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brabblesblog · 5 months

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Sounds like a plan.

Drabble set right after act II’s confession scene. What if Tav didn’t feel quite alright with Astarion’s manipulation, and tried to just go along with it for his sake?

Angst with a happy ending. Also a tiny bit of Gale. Enjoy!

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

He starts to notice when you stop smiling at him.

Oh, you'd smirk and laugh when talking to him, but that wasn't it - you just didn't smile.

That one he'd craved so much to see, the one that made your eyes crinkle and your nose flare a little. That smile. He hadn't seen it since the night he confessed his feelings to you.

He’d worry about it more, if you two didn’t spend every waking moment together. If you didn’t move into his tent. Didn’t cuddle with him every night, and woke up tangled in his arms every dawn.

So he put it aside for now. Your relationship was a new and fragile thing, and he dared not risk it.

That is, until he noticed you smiling like that with Gale. Astarion had just been walking back to camp from a hunt, when he had heard your voice and Gale’s and had inadvertently began to eavesdrop.

You had been sitting by the campfire with the wizard, reading one of those raunchy romance novels Shadowheart had given you. The two of you were huddled close together, knees touching, chortling and snorting as you read the passages aloud.

“I don’t think elves have… appendages of that size,” Gale remarks after a particularly salacious line. “Would they?” He shoots you a particularly nasty smirk.

You laugh, all pretense thrown aside. “I haven’t seen enough elf cock to know,” you mumble. “Or any other type of cock, for that matter.”

Gale chuckles. “You’ve been sleeping with one, have you not?” There is a small note of sadness in Gale’s voice when he says this, and you note it. You had turned the wizard down for Astarion.

The laugh that was about to come out of you dies at Gale’s words. You remember sleeping with Astarion, remember how your relationship started, how-

You shake your head, trying to clear out those thoughts. You want to just have fun right now, not think about your complicated situation. Gale notices, and he closes the spicy book. He looks to you, those large eyes holding nothing but affection and concern for you.

“Is something the matter? Anything you need, I’ll be there,” he reminds. He may not be your partner, but he’s still one of your closest friends in camp.

“Actually.” You weigh your options. No one seemed to be here at camp, and so you decide to confide in your friend. “Yes. There.. there is a problem. With.. with Astarion and I.”

Astarion initially rolls his eyes as he hears this conversation. It’s just banter, and he doesn’t mind. What made him stay there and listen in for a moment was the sound of your laughter. It was so genuine and he had not heard it in what felt like forever. He felt a pang of jealousy that of all people, Gale had been the one to bring it out of you. As he prepared to go back to your shared tent, he finally heard you mention his name. He froze, immediately rooted to the spot by fear. He had to know what was wrong. He had to fix it before you left him.

Gale puts a comforting hand on your knee. “Then I will lend you my ears. I shall keep your confidence.”

“It’s- it’s hard to explain,” you begin, speaking gently. “Does it make sense if I say I understand why he would do something he did, but it hurts anyways?”

“More than you know,” Gale replies somberly. “You understand their reasons. Sympathize, even. But you can’t help how you feel.” He pauses, considering it. “Does he know?”

“No.” You shake your head, answering without hesitation. “I didn’t want to give him more things to worry about. He..”

He already has too many things on his plate, you figured, and your petty little issues are nothing compared to what he’s going through.

Gale nods. “And you didn’t want to burden him. I understand.” He clears his throat. “I’m not a good choice for advice regarding relationships, however- it’s common knowledge that hiding things from each other so early on is a portent for disaster. I hope you know that.”

“I know, Gale,” you say, your tone sharpening. Then you let out a sigh, forcing yourself to calm down. “I just don’t want to hurt him any more than he’s already been hurt. I can’t hate him for what he did to me, but I want to hate him for how much it hurts.”

Your voice breaks at the last moment, and you bury yourself in Gale’s shoulder. He wraps a comforting arm around you, letting you finally let out those feelings you’ve been bottling in.

“I thought,” you gasp, “that he’d finally be the one person to actually want me for me.”

Astarion, hidden in the periphery of the camp, sees and hears everything. He keeps silent, as his own heart rips at the sound of your sobbing. Of course. How could he have been so blind? How could he have just assumed you were okay with what he did? After his confession, you had said everything was okay, and he had taken it at face value.

Gods damned it, Astarion thinks. As the conversation dies and you gradually shift to just sobbing into Gale’s shoulder, Astarion slips away.

You head back to your shared tent and hour or so later, opening the flaps. To your surprise, your lover sits there. He snaps upwards the moment your face pokes in, as if he had been waiting for just that exact moment.

“You’re back early,” you say, slipping in and closing the flap behind you. You drop to your knees and crawl towards the bedroll beside him, exhausted.

“Caught a boar quite early on. I daresay I got a bit lucky,” is the reply, delivered in a tone that just sounded off to your ears. He moves to wrap an arm around you, pulling you close to him. “And you, darling? Catching up with the wizard?” He tries to go for nonchalant, and absolutely fails it.

You notice it then, the way he’s actually not even breathing. The way his chest is stiff as a board, the way his fingers tremble.

“Astarion,” you squeeze your eyes shut. “You heard.”

“Every word,” he says, a pained sigh escaping his lips. His arm stops pulling you close. You turn to face him, and you see his face, more pained than you have ever seen him before. When he had confessed, he looked frightened. This time he looked resigned. You watch him clench his jaw, preparing to say the words he knew he should say.

Astarion takes a small, sharp breath. He meets your gaze.

“I hurt you.” The statement is quiet, emotionless. “You shouldn’t have told me you were okay, darling. You should have let me know.” His jaw works again, and he struggles to say the next words.

“I’ve put your things in your pack. You can leave whenever you wish.”

He tries not to cry. Not to beg for you to stay. Because you deserve to go. You deserve real, and if you can’t be real with him, then he isn’t the one who deserves you. Swallowing, his hand caresses your cheek. “I am sorry.”

Sorry he can’t give you what you deserve. Sorry he hurt you. Sorry he was what he was.

You sit up. You try to see what he’s thinking, to see if this relationship still had anything to salvage. But here in the dark, it’s very hard to tell. You brace yourself; the thing missing here was communication, and you’ll be damned if you don’t try to do just that before it all blows up.

“Do you want this, Astarion? Us?”

A quick, quiet hiss of pain breaks the silence. His eyes brighten, filling up with tears. They don’t fall just yet.

“Yes. Gods, yes.”

Your own shoulders drop, and you exhale.

“Then I’m going nowhere. But I suppose we should talk about what you overheard.”

He exhales, relief flooding his features. The guardedness isn’t quite gone yet, however. He makes no move to close the gap. Instead he sits up, matching your position.

“What else is there to say? I manipulated you. You felt a lot less gracious about it than you originally thought. Seems about the sum of it, no?”

There is a little defensiveness there. As if he’s already building walls in the event of your departure.

“Somewhat, but not quite.” You clear your throat. “I don’t blame you. I’m not upset at you. Or resentful. Or whatever else you think I am. Before anything else, I want you to know that.”

His eyes widen, surprised. He had overheard the conversation; he should have known this. But hearing it so directly said was different. You can see his shoulders sag as the tension leaves his body, as that terrible knot in his heart starts to loosen. He nods, acknowledging your statement and an encouragement to continue.

“I’m just hurt.” That was the root of all of it, really. “I’m hurt, but I didn’t want you to know. You already suffer so much, that it felt…” you trail off, trying to find the words.

“Frivolous, darling?” He suggests. As you nod he continues. “Just because I’m going through things doesn’t mean there’s no space… for your feelings,” he begins tentatively. He takes one more small breath, then reaches across to take your hand, just like he did that night he confessed.

“I’ve spent two hundred years carrying my own burdens. You have shared my load. Please. Let me lighten yours too.”

You scan his face, on instinct, trying to see any signs of insincerity. There is none. His eyes are round and open, and his hand remains on yours, palm up, an invitation for you to come to him.

You choke back tears, leaning forward to touch your foreheads together. “It’s just that I wished you were.. that we started differently. That you wanted me..”

“For you,” he says, repeating what you said to Gale. “I know. And I might not have, at the start. I might have seen you as a means to an end.”

He gathers his courage and moves to wrap his arms around you. “But now I do,” he whispers against your ear. “I want you for you.”

You melt into his arms then, moulding yourself to his torso as you cry yet again. But unlike your tears when talking to Gale, this feels like relief. Like home.

He shushes you, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “You said you aren’t upset at all. But you can. We can..” he thinks for a moment, then proceeds. “We can take some time apart, if that’s what you want. We can take a step back and see if we can end up back here again.”

Saying that felt like torture for him. But he knew it needed to be said. You needed to have that option.

You shake your head. “No. I’m- I would very much rather be in this, whatever this is,” you say with a teary laugh. “But you’re right. I think I’ll still need some time to go through it and accept everything.”

“Just don’t forget, Astarion. It’s not your fault. It’s not,” you say vehemently. “I’m just hurt, but I’m not holding you responsible.”

He wants to protest, but knows better than to. Instead he nods. Carefully he cups your face in his hands, and you shiver as his cool palms make contact with your wet cheeks.

He kisses the tears away, each kiss a soft, feather-light brush against your skin.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. For your kindness. For your forgiveness and grace. For your love, although he couldn’t even use that word yet, even to himself. For the gift of yourself, always so generously given, from the very start.

He wishes he could someday live up to your love. That he would be worth everything you give him. He tries to voice this out.

“If you’re staying, then… it gives me a challenge, mm?” He tries to smile. “I’ll try to be worth the trouble. But no promises, darling.”

You huff out a laugh. This beautiful, strong, insufferable man. How could he think he wasn’t worth it to you? But you understood. You felt the same way.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you say. “As for me, well. I don’t imagine I’ll ever be worth all that, either.”

“Then we’ll be worthless together,” he says without missing a beat. If you only knew how special he thought you were. How worthy. How you make him want to be better.

He presses his lips to yours, finally. Sealing your words together. A promise for you two to share each other’s burdens. Together.

“Sounds like a plan,” you agree.

