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rawbins-undertale-blog · 3 years

Note

This is a slight TW question, so feel no obligation to answer:

How would horrortale Sans react to an S/O with an eating disorder?

TW for eating disorder(s) (nearly only ARFID is spoken about, anorexia is mentioned)

If I missed any tags you think I should've included, please tell me.

This may sound a bit strange, but I’ve actually been wanting to write something for this, specifically because I suffer from an eating disorder. I’m not comfortable writing anything with an eating disorder (or any disorder in general) I personally don’t have, mostly because I don’t have the time to give it the proper research it deserves, so I’ll be writing about a lesser known eating disorder, that being ARFID. Let me explain it so people who don’t know what it is will, uh, know what it is lol

ARFID - also commonly called “Selective Eating Disorder” - stands for Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder. A lot of people with it are characterised as being “picky eaters”, but it goes to a point where it’s seriously unhealthy and crosses a line that makes it into something more serious. It has to do with sensory processing issues, rather than self-image issues (though self-image issues could also play a part in it I'm pretty sure, but it’s not the main “motivation”). Most people with ARFID actually wish they could go up in weight, but can’t because they can’t make themselves eat. I, for one, desperately wish I could just eat like a normal person, both because it’s very… not convenient to only have around 20 or less meals I can eat (and that list is slimming down as I grow tired of my safe foods*) and also I’m skinny enough to match Papyrus in looks, which isn’t very confidence-inspiring when you’re supposed to be a human and not a sentient magical skeleton, believe it or not. Whereas a person without ARFID could eat most things, including things they don’t really enjoy eating, somebody with ARFID might not be physically able to. For example, I literally throw up food that I don’t like (and I’ve gagged while eating food I do like due to seeing somebody eat something I don’t like and/or just smelling other food nearby). When I'm to try a new food, I have on more than one occasion gotten anxiety attacks. That’s how bad it can be.

*a "safe food" is food you know you can eat without panicking/throwing up/getting triggered in one way or another

I’ll be basing these HCs off of myself, so keep that in mind. You’re free to point out misinformation (and I, in fact, encourage you to point it out if I somehow got something wrong) but I ask that you stay respectful and don’t make fun of this. I doubt it would happen, but this topic means a lot to me and is really serious. So yeah please don’t be rude or invalidate people. Anyways onto the headcanons (which aren’t in the usual format, sorry if that bothers you)

Dusk (HT Sans) wouldn’t really understand. He’s able to eat pretty much anything (not like he had much of a choice for a while) and food is important… But he’ll try to understand. Especially because he can accommodate you. He’ll be fine eating the same meals, however “boring” they are, over and over because like I said: not a picky eater. Any food is good in his book. So long as you’re not restricting him and his food intake and so long as you aren’t dying from starvation and/or malnutrition, you’re free to do whatever.

It does annoy him when you go to social gatherings and you can’t eat the food because it’s not one of your safe foods. He’s not going to let you just starve yourself when there’s perfectly fine food just waiting for you. Not gonna lie, he’s pretty insensitive the first time this happens. Basically, he’ll pull you over when he notices you’re not eating anything and try to convince you to eat. Starts out really gentle and encouraging, but when you don’t budge he becomes increasingly agitated and insistent until he hisses that you’re making a fuss over nothing. Needless to say, you aren’t thrilled and it starts a pretty serious argument that probably ends with you either leaving, starting to cry or blowing up at him. He feels bad when it’s all said and done and apologises, because he realises after some thought that he wasn’t being helpful and he decided to do more research again. Even if he forgot it all like he did the first time he tried researching ARFID, it would have been worth a shot. After that, he’ll instead pack food with him for you whenever you go somewhere. It doesn’t matter if it’s “socially acceptable”, because like I said, you’re not starving if he’s got something to do with it.

He’ll also, after coming around to realise the best he can do to help you isn’t trying to push you out of your comfort zone forcefully, try to make sure there’s always at least one of your safe foods available. Don’t get me wrong though, he’ll still encourage you to expand on your list of safe foods. He’s got memory issues so he sometimes forgets, which he feels really bad about, but he has multiple alarms set to make sure you eat properly for the most part. (He’s got an alarm for nearly every minute of the day and he has his calendar full of things as mundane as “make sure s/o eats” and “do laundry”, by the way.) I have a tendency to skip lunch because I simply don’t like food, but he’d put a stop to that lol

To summarize, the whole thing with you having an ED starts off with the two of you having a rocky start before Dusk comes around to be really good at handling it.

