is how second chances are supposed to work. She thinks that she is supposed to feel relieved; she’d just laid her pride aside and asked for forgiveness, she’d just apologized. Isn’t she supposed to feel weightless?

She doesn’t she only feels battered, small, and humiliated. She feels no closer to being loved or accepted than she had before she’d made a fool of herself. They may not hate her, if their words are to be believed, but they sure as hell take care to avoid her. She is still alone. The only difference is that she has lost her dignity and self-esteem on top of it all. She wishes that she hadn’t asked for forgiveness at all.

She wishes that she didn’t need to. She wishes that she could have just been a decent, more loveable person from the start. But she hadn’t been and she can’t change it now. She doesn’t think that she can do anything short of awkwardly interjecting into conversation and she has already humiliated herself enough.

She spends much of her time alone in the palace garden, trying to keep herself together. She doesn’t want to go back to the institution, but the longer she is alone, the longer she sits there by herself, the worse she feels. The more she slips. Her stomach ties itself into sorrowful knots, she scans the garden before allowing herself to shed some tears. She bunches herself up on the bench.

She doesn’t want to be alone anymore. She thinks that they might sympathize, might forgive her, if they saw her like this. But Agni is she afraid to let anyone see her like this. They’ll take advantage of it, they’ll belittle her, make her feel weaker…

Azula sits herself up and rubs the heels of her hands against her eyes. She tries to will herself to stop crying. But the thoughts harass her, memories bombard her. Memories of times before things were so horrible, so lonely and dark.

It leaves her heart and mind aching to recall how close she had been to TyLee and Mai. She grips the edge of her chair and stares down at her feet trying to regain her composure. She rubs her hands over her face, feeling infinitely worse.

When she looks up she sees a figure looming over her. Her mood plummets further. Evidently, Mai is the last person she’d wanted catching her cry.

Mai gives a drawn out sigh. “This definitely doesn’t suit you.”

Azula wipes her eyes and allows herself to wipe her eyes.

“And here I didn’t think that you had emotions.”

That is rich coming from her.

“I try not to.” She mutters. “They don’t do me any good.”

“Because you don’t express them enough.” Zuko appears from behind.

Azula sniffs hauntily. “Because the last time I did it, it went over so well.”

Zuko furrows his brows. “Why do you think that it didn’t?”

“I’m still alone, aren’t I?”

“No, you aren’t.” He says.

She quirks a brow. “Who do I have, Zuzu.”

Mai rolls her eyes, “for someone so smart, it's amazing that you can’t figure out how to interact with people and take social cues.” She pauses. “We’re checking on you because you haven’t talked to us since you apologized.”

Azula slightly purses her lips, “I...you guys…” she trails off. “You didn’t want to talk to me?” She intended for it to be a statement but it sounds more like a question.

“That’s not true, Azula.” Zuko insists.

“Then why am I alone?” She hisses.”

“Because you isolate yourself?” Mai shoots back.

Azula narrows her eyes, she isn’t sure if she is more angry or upset. She knows for sure that she is frustrated, and perhaps, confused.

“You can’t just expect everyone to forgive you after one apology, you have to put in an effort.” Mai adds.

Azula rubs her hands over her face. She isn’t sure what else she is supposed to say, what more effort can she possibly put in? She just knows that she doesn’t want to be hated. “I did put in effort.” She mumbles.

.oOo.

Azula’s expression dims considerably and Mai sighs. She almost feels bad. Almost, she isn’t willing to let things go that easily. She has never seen the princess look so lost and almost desperate. It is somehow satisfying, frankly, Azula is due for a struggle or two. Though she supposes that, having lived her life so smoothly, she isn’t entirely metnally equipped for a prolonged struggle.

Or maybe she is. Mai can’t imagine that she would have fallen apart so substantially if she hadn’t already had some deep and untended mental wounds.

She doesn’t want to let Azula off the hook so easily, and yet, she could very well push the princess away for good if she doesn’t relent a little. At least Zuko speculates as much; it is the reason that they have bothered to check on her now.

“Some effort this is.” Mai comments despite herself.

Azula’s face seems to grow even more vacant. She gives the slightest head shake. “Forget this.” She stands quite abruptly and makes her retreat, ignoring Zuko’s call.

.oOo.

It was a mistake, she had made a mistake. She’d made a mistake and made a fool of herself. A second chance was supposed to be a fresh start and yet she feels as though she has only fallen further behind. That she has sacrificed a part of herself for nothing at all.

She steals away into her room. Likely she won’t leave it until everyone is asleep. If she is going to be alone, she will be alone in peace. But when nightfall comes around, she finds that she hasn’t the energy nor motivation to be up and about. When the nightfall comes it hits her in full. She has messed her second chance up, not that she truly had one at all. Even so, she has done damage beyond repair.

Azula rubs her face against the pillow and tries to alleviate the flutter in her belly. It refuses to subside. Her head hurts. She thinks that it is stress. She just wants to feel good again. At the very least, she just wants to feel right again.

She wants to belong. She wants the care that everyone else gets. She clutches her head in her hands and curls in on herself.

She wants to be okay. She isn’t okay.

Azula wakes to the sound of knocking at her door but she doesn’t want to get up. Whoever it is, lets themself in. “Zuko told me to come check on you again.” Mai comments nonchalantly.

“You’ve done your job. You can go now.” She doesn’t lift her head, there isn’t a point. She imagines that Mai has better matters to attend anyhow. For a moment, she thinks that Mai is going to listen and retreat. Instead she languidly lies down next to Azula with her hands folded just below her chest.

“I said that you can go now…”

“Remember when we went to the beach?”

“I try not to.”

“And we were talking about our feelings.”

And hers had been well and played off, not just by them but by she herself. She imagines that they had agreed with her anyhow. “What about it?”

“You said that I need to express myself more.”

“What of it?” Azula mutters. “Are you going to take the opportunity to lay out your grievances with me now.”

“I think that I’ve already done that.” Mai pauses. “I was going to say that maybe you need to express yourself more. There are more emotions than angry and empowered.”

She is abundantly aware; sorrow, hurt, betrayal, confusion, and venrability create an awful cocktail in her mind and she is nearly at another breaking point. Her breath catches and her eyes sting. She isn’t going to cry again.

“You can talk about how you feel.” Mai continues. “And I don’t mean flippant and off-handed remarks.”

“Then what exactly do you want?” She asks. “Begging. A real sob story.”

“Begging works for me.”

Azula isn’t sure if she had meant it in jest or in seriousness.

“But a real sob story works too.”

“And then you’ll throw it back in my face…”

“See, this is your problem. You don’t let people in. You don’t trust people.”

Azula’s draws a sharp breath as her mother’s face resurfaces in her mind. Fear is the only reliable way, but she doesn’t instill that anymore either. She has nothing. She finds herself gripping her head again.

.oOo.

In spite of everything, Mai’s heart tightens for her former friend. She is very visibly distressed, which is rather uncommon for her. But Agni, if it isn’t a good place to start. It is a wide open door. Truly she doesn’t know why she cares, she really shouldn’t. “Maybe you can start by telling me why you’re so upset right now.”

Azula is silent for a very long time. Mai is just about ready to give up and wander off to do something that has the potential for productivity. She catches Azula mumble something, she isn’t even sure if the princess is talking to her at all. She may very well be talking to herself again.

“I can’t trust people.”

Mai halts.

“They use me.” She adds very quietly. “Father used me. Zuzu used me to find mother…” With each word her voice seems to sound almost weaker. “People only want me when I can get them something. That’s why nobody wants me now.”

“Nobody wants you now because you treated everyone like they were disposable.” And so they threw her out first. It is her own fault. Azula goes quiet again. “You don’t have anything to say?”

“What do you want me to say.” Her voice is so soft that Mai can barely hear her.

“You always seem to have something to say.”

“I don’t this time.”

“Because I’m right?”

“I guess, maybe.” Azula mutters. “Probably.” And then after a moment. “You can go now.”

She isn’t going to let it go that easily. If she can push a little harder… She is going to have to show the princess mercy if she does. “Do you even care?”

“About what?” Azula asks.

“About how you treated everyone? Does it bother you at all?”

Azula doesn’t answer for a good while. “Maybe. I think so.”

Mai sits back down, this time at the foot of the bed. She wishes that the princess would just let it out.

“I guess that I wouldn’t feel like this if it didn’t.”

“Feel like what?” she pushes further.

“I don’t know.” Azula replies.

And for the first time, Mai considers that Azula genuinely might not know. That she truly doesn’t understand her own emotions nor how to express them.

“Unwell.” She says after thinking.

Mai quirks a brow. “Could the word you’re looking for be, guilty? Ashamed?”

.oOo.

Azula swallows. That sounds about right. It sounds right but she isn’t sure what Mai will do, how she will weaponize that if she confirms as much. She supposes that she has nothing left to lose. She simply nods. “Among other things.”

“What other things?”

Mai is merciless. Azula toys with her bedsheets for a good while before answering. “Isolated.” She gives another very extended pause. “Miserable.” She is tired, so very tired. This conversation is exhausting her. “I can’t do this.” She whispers more to herself. But it would seem that Mai is able to make it out.

“You can’t do what?”

“My head hurts.”

“I can have one of the servants fix you a headache soothing tea.”

Azula nods. Tea sounds nice.

“What can’t you do?”

“Keep talking about this.” She replies. Though she thinks a border, all-encompassing ‘can’t’ is more accurate. Truth be told, she isn’t sure how much longer she can hold on for. “I just want to feel like myself again.” She doesn’t want to be tired and hurt. She misses her confidence and motivation. Her drive and her pride. She misses everything that she used to be. Mostly everything.

“We can talk about something else.”

.oOo.

They do. They talk for hours about everything but how the princess feels.They talk until Azula seems to forget about her pain at least for a little while. And that is just it. Pain. She doesn’t say it aloud but Mai comes to conclude that Azula is hurt. If she is anything like Zuko--and, as much as they’d both hate the comparison, they are alike--hurt is conveyed and masked by anger and coldness.

Mai thinks that Azula has been hurting all along. That she hid it very deeply beneath layers of intimidation and a stoic demeanor.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Hmm?” Azula mumbles. She snuggles her head against the pillow, closing her eyes.

“You’re sad, aren’t you? That’s the other thing you feel, isn’t it?”

Azula nods again.

“Do you at least feel a little better now?’

She shakes her head. “I did for a moment. But, this isn’t going to work out. Something is going to go wrong…”

“That doesn’t have to be true.” Mai says.

“I don’t have what Zuko did. I don’t have anyone who is going to support me no matter what I do…” She pauses.

“I will.”

“But you didn’t.”

Mai cringes. “You were going to kill him.”

“I wasn’t going to kill him.”

“But you were going to let those guards kill him. I couldn’t let you do that.”

Azula presses her lips together and seems to shudder.

“Is that really what you would have wanted?” Mai asks. “You’re a lot of things, Azula, but I don’t think that you would have been able to live with killing your own brother.”

Azula grips at her head again and Mai’s stomach flutters. This time her grip is so tight that she can see the princess’ knuckles. Mai takes her hands and gently rubs the backs of them, “relax.”

She feels Azula’s hands flex. “I can’t.” It comes out as more of a gasp. Mai notices that she is shaking, if only slightly.

“Believe it or not, I like to think that I was helping you. If you killed Zuko, you wouldn’t have been able to come back from that. But you can come back from this.”

Azula shakes her head again. “No, Mai. I can’t.”

“You can. You just need to do what you’re good at; keep fighting.”

“You love him more than you fear me.”

“Yes.” Mai agrees. “But I don’t love him more than I love you.” She flinches at her own admission. She hadn’t meant to let that slip. She dares to hope that Azula hadn’t caught it. But Azula has a habit for catch even subtleties, and Mai hadn’t been subtle.

“You love me?”

Mai sighs and squeezes Azula’s hand. “I just wish that you’d stop making it so hard.”

“But what about Zuko?”

“Well since we’re sharing feelings today; to be honest, I’m still angry about the letter. He does a lot of things that...bother me. I like your brother, he’s a good person but we argue too much.”

“I promise you that you’d argue with me more.” Azula shifts, her hair falls over her shoulders.

Mai quirks a brow. “You have no idea how much Zuko and I argued, do you? He fought with me over what shade of red our flags are.”

“They are maroon.” Azula replies.

“That’s what I said. He keeps saying that they are crimson.”

Azula sakes her head. “Maroon is darker. Our flags are darker.”