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hadesoftheladies · 3 months

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actually, I DID have gender dysphoria as a teenage girl without being exposed to anything about it on the internet, on top of "racial dysphoria" and body dysmorphia

there were points I DID want to kill myself because i wasn't, or bleach my skin or change my body, i would have done anything to be a white boy at one point

which is both sad and funny to me because i remember two of my then good friends explain being enby and transgender to me and me being like "that doesn't make any sense" and it's because of trans-discourse we eventually broke up. the closest i ever got to accepting trans-ideology was transmedicalism with weak support for "queer" culture. i did not understand pronouns, but i understood dysphoria. but i did not understand how one could be a man or woman without the sex characteristics.

how did i heal?

one, i left church. that was one of the places i was most scrutinized for my physical body. two, i distanced from my parents, especially my mom. who often made my ocd and body-image worse (not because she was mean, but because she was always fretting about "decency"). three, i focused on bettering my personal space. writing, reading, watching my comfort shows, getting the focus off me. four, i started eating better, and my body became less burdensome. i stopped getting horrible period pain. five, i surrounded myself with self-confident women and stopped trying to resurrect toxic friendships with girls and boys (especially boys). started eliminating each toxic friend and focusing my efforts on healthier relationships. six, i'd started educating myself on my own history, watching and listening to more black and African people. even when i didn't enjoy what they made or resonate with it, i found i appreciated the experience and could allow myself to hate or love whatever i found.

by the time i discovered radical feminism, this was like, the final step for me: consuming women-centric literature and media. this was HUGE. i'd see paintings and photography of women in all shapes, colors and sizes. i'd listen to master musicians, read women philosophers, anthropologists, etc. this started mending a lot of what caused initial disquiet when it came to my dysphoria or dysmorphia.

basically, i took myself out of bad environments (especially those which force you to scrutinize every detail about yourself, like social media, i took long breaks from that), drew boundaries with people i couldn't get rid of, learned about myself (ocd, dyscalculia, anxiety, female biology) so that i developed understanding and could empathize, stopped centering men and white people.

now, while there's still a hint or trace of dysmorphia and dysphoria, it doesn't plague my life. it's like the occasional itch. more of a mild temptation to go down a dark hole than an actual threat. and i've learned how to handle those.

i learned the root of things. not just my history, but the root of how society worked and how it affected me. and i'm still learning, and my life is still improving.

so yeah, girls and women going through this is normal and common. anyone who is used to who they are being shameful is more at risk (like gnc lgb kids), but you can recover. usually better if you get out of the places that are making you sick.

#mine #radblr #dysphoria #dysmorphia

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abbyshands · 3 months

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I can't even lie; I think a lot of the reason that TLOU fans specifically seem to be so angry about the strike and annoyed at having to hear about what's going on in Palestine is because they don't want to be reminded of the reasons why they should no longer buy anything in relation to the game. They don't want to be made to feel bad if they bought the remaster, or merch, or just bought the games in general even after finding out about Neil being a Zionist and sending money to Israel. It's sad, honestly.

anon. THIS! 100% percent. people are too full of themselves to want to feel responsible, to be held accountable. and it’s not like we’re saying to never play the game again, you know, never like it again? i don’t think people realize that it doesn’t even work like that. you can very well play the game (or watch someone else do it) or watch the show n’whatever, just make sure you’re getting it secondhand or pirating it, etc. what’s so hard about that? i hardly own a video game i didn’t buy secondhand, and i know i’m not the only one who’s watched a movie or show on some random ass site. it isn’t that difficult. and if you want to get merch? places like etsy have a million things you can buy, things even better than nd’s actual stuff (and, obviously, you’re not funding a zionist in the process).

like, it’s one thing when you’ve already purchased things before you knew. okay, well now you do, and here’s your chance to compensate for that, at least a little bit. but going out of your way to buy the remastered or saying you’re gonna keep watching the show & whatever (from hbo, i mean), when you know all of this? that shit’s just fucked. neil druckmann does not need you to dick ride him for being an actual pos. like, what?

i can’t even get what’s so hard about remaining aware of the media you consume, especially in our world. it’s not even just the last of us you need to do this for: it’s any show or movie you watch, any game you play, any book you read. you can’t just not do that considering the world we live in today. i believe that’s incredibly ignorant, and to be less scholarly, dumb. i never believed i’d see the day where a genocide wouldn’t be enough to make someone’s heart break. to make someone fucking cry. to make someone not want to speak out about it, to do their part to get it to end. god, i can’t believe it.

but on a bit of a better note, it makes my heart swell to see people on here, especially most of my mutuals, using their voices and followings to spread awareness about this. can’t even explain how much i love you, how much you deserve the world. or to people like this anon, who aren’t attacking me or anyone else for doing the right thing, & speaking actual common sense ♡

sorry this was such a long response, but you really spoke to me on this one, anon !!! keep spreading awareness about these people suffering before our eyes, backlash & ridicule or not. FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE.

#kitlyn’s anons ♡#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou2 #abby anderson fic #ellie williams fic #free palestine #palestine #free gaza #gaza

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quartzalynlove · 6 months

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Mistakes

Pairing: Johnny Cage x fem!reader

Summary: you screwed up trying to do something nice for Johnny

Warnings: none

A/n: is the event of this fic a real thing that happened to me an hour ago?? Now that's silly what makes you ask that!!

This was not happening.

Johnny had been working longer days on set, and you wanted to surprise him by cooking his favorite meal tonight, but... You had to run back out for one thing, and you were in such a hurry that you didn't think about the pot on the stove that was still on. By the time you got back, the whole kitchen was filled with smoke.

Mad wasn't the right word for the emotion you felt. Once you got the windows and back door open you couldn't believe you let this happen. You could cook better than that, but your common sense must have run away without your knowledge. Johnny's surprise was ruined, and you spent the evening out on the porch hating yourself.

Eventually, you heard keys jingle in the garage door and panicked. What were you going to tell Johnny about the state of the kitchen? The smoke had mostly cleared, so you ran into the kitchen. Your mouth was open, but you couldn't think of anything to explain yourself. Johnny turned the corner to see you looking frightened in the still slightly smoky kitchen.

"Oh my God, baby, are you okay?" His first reaction was concern as he grabbed hold of your arms.

You stood there stammering for a moment before finally coming clean. "You've been stressed out over the longer shoots, so I wanted to make your favorite, but we didn't have an ingredient, so I went back out, but I forgot to turn off the stove because I was rushing, and when I came back—"

Both of you were surprised Johnny managed to catch all of that; your words came out at lightning speed as you tried to blink back tears. As he started to rub up and down your arms, you brought your hands to cover your face, failing to hold back your tears.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to surprise you."

Johnny frowned and started to shush you as he pried your hands from your face, "Hey, buttercup, it's okay. Y'know, I've set actual fires in here before." He laughed but could hardly get a smile out of you, and you still wouldn't look at him.

Grabbing your hands, Johnny placed a kiss on your forehead. Then, he cleared his throat, making you focus on him.

"Tell you what, pretty mama. You, me, a dinner date at Madam Bo's, and we both forget about this whole thing."

Johnny and his impressions were no match for your sad face. You just wanted to hate yourself in peace, but he'd never have that. You couldn't stop the laugh he knew he'd get from you; Johnny's face lit back up as well.

"There's that pretty smile."

"I've never been asked out by Johnny Bravo."

"Few are lucky," Johnny was still doing the voice. "Is that a yes?"

Slowly, you nodded, holding Johnny's hands back. "Yes."

Johnny's voice went back to normal as he started leading you to the car. "Good, now let's get you out of this smoke."

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blingblong55 · 11 months

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Dogs, dogs and more dogs- 141

This is based on a request:

Hi! Can I request if tf141 with Fem! Reade who has a lot more than 4 of German shepherds. The men’s ask her why she has a lot til she answered “Because… they’re my family. They’re all I have left.” She explain She found them in the forest when she was younger and the dogs were puppies. Her family died from car accident. The men’s were so sad hearing her explanation and hug her.

F!Reader, fluff?, Platonic!Relationship

From the minute the men of the task force met you, you had at least one dog around you. Buddy, Ghoul, Beelz, and Cane. They had become the only thing in this world that saved you from what could've been your demise. The men never understood why you were so attached to those dogs. Always petting them, babying them and at times they'd sleep in your bed.

You had become a dog handler for the military, always been deployed with your dog. A year into your service, your first dog ever, Rocky, had passed away, he defended your comrades from an enemy soldier. Took you two months to even decided to work with another dog. And one faithful night, there they were, 4 month old puppies, cold, scared and alone.

Buddy was the first one to accomplish his training, he was specifically trained to detect explosives. He and Soap got along very well, soap helped you at time to keep Buddy in check, always hiding an explosive so he can find it. His name was given after you accidentally kept calling him that name. It was cute and simple, but he was fierce and a devil on the field.

Ghoul, was your second to accomplish his training. He was fast, always willing to jump to anything you told him to. He was trained to search and rescue. The soldiers on base loved him, because on the field he was scary, but once back at base, he was the sweetest and calmest of your dogs. It was funny yet it made sense when the dog got attached to Ghost. One time Ghoul took his dog bed to the front of Ghost's quarters and office door. Now if Ghost is somewhere and you haven't seen Ghoul, just look for Ghost and he'll be there too.

Beelz was your favourite, she was so soft to the touch and so amazing on the field. Her speciality was patrolling and attacking. Something a poor rookie found out one day. She was attached to you, mainly because her brothers were so tough to play with and you gave her spa days. On base if a soldier who had a sneaked out and was coming back to base late at night, they wouldn't fear the actual guards at gate, but they feared Beelz. She would growl and make a mental note to tell on the soldier to either you or Price.

Cane was the beast of them all. He was a smart dog, so the military training him in detection of explosives and search and rescue. He was the serious of them all. Had a whole grumpy personality, silent, sleepy when off duty and the most hard working one of them all. At times you thought he was the dog version of Ghost and Gaz. But he never got along with them, just you. If Belz wasn't around and it was you in your room alone, Cane would be there, letting himself get pampered. But that was only with you. At times, Gaz or Ghost, deepening who won that argument, would run around base with Cane.

One afternoon when the dogs had the day off, you had found yourself in the common room, surrounded by them all. You were all watching a motorsports event. Buddy resting his head on your stomach, Beelz by your side, Ghoul on your other side and Cane by your feet. The men of the task force walked in, saw the image of your dogs and you. The second Ghoul picked up the scent of the lieutenant, he got up and walked to him.

Soap took Ghoul's seat, "Hi, bonnie" he rests his head on your shoulder, taking the remote from you and turning the volume up. You hummed a hello.

Price sat on the other end, "I never asked," he spoke up, making Soap and you turn to him, "why have all these dogs?" he wasn't asking to be rude but out of genuine curiosity. You sighed, looking from Buddy to him, "They are my family," Soap nudges your side with his elbow, "apart from you all, of course." you looked back to the screen. "what'd you mean?" Gaz sat on the other sofa. "A few years ago, I found them in a box, left on the side of the road, my parents and sibling were killed in a car accident, I was going back to their house after the funeral when a puppy by the name of Cane made me stop."

The image was still here.

Cane was the protector of his siblings. He figured if the cars passed slower because of the deers that maybe they'd stop for him on the road. So he stood there until some car would stop. You had just say your final goodbye at the funeral, feeling numb and sick. You saw a figure standing on the road, small but it wasn't moving, your car stopped, got off the car and met Cane. He went to you, he barked and bit the sleeve of your arm, guiding you to the other three pups. In a dirty and dented box three puppies laid there, trying to keep the girl warm. You looked at Cane and then at his siblings, "Don't worry," you picked the box up, put it in the back seat and then picked Cane up. He sat on the passenger seat.

You sigh as you retell the story, "then it was us five and now it's us and you guys." you look up, Soap snuggling to your side, wiping his own tears away. Gaz sitting closer now, a small smile on him, Beelz had found way to him. Price gave you a nod, understanding what they meant to you now. Ghost , Ghoul and Cane all staring at you, funny enough, Ghost was making his adorable puppy eyes. You smile at the image forming in front of you, your own family. It wasn't just the girl and her German shepherds, it was the girl and her favourite beings in this world. The dogs and your men, what more could there ever be.

A/N: this was requested a while back, so apologies if it was barely made.

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mems-sama · 8 days

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Show, Don't Tell: The Art of Bringing Your Writing to Life!

Alright, fellow wordsmiths, let's talk about a common trap many writers fall into: telling instead of showing. 🚫📝

Picture this: You're reading a story, and instead of feeling like you're right there in the moment, you're being told what's happening. It's like watching a movie with the narrator constantly interrupting to explain everything. Not cool, right?

So, what's the deal with showing vs. telling? It's all about painting a vivid picture with your words. Instead of saying, "She was sad," you'd describe how her eyes welled up with tears, her shoulders slumped, and her voice trembled. That way, the reader feels her sadness, rather than just being told about it.

So, how do we show instead of tell? Easy! Take a moment to observe the world around you. Notice the little details—the way sunlight filters through leaves, the sound of rain tapping against the window, the smell of freshly baked bread. Then, describe those details in your writing to create a rich, immersive experience for your readers. Trust me, they'll thank you for it! 😉📚

But wait! We're not done yet! Bet you thought we were, except no. Anyhoo, let's continue.

All right, let's break this down! We've got two groups in the mix:

Group 1, aka the yellow team, deals with all the stuff we can see, hear, smell, touch, and taste—basically, anything we can sense with our five senses.

Then we've got Group 2, repping the red and green. This crew is all about the things that are a bit more personal and inside our heads—like our feelings (that's the red zone) and our thoughts (yep, you guessed it, the green zone).

Now, when we're chatting with someone, we're usually hanging out in the yellow zone. We're picking up on all those sensory cues to understand what's going on. But when it comes to figuring out what someone else is thinking or feeling (you know, diving into the red and green), we've got to pay super close attention to their words, actions, and body language.

So, next time you're chatting with someone, keep your senses sharp and tune in to those verbal and nonverbal cues to really understand where they're coming from. It's all about staying connected and being mindful of those around you!

Now that we got that covered, let's give you some examples from actual writing by yours truly:

Okay, so check it: This sentence straight-up tells you how Salvatore feels, leaving absolutely no room for imagination. And guess what? That's the opposite of what we want to do as writers.

We want to paint a picture with our words, not just spell it out like a dictionary. So, how do we flip the script and show instead of tell, you ask?

Easy! Instead of saying, "Salvatore felt sad" you describe how he appears. Maybe you describe the drooping of his shoulders, the frown on his face, and even a tear slipping down his cheek.

This way, your reader feels his sadness, instead of just being told about it.

It's all about using those descriptive details to create a vibe, you know? 🌟

Alright, so now we've got this sentence that's like, "Salvatore is feeling sad because his uncle passed away." It's like a peek into Salvatore's heart, showing us the real deal: grief.

But here's the thing: we want to make sure our writing isn't just stating the obvious. We want our readers to feel what Salvatore's feeling, you know? So, instead of just saying, "He's sad," we want to paint a picture with our words that really hits home.

Imagine describing how Salvatore feels like there's a weight in his chest that is now an unbearable reminder of the loss he's faced with. I could have also gone further to describe how his shoulders slump under the weight of his grief, and how each breath feels like a struggle, but I didn't.

Anyway, this is the kind of stuff that makes the reader experience the emotion, not just read about it.

Here are some more examples:

Telling: She was nervous about the presentation.

Showing: Her hands trembled as she arranged her notes for the presentation. She took deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart.

and

Telling: He was just so in love with her.

Showing: Every time she entered the room, his face lit up, and he couldn't stop smiling. He found himself thinking about her constantly, and even the mention of her name made his heart skip a beat.

Last one

Telling: The room was messy.

Showing: Clothes were strewn across the floor, papers piled high on the desk, and books lay scattered around the room.

Remember, dive deep and really show the descriptions and emotions observed. Write what your character is feeling in that particular moment by describing both their physical and emotional state. 📝

But sometimes just describing what's happening isn't enough.

Like, when you want to show how your characters are feeling, but it's not as simple as saying, "They're stressed."

That's where figurative language comes in—think similes, analogies, and metaphors. They help you paint a picture and describe what's going on inside someone's head or heart.

Instead of just telling the reader, "Hey, this character is stressed," you can say something like, "They feel like they're juggling flaming swords while walking a tightrope."

It's like, bam! Now you've got this vivid image that lets the reader really feel the weight of the stress without you having to spell it out.

Figurative language is like adding a splash of colour to your writing—it makes it pop! It gives the reader room to interpret and feel things in their own way, which is what makes stories so powerful.

So remember: describe what you see, and when you need that extra oomph, then sprinkle in some figurative language.

You might ask why is telling bad writing and something we should stay away from 99% of the time?

First things first, it's all about keeping it real. As real as we can possibly make it feel. You feel me?

When we're out here in the world, we're not just taking things at face value. We're observing, we're inferring, we're picking up on all these vibes to understand what's really going on with people.

That's just how we humans roll, you know? We're not robots—we're all about those thoughts and feelings, right?

And that's how we connect with one another. It's also how we make sense of the world around us, like we said before. When you're trying to understand someone or write about the human experience, remember: it's all about those observations and inferences.

The second and absolute worst thing, is that you're basically taking away the reader's superpower: the ability to use their imagination and envision the story with you. And that's the beauty of writing, you know?

Writing is like setting the stage for a play, and the readers are the actors who bring it to life in their minds. When you describe a scene, you're like the director, giving them the setting, the characters, and the basic plot. But it's up to the readers to imagine the details, the emotions, and the thoughts of the characters.

It's this collaboration between the writer and the reader that makes storytelling so magical.

You're showing them what's going on, painting this vivid picture with your words, and then letting them do all the heavy lifting in their minds—imagining the thoughts and feelings, filling in all those juicy details.

That's where the real magic happens. 🌟

It's also how you get your readers totally hooked on your writing. But when you take that away with telling then you're doing your reader a grave travesty and this is why the second point is the absolute worst thing.

Another valid question, why do writers tend to fall to the telling instead of the showing?

Here's the thing, getting good at showing instead of telling takes time and lots of lots of lots of practice.

If you're not quite there yet, no worries—it's a skill that develops over years with a ton of practice and feedback too. You know you're telling instead of showing when an experienced writer is like, "Hey, you're still telling here!" This is why it's important to share your work even if it feels super scary and daunting to do.

Another thing is, sometimes we writers get a bit anxious that our readers won't get what we're trying to say, so we just spell it out for them.

It's like, "My writing might not be clear enough, so let me just tell them exactly what I mean." But hey, we've all been there! It's all part of the learning process. And the best way to get better at something is to keep doing it over and over and over again until we get the hang of it and it gets easier.

Build that writing muscle and keep writing. Hope this helped. Thank you for reading and check you on the next one!

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oscconfessions · 2 months

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i HAAAATE hate hate absolutely despise like actually get triggered by those "fixing bfdi/ii/osc rule 34" youtube videos. and because i like to talk, here's why they SUCK:

it's just art "fixing" glorified. pretty obvious but these get a pass for whatever reason. actually i can explain why they get a pass but that's another point.

they're disturbing porn where it doesn't belong. youtube is NOT the place for you to post porn, even if it's censored. it's why most artists put it in the porn site. so people who don't want to find it, y'know, don't find it. they also have the title of the original series which makes it easier for people to find them, so. yikes…

LET PEOPLE DRAW PORN IT ISN'T AFFECTING YOU!!!! even if it DOES affect you, which is totally fine btw, you should stay away from that instead of putting yourself through the process of editing those images.

the artists who drew the original pics never get credited. i should know because i used to watch these videos to try to figure out what was the point (i shouldn't have done that but that's besides the point).

please stop making porn accessible to children this is common sense oh my god just don't post porn on a site full of kids that's extremely weird.

that's just immature. i'm assuming that the people who do these videos aren't children because that would just be sad but like. just don't. it's immature.

i COULD name other reasons but i wouldn't do that coherently so. um. okay. this is the hill i choose to die on.

#confession

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zepskies · 1 year

Text

Never Say Goodbye - Part 2

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

AN: Real quick, just want to say I’m so happy that so many people seem to like this little story so far! Here’s a longer chapter for ya.~

Word Count: 4,300 Warnings: Mentions of anxiety. Language.

Part 2: Connection

Dean honestly didn’t remember that snowy day when he was seventeen with much clarity. Or that sad, anxious feeling in his chest.

Not until six years later, anyway.

It was only a few months after Sam left for college, and left his older brother behind. Well, he’d left John too, but he was the one who gave Sam the ultimatum in the first place.

If you leave, don’t you dare come back.

So Dean struggled to be okay with that while he and John were on another hunt in South Dakota. There was a short but significant string of murders in Vermillion, about an hour away from Sioux Falls.

“Too bad Bobby couldn’t make it,” Dean said. He and John were researching the case at the closest library—over at the University of South Dakota. This one was huge, with multiple floors and new computers.