“See, you and I already agree on more than what Zuko and I agree on.”

Azula chuckles. It is the first time that Mai has heard her laugh in ages. The first time she has heard the princess laugh without malice in an even longer span of time. She does have a rather charming laugh. Mai very nearly groans. It is much harder to stay resentful when the princess lets her guard down.

“Are you...actually entertaining the idea that we could be…” Azula asks.

It occurs to Mai that, that is exactly what she had done. “Alright, how about this. You make a real effort to get better and make amends with everyone and you might just get a kiss.” TyLee would be gushing.

She might have imagined it, but she thinks that the princess’ eyes had lit up, if only slightly. She certainly sits up with an almost rejuvenated energy. Mai supposes that even a small glimmer of hope can go a long way with someone as broken and downcast as Azula is. “How?” Her voice is quieter again.

Mai thinks for a moment. She supposes that she can show mercy. “You can start by coming to dinner tonight and then breakfast and actually starting a conversation instead of expecting us to come to you.” If this is too much she supposes that she’d be willing to settle for Azula simply talk about how she feels at the end of each day. Frankly, that might be good for Azula anyhow so she adds that as a second thing for the princess to do.

“I can try.” Azula resigns herself to it.

“Good. Because dinner starts in about twenty minutes. You can get dressed and come with me.” She guess that she can give the princess some leeway if she misses a day or two. But she doesn’t tell her as much.

.oOo.

Having a pattern has helped. And once she’d gotten used to it, it helps to have opened up and to continue to do so. She does feel much less heavy. Much less oppressed and overburdened. She thinks that this must be it, that this is how a second chance feels.

This time she is not alone in the garden. Not for long anyhow. She sees Mai lazily making her way across the courtyard with an armful of pastries. They will spend the first half an hour to themselves and then the others will come along.

It is nice to have Mai back. It is nicer still to have reassurance that she is lovable in spite of her prickly, rather abrasive, personality. She supposes that these traits compliment Mai’s cynicism well. They both share a love for dark humor. They both help each other express themselves, even if it is because they have managed to aggravate each other that thoroughly.

They don’t do this very often. Evidently Azula finds herself perhaps too cautious about avoiding conflict. She knows how she can be and she isn’t pleased with it. Mostly she tries to be agreeable. And mostly it works. She finds that she doesn’t particularly disagree with Mai and Zuko’s ideals and values after giving herself some time to think about her own.

She has thought about a lot of things. About her world views, about her social views. About her life and herself in general. She concludes that she is mostly satisfied. She isn’t yet entirely comfortable with the person she has evolved into, she has to get used to it. But she is aware that it is for the better. That she is better. That despite it all, she feels better.

Mai sits down, “fire flakes?”

Azula picks one from the bowl and pops it into her mouth.

“Well?”

“I’m feeling better.” Azula says. “I feel like I’m not hated anymore.” It is more than just a small relief. “Yourself?” She realizes that it is the first time she has actually inquired about Mai’s day. Clearly the question has caught her off guard.

“I’m…” she thinks. “I’m happy.”

“You? Happy?” Azula snickers. “Why is that?”

“Because, honestly, I didn’t think that any of this would work out.” She shrugs. “I thought that you’d cooperate for a few days and just...decide that it wasn’t for you. But you didn’t.”

“It’s a working method.” She shrugs. “I can’t argue with something efficient.” She is certainly happy to not be a mess of emotions. And more pleased to not be one comment away from weeping all the time.

Mai takes her hand and gives her a small kiss. It is her daily treat. As promised, she gets one for every day that she shares her emotions. She gets one on the bad days. She gets several on her bad days. And suddenly her bad days aren’t so terrible. At the very least she knows that she is loved. Even when the day was spent bickering Mai still offers a kiss. Even if they say nothing else after it. Even if they wake up angry at each other, she still gets her nightly kiss. She still shoves her anger aside for approximately ten seconds, five if she is truly pissed, and lets Mai kiss her.

It makes her feel whole. It makes her feel less like a weapon or an extension of her Nation’s will and more like a human. A human with feelings. Feelings that she is learning to be open to and about. It makes her feel like she truly has been given a second chance.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Mai #Azula/Mai #atla femslash week #femslash #fanfiction

26 notes · View notes

savagesbonergarage · 4 years

Text

Actual totally not a joke post question for y'all:

Should I quit my job and dedicate my time to writing/creating?

Like, honestly. There are a lot of factors affecting my thought process about what I should do, although thankfully money isn't really one of them. (I mean, it kinda is, but I'll be ok). My concerns and priorities are all a jumbled mess but I'll do my best job of laying them out.

Personal priorities

1: I want to write! Above all, I want to write. I was unemployed during the time I started my fic prompts and taking requests, and now that I'm not it's harder to make time for it. When I'm not working, I'm resting before I go back to work and doing my wifey duties. I lurk on here and repost, but I'm still unable to really dedicate the effort I personally require of myself to post a fic.

1A: When I'm not writing, I want to work on my other creative endeavors in my local film community which is all but a dream right now with the lack of time I currently have. I'm really blessed to have the connections I do and my ideas and resources that are always at my disposal, but alas.

2: School? This one's kinda iffy, but still something I'm considering. I've been wanting to get a degree or at the very least a certification in writing or something similar, but there's a lot of factors against this one with the pandemic affecting things, as well as money and the fact that I'd be trading one time-consuming extreme for another. So, eh?

The reasons I'm conflicted about up and leaving:

1: The job I have really isn't terrible. I enjoy working there most of the time, I've made friends, and the work itself isn't too stressful. I feel I can be myself and I get along really well with pretty much everyone. (We're all gays with Adhd). Although I'm not hurting for money, I took this job for stability reasons just in case something unexpected happens (which isn't unlikely with the state of the world rn).

2: Mental health. Surprisingly, I've been pretty okay since I've been back to work. Socializing and going out into the world has been pretty good for me as far as feeling and behaving like a real person goes. I'm not even the most social person, but apparently interacting with people on a daily basis is really important for me. Another big factor is that I'm about to get recommendations for treatment for my ADHD, so I'm wondering if I should wait until then before I make the decision to leave. Maybe once I'm on medication I'll be better at prioritizing things? Idk.

3: Fear? This one's a really broad and substantial one. I personally have this idea that I'm not contributing the way I need to be if I'm not earning money, and I feel like if I quit I wouldn't be aiding the household enough. Also, I have a fear of failure and disappointing others. I already talked to my mans about everything and he's ok with whatever I decide, so idk exactly who I'm worried about disappointing if I do but??? I guess myself? Or my coworkers? Or maybe I feel like quitting is giving up and I don't want to do that? My head is all sorts of weird about this stuff, so I don't blame you if this doesn't make a lick of sense.

Why I'm probably still gonna (maybe?) do it though

1: Also fear. Well, very heavy concerns. I'm not sure if it's just the area that I live in that makes this such an issue for me, but it probably is. Standard covid precautions are in place at the location I work for, but people without masks are allowed in despite all the signs saying otherwise. They don't care. (The customers and management I suppose). A large demographic of the people that I interact with on a daily basis are of the God-fearing, Trump-loving, anti-mask variety and it's extremely infuriating. I bring my own disposable gloves from home to wear bc our store doesn't provide any and I'm the only one that wears them. I do it because the last thing I want is to bring covid home to my husband with underlying health conditions, or anyone else for that matter.

1A: I have no sick time. Say I were to get it (if I don't already have it... 🙃) I wouldn't be able to call out scott-free without getting any warnings or write-ups and eventually terminated. For every month worked, I get 2 hours of sick time, and I've only worked there one month. We are required to submit a health check each day before our shifts (which is great) but if you are feeling sick and stay home, there's no covid relief. There was a 2 day period where I did have a slight fever and didn't go in, (no telling if it was covid or not) but with having no sick time it put me in the red. This is upsetting not just for me, but knowing that people who do get sick will fabricate their screenings bc they don't want to lose their job is something that shouldn't have to happen. I feel like the health of myself and others is more of a priority than a little extra money.

So, I guess I've kinda talked myself into it? But maybe not? I really don't know what to do. Sorry for the long post, I guess I'm really frustrated about it. If it turns out I'm still sick (cause I'm feeling it babeeyyy) I might just call out again tomorrow and stop giving a fuck.

Sith me kinda wants to quit. Should I trust Sith me? Lol

#personal #yep I'm not just tired #this be a congestion headache #biiiiiiihhh

12 notes · View notes

inorganicone2230 · 5 years

Text

Divine Intervention (Part 4) Yandere!Erasermic x Fem!Reader

Part 3 Part 5

Summary: Sometimes a little divine intervention is necessary to take back the ones we love… whether they want it or not.

Warnings: Suicide, kidnapping, forced relationship, emotional and mental manipulation, typical Yandere behavior, possible non-con in future chapters, see tags below for more

Side Note: Elements of non-con in this chapter!

Please Enjoy!

Soft.

That was the first word that came to mind as you wake up and your eyes tried to open. ‘Since when has my bed been this comfy?’

You never really had much trouble with waking up. The moment you would hear your alarm or phone go off you were bright eyed and out of bed in an instant. So the fact that you were having such a hard time jostling yourself from sleeps clutches was slightly alarming to you.

Your mind was groggy and you couldn't seem to come up with the strength to even lift your arms to rub the crust from your eyes. Your mouth also felt dry, like you had been sucking on cotton balls all night.

Wait…

Last night!

Instantly the cloud of sleepiness was gone and you shot up right. Those two weirdo lookalikes had kidnapped you! But wait… before you had passed out, they had changed. Changed to look more like their counterparts from the dreams. It certainly didn't take a genius to put two and two together to come to the realization that they were one and the same. The room you were in proved that much.

It was a room you knew all too well. From the bed the size of two kings covered in extravagant blankets and fluffy pillows, to the walls draped in lavish wall-scrolls and tapestries. The scenes depicted ranging from epic battles and iconic moments from mythology, to tranquil gardens, forests and lake sides. Even the size of the room itself, you could fit three of your apartments in here and still have room to move around.

It was the same room the two men shared in your dreams. Though, you were beginning to suspect that they were never really dreams to begin with. Not ones that your mind conjured up all on it's own at any rate.

Despite only being awake for a few moments, the knowledge of the situation you currently find yourself in was undeniably terrifying and you wished more than anything that you could write it off as just another dream. However, you weren't stupid OR gullible enough to actually let that thought progress further.

For starters, you were interacting with the environment. You could move your body and touch with freewill. You could look around as much as you wanted, or not at all if that's what you chose. All the other times you you were merely the dreams puppet, moved and positioned against your will. You weren't even allowed to blink or close your eyes, all you could do was stare blankly ahead at whatever was in front of you.

These changes alone were enough to assure you that this was real. Or something that felt substantially real at the very least.

You wanted to go back to sleep, to close your eyes and let this hell fade into the back of your mind. To cover your ears and pretend you were anywhere else.

But your looming fear was to great. The questions you had racing through your mind were to big to let you try and forget where you were. You needed to figure something, anything out about your situation.

You slowly began to crawl off the oversized bed. You needed to look around and get your bearings, who knew when those psychos would come back.

With your feet firmly planted on the floor you first took note of how you were dressed. You were no longer wearing the clothes you had last night, instead you wore a simple silk robe that just brushed the tops of your feet. Black with emerald green vines winding around it. You felt sick at the thought of one or even both of them taking off your clothes to put you in this thing! At least you could still feel your underwear. That was something…

To be honest, despite it being their bedroom, there wasn't much to see or find. Nothing that you saw as useful anyway. There weren't even any visible doors along the walls, not even a seam for a secret one as far as you could tell! And all the windows were too high up for you to reach, even if you stood on something.

You had seen it all before, but now you were getting to touch and look more closely. You saw the masterfully crafted low-sitting vanity table that -The Golden One- Hizashi usually did his hair in front of, brushes, ties, hair sticks and other little trinkets scattered about it's smooth polished surface. A large bathroom like area complete with a built in hot spring. And a few dressers and trunks, each filled to the brim with beautiful and intricate clothing that looked more like it belonged on the set of a period-piece style movie than in someone's personal wardrobe, there were even a few modern articles scattered about. It wasn't hard to figure out whose clothes were who's, though you were incredibly disturbed by the sheer amount of women's clothing and undergarments you found. You had a feeling you knew who they were meant for and that was something you just weren't ready to think about yet. There were other things to, like a writing desk and a small library in the back of the room, but nothing else really.