I guess this is what nerds like Sammy dream about, Dean thought.

“Yeah, could’ve used the manpower. But he’s got his own hunt over in South Carolina somewhere,” John said. His voice was gruff with tiredness. They’d driven for about a week straight, slowly but surely getting farther from the west coast.

“So this thing eats hearts. That could still be a lot of things,” Dean said. He gestured at the small pile of books between them at their table. John had been jotting something down in the autopsy report they’d stolen. He then turned it Dean’s way and tapped his finger on the puncture wounds.

“Those look canine,” John said.

Dean’s browed crunched. “Werewolf? It’s not a full moon.”

His dad shook his head. “Similar, but different. If I’m right, all we need is a couple silver bullets. After we track this thing down.”

“Okay, I’ll bite.” Dean grinned at his own pun. “What is it?”

John smirked. “It’s a skinwalker.”

That rung some kind of bell, but Dean would be hard-pressed to remember what made a skinwalker different from a werewolf. He hadn’t encountered one before, but after he killed it, he’d be sure to remember.

John explained how skinwalkers were actually a lot like werewolves: they could infect people with a single bite, they liked their burger meat raw (as in, fresh human hearts), and more importantly, silver could kill them.

Though unlike their lunar-dependent cousins, skinwalkers could shapeshift into their animal form whenever they wanted. And that didn’t limit to canines.

“But in this case,” John said, pointing again at the autopsy pictures, “I’d say we got us a dirty dog.”

Dean nodded. “Okay, so how do we find him?”

“What do the vics have in common?”

They started pouring over the police reports of the five victims. John took out a map of the city and made notes on the location where each body was found.

This was the part Sam was hella good at. Dean enjoyed the Magnum P.I. aspect of it, but sitting here in a dusty library for hours was going to be a severe test of his patience.

He tried to focus on the reports, and he actually noticed that one of the victims was a college student—here at South Dakota University. Another one was a bartender, and the bar was only a couple of blocks down the road.

Interesting.

He shuffled through the papers to find the third victim and felt something nagging in the back of his mind—an annoying buzz that made his brows knit together. He was already feeling a bit restless sitting here, his knee bouncing in place and rattling the table a bit.

John looked up at him. “What’s the matter?”

Dean blinked in confusion. “Huh?”

“You’re shaking the table.”

Dean forced his knee to stop. But that was when he felt it—a growing sense of frustration and anxiety blooming in his chest.

What the hell? he thought. He was perfectly fine a few minutes ago. Why did it feel like it was getting hard to breathe?

“Dean.” John looked at his son a bit harder. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered quickly. “Fine…I’m gonna find a bathroom.”

He tried to be normal as he got up and left the table, but at soon as he was out of eye-shot of his dad, he made swifter strides towards the nearest bathroom. He went to the sink and splashed some water across his face to wake himself up. God, why’m I so freakin’ tired?

He took slow, deep breaths to calm down. Even though his mind was racing with what the fuck, what the fuck.

He wiped his face with some paper towel and realized his hands were shaking. Was he sick or something? He knew that Taco Bell breakfast burrito was too good to be true—

That’s it. Wake the hell up. I can’t fail this damn final!

That. That was not his thought.

“What the fuck?” Dean couldn’t help saying it out loud, just to make sure he could still speak normally.

He stared at his own shocked face in the mirror.

Then finally, he knew.

He knew what these symptoms were, because while he’d ignored that chapter of social studies, Sam had always been an avid student. Truth be told, Dean hadn’t really wanted to learn that subject. It was the reason he didn’t like thinking about their mom. And the reason why their dad barely spoke about her.

But Dean knew what happened when soulmates started getting close to one another for the first time.

Dean was feeling his freaking soulmate, and it was scaring the hell out of him.

Suddenly he could feel the bond. It was like a humming thread in his mind, an itch he wanted to scratch. If he just reached out the slightest bit, he could touch it. He could connect with whoever it was on the other line.

He could…or he could just leave it for a while until he figured out what he was even going to say, let alone do if someone answered him back.

So he did what most twenty-three year old men would do when faced with a potentially life-changing bond of commitment and…feelings.

He shoved it down and ran.

Well, not literally ran, but he was quick to leave the bathroom and return to his dad.

“Finally. What the hell took you so long?” John asked. He was already gathering their stuff together to leave.

Dean felt pinned by his dad’s gaze, but he did his best to play it smooth.

“Uh, sorry. Breakfast burrito hit me sideways. Then there was no toilet paper in the stall and I had to climb under and—”

John grimaced and held up a hand to stop him. “All right. Let’s just go.”

Dean let out a relieved breath. He hefted his backpack onto his shoulder and followed his dad out of the library, back to the Impala. He climbed into the passenger seat and took a swig of an old soda to steady himself.

He still felt her anxiety in his chest (at least, he hoped it was a her). Maybe she was having a rough day…but once he remembered what she’d said in his head, he wanted to slap a hand to his forehead.

You idiot. She’s studying for a test, he thought. She’s probably a student here.

That realization made him smirk. Aw, yeah. College girl, huh?

Though that thought was followed by a dousing shower of reality.

Oh shit. The thing we’re hunting just ate a college freshman.

“Dean, what’s the matter with you? You lost in space over there?” John asked. It punctured the bubble of Dean’s internal world and made him sharpen to attention.

“Nah, I’m fine. Where’re we headed?”

John scrutinized him a bit longer, but at Dean’s stubbornness, he seemed to let it go for now.

“To find this thing,” he said. “I narrowed down its hunting grounds and called the local animal control. They’ve been getting reports of people hearing a stray dog barking, but no one’s seen him.”

Dean nodded and settled back into his seat. Just focus on the hunt, he told himself. Deal with the rest after.

You were having a phenomenally shitty day.

Well, you supposed that was nothing new. You were twenty years old, still not old enough to legally drink but old enough to have adult bills and adult stress to go along with it. So you were also broke.

And you were halfway through a degree in history. A degree that your father repeatedly told you was “impractical” to earn a decent living with. Which wasn’t even true.

…Okay, maybe that was a little bit true. But you liked history, and you could easily fall into Mom’s footsteps and become a teacher.

You could work for a museum. You could become a world-renowned historian, or write an award-winning historical fantasy like Game of Thrones and make millions off the TV deal!

…Okay, most likely it was probably going to the teacher thing, but at least you still had dreams.

Your dad only believed in what he could see right in front of his narrow-minded face.

Your dad was a dream killer.

Maybe you shouldn’t have told him that on the phone just now, but you were fuming, damn it. This wasn’t what you needed on finals week. Especially because you had an insane Calculus final to cram for, and only a few hours to do it. You needed to get back to your part-time job at the coffee shop by three. Unfortunately, you were closing tonight.

First, you needed a pick-me-up before you headed to the library.

Sighing, you rubbed the silver ring on your right hand absently as you waited in line at the university’s café. The ring had been your mom’s, and now it was yours. On most days, it gave you comfort; just that little bit of extra support to get you through.

Eventually, you got to the front of the line and rattled off your coffee order while still looking up at the menu board: extra-large black coffee with a turbo shot, four sugars. When your gaze slid down and met the guy ringing you up, your brain stuttered to a halt.

“Okay, got it. One ‘Turbo Cram Session’ coming up,” he said. He gave you a charming, friendly grin. With his hazel eyes and tan skin, he was a rare find in a midwestern town like this. His brown hair was long, brushing past his shoulders. He almost reminded you of a character from the cheesy vampire book your teen cousin Lily was obsessed with.

Regardless, he was attractive.

A nervous flutter in your stomach made you smile back. “Thanks.”

You paid the overly expensive bill and watched him make your coffee.

“Finals week, right?” he commiserated.

“Yep.” You sighed and nodded. “Three exams tomorrow, one at eight-in-the-damn-morning.”

He whistled sympathetically. “Yeah, it’s a killer.”

He put the lid on your steaming coffee and handed it to you. His fingers brushed your hand when you took the to-go cup from him, but he hissed a bit and pulled his hand back.

“You okay?” you asked in concern. He glanced at your hand. You toyed with your ring in a nervous habit.

“Yeah, some coffee spilled. No worries,” he said. He flashed you a smile. “If you need to pull an all-nighter, just come back. I can help you mainline the espresso machine.”

He tapped the inside of your wrist and you laughed, playing along. “You’d do that for me?”

“Just for you,” he said with a nod. He pressed a finger to his lips conspiringly. “Keep it quiet, though, or the whole school will be cramming in here like stray cats.”

You laughed again. His nametag read, James.

“Got it. Thanks, James.”

“Call me Jimmy,” he said, giving you a more flirtatious smile.

You left the café with a full-on blush warming your face. When your hands hand brushed, you felt tingles on your skin…but you hadn’t heard his thoughts.

He’s not the one.

Disappointing.

You continued on your path to the library.

You were a bit introverted, mostly keeping to yourself. Your friends were back home in Sioux Falls, so you didn’t really have anyone here, and you didn’t put yourself out there as much as you could. But even when guys did notice you (however few and far between that was), you just couldn’t bring yourself to entertain them. Not if you couldn’t feel them.

Maybe that was a lonely way to go through life. Your friends had certainly told you so. They encouraged you to have fun and explore in college, and part of you wanted to. Another part—the more sensitive part—thought that was just setting yourself up for disappointment.

You wanted something real. Something that would last. Like what your parents had, before…

Whatever. Enough of that. You shook your head to clear your thoughts as you approached the library, but it was hard.

Juggling a full-time college schedule, two part-time jobs, and commuting over an hour every day to school was hard. And your dad wasn’t making it any easier.

All right, stop it. Anxiety was starting to well up in your chest, and you couldn’t afford to battle with it right now.

You went into the library and found your usual spot, practically buried behind the reference books. Finding your favorite work desk, you settled your things there and sipped your coffee. You willed yourself to calm down—to power through that voice in your head that wanted to focus on your problems instead of solutions.

You only had a few hours to plug several complex math equations into your head.

That’s it. Wake the hell up, you thought sternly. I can’t fail this damn final!

With a shaky breath, you cracked open your Calculus book, put on your headphones and some music, and started studying.

A few minutes later, the men’s bathroom door opened with a loud crack and someone quickly walked out of it—right past your table.

You were too deep in your studies and your music to notice.

Father and son were on the hunt.

John was pretty sure they’d found the skinwalker (in a coffee shop of all places). They just had to wait until the bastard came out.