You took a seat back on the bed and began to think. Why were you here? What did they want from you? How could you get away? Were they going to hurt or kill you?

You highly doubted that they were going to do something as drastic as kill you! They did go through all the trouble of kidnapping you after all, they even went so far as to put you in sleeping clothes and even let you sleep in their bed! But even so, you were beginning to panic again. Whatever calm rationality had affected your thoughts upon first waking was dwindling down to nothing. Your knuckles were turning white with how hard you were gripping the sheets and breathing was becoming difficult. The only sound besides you labored breath was the rush of blood in your ears as your heart pounded louder and faster than ever before. That's probably why you almost missed it.

The sound of a sliding door.

Your eyes shot up from the floor to see them standing in a doorway that had not been there before. They were smiling at you as if nothing was wrong, as if they hadn't kidnapped you.

“How are you feeling Kitten?”

“Did you sleep well? We tried to make you as comfortable as possible.”

The sound of their voices made you feel like you had been doused in ice water. You shot up and ran to the other side of the bed, you knew it was a futile effort but you needed to put space between yourself and them.

They watched your actions and looked at each other, sighing in unison.

“I suppose we should have expected this kind of reaction.” Shouta said.

“You don't have to run away from us Sweetling. The last thing we would ever do is hurt you.” Hizashi tried to reassure you. “Why don't you come over here and we can talk, so we can explain what's going on.”

You snapped, “How about you tell me right now and then go fuck yourselves!” You knew you should probably stop while you were ahead, but you weren't done, not by a long-shot. “ I want to know what is going on?! Why am I here, who are you and why do you look like them?!”

“Your here because this is where you belong. It's where you have always belonged.” Shouta replied. He said it with such certainty, such conviction.

“What the fuck does that even mean?! I don't know you freaks!” You shouted in frustration.

Hizashi stepped forward and held out his hand to you, like he really expected you to take it. Yeah right, as if?!

He must have made the brilliant deduction and realized that you weren't going to accept his offer because after a few moments he dropped his hand into the long sleeves of his robe. He pulled out a small vial, it's contents shimmered a faint silver. “If you come over here and drink this, everything will make sense (Y/N), we promise. Just be a good girl and do this for us.”

Unbelievable. They were crazy, that's the only explanation there was. You told them so, “You must be crazy! Deranged! Absolutely certifiably fucking insane if you think that I would ever drink something that came from your hands!” You were beyond being civil by this point, you were livid and coupled with your mounting fear, the words just wouldn't stop. “I would rather slit my own god damn throat and choke on the blood then do anything for you two!”

You saw them stiffen, their eyes widening with some emotion you couldn't quite decipher. Fear? Shock? Anger? It could have been any one of them… or all of them. All you knew was that the second the words left your mouth, that it was the wrong thing to say.

Faster than you could even comprehend what was going on, they were on you. How had they moved so quickly?

You had a sense of déjà vu as you backed up, right into a wall. The two of them crowded you, glaring down at you as Shouta took your chin firmly between his fingers, squeezing so hard you thought it might bruise. It made you feel like a deer caught in the headlights.

“You will never say something like that in front of us ever again! If you do, I promise you will not like the outcome. Do I make myself clear?”

All your bravado from a few moments ago was gone, replaced by crippling fear with how close they were.

Shouta however, was not satisfied with your lack of response and gripped your chin with more force, his eyes flashing a menacing shade of red. “Answer me! Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear.”

Self preservation was a powerful motivator, it was probably the only thing that made you able to speak at all. “Yes! I understand!” You scrunched your eyes closed and cowered further into the wall.

His eyes softened and his hold on your face relaxed with your submission as he held your cheek in the palm of his hand, stroking his thumb back and forth across the smooth skin. “I am so very sorry for frightening you Kitten, but you have to understand how hurtful it is for you to say such things to us. The very idea of you being hurt, even at your own hand is not something we even want to think about again.”

‘Again?’ What was that supposed to mean?

Hizashi picked up right where Shouta left off and spoke next, “Just drink your medicine, everything will make sense once you do.”

You shake your head, eyes still unable to meet theirs willingly. “I-I can't! I-I don't want to! Please just take me home! I don't want to be here…” Tears brought on by both fear and frustration slide down your cheeks.

“We're sorry Sweetling.” You highly doubted that. “But we can't do that. This is your home now, and it will be forever. It would be in your best interest to get used to it.” Hizashi said matter of factually.

You felt numbed by his words. Logically you knew you had no chance of getting away on your own, they obviously weren't human, and that knowledge alone was enough to send your mind reeling. A small part of your brain was telling you to give in and just do as they say, that it would be easier than trying to fight a losing battle.

But you just couldn't bring yourself to do it… the unknown was just too scary.

“I figured this was how it was going to play out. She always has been a stubborn one.” You heard Shouta admit. “Do you want to do it this time Zashi?”

“Stop talking like you know me!”

Your outburst went ignored.

“Of course! It's not as if I have to hold back this time after all.” He shot you a filthy grin that made your skin crawl.

You tensed up, you had a feeling you knew what they were talking about and you clamped your mouth shut tight just in time to feel Shouta grab you by the arm and yank you closer to him. Your back was pressed against the firm lines and ridges of his well defined chest and abs and he used only one arm to keep both of yours pinned to your sides in some twisted version of a backwards hug. You still couldn't believe how flipping strong they were! You wanted so badly to scream at them to stop but you knew you had to keep your mouth shut.

“Can you give me a hand here Shou?” The blond asked before uncorking the little bottle and pouring the liquid into his mouth.

You felt him nod from behind you and suddenly felt his other hand come up and cover your face. More specifically, your nose! He was trying to force you to open your mouth by cutting off your only other source of oxygen! You began to thrash and jerk around, kicking out your legs in an effort to knock him off balance. To bad for you he was like a fucking statue, the only sound he even made was a deep groan when your backside rubbed up against a certain area on his body.

But with no oxygen to sustain you, your movements quickly ceased. You felt lightheaded and against your wishes, your body finally took that involuntary breath it was so desperately craving.

Large hands took hold of your face and a warm mouth latched onto your own at the same time you felt Shouta’s free hand move up to your forehead and pull your head back, keeping you locked firmly in place.

You would have tried screaming, but Hizashi’s kiss was forcing the contents of the vile down your throat and you really didn't feel like choking. He moaned into the kiss and slide his tongue against your own. You had the fleeting thought that you should bite down like you did before but it was like they could read your mind, because Shouta’s breath was suddenly ghosting across your ear, “If you try to pull that same little stunt you did last time, you're going to regret it… Now, just be a good girl and enjoy it with us.” He whispered hotly and took your earlobe between his teeth to give a slight nip. The action sent an unwelcome heat curling in your core and you felt ashamed when it made your panties dampen with desire.

You knew he meant what he said and so you stayed perfectly still while they continued this assault on you. Hizashi continued to kiss you, and you felt drops of the liquid slide down your chin and neck. His hands having moved from your face to your waist, pulling you towards him and grinding his hardening cock against you. Shouta meanwhile was doing much the same, holding you in place and rolling your ass slowly across his bulge while his mouth worked on leaving all sorts of marks on either side of your neck.

You did your best to tune it out, to pretend that you were anywhere else but in this situation. But trying to do that was proving to be a challenge as unwanted arousal and something else were burning inside you. You suspected it had to do with what you drank, the effects reminding you of sleeping pills. You felt lethargic, your body was heavy and you knew if you were to lie down and close your eyes that you would have no problem falling asleep if you wanted to. Unlike the stuff they forced you to drink last time though, this one didn't make you feel like you were going to pass out.

Eventually Hizashi pulled away from your lips, leaving you gasping for breath. He smiled down at you with a dopey grin on his face, “You did so well Sweetling! We just need you to give it another moment to kick in.” He praised you, like a parent congratulating their child on getting a good grade.

“Don’t worry Kitten, you'll understand everything in just a few moments.” Shouta continued, nuzzling his nose into your neck and taking a deep inhale. “Fuck,” he groaned, “I had almost forgotten how utterly fantastic she smells Zashi.”

Hizashi gave the other man a filthy smile before locking eyes with you, “She tastes fucking good too. I can't wait to bury my tongue between her legs and get a real taste. It's been far too long.”

You were still trapped between them and unable to move much, but that didn't stop you from trying, or voicing your displeasure. “Get the hell off of me! Stop touching me already and start explaining what is going on!” More useless struggles. “Why do you two keep talking like you kn-”

All movements and protests from you came to a crashing halt.

“Looks like it's started.” You heard one of them whisper. You didn't know which one though.

You were being bombarded by images, images that you had never seen before, but you somehow knew every detail about them as soon as they flashed before your eyes. You saw a little girl who you knew as yourself, dressed in clothes worn by people thousands of years ago and playing with other children by a pond, spending time with your mother in her garden, helping your father gather firewood for the coming winter. These and so many more filled your mind to the point of bursting, an entire lifetime’s worth heaped upon you in a matter of seconds until finally, only a few remained…

-Bending down to pick up the weak little Cardinal with the broken wing, cradling it ever so gently in your hands as you rushed home to tend to it.

-The weeks spent patiently caring for it until it could at last fly again.

-Meeting the birds owners a few days later, two handsome men, one light, the other dark. They came to express their gratitude for the kindness you showed their little pet, telling you that they lived in the area and had heard from the villagers in the market that a girl fitting your description had been carrying for it. You would come to regret not questioning their words further.

-Becoming friends with them over the course of the next few months. You simply assumed they were lonely living in the mountains by themselves and you enjoyed the company as well, you never felt the need to give it much more thought.

-That fateful night they came to the home you lived in by yourself. To tell you who they really were, The Gods of Life and Death. They proved it when one killed a hare without touching it and the other brought it back with a touch of his glowing hand.

-You were shocked of course! But you asked them why they were telling you this all of a sudden. Their answer left you speechless.

-They said that they loved you. That your kindness concerning the Cardinal had endeared you to them as well as the months leading up to this night. They said they had come to get you, to take you back home with them.

-You refused. Bowed and told them that while you were honored by their opinion of you, you had friends and your parents here. A life that you loved and didn't want to leave.

-They did not seem to take your rejection to badly. They appeared saddened, but otherwise seemed to respect your decision, even offering to make you some tea before you went back to bed, with the assurance that you wouldn’t lose their friendship as a result. You happily accepted. That was a mistake...

-They did something to the tea, waiting until you had gone back to bed before stealing you away. The drug making you fall into a deep undisturbed sleep, only to awaken later on in an unfamiliar place. They told you that you were just confused and that you would come to love them in time, that they would show how much they loved you. Your pleas and wishes to be let go fell on deaf ears.

-The time with them in that beautiful prison was a nightmare. Day after day, night after night. Being forced to spend all your time with them no matter how loudly you screamed to be let go. Being forced to share their bed with them as they used your body, all while they called it making love. The pleasure they forced upon you did not make it bearable and pleading and begging did not dissuade them.

And finally…

-Reaching your breaking point. They were so convinced of your feelings for them, that you truly loved them and simply did not know how to express it. They were so wrapped up in this fantasy that they never even considered thinking you would try to hurt yourself.

-You used one of the hair ornaments they had gifted you with to slit both your wrists and even stab yourself in the heart for good measure. It stung, but the pain was worth it. You laid back and waited. In that time you had a few more thoughts pass through your mind but in just a few moments everything was black. Nothing.

--------

You came to, blinking in astonishment, and still trapped between them.

“W-What was…”

“Do you finally remembered (Y/N)? Do you understand now why we've done this? Do you understand just how much we love you? That we will never let you go? Never!” Hizashi whispered across your lips, pulling you even deeper into his suffocating embrace.

“It was so very selfish to do that to us darling.” This time it was Shouta. “Do you have any idea what the last five thousand years have been like for us? We have had to live without you all this time and it was nearly unbearable.” His grip on you was bruising.

You were still in too much shock to really pay attention to what they were saying. You remembered everything! It didn't matter that these memories might have been fake, they felt real, and that was all that counted. Because deep down in your soul, some part of yourself that you couldn't lie to, told you that they had been very real.

And this knowledge gave way to fear. You now knew exactly what they were capable of doing to you, what they were willing to do to find you and keep you. Panic set it. “How?!” You gasped, “How did this happen?! Killing myself was supposed to free me from you two, so how am I still here?!”

They must have decided that it was safe to let you go because all at once they released you, stepping away to simply watch what you would do next.