He and Dean waited in the Impala with Reuben sandwiches to tide them over for the stakeout. John discreetly shot his son a glance.

The boy had been off his game all day, but he couldn’t put his finger on why…

“Hey Dad, where’s Zeppelin IV?” he asked, around a mouthful of Reuben. A smile twitched at John’s lips. He wordlessly retrieved the cassette from the compartment on the driver’s side door and held it up in his hand.

“Hey, why d’you keep it on your side?” Dean asked. “You don’t trust me with your tunes by now? Just like you never let me drive?”

He was mostly teasing, but maybe there was a thread of truth underneath. John scoffed.

“I don’t let you drive the Impala ‘cause you’re a punk,” he said. He offered Dean the cassette, but just as he was about to grab it, John took it back and popped it into the cassette player himself. He smirked. “Driver picks the music.”

Dean gave him a look, like he wanted to snipe a comeback, but thought better of it. He sat back into his seat.

John took a satisfied bite out of his sandwich.

Oh shit!

You sprung up from your desk in the library, wiping drool from the side of your cheek.

Tell me I didn’t fucking fall asleep!

Sure enough, your Calculus book was cracked open, your half-drunk coffee was cold, and you had all but missed your shift at work. No, no, no!

You dashed around like a mad person trying to collect your books, pens, your phone—everything into your backpack. You had walked here from your dorm, so you were just going to have to run to the coffee shop on foot. You were too broke to take a taxi and the bus would take too damn long.

It was only, what, a mile or two?

Lord help me.

You didn’t have a choice. You just had to run.

“Coffee boy’s clocking out,” Dean observed. He and John climbed out of the Impala. By then it was evening, almost night. The sun dipped behind the clouds and the streetlights were about to come on. Rush hour traffic was heavy here at a four-way intersection.

Dean focused on their target. The guy looked normal—dark hair, tan skin. I guess that’s the idea, Dean thought. Look normal, blend in by slinging watery, overpriced coffee, get your filet o’ human hearts on the side.

When the guy came out of the café, he didn’t walk to a car parked on the street. Instead, he dipped between the café and the university library and went through a back alley.

“Let’s go,” John said, and with their guns loaded up with silver (hidden in their jackets), they hurried across the street and ducked into the alley.

But they didn’t see any trace of the guy. Both retrieved and cocked their guns, moving through the alley slowly.

Dean was usually good at this part. His ex-marine dad had trained him well, and he was focused. Alert.

Until something nagged at the back of his mind. A low hum as that connection flared to life.

Oh fuck. His lips pursed. A persistent feeling of worry (that wasn’t his own) prickled in his chest, like fire ants across his skin. He tried his best to shut it out.

Not now.

You rushed out the library doors and inwardly bemoaned that it was practically nighttime. You were lucky if you still had a job by the time you got to work.

Damn it! Frustration and worry warred for dominance, but you couldn’t focus on that.

Not now.

You hesitated a moment. A weird feeling fluttered in your chest just then…

Ugh, whatever, you dismissed, shaking your head. I’m insane, it’s fine.

You ran to the street intersection and waited impatiently for the walking light to turn green.

You looked both ways on the street. It was still red, but there was a window of opportunity in a short lull of cars. You could make it if you hurried.

So you did. You took your chance and ran halfway down the street, making it past the first wave of oncoming traffic. You just didn’t account for the truck that was turning the corner—from the opposite direction.

You had time to utter a scream before you dove for the sidewalk. A woman walking her dog helped you up, asking if you were okay.

You were and you weren’t, really. You were shaking, but you thanked the woman with a trembling smile. At this point, you didn’t care if you were fired. Five bucks an hour wasn’t worth getting splattered on a dusty pavement.

Damn. Guess I’ll have to apply at Starbucks.

It was intense.

Your fear was like a searing hot knife ripping through Dean’s heart, and it tore a ragged sound from his throat as his knee buckled.

John’s head swiveled to him with wide eyes. “Dean—”

That was the opening their prey was waiting for. Or rather, the creature that was hunting them.

A large dog leapt from the roof of the café—behind and above them. It went for Dean first, biting into his arm through his jacket. Both of them went down as Dean struggled and the animal growled and tried to shred his arm. Dean almost didn’t feel the pain, but he felt panic of his own as he tried to pry the creature off by his canine ears.

“Dean!”

He looked up at his dad, who stood with his gun aloft. Dean trusted him. He helped give an opening and moved his face away.

Three shots rang out.

The first two killed the skinwalker. The third was just for insurance, and maybe vengeance.

John helped Dean out from under the creature’s body, and they watched it transform back into its natural form. Coffee shop boy.

James, Dean read on his nametag.

“Rest in peace, Cujo,” he quipped, but by now the pain was finally registering. His arm wept with blood through his jacket, and he hissed in pain when his dad put firm pressure on the wound.

“What the fuck happened, Dean?” John demanded. “You got shit between your ears, or a working brain? Because whatever’s got you distracted, that’s how you get killed.”

His father’s anger wasn’t pleasant, but his disappointment was crushing.

Dean swallowed the pain, both physical and…and the rest. He just nodded and apologized.

“Sorry, Dad.”

John shook his head, but he continued leading Dean back to the car.

Back at the motel, John was able to stitch Dean up and wrap his arm. They had planned to leave after the hunt to save money on another motel night…but John agreed to give it one more day to let Dean rest on a real bed.

His son wasn’t just in pain. He was melancholy.

It was unusual for Dean, who normally kept up a decent attitude. And it wasn’t like him to slip up like that on a hunt. John could admit, things were different now without Sam. John was different.

Not that he’d been a picnic before. He knew that much. But maybe Sam leaving was harder than John cared to admit.

After he and Dean were showered up, John brought them back some takeout and beers. He gave Dean one, but before he turned on the TV, he hesitated. A twinge of sorry was at the tip of his tongue.

Instead, he asked, “What’s wrong, Dean?”

His son opened his mouth, a denial ready to fire.

“Don’t lie to me, son,” John said. “Just…tell me what happened today.”

It took a while to pry it out of him. He was resistant, and John expected that.

Dean, for his part, was trying to figure out what to say. How to say it.

Just then, he also remembered something Sam told him when he was only in sixth grade.

“Dean, did you know this? Human souls are really complex, and they’re unique too. We learned about it today in school.”

“Good for you, Super Geek.”

“They found out that connected souls subconsciously try to find each other. So when you start hearing someone’s thoughts, it’s because the souls are trying to bond together, like molecules.”

Like molecules, huh?

Speaking of, Dean hadn’t heard your thoughts since that terrifying moment when he felt you…

For a moment, he’d thought you’d….

Though deep down, he knew you weren’t gone. He knew the bond was there, like an idle TV. Either you lived really close to this motel, or this HBO connection was getting a wider bandwidth.

“Dean?” John pressed.

Dean looked up, breaking from his thoughts. John didn’t often ask him to open up. But Dean figured if anyone would understand, it would probably be his dad.

He was forced to contemplate the question that had been scaring him all day.

Did he want the same soul bond his parents had, even if it nearly killed John after she died?

“…Dad, how did you and Mom meet?”

The question took John by surprise…but maybe it shouldn’t have. His perceptive gaze washed over Dean.

“It was after I came back from Vietnam,” John said eventually. “We ran into each other by the old movie theater.”

Dean smiled. “Aw, both of you were in line for Jaws?”

A resigned smile quirked at John’s lips. “That was ’75, genius. And no, we…literally ran into each other. Full speed. I went to help her up, but she was already doing it herself. Plus picking up everything that fell outta her bag. All I could do was stare at her like an idiot, ‘cause…I heard her say, God damn it.”

John had been lost in the memory for a moment, but here he looked at Dean.

“But she didn’t say it. She thought it,” he said. “And I knew it was her. She was it for me.”

“And she did too?” Dean asked, somewhat hesitantly.

“No,” John laughed a little. “She took some convincing, if I remember right.”

“What, she couldn’t hear your thoughts?”

“No, she could. But that…connection. It’s different in the beginning,” John said, with a heavy sigh. This was harder to talk about than he thought. For Dean, he would do it. But just this once.

“You don’t have so much control over it. It just kinda…happens.”

“And…how did that work, exactly?” Dean asked.

“Why do you want to know?” John returned. Dean quieted, looking down at his beer.

That was all the confirmation he needed to finally know what was going on. He sighed again.

“Son,” he started, then hesitated. He knew what he was about to say wasn’t completely right, but it was the truth. One day, Dean would understand.

“Son,” he said again. “Unless you’re prepared to hang up your gun, and stop hunting, don’t open that door.”

Dean’s brows knit together, a silent question that he almost didn’t want to ask. John answered it anyway.

“Nobody should be waiting on men like us to come home bloody,” he said.

Dean took those words to heart. He reminded himself that his dad had seen blood and war long before he met Mary. Maybe his dad had more regrets than just not being able to save her.

So the next morning, Dean slid into the Impala’s passenger seat. John drove them away from the college town, out of Vermillion, South Dakota.

Dean felt relieved, and also guilty. Then, the farther they got, he just felt wrong.

Soon enough, the warm tendril of connection in his chest dissipated.

AN: Phew! Okay, one major step closer to you and Dean finally meeting. I definitely drew on some of my own experiences at college here lol.

Read on to: Part 3.

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean x female!reader #dean x female reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x you #john winchester #sam winchester #bobby singer #soulmate au #soulmates #slipped in a winchesters reference #spn #spn fanfic #zepskies #zepskies writes #dean x you

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scribespirare · 11 months

Note

Do you think you could write an a/b/o for omega Miles babysitting Mayday at HQ, and tsundere alpha Miguel doesn't know how to cope? The way you write these two is just *chef's kiss*

Nonnie i could kiss you for this request i love it so so much. i kinda...went a little nuts with it lmao. first its sappy then it gets sad and it ends very horny. its 2k long ajdfkdj;a. i think im gonna write the sex scene later and post it as a full fic.

There are very few things that can stop Miguel O'Hara in his tracks these days. He's been there, seen it all, got the goddamned spider suit to prove it. Surprising him is nigh impossible and he likes it that way.

For some reason, Miles Morales seems to be at the top of the list of things that can get to him though.

Miles, with his big dark eyes and his sneer and his inability to listen to common sense or reason. The Omega superhero who defies every stereotype about his gender. Who smells absolutely amazing and is stunning in action, lithe body built perfectly for his acrobatics.