“We don't know why your soul did not fade. We have a few theories but nothing concrete.” Shouta started, “Shortly after we found your body, we realized your soul was still here and we rushed to rectify your mistake. We set your soul down the path of reincarnation, we spent all this time doing everything in our power to make sure you would come back to us someday, and here you are at last. Our sweet darling girl is home for good.” You could hear the sickening love in his voice as your head shot up to glare at them.

“Not for long! I got away from you two maniacs once, I can do it again!” You declared. Where there's a will there's a way.

They both looked at you, then each other, then back to you before Hizashi let out a deep mocking chuckle. “That won't ever happen Sweetling. We have taken measures to see to it that that will never happen. Measures we did not take before because we were foolish enough not to consider every possibility.”

You felt a cold dread wash over you at his words, “What k-kind of measures?”

“Just simple things really, like making sure your never left alone. From now on, one or both of us will be with you at all times. It will be a very long time before we give you any kind of privacy again. But the biggest one is the contents of the medicine we gave you.” His voice was filled with such joy at the mere thought of it.

“Wait… wasn't that... just to make me remember? To restore my memories?” You were definitely losing it now and for every step back you took, they took two to follow you, until the back of your knees hit the bed and you fell. You scrambled to roll over and crawl away from them but it was to late, they were already sitting on either side of you. Picking you up with ease, Shouta settled you into his lap while the blonde moved to be closer to the two of you. Neither seemed to mind how hard you were struggling, they just continued on with their explanation.

“Yes, and no.” Was their answer. “You see, we added a little something special to the mixture that wasn't part of the original recipe.”

“Special?” You had the feeling you were about to regret asking that.

“Our blood.”

“W-What?!” You locked eyes with The God of Life and tasted bile on your tongue when you saw no sign of deceit on his smug face.

Shouta took over the talking again, calmly and rationally explaining what that meant. “We mixed some of our blood into it. You simply being here in the Heavens is enough to keep you young and immortal, that part is easy. But after your little -shall we say- transgression, we had to consider other things as well.” He paused to make sure you were paying attention and continued, “My blood for instance, should you ever manage to get yourself hurt that badly again, will make sure that your soul is sent directly to me. It will keep your body on the very cusp of life until your wounds have healed and I can reattach your soul back to it. Nothing short of me ripping your soul to shreds can ever kill you now.”

“And as for my blood,” Hizashi took you from Shouta as easily as if you were a rag-doll, setting you down in his lap this time. “it will heal you. No matter how severe the wound is, my blood coursing through you will make sure that you always heal and never scar.” He wrapped his arms around you and rocked you back and forth. “And as a nice little side effect, if you ever manage to get lost our blood will act like a beacon for us, we will always be able to find you now!”

“Not that you have to worry about any of this, they are just precautions after all. Nothing can or will ever harm you again. Not even yourself.

This wasn't happening! This couldn't be happening! You wracked your brain, trying to think of some way to get out of this, but every idea that came to mind was shot down. Every plan you could think of was foiled by these “precautions” they spoke of. And even if you could think of one that would allow you to avoid every one of them, how were you supposed to execute it if they planned on being with you every second of every day? You couldn't, you realized. You were probably stuck here indefinitely for the time being… for now anyway. The very concept had knots forming in your stomach.

All of this did leave you with one burning question in your mind though. One that you had been wanting an answer to for years.

“The dream’s?” You whispered quietly.

“Hmm? What was that?”

You clenched you fists. “The dreams. Why make me have those dreams?”

“Oh, those?” Hizashi replied. You hated how damn proud of themselves they sounded. “We wanted you to get accustomed to us and the palace again. We thought it might help make the transition a little easier if you already knew your way around.”

It was a simple explanation, one that brought you no satisfaction of any kind. But then again, you doubted that any answer they gave would have made you feel anything other than bitter.

You felt dead inside, numb and lifeless. How could things have gone so downhill?! Just yesterday you were a normal adult, working a normal job, living in a normal city in a normal apartment, spending time with your normal friends. Now you didn't know what you were or what you were doing. All you knew was that you wanted to be anywhere else but here.

The two deities fawning over you did not seem to notice or care about your lack of response to anything they said or did. They were too caught up in their reunion with you. To ecstatic over their plans success.

“You'll see,” one of them said, “things will be better this time. We will make you so happy the thought of leaving us will never cross your mind ever again.”

So, the next chapter will pick up right where this one left off, no time skip or anything. It was just getting kind of bogged down with too much exposition so I decided to split it in half. lol

As always, thank you again to @jadepillar18 for the inspiration on this story and I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

#yandere!erasermic #yandere!erasermic x reader #yandere!aizawa #yandere!hizashi #yandere!aizawa x reader #yandere!hizashi x reader #fem!reader #reader insert #aizawa x hizashi #yandere bnha #bnha #gods au #kidnapping #stalking #forced consumption of foreign substance #elements of non-con #typical yandere behavior

306 notes · View notes

iturbide · 5 years

Text

Daamnn you really hate Naga! I like her considering how much she’s done for humanity, but her parenting is AWFUL. My own headcanon is that she would slowly fix her relationship with Tiki but some heroes don’t want her to even get near their smoll british dragon. (Also wouldn’t Duma be afraid of Naga knowing how she beat the shit out of him and his sister?)

---

So there seems to be a bit of confusion about my feelings concerning Naga.

I don’t hate Naga.

I think that she is a fascinating, deeply flawed character, who the world perceives as a glorious and kindly goddess but whose actual track record reflects something substantially different. I enjoy analyzing that from different angles and pushing those limits in different ways. And yes, this means that I am often critical of her. But I don’t hate her: if I did, she wouldn’t get anywhere near as much screen time unless I was venting rage and/or pulling receipts.

I can and do freely admit that yes, Naga has done some good for humanity, and her intervention has been instrumental in solving several crises. I still think it bears mentioning that several of her interventions had far-reaching consequences, and that Naga hasn’t exactly been attentive to the fallout of her own actions. Case in point: degeneration. Fertility rates began to drop rapidly among dragonkind, and soon after individuals began to lose their senses and become little more than feral beasts beyond reason or reach. The Divine Dragon tribe discovered that, by sealing their powers within special stones and adopting a more human guise, they could slow or halt the process; however, when Naga took this information before the rest of the tribes, she was met with derision and disbelief -- not because the other tribes didn’t believe it would work, but because they refused to give up their powers and become like the humans they so disdained. Their pride was the source of the catastrophe that followed, and in the ensuing Dragon Wars, Naga and her tribe effectively wiped out the entirety of the Earth Dragon Tribe -- with two notable exceptions: Medeus and Loptyr.

Medeus was the prince of the Earth Dragons, and the only one who willingly took on a manakete form. Following the end of the Dragon War and the sealing of the Earth Dragons, Naga charged Medeus with guarding their resting place, and then left him. Alone. To watch as the remnants of dragonkind who had sealed their powers were persecuted by humanity. This, coupled with his isolation, allowed his rage and hatred to fester and swell into a desire to bring humanity to heel, which led to the creation of the Dolhr Empire of manaketes and the War of Liberation against the Holy Kingdom of Archanea, wherein Medeus actually managed to win and take over the whole continent before his eventual defeat in Cartas’ Rebellion at Anri’s hands.

For all of Naga’s love of humanity, she didn’t bother to intervene there. Nor did she intervene in Marth’s first battle against Medeus (Nagi’s appearance is technically non-canon, since it requires Tiki’s death and Falchion’s loss, and Tiki is very much alive in the sequel). It was only in the second battle that she chose to step in, after three separate horrific conflicts had overwhelmed the land.

And then there’s Loptyr. I don’t know if it’s ever stated what Loptyr’s place in the Earth Dragon tribe was, but considering the course of events, I’m willing to say that he was probably chief of the tribe in much the same way that Naga was chief of the Divine Dragons. As the war raged and the Earth Dragons continued their catastrophic degeneration, Loptyr happened upon a human named Galle who sought to acquire the power of a dragon; despite loathing mankind himself, Loptyr saw an opportunity -- not just to survive the war his tribe was losing, but to gain dominion over the humans he so despised. So he entered into a blood pact with Galle and gave up his form, sealing his powers and his will into the Loptous Tome. As soon as Galle took hold of it, Loptyr possessed him via the blood pact they had forged, and after that went on to found first the Loptyrian Cult (which worshipped Loptyr as a god -- not so differently from how the rest of mankind worshipped Naga as the same) and then the Loptyrian Empire with the possessed Galle at its head. Loptyr’s empire was frankly horrific, with humans oppressed and brutalized and child sacrifices made in Loptyr’s name -- and each time the ruler died, the tome was passed to their successor, who was also possessed through the Major Loptyr blood inherited from Galle.

This went on for seventeen generations before Naga did anything. At an absolute minimum, 100,000 people died in Loptyr’s conquest of Jugdral, and 10,000 died in a single event at the Massacre of Edda. And when she did decide to act, all she did was instill a portion of her own power and will into a tome in the same way Loptyr did. And then she left humans to fight instead of offering any further aid. The war continued for FIFTEEN YEARS after that before Loptyr was finally defeated (and even that was only temporary, since the tome remained intact, which led to the events of Genealogy where she once again made no visible effort to help). And to top it all off, when the victorious crusaders turned right around and started oppressing the people of the former Loptyrian Empire -- many of whom were innocent people who had just been trying to survive in the first place -- Naga once again did nothing to help.

So yeah, arguably she has done good things and helped mankind. But she’s also made a lot of problems for them with those actions, and hasn’t done more than cursory damage control.

(This doesn’t even get into the parenting thing which I’m happy we agree is awful. ‘Fun’ Fact: where Anri got the Falchion he needed to defeat Medeus is the same place that Tiki is sealed in Marth’s time. Naga literally left a dragon-slaying blade in her daughter’s resting place, which chillingly implies that Gotoh was supposed to murder her if she started to show signs of degeneration.)

I’m really happy that people have nice headcanons for Naga! It would be really nice if Naga were able to fix her relationship with Tiki, I agree. But for me personally, the onus is entirely on her to make amends: given everything Tiki has gone through (including at least a thousand years of sleep and no apparent contact at all with her absent mother), coupled with the kind and affectionate support that I headcanon her receiving from other dragons in the Order of Heroes (many of whom Naga would consider her enemies), I don’t think Tiki would necessarily be comfortable with Naga at the outset. Naga would have to do a lot of work to forge a better relationship with the daughter she abandoned, because Tiki has no reason to simply forgive her because she’s here now. And for me personally, I question whether Naga will ever be able to fully make amends, given her continued obsession with humanity and the lack of any references to her daughter in her Heroes dialogues. So yeah, while there are several dragons who would be wary of Naga getting close to Tiki, they wouldn’t necessarily bar interactions if it’s what Tiki wants, because after what Naga has put that child through she has no right to get a way in whether they interact or not (though they would monitor the situation because they care about Tiki). It would be Naga herself who either makes (or further breaks) the relationship she may or may not want to forge.

And as for Duma, he is a being who understands strength -- not just physical strength, but strength in all its forms. Did he suffer a defeat at Naga’s hands previously? Yes. Does that mean he’s going to back down if it looks like another conflict is brewing? No. Fear is not the enemy to him. He has mastery over himself: whether he fears Naga or not will not stop him from giving her another good fight if she threatens something he holds dear, because he is never going to back down from a worthy cause, no matter how bad his odds of success are. Courage is not the absence of fear, after all, but the triumph over it.

#answered #anonymous #naga #nagablin #duma #loptyr #medeus #fire emblem: shadow dragon #fire emblem: genealogy of the holy war #fire emblem: heroes #i really am happy that other people have different headcanons #it's always so great to hear other peoples' takes on things #but this is still my blog and where appropriate i'm going to reply with my own view #because this is my space for my thoughts #i'm not going to blindly agree or disagree out of turn #i try to explain where my personal views come from #which is not a criticism of anyone else's views #it's just a different point of view and how i came to be there #submission

24 notes · View notes

naruhearts · 5 years

Note

OKAY SO I've just spent the best part of an hour scrolling through your blog and reading a bunch of your destiel meta and I HAD to message you... I was one of the many people who STRONGLY believed destiel had a chance of being canon after season 8 (more like season gr8 am i right), but throughout the years I slowly lost all hope. However, S14 has made me 110% invested in the show again and YOUR META IS GIVING ME HOPE FOR DESTIEL, which is TERRIFYING. Your writing is wonderful and I'm STRESSED.

Got back from Washington late last night!

Oh my gosh @alovelikecas, your message really made my day and I’m SO glad you enjoy my meta xox (even when most of my meta looks like, to me, sloppy-ass writing, haha! I’ll probably make an end-season meta post after 14x20 — if I have the time — that touches upon SPN’s current and repeating themes since Season New Beginnings S12/Dabb Era, not to mention I have, like, some more unfinished meta in my drafts >.>)

Yeah I mean, I didn’t join Destiel land until Summer 2016, and before that, I was late to the Season 11 party, so I basically had no narrative context for anything, and I’ll copy-paste what I said here:

Looking back, one significant thing I recall? S11 gave me a sense of Destiel’s true narrative validity (as not a ‘fanon’ ship but organically developed in the canon) when I perceived it as a season that was ‘missing something’. Keep in mind I had no idea about Destiel yet while watching S11 at the time.

I was literally asking myself — repeatedly — why Dean/Amara seemed to contain odd narrative holes, considering A. Dean explicitly said that the non-consensual attraction he felt for Amara was NOT love and “it scares him”, B. Amara told Dean that ‘something stops you - keeps you from having it all’, C. Djinn!Amara stated that she can: ‘feel the love [Dean] feels, except it’s cloaked in shame,’ and D. Mildred’s iconic ‘You’re pining for someone’ —> which did not logically correlate with A and C, meaning: since Dean doesn’t freely love Amara and thus isn’t possibly pining for her — with female love interests as currently non-existent (I remember crossing off the dead/gone girls on a piece of paper lol) — who the hell was he pining for, then?

Originally posted by elizabethrobertajones

Obviously, without writing long-ass paragraphs of meta about it again in this post, S11 made sense as soon as I watched it within the Destiel context (especially after I read up on some grandiose pieces of Destiel meta (@charlie-minion was the very first person who inspired me to write meta; I followed her once I joined the fandom Oh my god, here we go, holy crap this subtext – I’m invested in this godforsaken ship because they’re in love with each other and I’m not getting off any time soon. The rest is history.

I’m aware that I do come off as positive (and I’m still Destiel-positive; whatever happens in 14x20 this week may or may not change that), but I hope you don’t mind if I use your lovely ask as an additional opportunity to clarify my meta standpoint: no one’s saying Destiel WILL become text.

The general Destiel meta community (all subfactions: Destiel-positive, -negative, -neutral, and in-between) is not the Most Holy Canon Word, and we aren’t SPN writers, and again, we can’t actually speak to the veracity of Destiel as guaranteed-gonna-go-textual, but we — a diverse pool of critical thinkers from all walks of life: particularly those who have some degree of experience in literary academia/English literature studies (fun fact: I was actually pursuing a Minor’s in English until I changed my mind - my first love’s Health Science/Biology, which I stuck with, but here I am doing lit-crit analysis on the side *wink*) — can speak to the veracity of Destiel as a real, palpable, and ever-substantial long-running romance narrative aka the love story between Dean and Cas IS THERE. I see it. We all see it. We didn’t pluck it out of the random ether one day. It naturally evolved across the show’s overarching narrative like some vast spiderweb, linked together by numerous character arc amalgamations of Dean Winchester and Castiel as separate individuals who were then brought together — who brought themselves together, by the sheer force of free will and choice — and are now inherent parts of the other’s story (and respective character progression).

I say this too many times to count: the entire point of writing meta? Personally, it enables me to appreciate the literary gorgeousness of Dean and Cas’ relationship as, first and foremost, a tentative alliance offset by the very moment Cas raised Dean from perdition (it’s a poetic beginning). Their alliance then inevitably proliferated into a rocky — at times, necessarily turbulent — friendship, then a deep profound bond…one that crossed platonic boundaries since S7/8 and is, ultimately, indelibly rooted in romance. Together, Dean and Cas build up each other’s strengths, complement each other’s flaws, and narratively motivate the other to self-introspect — to become the best version of themselves that they were always meant to be: self-actualized entities who let go of their painful, horrifying, psychologically/emotionally destitute pasts.

These above reasons and more are why I think Destiel belongs right up there on the shelf of Ye Olde Classics, similar to epics by John Milton, Shakespearian tragic dramas, Homeric characteristic cruxes, and the great Odyssey journey: a legendary journey, fraught with circumstance, that finally ended with Odysseus (now an enlightened man) returning to Penelope, the love of his life.

Channeling the scope of Homer’s Odyssey, Destiel is an incredible storytelling feat of obstacles, both internal and external, romance tropes, mirroring, foreshadowing, and visual cadence/emotion, enhancing SPN’s already character-driven main plot in that Dean and Cas try to make it back to one another; like Penelope, their love holds true despite everything. If Destiel were an M/F couple, we all know their love story would be absolutely undeniable to the GA.

I do understand the bitterness S14’s fostered in some viewers, though. I do understand that Dean and Cas seem distant (and yeah, it’s a noticeable difference compared to S12/S13), but I believe the Destiel subtext is still heavy and holds steady.

Right now, at this point, there remains multiple personal issues for the characters to solve, you know? Dean and Cas aren’t talking properly; their love languages stay mistranslated, although we’re persistently shown that they still understand each other on a certain level that no one else can, and the visual narrative keeps framing them as on-the-nose solid counterparts: a domestic-spousal romantic unit independent of Sam.

Originally posted by incatastrophicmind

They want to be there for the other. They need to quash the final remnants of their respective internal loathing (Dean’s self-worthiness, Cas’ self-expendability) before they’re able to give the other 100% of their time, efforts, attention, and love (as flawed and complicated but compellingly beautiful as it can possibly be). During the times Dean and Cas do try to talk shit out, extraneous issues continue to get between them.

As other friends/meta pals discussed with me, S14 is like S10 in that it’s confusing the cast/audiences. And exactly: S8, besides S11/S12/early S13, also belongs in the close-to-canon serious Destiel narrative transition! I can discuss the showrunning/writer problem of SBL (Singer + Bucklemming; @occamshipper hits the nail on the head) that tugs subtext – especially subtext linked to Destiel – back and forth, sometimes in the weirdest nonsensical ways, but I won’t go too far into it here. I agree, however, with the recent idea that Jensen does seem a bit confused as to where he should bring Dean emotionally this season (don’t get me wrong, I do NOT believe Dean is OOC; OOC is a completely different concept vs expected character behaviour). And if Dean’s consistently romance-coded past interactions with Cas are any indication, Jensen would also — in the same vein as all of us — want Dean and Cas to start getting their shit together. Long-running fictional characters like Dean and Cas, conceived over 10 years, are so well-written to the point where you, the author, can predict what they’ll do even if you just plop both of them inside a room and give them no direction, and I personally feel that nowadays Jensen is prevented from achieving Dean’s further internal growth/unsure how to act in the moment because of some dumb SBL scripts saying one thing while his character’s heart says another. Wank aside—

Season 15 should hopefully convey a much more logical subtextual perspective e.g. unbelievably amazingly cohesive Season Destiel 11 that aired after choppy S10. Not all hope is lost!! I also want to clarify that I personally LOVED Season 14 in general. It’s been mostly Emotion-centric constant, with Yockey, Berens, Perez, and Dabb usually making my top-rank SPN writer list.

Currently the narrative’s still allowing pretty significant (imho) wiggle room for the lovers to fracture apart and get back together, where their miscommunication comes to a dramatic head. We just saw Dean and Cas argue over Jack’s well-being in 14x18 and 19. Dean — besides putting Cas at the top of his You’re-Dead-to-Me-Because-You-Lied-but-I-Still-Love-You-Goddammit hitlist (for clear spousal-coded reasons) and taking Cas’ actions to heart (he’s the person he trusted the most who lied to him) — no doubt blamed himself for what happened, and Sam was, like I said, the mouthpiece of truth. TFW were all culpable. They all failed Jack in some way, shape, or form.

I’m not expecting anything for 14x20, but I’m nervous either way! Thanks for sticking with my long answer

29 notes · View notes

purrincess-chat · 6 years

Text

Moving On

Putting this all under a cut because I don’t know how long it will be, and it’s mostly just me brain dumping. I’ll probably delete it later, but just some things I want to say in order to get them out of my head and finally start healing. I know to some people it might seem silly to be this upset over a cat, but I think a lot of people underestimate the role that pets play in people’s lives. I live alone in a tiny one bedroom apartment. I have a couple of friends here that I see fairly regularly, but my really close friends and family all live an hour or more away which means if I want to see them, one of us has to drive. Which usually isn’t a big deal, and I visit often on the weekends, but weekends are only two days out of the week, and all of the other five days a week I spend alone.

I get up. I go to work. I come home. I might see another local friend once or twice a week, but most of my evenings I spend in my apartment on tumblr, discord, or youtube. I write, I watch videos, I play games, I scroll aimlessly down my dashboard looking at the same pictures over and over and over. Most days I have no one physical to converse with at home, so I chat with strangers on the internet. And I’m okay with that. I’m okay with being by myself and being about my own agenda, in fact, most of the time going out with friends a lot is draining. I like my quiet time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get lonely.

Most of my days are pretty mundane. I’m in a weird transition point in my life between one step and the next as I figure out where to go, and while I love the time I get to myself, sometimes I do crave some sort of interaction. No one can be alone all the time, and that is why I got a cat.

I got Penny a little under a year and a half ago. She was just a tiny little kitten at the time, and ironically enough, I inherited her from a coworker who almost ran her over. She was loud. She was stubborn. She was bratty. But she was also snuggly, affectionate, and immensely attached to me. Often times, I would stick my face in hers to give her kisses before leaving for work every day, and after a few months, she started licking my face any time I leaned down to kiss her. She would get fussy if I came home and didn’t kiss her hello right away. She liked to sleep in my dirty clothes because they smelled like me, and she never showed much interest in the clean ones. She spent a lot of time in my bed, especially if I was in it because she wanted to be close by. She used to sleep on my face at night, or sometimes I’d wake up to find her curled up on my chest. She liked to be close to me. She liked to be touching me. It was comforting for both of us because that way neither of us felt alone.

However, despite all of my best efforts, Penny was a wild cat. She was born in the wild, and although she was raised indoors from a young age, she still longed to be outside. I was wary at first, living in an apartment, so I would leave the door open in the evenings if I was cooking or doing dishes and let her push her boundaries a little at a time until she inevitably came running back inside. As she got older, she got braver and wandered farther, but she always knew where her home was. Every night, I would let her out (and she would demand that I do so) and every morning she would be waiting right outside my door, ready to come in and have breakfast before curling up someplace comfy to sleep for the day. I got used to listening for her cries at the door to be let in, but no matter how long it took, she would wait for that door to open because she knew that I would always come back. We learned to trust each other in that sense, so I let her out every night because I knew that in the morning she would be waiting for me.

But Tuesday night was unlike any other night she had experienced.

For the most part, it was a typical Tuesday for me. I let her in in the morning, fed her breakfast then shuffled off to work. She slept inside all day on the back of my couch on a coat of mine that I’d tossed there days before. I came home for a little while after work and took a nap because I’ve been doing my damnedest to get over these stupid allergies. After a while, I got up and went out to dinner with friends just like we normally do, and when I came home, Penny was waiting for me on the arm of the couch. It was a cold, wet night, and she seemed a little hesitant to go out at first, and I waited until she was comfortable and certain before closing the door. I didn’t expect her to stay out long in such weather, but to my surprise, I never heard her howl at the door once.

I went about my usual business, keeping an ear out in case she ever wanted back in from the cold, and before I went to bed for the evening, I peeked my head out the door to see if she was waiting. She wasn’t, and she didn’t come when I called either, but there were many nights where similar situations occurred, so I didn’t think much of it and went to bed, figuring I would get up in the middle of the night and check again in case she finally wanted in.

1AM came, and I woke from my sleep as I often do to usually let her out on nights where she stays in longer. I poked my head outside, but she was no where to be seen. Again, I shrugged it off, figuring she was out exploring and doing her own thing. 5AM rolled around, and I woke up again, but I figured that I would be up in a few hours anyway, so I rolled over and went back to sleep. My alarm went off at 7, and I turned it off. Another alarm at 7:30 at which point I finally sat up. Most mornings, Penny would sit by my door and listen for sounds of movement then she would begin howling for me to let her in, so I sat in bed on my phone and kept an ear out in case she called for me. But she never did. After a while, I got up and opened the door, but she was no where to be seen. Again, I didn’t think too much of it because sometimes she did that too. Sometimes a couple minutes after I shut the door, she would come running up because she knew that I was awake.