Miles, who is currently sitting in HQ's control room with Mayday in his lap, his face bright and smiling as she babbles at him. He's got her little hands in each of his own, lifting them one after the other as she stamps her feet.

"I know!" he says in response to her babbling, attention completely on the little girl. "It's crazy, right? Tell me more about it."

Mayday obliges, her babbling raising in both pitch and tempo like she really is going on a diatribe of some kind. She seems to be enjoying having a captive audience and isn't going to let it go to waste.

It's...well, Miguel really and truly has been stopped in his tracks. It's the first Omegean thing he's ever seen from Miles. Normally he's so contrarian and difficult, not to mention eager to jump into danger and equally as capable of actually handling it. You'd think he was an Alpha the way he behaves, small, lithe form be damned.

Seeing him like this, soft and sweet and smiling, his scent bright and nearly floral, is...doing things to Miguel. Bringing up feelings and urges that he's known were there, but which he'd been successfully keeping under lock and key.

Miles suddenly seems to become aware of Miguel's presence, and he looks up. His smile fades a little but it's a smile all the same, and Miguel's pretty sure Miles hasn't smiled at him since...well, everything. It looks good on him.

"Hey, wasn't sure when you were going to be back. Peter asked me to babysit for him though and I figured hanging out here would be better than taking her home with me. Not sure how I would explain that one to my folks."

The idea of someone mistakenly thinking Mayday is Miles’, that the Omega has a child, has been mated and more, makes Miguel’s nostrils flare. He clamps down ruthlessly on the reaction, knowing that if he doesn’t his interest will undoubtedly be noticeable in his scent.

“Just keep it down,” are the words that come off of Miguel’s tongue. They’re better than Do you want a child? or You’d make a good mother or, even worse, I could give you one of your own, if you want.

Miles’ smile turns into a frown and then an unhappy twist. He clicks his tongue, says, “Whatever, man,” and goes back to Mayday. He’s speaking quietly to her now but Miguel can pick up his own name and big meany and assh- wait I can’t say that to you.

Miguel just heads for his central computers, waking them up and logging into the system to check on how everything is running today. But he can’t help the way he watches Miles’ and Mayday’s reflections on the screen. He can’t pick up many details like this but he can still smell them. Happy, pleased Omega, and the young, innocent scent of a child unpresented. Of babe and mother.

Christ, Miguel is going to hell for this.

It’s been about an hour of Miguel pretending to work but actually getting very little done, when Miles speaks up. “Hey, Miguel, you know stuff about kids, right?”

Miguel’s shoulders hunch and he breathes out slowly. Of course he does. He turns, glaring back at Miles. Mayday has been dragging him around the room with her crawling and right now they’re both hanging upside down from the ceiling, Miles sitting cross legged and her on his shoulders.

“Yes,” Miguel says sharply.

Miles’ mouth twists, but for once it doesn’t seem like it’s directed at Miguel. “Sorry, that was kinda insensitive, huh? I was just curious, ya know, about parenthood and all.”

Another bolt of longing shoots through Miguel. It’s part arousal, part wistfulness for his lost family.

You could start again, part of him says. Children. A mate. It’s not too late for you. He’s right there.

“What do you want to know about it?”

Miles shrugs, which causes Mayday to wobble dangerously and laugh delightedly about it. “Just, is it good? Like, hanging out with Mayday is great, but I can’t imagine having one of my own.”

You don’t have to imagine, Miguel thinks, but says, “It’s different, when they’re yours.”

“How so?”

Miguel sighs and holds out his arms to Mayday. Even though she’s halfway across the room she immediately lets out an excited shriek and climbs her way down a protesting Miles’ body. It takes only a minute before she’s dropping into Miguel’s arms and then crawling all over him.

“Kids are work and energy,” Miguel explains. “When they’re someone else’s, you’re happy to give them back after a certain point. When they’re yours, even when you’re annoyed or upset with them, you still know it’s all worth it. You can’t imagine a life without them.”

“Oh,” says Miles. He watches quietly for a moment as Mayday continues her excited quest to make Miguel look as ridiculous as possible, before he too crawls across the ceiling and drops down. Sadly it’s not into Miguel’s arms like Mayday had.

Gingerly, Miles’ takes the little girl back, and she goes willingly enough. “Sorry if that was like, rude or anything. And don’t kill me for saying this but you sound like you make a really good Alpha, mate wise.”

Miles is halfway across the room again before Miguel can reply, like he really is expecting retaliation. Miguel just shakes his head and pretends to go back to his work.

I am a good Alpha he thinks. I could show you. We could have a whole litter of kids. You’d love it. And then inevitably Miguel’s thoughts turn lascivious. He ends up losing himself to a daydream about exactly how he wants to breed Miles (facing each other, his fangs buried in Miles’ throat, Miles’ flexible, coltish legs wrapped around his hips, heels digging in to coax Miguel into fucking him harder) while watching the Omega’s reflection.

He doesn’t come up for air until Peter makes his appearance. The man gives Miguel a quizzical look but is distracted quickly enough by his daughter. He sticks around long enough that Miguel does actually get some work done, and when his voice finally fades away Miguel figures he’s alone.

That is, until Miles clears his throat directly behind him.

Miguel doesn’t jump, but it’s a near thing. He turns and looks down at the Omega in annoyance, raising one eyebrow in a silent question.

Miles looks shifty, transferring his weight from one foot to the other like he’s thinking about running, but he’s got that mulish jut to his chin and a hard glint in his eyes that Miguel recognizes at the stubborn streak that’s lead them into more fights than he’d like to admit.

Is regularly wanting to throttle a teenage Omega better or worse than wanting to fuck him?

“Spit it out, kid,” Miguel eventually snaps.

Miles juts his chin out even further. “I’m not stupid,” he says, which, well he’s just inviting a scathing retort with that. Miguel’s expression must convey this because Miles rallies and goes on quickly, not giving the Alpha a chance to cut in. “I’m not! I saw how you were looking at me today, with Mayday. And then your scent…you were looking at me through the reflection on the computer screen.”

Miguel stiffens all over because fuck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grinds out.

“The hell you don’t! Even Peter smelled it. You’re into me, you smell like you want to jump me.”

There’s one of two ways Miguel can play this; deny it till his dying breath, or agree and pretend it doesn’t matter. His panicked brain picks the latter, because Miles isn’t stupid, and he’s tenacious as hell. He’ll hound Miguel until Miguel gives him an answer the Omega is satisfied with.

“So?” Miguel says.

That makes Miles pause, his eyes flicking back and forth between Miguel’s. He clearly isn’t seeing what he wants to though, brow knitting in confusion. “What do you mean ‘so’? So, you’re horny as hell for me.”

“You’re an Omega and I’m an Alpha,” Miguel explains slowly, like he’s speaking to a child. “It’s biology.” Which of course just ruffles Miles’ feathers and makes him puff up even more.

“That’s bullshit. You’ve never smelled like that before around me,” Miles insists.

Miguel is butting up against almost the exact same decision from before. Does he own up, or does he keep denying it means anything?

With a faint snarl of annoyance at having been put in this situation to begin with, Miguel says, “Most Alphas seeing an unbonded Omega with a young child are going to be affected.” The word horny will absolutely not be crossing his lips. “It sparks an instinct in us.”

Miles narrows his eyes, a faint smirk curling at his mouth. He thinks he’s won. “A breeding instinct,” he accuses.

Miguel turns his gaze skyward, giving a quick prayer to whichever poor saint is watching over him today to give him patience. “Yes, Miles. A breeding instinct.”

“I knew it!”

“Congratulations,” Miguel says dryly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now will you go away so I can do some work in peace?”

And there’s the chin jut again. Stubborn ass Omega. “I’m not done with you yet.”

The corner of Miguel’s lip twitches of up into an involuntarily snarl. “Well I’m done with you, malcriado. Vete.”

“No. I want to know if this was a one off,” Miles demands. “’Cause like, sure seeing an Omega with a kid might work for you, but my theory is that you’re already into me and it just pushed you over the edge. You’re too uptight to let your scent go wild like that unless you’re like, close to losing it.”

How the hell is this kid so damn perceptive? Clearly Miguel’s going to need to work on his defenses if Miles is reading him like a damn book. He sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose with two fingers, trying to figure out how to get out of this.

Well, he’s dug this fucking grave. Time to lie in it.

“Fine, Miles,” he says wearily, dropping his hand and making direct eye contact with the Omega. “Yes, I have more than a passing interest in you as a mate. Seeing you with Mayday made me think about having children with you myself. Are we done with this line of questioning now? Are you finally satisfied?”

Miles smiles slowly, then wrinkles his nose. “Having children with me, huh? That’s an incredibly boring way to talk about breeding. Why so family friendly? Just say you wanna fuck me. And no, by the way, I’m not satisfied yet. You gotta make good on all that before I let it drop.”

Silence reigns as Miguel’s brain just churns through the words, understanding them individually but failing to grasp the big picture.

“Not, like, immediately though!” Miles rushes to add, oblivious to Miguel’s plight. “I’m not ready for kids yet, not to mention my parents would kill me. But we could, you know, practice?” He looks stupidly hopeful, staring up at Miguel with that little smile on his lips, rocking forward on the balls of his feet.

“You…want me to breed you,” Miguel says slowly.

Miles snorts and rolls his eyes. “Well, practice breeding me. But yeah, that’s what I just said didn’t I? Get with it, old man, we’re wasting daylight here.”

Miguel’s never been one to follow orders. But how’s an Alpha supposed to resist?

#asks #requests #flowerfang #a/b/o #suggestive #probably more than just suggestive ngl

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wowowobsessed · 5 months

Text

Dearest Divination

A Severus Snape x Male Professor! Reader :))

I don’t see a lot of Snape x male readers so I decided to make one myself, hope you enjoy!! This is my first story in a few years!! :))

✧ ~ Chapter 1 ~ ✧

You were always great at divination, and it wasn’t considered scamming muggles if it was actually true.

But here you were, getting a letter from the ministry of magic that your practice in London needed to be shut down. “Bloody gits” you muttered to yourself. In what world was your practice an issue? It’s not as if you were revealing anything about the wizarding world. And it’s also not as if any of your clients had enough common sense to realize you were a wizard.

Packing up every decoration was definitely going to be a hassle, but luckily, magic was a thing. You would of course, be sad to let go of your practice, and miss your usual customers. But you’d left them in good spirits with great advice, hopefully.