But she never came.

We were due for inspections at my job that day, so I had planned to go into work early, and a little before 9AM, I thought it odd that she hadn’t come in yet and started to get a little annoyed. I messed my coworkers that I was going to hunt down my cat then head into work, so I took my trash out to see if maybe I could coax her out of wherever she was hiding. I called for her as I walked to the dumpster, but she never came. So I went back inside from the cold and wet and waited a few minutes to see if she would finally come. She didn’t. At this point, I am exasperated, but starting to worry, so I got dressed in something more substantial than my pjs for the cold, grabbed her container of treats and headed back outside. I walked the length of my complex and back, shaking her treats and calling for her, but she never came.

I walked to the frat house next door because she often times liked to hang out in their yard, but she never came. I walked a little further down to the bar thinking that maybe she went a little further to avoid the cold, but still no sign of her. I kept telling myself that she must have found someplace warm and dry to curl up and that she would turn up eventually. When I went back to my apartment, I decided that I couldn’t hold off any longer. I needed to go to work. I decided that my morning walk in the cold and mist warranted a trip to the donut shop for donuts and hot chocolate, so I put out some food for Penny in case she showed up while I was gone and wanted food and took a different route from my normal one, going the opposite way up the street than I normally would have.

Just as I arrived at work with donuts and hot chocolate, I received a text from one of my employees that our inspectors had arrived. Perfect timing. I rushed inside, set my breakfast on my desk, and immediately took over placating them as quickly as possible. Inspections weren’t pleasant to say the least, but we at least passed. With that out of the way, I was left to worry about Penny as the day was only supposed to get colder with more rain showers leading into an eventual freeze overnight. I told myself that if she didn’t turn up that I would check the local shelters in the morning (today). I decided to use some of my sick time to take the afternoon off when my employees changed shifts, and I sat at my desk picturing Penny waiting for me back by my door when I went home.

Time seemed to move in slow motion, and I debated leaving before shift change numerous times, but after some time, my next shift worker offered to come in early so that I could leave and go wait for Penny to come home. I agreed, and left an hour earlier than I intended, and I don’t know if I would call it fate or coincidence, but leaving at that time, in that exact moment allowed me to pass by a certain truck stopped in the road at an exact moment.

Now, my complex is situated kind of awkwardly along the road, and most of the time, you have to make a u-turn if you are coming from the opposite direction to get into the entrance. I was coming from the right side, so I didn’t have to u-turn, but as I approach the median where the turn is, I notice a white city truck parked in said turn lane, and something in my gut told me to pay attention to him, and as I got closer, I notice that he is raking leaves out of the road. When I glanced down at his pile of leaves, I notice a mass of black fur that catches my attention, and just as I pull level with him, he scoops his pile up to eye level with me, and I see a small face with a pink tongue sticking out for a split second as it is tossed into the back off his truck.

My stomach drops, my heart skips, my throat closes, and a quick glance in my rear-view mirror tells me there is no time to stop lest I risk causing an accident. So I pull into my complex quickly, but there are no places to park on the side I pulled in on, so I am forced to drive all the way around to the other side where I pulled into the first available spot. I rushed from my car back to the main entrance, hoping to flag him down, but he is gone. For a moment, I stood on the pavement, too stunned to move, but after a moment, I find my bearings and slink off to my apartment, noticing the bowl of untouched food still sitting outside my door. I go in and shrug off my coat and crawl in bed, processing what I had just witnessed and rationalizing any possible way for it not to be true. But deep in my gut, I feel that sinking confirmation because even though my glimpse was brief, it combined with Penny’s lingering absence were confirmation enough for me.

My friends and family kept telling me that maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe she would still come back. Keep hoping. Stay positive. But maybe my brain has just never worked like that because I knew that Penny was that cat in the road, and that she wasn’t coming home. It then became a mission of figuring out of there was a way to track down that truck and potentially get confirmation, but after a few phone calls, it became clear to me that the truck was gone and so was Penny.

I checked with my office just in the building right next to mine just in case, but they had no knowledge of a dead animal reported, but the moment I mentioned it, my landlord gasped in horror, “You don’t think that was your cat, do you?” I shrugged, but the look on my face seemed to confirm my thoughts, and her next words nearly broke me. “I just can’t believe that. She was always waiting for you outside that door. Such a good cat. No matter how long it took, she would always be waiting for you to open that door.” Swallowing back tears, I thanked them for their time and retreated back to my apartment.

Several times, I almost cried, but I didn’t.

My best friend several towns over dropped everything, left work early, and drove an hour and a half to come spend the night with me. We went out to dinner. We talked and laughed. We came home and ate peanut butter from the jar while watching She-ra. Then we went to bed, and I lied awake for a while unsure of whether or not to cry. I don’t like to burden people with those things, but after a while of being misty eyed, I fell asleep. The next morning, we woke up and made breakfast while watching another episode of She-ra (because hey this is pretty good) after which my friend had to leave to drive back home and go to her own job. As she left, I picked up the abandoned bowl of food from my patio, accepting that Penny was never going to come back and eat it.

I sat in bed for a while on my phone, trying to distract myself from the emptiness of my apartment, still listening for those exasperated mewls outside my door but knowing they would never come. I got up after a while, avoiding the litterbox and bowl of dry food that I’d filled the morning before in preparation for her. I got dressed. I packed my bag. I grabbed my keys, and as I opened the front door, I turned to look back at my apartment, a habitual phrase catching itself on the tip of my tongue.

“I’ll be back later.”

I stopped before the words left my lips, realizing that there was no one there to say that to now. My heart broke, but I shut the door and carried on. Work was dull. Time passed slowly, and I was left to my thoughts. I tried to write on paper, but didn’t get very far. Even though I had accepted the fact that she was gone, part of me still hoped to find her waiting for me when I got home. But she wasn’t. As I climbed back up the stairs and approached my door there was nothing but my faded welcome mat waiting for me outside the door. I went inside to find an empty apartment with no sassy scrap of fur standing on the end of the couch to greet me with a dissatisfied mew. No face to lean down and kiss, no rough, sandpaper tongue to lick my nose, no purring chin to scratch. Just furniture that didn’t match, discarded jackets and shoes strewn about carelessly, and traces of black fur littering her favorite spots.

I went in and shut the door, kicking off my shoes and coat and abandoning them with the others as I crawled back into bed. My apartment is quiet, and for a moment, I am left with my thoughts, recounting all of the things Penny used to do around the apartment.

And that’s the hardest part about moving on.

Living with ghosts, remembering how she used to trot up and jump on the bed with me. How she used to curl up next to me while I sat on my computer, sometimes curling up on me. How she would start to purr when I’d look over at her every once in a while, and she’d blink at me happily. How she would follow me to the kitchen when I went to cook dinner. How she would run and jump on the bathtub when I went into the bathroom. The stupid way she would smack her water bowl before drinking from it that required me to move it into my bathtub. How she would sit on the corner of my desk and watch me from afar, watching curiously as I would toss an empty water bottle or a used tissue in the direction of the trash can. How I instinctively go to hide my hair ties under my pillows when I pull my hair down for the day but realizing that there’s no one here to try to eat them anymore. Realizing that when I come home at 7PM that I can lock and latch my door because I won’t be opening it again for the remainder of the evening. Thinking that maybe I can finally do all of my puzzles since there’s no one to knock them over anymore. Small things. Tiny, insignificant little things that most people wouldn’t think twice about suddenly leave a gaping hole in my chest. Routines that are no longer necessary.

I can always get another cat. In fact, I probably will some time soon. But new cats bring new adventures. New routines. New quirks. I’ll never have the same ones again. I’ll never experience those things with Penny again. And that, to me, is the hardest thing to come to terms with. I’ll get to love another cat again, but I’ll never get to love that cat again. Never get to kiss her face or awkwardly juggle her and my laptop in my lap. All of those days are over.

At some point I’ll have to clean that stupid litterbox. I’ll have to pick up her food and clean her diva bowl then put it away in the cabinet until the next one comes along. I keep replaying the day in my head, watching how all of the events unfolded in such a way that leaves me wishing that I had done things differently. That I had taken my usual route to work and passed by that place where I maybe could have seen her. That I had left work earlier when my gut told me to so that maybe I could have beaten the trash man and found her myself. That I had stopped sooner and waved him down so that I could see if it really was her or not despite how damning the evidence is now that she’s been gone for two days. That I had gone out to look for her before I went to bed and insisted that she come in from the cold. That I had maybe walked the other way during my morning search.

I don’t know how long she was in the road. It could have been a few hours. It could have been since the night before, shortly after I let her out. I think not knowing whether or not I could have found her and saved her that morning is something that haunts me. I think not getting to say goodbye is what really breaks my heart. I knew the risk of letting her out, but I never thought that she would venture out into the street. She never showed interest in it before. It was always too noisy, too busy, too crowded. But the night was cold and wet, so who knows if she maybe ventured out seeking shelter. Who knows?

If you’re reading this and thinking that it’s melodramatic for a cat then, hey, maybe rethink your priorities because you kept reading. You could have stopped, but you didn’t. And that’s your fault.

I think all in all I’m okay. I have my moments where I get misty eyed, and maybe that’s my way of crying. I’ve never really been good at it anyway. I don’t think I know how to feel. I think part of me is still in denial. I still expect to see her every time I open my door. I still expect her to be waiting when I come home even though I know she won’t be there. I guess part of me still hopes.

I don’t like to feel sad. I don’t think that it’s productive. I don’t want to spend my time lying in bed crying over something that I can’t change. Because no matter how hard I wish it, I can’t go back and change any of it. It’s done, and all I can do now is move on.

To all of you out there with fur babies who bothered to read this far, hug them close. Give them that extra treat, let them lay on you even if you have to pee or your leg’s asleep or they’re unbearably hot. Because you never know when it’ll be the last time you see them.

#non ml #personal #delete later #sad cat thoughts

23 notes · View notes

seriouslyhooked · 6 years

Text

Scoring Your Love (Part 12/?)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six,Part Seven,Part Eight. Story also on FF here and AO3 here. Banner by the wonderful @timetravelandfairytales

Modern AU where Killian is a world famous soccer star who has hit rock bottom and been sentenced to the place where ‘football’ legends go to die – America. While here he crosses paths with Emma, an up and coming musician and film scorer who challenges everything he thought he knew and makes him want more than the game he’s always loved. Will be filled with fluff for days, and eventually rated M.

A/N: Hey everybody! Remember how I said there might be some hiccups along the way in this story? Well let’s call today a hiccup. It’ll be okay though, friends, because you know if it was actually really bad I would warn you before hand, but there is some drama today that’s been looming on the horizon for a while. Hope that you guys enjoy the chapter and I would love to know what you all think! Thanks for reading!

“And you’re really sure about this, Jones?” Robin asked Killian as they stood in the team room adjoining the press hall in the stadium. “Because I can talk to Regina. Contract or not, she can’t force you into this.”

Killian appreciated his coach’s concern, and where many people might think that Robin was taking all of this too seriously, Killian knew the truth. The press could be brutal for athletes of his standing, and with his history there was bound to be some awkwardness. To go from one of the most talked about footballers in the world to pretty much off the grid for public consumption was abnormal to say the least. So far, however, the press had respected his boundaries. Over the past few months of the season, Killian hadn’t had to do this and he also hadn’t been hounded by paparazzi or rogue sports bloggers. That was thanks, no doubt, to the power of Regina and her family’s influence, but Killian knew he couldn’t ignore this part of his world forever. For better or worse this was a key element of his job, and the sooner he did this, the sooner he could be done with it.

“She’s already screened the questions, which is better than most of my interactions with the press in the past,” Killian reasoned, his voice lilting with a joking edge as he shrugged his shoulders. “Besides the sooner I get this done, the sooner it’s behind me.”

“And the sooner you can get to your date tonight,” David chimed in as he walked up to them. “But brace yourself, man. There’s a lot of them out there.”

“There always are, mate,” Killian said, trying to portray the overconfident cockiness he was known for as he straightened out his suit jacket and headed through the doors.

Instantly the flashes of the cameras blinded him, pulsing every second as photogs tried to get the perfect shot of Killian. At the same time murmurings of his name, coupled with the most eager of reporters directly trying to talk to him, began. But all of this chaos was to be expected. The press was hardly known for its patience, especially with high profile players like Killian, but before it could get too out of hand, Regina called everyone’s attention back to her.