As your chose to apparate to your flat, your owl sat pecking at the window to your room. You hurriedly put down your bag and rushed to the window. Your owl pushed in angrily, having been waiting for Godric knows how long. “I’m sorry Odin, I was busy packing my things up.” He looked at you as if asking you to explain. Considering the fact that he understood you when you told him who to deliver a letter to, you felt that on some level maybe he understood everything else you would say too.

“The ministry shut me down. I had a feeling that this would happen for a while.” He looked at you apologetically. Only then did you realize that he had had a letter in his beak since you’d let him in. You took it with a thanks and opened it. It was stamped with a Hogwarts seal.

“Dear Mr. y/n l/n,

I’ve received news of your recent unemployment, and would like to offer you a position on my staff.

Unfortunately, Professor Trewlawney has had an accident with a poorly brewed memory potion and is unable to return to Hogwarts as the Professor of Divination.

Therefore, I would like to invite you back to Hogwarts as a replacement for her. Below you will find a drafted contract of what you can expect to sign if you do wish to accept this position.

Best wishes,

Albus Dumbledore”

Great, just great, did the entire wizarding world know of your shutdown? Considering the fact of how much everyone loves to gossip to the point where the daily prophet is nothing but that, you can guess that the fact that you were “a muggle scammer” was one of the headlines this morning.

Rubbing your temples due to your ever growing headache, you chose to leave the letter on your desk and just deal with it tomorrow.

#severus snape #severus snape x reader #severus snape x y/n #severus snape x you #professor snape #snape x reader #snape x y/n #snape x you #snape #x reader #x you #x y/n #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #male reader

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blues824 · 1 year

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I loved your Morticia Reader and I was wondering, could you do a Wednesday Addams Reader with the 1st Years? She rarely smiles (Unless someone’s in pain) with her being incredibly morbid, emotionally reserved and her fascination of the macabre and the dark forces? (I love Wednesday) Bonus if you want to; she has Thing with her (I loved how sassy he was in the show) Kudos!

Reader’s gender isn’t specified here, but request calls for female Reader.

Ace Trappola

He was very intimidated by you. You never smiled unless he got hurt or punished, but never when he was intentionally trying to be funny. Not just that, but you had a walking hand accompanying you everywhere. YOU EVEN KNEW WHAT IT WAS SAYING!!!

You were incredibly smart as well. You knew the scientific names of the freaking plants that they were studying, and you knew a magic that was darker than anything he was familiar with. We’re talking about ‘conjuring spirits’ kind of magic. In fact, the time he saw you conjuring Goody Addams, he audibly screamed.

One time, he had been thrown out of Heartslabyul for the nth time and he decided to go to Ramshackle. However, he stopped because he heard something. It sounded like an instrument, one that was deeper than a violin. He kept walking until he saw you through the window, playing a big version of a violin in the living room.

He just bursted in like he owned the place and asked how the heck you know how to play this oversized violin. You threw a knife so close to his head that it cut a piece of his hair off as it flew by. You didn’t even apologize when you corrected him by saying it was a cello.

Everyone is surprised when you both get together. You both are polar opposites: you actually had common sense. You didn’t even know either. Maybe it was the confidence he had carried himself with, even though it got him into a ton of trouble. Plus, he actually understood sarcasm.

Deuce Spade

He was also intimidated by you, but it was in a good way. He found Thing unsettling, but decided that there was no point in being creeped out and decided to learn how to communicate with him. When you are away, they act like middle school girls and gossip about Deuce’s crush on you.

He was in awe of all the pure knowledge you have. In a short amount of time, you were able to rise to the top of your classes. The teachers loved you, so he decided to go to you for tutoring. He had explained how he was an Honor’s Student because of his promise to his mother, and that hit close to home for you.

It was during one of these study sessions where he wasn’t getting the material for some reason, so you suggested a break. You went into your closet and brought out your cello. Deuce was surprised when you got into position and started playing a sad tune.

Another time, he walked in on you performing some sort of ritual. You were even speaking in a whole other language that he didn’t recognize (you were speaking Latin). However, it didn’t seem to work because you let out a frustrated sigh.

When you both get together, no one (besides Ace) was surprised. You both spent a lot of time together, so it did not come as a shock to anyone. Ace was angry that Deuce was able to rizz you up but he hasn’t been able to rizz anyone up since middle school (sounds like Takemichi from Tokyo Revengers).

Jack Howl

Wasn’t intimidated by you at all. In fact, you both held a mutual respect for one another, since you both were the only ones at NRC with common sense. He did find Thing creepy at first, but eventually got used to him. Most of the time, he is often perched on either your shoulder or Jack’s.

You both were good in the academic aspect. You excelled him in many ways, but he was fine with where he was at. There was no way he would be able to remember every little thing the teacher had said in class, but he was happy for you since you could do it.

During the period where you both were trying to stop Azul, he walked to Ramshackle to try and come up with a plan with you. However, his ears detected the sound of a cello. He continued walking towards your dorm (since that was where the sound was coming from), and was surprised to hear it come directly from inside. He then knocked on the door.

You opened it, and Jack looked inside to see a black cello in the middle of your living room. He complimented your skill and immediately got back to work. You were sort of relieved when he didn’t make a big deal out of it since you did have more pressing matters to focus on.

No one is surprised when you guys get together. In fact, it made sense to everyone. He was the one who helped the most with taking Azul down, so it was only a matter of when he’d ask you out. Sure, you both aren’t very romantic, but you show your love in different ways than what would be considered ‘orthodox’.

Epel Felmier

Was most definitely terrified of you, but tried to act like he wasn’t. He would have to summon so much courage to try and talk to you, only to stutter through each and every one of his sentences. Poor guy doesn’t know when he started to sweat so much. He nearly fainted when he met Thing.

He admires you in an academic aspect because you rose to the top of your class very quickly. You even managed to surpass most of the older students when test scores were released. Later that day, you received an apple in the shape of a skull with a note saying “Good job on the test! -E.F.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was from.

One time, you both agreed to meet up to do some homework. He had been having trouble with a specific problem and figured you would be the best person to go to. When he made it, he heard the sound of a cello coming from inside.

He quietly entered the dorm and hid behind a wall while he listened. Once you finished, he came out of his hiding place while applauding you. You had already known that he was there, but you couldn’t help but feel a smile trying to fight its way onto your face. It never stood a chance against your will to force it down.

I feel like some people were surprised when they found out you both were together, but others weren’t. You both had a temper, but your anger would come out in different ways. You offered him a few different outlets, like mastering an instrument so that he could play alongside you (Vil was totally in favor of this idea, since he thought you played beautifully).

Sebek Zigvolt

He would also act like he wasn’t intimidated by you. It came from a place where he thinks you would do better as one of Malleus’s knights, so he grows scared that Waka-sama might see more value in you than him. Plus, Thing wasn’t helping anything.

You both are instant academic rivals. He always gets frustrated because you always hold yourself in a calm manner and always manage to get top marks while he was stuck in second place. It angered him to no end.

One day, he decides to go and ask you some questions because there was no way that you could beat him in a fencing duel, when he heard a cello coming from inside the rickety dormitory. He had to admit that the player was doing amazingly. He knocked on your door and waited for you to answer.

When you invited him inside, he saw that you were in the process of putting your cello away. So you were the one playing so beautifully? He acted like he didn’t hear any of it whilst he asked you to a duel. You asked if he would want the bout to go until 15 touches, or until someone drew the first blood. He picked the latter.

The next day, at around the same time, he lay on the ground with a cut on his face. You explain that you had been training since you were 5 years old, and therefore had that much more experience than him. However, when you named your price for winning, he blushed. You asked him out. Every onlooker gasped in surprise, and their eyes went wider when the half-fae accepted.

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shuttershocky · 1 year

Text

Thinking about Riddell again.

Aside from the fact that the best character in Mahoyo only showed up in its last chapter, Riddell's fascinating because Nasu's always written about how living as a mage sucks, but Riddell's maybe the first time he directly compared it to something and the comparison he chose was being a child celebrity.

Riddell's both. A powerful mage (who's even the Lord of Botany at the Clock Tower by Case Files) and a star musician going on world tours (possibly even a rock star given that Aoko's a fan of hers that tapes her shows) as a mere teenager, you would think her most outstanding trait would be her pride or haughtiness or her overbearing sense of superiority, but while she does have all those traits, the first thing you actually notice about her is that she's incredibly pathetic and sad.

In her very first scene, she breaks into the Kuonji Mansion on a helicopter and cancels her concert, furious that she wasn't invited to Alice's birthday party. Alice explains that (even if they've known each other since childhood) they are rival mages that should kill each other, and they have in fact tried to in the past. Riddell agrees but immediately brushes it off, forcibly adding herself to the guests. Alice later literally crushes her heart with magic. Riddell responds by heaving blood and stumbling back up, saying "It'll take more than a heart attack to kill me!" to keep participating in the party.

It becomes a running theme in the very short time Mahoyo shows her off. Riddell flaunts her wealth, power (both socially and magically) and fame, but is constantly upended by how pitiful she is. She'll talk up her legion of adoring fans but cancel her concert last minute to crash the birthday party of someone actively trying to murder her, because Alice is probably her only real friend. She talks up her daddy buying a helicopter for her with a snap of her fingers, but it turns out she's the one actually making money for the family with her music career. She doesn't even enjoy music, it just makes money to be a celebrity, money that she's got to earn herself.

There's even bonus scenes that you might miss. When Riddell talks to people over the phone, she's highly animated, bossy, and temperamental like a true diva, but if you choose to see an optional scene and spy on her when she's alone she's incredibly depressed and mutters to herself repeatedly about how she's ruined before putting her diva face back on to rejoin the party.

Even when Riddell's trying to lord it over other people, she can't stop slipping in how desperate she is for any human connection. When she says she'll simply take a helicopter home, she offers a ride to anyone, literally somebody, anybody, even the complete strangers in the mansion, because she's soooo rich and generous. Totally.

And it makes sense. A mage family putting all the responsibility and burden of learning the family secrets, transferring the crests, adding to the legacy, and finally securing an heir to keep it all going has a lot in common with a family pushing their celebrity child star into showbiz, keeping the money rolling in while monopolizing their time and keeping them from forming normal relationships with their peers.

It's especially notable that the magical rule Alice uses to try to kill Riddell changes its killing method depending on the person. Someone who just thinks of money can turn into bills, a baker that loves bread can be taken out via a flour explosion, etc.