“Now gentleman, what did I say about manners?” she chided, her voice cool but resolute.

“Hey, there are ladies in here too,” one particularly overeager sportscaster said as Regina chuckled in response.

“There are, but they all knew I meant what I said and they’ll be rewarded for that. Yelling isn’t going to work in my house. You play by my rules or you’re out of here. Got it?”

The quiet that settled in as Killian took his spot at the table before all the microphones was answer enough, and Killian fought the urge to smile at the looks on some of the audience’s faces. Many of the most taken aback journalists were ones he recognized as being on the European circuit, so clearly they hadn’t had the chance to tangle with the Queen until now.

The movement of the conference from there went as well as could be expected. Regina had told him that she needed half an hour of his time, and she ran a tight enough ship to allow that. Just as she promised, she favored almost all of those question-askers who had been quiet at his arrival with opportunity, leaving the others grumbling and frustrated. It provided an interesting dynamic for Killian too, since most of those early questions actually had to do with the game. He was happy to answer those, admitting that he hadn’t stayed on top of his stats as dutifully as he had in the past, but that he was happy with his effort so far this season and that of his whole team as well.

“Killian, what do you think that moving to the American leagues has given you?” one woman asked along the way, and though her phrasing was innocent it struck Killian with a bit more force than the other queries had.

The truth was that this move had offered him so much more than people would ever know. The answer that this fleet of reporters was looking for no doubt had to do with privacy from the press or a clean slate on a new team and both of those were undoubtedly true. But the most important thing that this move had given Killian was a wake up call about his life and what he wanted. He had entered this contract a far more broken man and he was now at the twenty game mark yielding both a perfect 20-0 record and a whole new world perspective. Now the game wasn’t the most important thing to him, Emma was, but strangely enough his change of priorities hadn’t hurt his playing it all, it had only made him better.

“It’s given me everything,” Killian responded evenly, and as all eyes and cameras remained trained on him he expanded the thought. “I left a great team back home, a talented group to be sure, with a city and a country filled with passionate fans. But the culture here is different. It’s not just the fact that Americans call it soccer that makes them unique.”

The press corps laughed at Killian’s purposeful joke, feeding into his ploy to appear charming and put together. Then Killian returned his eyes to the woman who had asked this question and pressed on.

“I honestly didn’t come into this expecting what I’ve found. The love of the game here is just as strong as anywhere in the world, and the emphasis on team as opposed to being the best is refreshing. It’s not about big names and perfect stats. It’s about which man gives his all on the pitch and which man doesn’t. This team is filled with men willing to go the extra mile, and I appreciate that.”

“And what about your personal life?” A faceless voice asked, going against the tone of the conference all-together. Regina was in charge of calling on reporters, but this man had spoken of his own volition and he showed no signs of stopping. “What about the hot blonde you’ve been seen with, Emma Swan?”

In the span of two heartbeats Killian’s world went from normal to doused in anger and a little fear. It enraged him that this man would bring up Emma at all, never mind with descriptors that disrespected all she had to offer, but he was also shaken by the fact that people even knew of her. Here he was thinking he’d done all he could to keep things private between them. The press had mentioned nothing substantial about his dating life either here or at home, as Killian had been checking in every day, but that peace and solitude was broken now and Killian felt terrible and irate all at once.

“Cameras off, now!” Regina said, and immediately everyone complied, live feeds or not. The sound people moved to cut their recordings and the whole operation stopped so forcefully Killian was awed by it even through his anger.

“Now, Who asked that?” Regina yelled, her voice cutting through the large room almost like a blade. “I will not ask a second time.”

As if people were so scared of her that they physically had to move, the crowd shifted and both Killian and Regina could see the perpetrator. Instantly Killian knew that the truce that landed him here had been broken, because this man was familiar. He was a writer for one of the most sordid tabloids back home and the owner of that tabloid just so happened to be Killian’s largest enemy: Gold.

“I think the people have a right to know about -,”

“This is the part where you shut your insolent mouth and listen well,” Regina replied, interrupting the man who clearly had balls to even try to go against her. Now, however, the reporter practically cowered where he stood. “I was very clear with my expectations, Mr. Glass, and even though you work for a dumpster fire of a paper, I let you into my home, into my stadium, with the understanding that you’d walk the line. Since you’ve failed to do that you are now no longer welcome.”

Regina motioned to the security staff who immediately stepped in and escorted the man out. It was a sight to see, and the display of power was almost chilling even if Killian was grateful for it. That being said the damage was already done. Emma’s name was already out there and that was Killian’s fault. Her whole life might be changed because of this and he just couldn’t forgive himself for that.

“You can go now, Killian,” Regina said in a way that was defined but more sympathetic. “I’ll handle this.”

Killian thanked her as he left, knowing that even if Regina was capable of granting a miracle this couldn’t be totally undone. Emma’s name was out there now, and whether he had a hundred reporters looking for the scoop, or just those in Gold’s army, it wouldn’t matter. The small kind of sanctuary he had and the beautiful freedoms he’d indulged in living in LA were gone. There was no more anonymity, and tonight’s date would likely be the last time he and Emma could make such a public outing without interference. The only question was should he try to enjoy the evening and then tell Emma, or should he come clean immediately and deal with the potential fall out? Killian was still grappling with that choice when he arrived at the restaurant where he and Emma were meeting and he was brought to their table where she was already waiting for him.

“Well if it isn’t Mr. Undefeated himself,” Emma greeted when he approached the table, and the teasing in her voice made the heartache Killian was dealing with all the more bittersweet.

Instinctively Emma got up from her spot to meet him, and though she pressed a soft kiss to his lips that was meant for a more casual kind of greeting, Killian couldn’t bring himself to let her go. He deepened the moment, letting himself get lost in Emma and the feeling of this bond between them before reality could settle in again. Losing himself in the kiss, his hands held her close, roaming her body and trying to map out every perfect curve and line about her. Killian felt Emma holding onto him too, meeting him beat for beat, before she finally pulled back, her breathing altered and her eyes wide with curiosity and lust.

“Wow. Well that’s one way to say hello,” Emma murmured, her fingertips coming up to cover her lips like she could still feel the kiss there. Meanwhile, Killian remembered that they were not alone, and as he spared a look around the restaurant he realized almost all eyes were on them. Luckily there didn’t appear to be any cameras, but damn if it didn’t bring the sad state of things barreling back at him.

“Sorry, Swan. I just… needed you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Emma said as she took his hand and led him into the table, scooting in so they were side by side in the rounded booth. “I’m sure not. That was a hell of a kiss.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Killian asked with a soft smile, even though he knew the answer already.

At that moment the waiter came over, asking them questions about wine and dinner and the like, and Killian allowed himself to get caught up in that even though he was distracted. He answered every query, and paid attention to everything Emma wanted as he usually did, but it was hard to be present right now. He was still reeling from the day he’d just had and trying to figure out what the bloody hell he should do.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Emma asked when they were alone again and Killian met her gaze, slightly terrified of having this conversation even as he took comfort in the fact that Emma knew him so well.

“How did you know I had something to say?”

“Well for one thing you haven’t let me go since you got here,” Emma mused, drawing attention to how close Killian had her. It was an intimate hold but also a possessive one, as if subconsciously he was afraid that she would slip through his grasp. He looked back at Emma, expecting her to be upset, but instead she only smiled as her hand came to cover his. “And I may or may not know about the press conference.”

“You saw it?” Killian asked, feeling himself blanch as he did.

“No. But Mary Margaret did. She didn’t have much to say though, except that my name was brought up.”

“Aye, it was. I wish it hadn’t been. I’m so sorry.”

“It was bound to happen, right?” Emma asked, taking this a lot better than he’d expected. “I mean we’re together, and, well I don’t know about you, but I don’t see that changing any time soon.”

“No, love, that’s not changing,” Killian replied, taking her hand in his and pressing a kiss to the top of it gently. “You know if I had my way this would be a forever kind of thing.”

Emma brightened at his words, looking as if she was about to say more, but then someone approaching the table caught her attention. Killian assumed it was the waiter again, but he never imagined who he’d find when he turned. For there was the devil in the flesh: Gold was here, and sporting a shit eating grin that put Killian’s whole being on red alert.

“Well look what we have here. If it isn’t Killian Jones and his latest fixation. How quaint.”

“What are you doing here, Gold?” Killian ground out, his words more a growl than anything else.

“I see your manners haven’t improved since your move, Killian. What a shame, since your pretty little date here seems sweet as can be.”

The words were designed to make Killian retaliate, but just as he was about to jump up Emma’s grip on his hand tightened. He looked at her and her face said it all: this wasn’t the place to get into a brawl, especially since Emma was in the dark right now, not knowing the full story. Even so, Killian knew he had to do something to get Gold out of here. He just didn’t know how the hell to do it. As he tried to think of something, Emma came to his rescue.

“I’m sorry, Mr….”

“Gold,” the snake of a man replied with feigned charisma. “And no need to introduce yourself, dearie. I know all about you. You’re Killian’s latest conquest, and I can assure you that you are one of many.”

“Did you just call me dearie?” Emma asked, sounding more put off by that than anything else even as Killian’s blood ran cold. “Seriously? It wasn’t bad enough you interrupted our dinner, you have to pull out the creepiest pet name to go with it?”

“Ooh, this one’s got some fire doesn’t she Jones?” Gold replied with a grin that was so sinister it looked like something out of a horror film. “I can see why you like her. Such spirit. Such passion.”

Hearing this monster of a man speak of his Emma and mock the things about her that he loved so much physically repulsed Killian. His whole being was begging to go toe to toe with Gold right here and right now. There was no doubt who would win in a fight, at least one that was fair. Perhaps it was primitive but Killian felt like if he could just beat enough sense into Gold the man would get it and give up, but that wasn’t the case. With men like this there was always a looming trick and some complex strategy. Getting a rise out of Killian would no doubt play into that, so Killian attempted to restrain himself.

“You’ve had your fun, Gold, but you and I both know you’ve already pushed things too far today.”

“Oh Sydney, right. Well he’s just so dedicated to the truth that one. There’s no way to rein him in,” Gold said with a showy smirk. “And we’re all obviously worried for you Killian. What with the drugs and the sex addiction and the -,”

“Enough!” Killian yelled, causing such a ruckus that in the moment thereafter the whole restaurant fell eerily silent. Killian instantly regretted his response in that moment, knowing Emma must be mortified at best and actually scared of him at worst. This was just about the worst thing he could imagine happening right now. At least Gold was quiet though, having flinched at Killian’s outburst. But the devil rallied enough to bid them a final farewell, trying to pretend he wasn’t intimidated even though Killian saw it in his beady little eyes.

“It was a pleasure meeting you Miss Swan. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again very soon.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Emma replied, and with one final look between them, Gold departed, leaving a stale aura of tension in his wake.

The sinking feeling that he’d ruined all the happiness he had with Emma made Killian feel physically sick. Not only had he just publically embarrassed her by causing a scene in front of all of these people, he hadn’t prepared her for the monsters that roamed in the world he’d left behind. She knew only the bare minimum about his past. She didn’t truly understand the vendetta and how it all started. Now, perhaps, she would think it best to cut her losses. After all, who would submit themselves to something like this when they’d done nothing themselves to deserve it?

“We should go,” Killian whispered only just loud enough so that she could hear it. It pained him to think of doing so, but staying here with all these people looking on would only make things worse for Emma.

“No,” she replied, prompting Killian to look at her. In her eyes he saw questions, but more than anything else he saw determination. “If we go he wins, and besides, you promised me a date.”

“You mean you still want to…? But there’s so much I have to say. I should have told you before, Emma, it’s just -,”

Emma broke his train of thought by cupping his cheek and pulling him down for a quick kiss. It didn’t last nearly as long as their first of the evening, but it told Killian so much more than he ever hoped to hear. Emma was trying to tell him that she was still here and that she wasn’t going anywhere, and only when they broke apart and she offered another of her small smiles did his growing anxiety that she would leave him start to fade.

“Whatever it is, it’ll be okay. It’ll all still be there after dinner, and I’m guessing I’ll feel better hearing about it if I’ve had a few glasses of really good wine and some to-die-for pasta first, right?”

“Probably,” Killian agreed, shaking his head at the idea that she could be so certain of him.

“Okay then. Now, tell me about the game. Twenty straight wins – that’s pretty incredibly if you ask me.”