Riddell's method of death is a heart attack. Some of the cast think it's because an extraordinary person like her most fears an ordinary peasant's death, but it can also be commentary on the stress and overwork her dual lives will lead her to, or reflective of the crushing emptiness she feels with the life she's got.

Anyway it's insane that a scene-stealer like her showed up only in the last chapter, serving no purpose other than to be hilariously cringe and to act as a hook for a Mahoyo sequel that never happened.

#Mahoyo

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localapparently · 6 months

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/ orv main story ending spoilers , mentions of kdj's suicidal mindset

mindless rambling

my friend who just finished orv asked me why kdj couldn't just split like 2% off of himself into an od avatar and leave that in the train while he joined kimcom, and while my initial reaction was "there's no way he could just do that" I remembered i thought a similar thing when I first read through orv too? and maybe it got explained down the line but I forget things real easy (which is why i'm rereading orv) and so I'm just trying to make sense of it using my existing knowledge

There's this bit in epilogue here:

Sangah's words "protecting the world by dividing himself in half, one becomes the reader, one becomes the character". the first being 51 and the second being 49,

I think there are layers to it. Right after being shaken by the OD ordeal, kdj's mindset that he's to blame for the whole world is reinforced stronger than ever before in his head, because he had just witnessed living proof of it. And that's not something he can overcome just because sp and 999 gang took od away to take care of him. Even then, kdj was confused why they weren't angry.

There's also the persisting mindset kdj has that he's twsa's reader and not a proper part of kimcom, and he probably felt like he should bear the burden of consciously continuing to read the world until the very end. He managed to see himself as part of kimcom over the course of the story but od's appearance sort of undoes all that progress he's ever made, and its sad but its pretty common for self hate mindsets to spiral like that,

He probably felt like he deserved it, yet him wanting that extra 2% difference to prove he knew and loved kimcom more than his avatar. Him regretting splitting in half right after the avatar left and he saw them all walking away. He knows what he wants and in the end he can't bring himself to think that he deserves it

And honestly I don't really know why the way singshong writes kdj's self hate and suicidal tendencies get me so badly, I mean I do, kind of, the feeling is there, but it's incredible how long the set up was and how real it feels when you see it all go downhill.

i think od reveal truly truly fucked up kdj to no repair. like if you read the passages, its fucking heartbreaking.

"My own tragedy couldn't even compare to their pain. The sin of creating an even bigger tragedy because of my own should not be forgiven." "Something was wrong. A blade… I, I needed to find a blade."

and the thing that gets to me is how easily anyone who has had self loathing thoughts can empathise with him. The want to disappear for inconveniencing things that would've been perfectly fine and pretty and happy had you not come into contact with it, the idea that you are a disgusting monster and its easier to shut yourself off than do any more damage. and its Fine if youre in pain because They will be happy and theyll will be happier without you.

It fascinates me how a portion of readers of orv who self blame or self doubt love kdj so much, because the act of loving him is also some form of self reassurance that they can be loved as well, because if someone like kdj can be forgiven, then surely they can, for all their small or big mistakes that are definitely not on the scale of plunging the universe into a space apocalypse. or something.

but i might be assuming so. don't take my word for any of this.

tldr he doesnt split out a small avatar to take the place of od because he thinks he deserves it. which is quite obvious if you take a look at the big picture, and i dont really know why i rambled so long. maybe ill reread orv and theres gona be a small bit that's like "ohh well actually if it was too small of a percentage that became od the universe wont hold up" and i will be like Ah yes i just missed that part. and this ramble will be void. uhh yes. have a nice day

#orv #orv spoilers #kim dokja #3am rambles

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tonythr · 7 months

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Sometimes you are so sad you turn into a game construct, and that's ok

Part of the reason I love Hollow Knight is that you never know when a certain phenomenon is a part of the game's actual lore or simply a gameplay convenience, but most of the time it's up to you to decide anyway. Like, yeah, I know that looking too much into what should be just a game mechanic and/or a simple animation effect makes you more of a clown than a lore master, but, honestly, at this point the entire fandom wears rainbow wigs and squeaky red noses in order to forget about the pain of no Silksong, so no one has the right to stop me from having fun with some observations I made and how they might be intentional lore pieces. So yeah, what I'm trying to say is that this theory might be a bit of a stretch, but I think it's neat, so I'm gonna post it anyway.

Now, here's the question: what do you think these two have in common?

Both are very sad because they lost someone who was close to them.

2. Both give the Knight a Mask Shard when they die.

My theory here is that these two things are connected.

Now, Mask Shards are weird, lore-wise. The locations where they are found don't always... make much sense. Like ok, aside from the two that I mentioned above, we have ones that are found on top of ancient black statues — this implies that those shards are connected to (and probably were made by) the Ancient Civilisation.

We also have some shards that we get from various NPCs (Sly, Bretta, Seer) — those also make sense, since there's nothing wrong with those weird bugs possessing some ancient artifacts. But then we have Mask Shards that just kinda... float there.

No ancient pedestals. No reason to suggest someone actually owned them. No reason for them to be there aside from the game wanting to reward the player for something.

This is also true for some of the Vessel Fragments.

Although the fountain one is exceptional. The fragment is actually a part of the Pale King's statue, but it detaches once the needed amount of geo is reached. It looks like this statue actually 'gives' it to the Knight once it puts enough geo in the fountain. It could be something that has to do with PK's magic, or with the whole 'sacrifice' theme that's going on with him. Anyway, it's not hard to come up with an explanation for how that one works. What is more interesting is how these shards and fragments are created.

Because apparently this mf can just materialize them out of thin air.

Now, I KNOW this is probably just a nice animation to emphasize how cool of an award a mask shard is, but it also wouldn't be much of a stretch to say that what happens here is Grubfather actually manipulating Soul to create this shard for the Knight. I mean, Grubs do possess some sort of 'holy strength' that was never properly explained to us (that's why I'm hoping to see some grubs in Silksong), and one of the two charms created from their power is something that straight-up gives the Knight extra Soul. If we don't count the Shaman charms, which were used only to extract and use Soul more efficiently, the only other charm that does that is Kingsoul, the embodiment of the union between two Pale Beings. So yeah, the Grubs are totally OP, and Grubfather probably does create a Mask Shard out of Soul here.

Which only proves the fact that both Mask Shards and Vessel Fragments are made out of Soul. I mean, come on, the Knight literally consumes them just like it consumes each of the spells and the Soul of its enemies, AND it takes Soul to restore broken masks. I think it's safe to assume that those ancient masks that the Knight is using to strengthen its shell are made out of Soul, or at least some material that is heavily tied to Soul in some way.

Another fact is that those masks and vessels have big connections to the Ancient Civilisation. Aside from the obvious things like the fragment/shard statues that I mentioned earlier having clear similarities to the Soul totems, there's this whole thing with the engravings on those masks and vessels having a bunch of connections with magical secrets of the Ancient Civilisation...

What I'm getting at here is that the bugs of the Ancient Civilisation probably knew the secrets of manipulating Soul and used those secrets to create masks (for protection) and Soul Vessels (for containing Soul), as well as Soul Totems. It means there is a way a Mask can be created out of Soul, aside from what we see the Knight do when it heals (which is an interesting process, btw - when a mask breaks, the Knight can restore it using Soul, but it can't create new masks to have infinite HP, so the masks it collects must have unique properties that prevent them from being completely destroyed and instead allow them to be recovered after breaking). And maybe that process was already shown to us.

Ok, now I'm actually talking about my theory again. See, the reason I think there's more to these two moments than just a simple reward being given to us by the game is because there's some overlapping philosophical (symbolical?) motifs that connect Brooding Mawlek and Grey Mourner AND possibly give us a glimpse into the secrets of Soul discovered by the Ancient Civilisation. I'm talking about what Soul itself might represent as a sorta metaphysical concept (I don't know how to say that properly... Just bear with me pls).

In the world of Hollow Knight, there are many philosophical concepts that give depth to the nature of various in-world phenomenons. For example, the Void is heavily tied to regrets, perhaps dark memories that keep us from moving forward. That's why it makes sense that, ultimately, Pale King faced his demise at the hands of the Void - he sacrificed thousands of his own children in order to save Hallownest and failed anyway, so there is no way he could avoid (pun intended) being overwhelmed by his regrets about this whole thing.

The Soul is the power that contrasts the Void.

It's implied by Jiji that, when the Knight leaves behind its Shade, it starts to drain *hope* from it.

This line was probably left there to explain this game mechanic:

When the Knight dies, it can no longer fill its Soul meter to the full, until it finds and defeats its Shade. This implies that Soul represents *hope* in contrast to the Void representing regrets.

If we accept this assumption, we can see that it makes sense how:

The White Palace is shown as a beautiful, calm, hopeful place despite it being filled with thorns and sawblades (that might or might not be a metaphor for the PK's pain of trying to hide his mistakes and regrets).

The shamans' dying thoughts are often their last hopes of being free, being heard etc.

The Soul is literally what gives the bugs' bodies the energy to move.

I feel soulless when I wake up at 7 a.m.

All things considered, it's easy to see how Soul is something that might represent such things as hope, motivation, faith - all those feelings that make a person feel whole.

And when the fate forces someone into situations where those things are lost, their inner self breaks. When something separates us from our loved ones for a whole eternity, leaving us as lonely, empty shells of our former selves, our soul hardens.

We already know that masks in this game directly correspond to the person's self, their ability to define themselves as who they are. A mask is literally the core of the person's mind.

And when a person breaks, when their hope becomes eternal sadness, when the essence that animates their body becomes a solid rock, their mind shatters, leaving only a single shard of what should have been a whole mask.

Perhaps, something like that also happened to the bugs of the Ancient Civilisation? Or maybe they found a way to control that sadness, just like they found a way to manipulate the power of regrets? They look like a bunch of cool goth bugs, so I wouldn't be surprised if that was their thing.

TL;DR: ancient masks that the Knight uses are made out of Soul, and Soul is a power that represents hope. When a person experiences a feeling of strong loneliness and hopelessness, their mind literally breaks, and their Soul literally hardens, resulting in the creation of Mask Shards. The bugs of the Ancient Civilisation might have known this.

Kinda edgy.

I like it.

#hollow knight #hollow knight theory #hollow knight lore #silksong #grey mourner #brooding mawlek #grubfather #mysterious ze'mer #hollow knight ancient civilization #hollow knight masks lore

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