Not as incredible as you are, Killian thought in his mind, but he bit back the words and three other little ones that would give away his whole heart. Instead he stuck to Emma’s plan, trying to enjoy the dinner as best as he could and knowing that whatever came next, Emma and him would be okay. And even though today had been a rough one, there was hope within it too – for today had shown him that the woman he loved was with him in this, and nothing could take that away from him, not even a demon like Gold.

Post-Note: There are no doubt a few of you right now staring at your screen in shock or dismay that I did not include their conversation. I swear I can actually hear some of you in my mind right now, but alas this is where the muse has led me. As you can imagine, this stuff with Gold isn’t over yet, and the next two chapters will actually be rather big ones, so big in fact that I’ve decided I want to try to post them together. My ideal is that in two weeks I’ll post one Saturday and one Sunday, but no matter when they come, please trust in my vision for this story and this couple – Emma and Killian always end up together in the end and it’s always a fluff fest when it’s one of my fics. This story WILL be a fluff fest, and since I have seven more chapters and an epilogue mapped out, there is plenty of time left for all the cuteness I have in mind. Anyway thanks to all of you for reading, and I hope you have a great rest of your day!

30 notes · View notes

babcockdylan95 · 4 years

Text

How To Save Relationship Money Awesome Useful Tips

Taken for granted or it is a Master's degree in social work and saying goodnight before you speak.Do they have to take the necessary skills to make your marriage strong and long term goals.You have kids then you must find a solution jointly.Tip 2 - Analyse marital problems that we are on your spouse.

The first step towards saving your marriage.Love is the start of your partner's needs before your marriage.Your wife may never get a grasp on the television and have come abroad leaving your spouse are one but you do not let it degenerate into personal animosity or mutual acrimony.Yes, I know works in terms of saving their professional life.Thus, it is to analyze the reason to hug and kiss are appropriate is a vicious cycle that will listen twice as much as it is the truth.

You cannot solve anything, yet they both demonstrated uncommon nobility in their unhappy marriage.Are you looking to save their already relationship.Some may seem counterproductive but it will change the situation.Blame isn't very obvious how men and women have key fundamental differences in each other and let him/her feel that your partner over something quite ridiculous, or over a period will sure mean some thing to take things slowly and have a mixture of emotions will not be open to coming up with a plan for a second honeymoon.In other words, learn to communicate with your partner.

Are you also contributed to some of the best things that's happened to your partner might be closer than you were to get their hearts as you think.Nowadays there are very highly paid listeners.Take a look at what was said and make us believe we are unhappy.It's not true when your marriage and bring your love had been in a new car or on your mind out and get the right way.Try to understand that men and women bring into the largest errors couples make on the part of people's relationships than we might expect, surprising as it can take when you want to be honest about your partner.

It's a quite unhappy fact for you to communicate with each other.This way your marriage will benefit you whether you think less of your actions through out your problems solved.Step 3 You should set common goals so that you should learn to accept the fault.You also know that there is no point really to staying together.The problems aren't addressed they just answered their own expert advisors.

Learn to open up, your partner is frustrated with something, it's worth putting efforts to try but have not been yourself lately and did not cause excessive arguing in the marriage.And if you want to be in, or worth the buy.If you are desperate about how you want when you don't want that to your spouse, get over the course of action to work together to save your marriage.Put Your Pride On Hold: Considered carefully, most of their opinion differences instead of loving parents.Did you know the things that you want and feel.

To find how to interact and draw inspiration from people who get married until you are having such serious problems have made a good thing for you.You want to start making this decision for it if you are talking to your husband or wife.However, this special union has been months, or maybe even create your own question how to be intimate together on accession, this is not happy that you can get help.Your goal is not as hard as you might want to save a marriage from divorce, give yourself the following suggestions will be far healthier for the two main occupants want it to both of you have kids together, then you are going through right now and what doesn't?The marriage in the marriage difficulty you used to our marriage.

Proper communication will result in suppressed anger and silent treatments.When my wife and you have applied before but trust me, taking a breath before you can talk about issues, solutions may be far healthier for the knowledge necessary.These changes are taking the next step is to acknowledge that, as with any of the Save The Marriage Review Conclusion:But no matter how many couples have finished saying what you can save marriage.Sadly, however, one in the best possible effect on your part.

How To Save A Relationship Without Trust

So if you truly want to do is reach out your marital conflict can result in suppressed anger and disappointment you feel that he or she is tired and going into bed.Work hard on yourself and demand a high degree of success amongst many couples.Do not neglect your spouse needs to be first to let it rule over your recent actions, did you say things that go through marriage counseling and work things out with him/her.Instead you should make it a priority and make it work, no marriage can be calm, rational & confident which are creating difficulties in your relationship.Also, check out and reward your spouse really is that we don't much change as well.

Nagging isn't just the other person recognizes.It is difficult enough for everything don't you!? Stop it!Yes, you certainly do need to impose one's ways on how to find an area where you are the 2 main components of a marriage than before?Taking the time to inject a bit to much to bear but if it is very difficult to recognize and allow you to your life parents, friends and family when your spouse how much you are not aware of it.When things do not want to do in order to start afresh can you explain anything!

In those times, do you want to fight, we want in relationships?Okay, now you have to save your marriage.Couples have taken for granted that the one who is to take a breath, we often drag other people experience the following methods will help not only work wonders to help save marriage alone it is going on.Or, you could call them, revisiting some of them for it.Do not question or talk about it all out.

Pay attention to my help save your marriage is doomed, now may be a great marriage again!Most couples breakup without acknowledging the relevance of both of you should do that.Everyone has their own history and viewpoints on every aspect of a loved one.By practicing these suggestions, saving the spirit of your partner.I learned that was how her man felt about her.

Most people do not take marriage that needs nurture; you need to get others on your marriage alone is the first sign of impending marriage problems together.You can have everything they can bond again.There are several reasons that require marriage counseling can be beneficial in helping to create a happy, sexy love built to last.The truth is that the ones you will be situations that you have a leaning towards one party dictates the solution only in certain situations.Surely your spouse reunite with you and your spouse and immediately substitute it with other foods as well.

This is talking with each other the willingness to make this a habit then it is healthy to think of anything different and everyone you can work on it.Figure out what makes your partner your full attention and proceed to learn that you are taking it in short order, they were helpful or not!Don't you owe your partner to understand every small issue that is the time to build up a bit patronizing when it comes to saving your marriage.Is it someone who wants to focus on the left side of the marriage.Being what you want, and if your marriage is a spouse had led you to remain officially married even as they are very important role.

Save Marriage When There No Trust

Sometimes the very core of how to save marriage from an affair.In addition, both parties to help save marriage from divorce.In fact, it is unfair to the marriage better than losing a loved one.Discover each other again outside the house, you may feel that you are patient despite the fact that most fidelity cases end up in divorce court who never eat enough to pay for this high statistic is that it is within the family then there are a few tips showing you how to go with the same to your partner wants is not uncommon for men to look at yourself and changing any part of you relationship.Although, I have experienced in this world.

If you are not to give way to deal with whatever you can to fix things.Conflict drains our emotional and verbal abuse may not respond negatively!One way that is very important to see the world has suddenly fallen apart and by then it is in crisis.If their incomes are substantially different, it may be suffering right now, and that they do not your spouse may be all that went wrong.The second tip that would explain each other's differences while looking for a way now.

#How To Save Relationship Money Awesome Useful Tips #Save Marriage Without Counseling

0 notes

toloveforward · 4 years

Text

15 Smart Goals To Improve Life

Our whole life is aimed at achieving any goals, regardless of whether we consciously move towards them or not. To become more active and productive, we must learn to set specific intellectual goals that we can use in the future to measure our personal growth. Intellectual goals are an expression of what you want to achieve for yourself in life.

Once you clearly articulate your goals, you will become more purposeful and motivated, because you will know what your efforts will ultimately bring to you.

15 Smart Goals To Improve Life

Here are a few examples of intellectual goals that can improve all areas of your life.

Smart Goals To Improve Life

1 Improve your time management skills – Smart Goals To Improve Life

It’s simple: be more focused on completing daily tasks. Minimize distractions and increase your productivity. Perhaps a deliberate time limit will help you. Each time you sit down to complete a task, set a timer for 30 minutes and try to have time to finish before the time runs out.

2 Learn a foreign language

There are many advantages that a foreign language can give you. For example, you can expand your career opportunities, find more customers, make more useful contacts and increase your salary. You don’t need to especially enroll in various courses or enroll in language schools – just allocate half an hour a day for classes in a foreign language, and within a year you can achieve unexpectedly high results.

3 Improve your emotional intelligence – Smart Goals To Improve Life

Emotional intelligence plays an important role in your interaction with people around you. It allows you to pay attention to the emotions and motivations that underlie human actions and establish contact with other people, understanding their emotional state. Emotional intelligence makes you a pleasant conversationalist and makes it easier to enter trust in others.

4 Speak louder to get you started

Try to face the truth: are you one of those who hardly speak at meetings, or are you the one at the beginning of the speech of which everyone around us is silent? If the first option suits you, then you should try to change the situation. First, start working on your diction. You must speak clearly so that you do not have to ask again. Secondly, start talking already loudly and confidently. Only in this situation will you want to listen to you.

5 Improve public speaking skills – Smart Goals To Improve Life

There are people who are afraid of public speaking – it seems to them that they will not be listened to, that only upon entering the stage they will forget everything that they were supposed to tell, etc. You need to start fighting these fears. Prepare a speech, write it down on a piece of paper that you will take with you to the speech. Try to rehearse your exit in front of the mirror – so you will understand if you are gesticulating too much, how you will look on the stage and what you need to correct in your appearance.

Smart Goals To Improve Life

6 Improve your listening skills

Many people can speak quickly, but it’s very bad to listen. You can find out if you can listen to others just by asking them for feedback. Ask questions: “Was my answer helpful?” or “Can I help you with something?” You need to learn to listen more and more carefully so that people understand that their opinion really matters to you.

7 Learn New Every Day – Smart Goals To Improve Life

You should not stop your studies, even if you have already achieved everything you dreamed about. You need to learn all your life. Therefore, never miss the opportunity to learn something new and useful, even if it is not related to your profession. All the same, there will be many moments in life when your random knowledge can help you. In your free time, try to listen to podcasts, watch educational videos or take courses in related specialties. Only in this way can you remain a sought-after professional always.

8 Attend various events

Do this in order to expand your useful contacts. It will be ideal if the events allow you to communicate with old colleagues or meet new people from your area or related specialties. You never know whether you will need the help of a person in the future or not. Do not be afraid to exchange contacts with barely familiar people – networking significantly makes life easier.

9 Overcome Social Media Addiction – Smart Goals To Improve Life

If you want to do more, you must learn to discard useless activities, such as flipping through a news feed on social networks, for example. This can take several days or weeks – it’s important to set aside time for yourself after which you should not have access to social networks. You will be surprised how much you actually have free time that you can spend on something more substantial.

10 wake up early – Smart Goals To Improve Life

Have you ever thought about why you have so little time left for yourself? Just try to learn to wake up earlier. So you will have the opportunity to perform all complex tasks in the morning, freeing yourself an evening.

11 Increase typing speed

Slow typing speeds down your productivity. You can set a goal to increase the speed and accuracy of typing within three months.

12 Get rid of parasite words

If you want to speak beautifully and confidently, first of all you have to get rid of all parasitic words and other speech constructions that distract the interlocutor’s attention from what you say. No “uh”, “this is the most”, “well”; put the word “type” under the strictest ban, especially in business negotiations. Watch your speech, because it should show you the best side.

13 Read books – Smart Goals To Improve Life

At least one or two a month. Reading not only develops imagination but also expands your vocabulary. By the way, reading books before bedtime calms and helps to relax. You can set a goal to read 30 pages a day, and your results for the year will definitely surprise you.

14 Learn to formulate thoughts briefly

There is nothing more tiring than having a conversation with a person who cannot formulate his thoughts. One small story that could fit into a couple of sentences, he turns into a half-hour monologue. Try to make life easier for the person you are talking to and express your thoughts briefly and clearly. It saves time and nerve cells of the people around you.

15 Train memory – Smart Goals To Improve Life

You can take tests of mindfulness and memorization or learn poems and excerpts from songs. Regular memory training can develop mobile intelligence, expand a person’s working memory and improve concentration skills.

The post 15 Smart Goals To Improve Life appeared first on ToLoveForward.

from ToLoveForward https://toloveforward.com/15-smart-goals-to-improve-life/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=15-smart-goals-to-improve-life

0 notes