Anyways sorry if you meant an ED like anorexia. I know most people write about things like that, but like I said: I’m not really up for writing things that I have to pour hours of research into to make sure I portray it respectfully and accurately because I don’t have that time or patience. (Or attention span, tbh.) Also, I literally hadn’t heard of ARFID for like… the majority of my life, I’ve only known it’s a “thing” for like. A few months. I really thought I was the only one who was so picky with my food and it made me feel alone and isolated (ESPECIALLY after I went to a "specialist" (not sure if she was actually a specialist anymore because her technique to get me to eat was to give my a small glass that I'd pour sauce into to try it every time it was served which obviously didn't work lmao) to help me when I was like six and she said she’d “never seen somebody this bad” before not giving me a diagnosis (as far as I know)), so if anybody with undiagnosed ARFID is reading this:

you're not alone. I know it’s difficult to deal with this - it can be humiliating and embarrassing and horrible and terrible in so many ways - but you can do it. It’s so hard, so fucking hard to step out of your comfort zone and try to expand on your list of safe foods, but you can do it. I believe in you. You aren’t alone and you can learn to have a healthier diet, please just try. I’ll be honest in that you’re probably never going to completely overcome this, ARFID is something that likely stays with you forever, but you can make it into a smaller problem. You can turn it into something so much smaller and inconsequential that you won't encounter any more embarrassing situations where you can't eat what you're given. To a point where you won't have to use the excuses "I already ate", "I'm not hungry", etc anymore. It’ll take time and patience, but you can do it. Don’t give up, okay? <3

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stopeatingwhales · 3 years

Text

vinyl searching (pt. 2) x graham coxon

here’s the second part, hope you guys like it! there’s something about 1999 graham that i just love so much, and i know he was struggling during this time so i wanted to write about caring for him because he clearly needed it during this time.

Pairing: 1999! graham coxon x reader

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 3.166

part one

Requested by anon x

༉‧₊˚✧

Me and Graham decided on meeting in a small bar on the same road, a couple hours later in the evening. Once my shift was over, I had scurred off to my little flat in order to put together an outfit that was appropriate. I didn’t want to wear something that was too overtly sexual - hell, I wouldn’t even have the courage to be able to wear something like that - so I decided upon wearing an oversized t-shirt and baggy jeans. Very 90s. However, me meeting up with Graham was probably going to be more for him than it was for me - although I was so happy that me and him finally were able to take our ‘friendship’ somewhere outside of the small record shop that he sees all my life in, it was very evident that he was in need of someone to be there for him. Now, understanding his demeanor and overall attitude to things from the multiple times that we had conversated, I had hoped to be the one that he needed. Although there was many time I could’ve attempted such a gathering previously, you never know when would be the right moment to chip in and attempt to portray the care that you have stored internally for that significant person, and how they would react to that. For Graham it was a much more awkward situation; the only times of our communication were technically only professional, from a worker providing help and service to a customer. That was how esoteric we were to one another - practically known strangers. If I had come across Graham in a supermarket and he had noticed me, chances are that we wouldn’t interact, the only communication we would be able to branch out to one another being a simple ‘Oh hi! You alright?’. You had to build a sort of relationship with someone over a period of time in order to be able to do something like I did, and that is minusing the amount of nerves you'd have, as well as the courage you’d have to give yourself.

After I had finished with my constant worrying about how this meet-up was going to turn out, I left the house to go to the bar. The walk there felt as if I had been repeating the same events that had occurred during the day, just at a different moment in time. Hardly anybody was in the streets, which was quite ordinary at this hour of day, though it always seemed as if nobody left their homes. As I walked past countless convenience stores, hairdressers and fast-food places, which proved to show there was residency above them from the brick wall built on top, contrasted against windows placed as an outlook to life, very ironically used as to convey that nobody was ever leaving their homes, it proved to me just how mundane and repetitive life had become. The distance apart between each sheet of glass to the one adjacent to it being monochrome. Constant. Unchanging. Almost how all of our lives have been built to follow a system of continuous, resolute living, perpetually ignoring how it forces our lives, that have so much undermined potential, to be wasted, to the point we are simply dependent on enjoying life as we admire it. From a window in our bedroom, to which it becomes boring - as all you are ‘admiring’ is the same sight, every single time. And though this way of living may not be satisfactory, or enjoyable in the slightest, protesting against it would not do anything. Strikes from work would not do anything; you still need to live, and to live you need to earn money, money earned from working. It’s a ceaseless cycle which destroys the mere idea of a dream, aspiration, or motivation to carry on. In turn, what is received is the attractiveness of sadness, distress, and melancholy. You cannot shame those for being addicted to something harmful; if there is no point created for their lives except to be a little pawn on the chessboard of this planet, to take a risk and rebel against it is all you can do - though it would only put you in a situation which can cause more harm than good to yourself.

Once I had arrived at the bar, I decided to wait by the entrance so there would not cause confusion for Graham as to whether I was inside the building or not. I had noticed the skies begin to significantly darken in their calming shades of blue, instigating the advent of the evening to commence, however it was not dark enough to see sparkles in the empyrean yet. Though it was beautiful to stare at the single-coloured canvas, questioning the mere idea as to how it had formed such a shade of peace, but also existentially questioning how things come to be. Nevertheless, my admiration for the skies was quickly interrupted. “Hi y/n.”

Shifting my head into alignment with his, I had been greeted by the sight of Graham, facial expression clearly evident of nervousness, though it was attempted to be masked from a small smile curving on the corner of his lip. I noticed he was still in the same clothing as he had been in our previous encounter at the record shop earlier in the day, which caused a grin to paint itself on my facial expression. “Hi Graham,” I chriped, connecting eyes with him for a second, widening my smile that was already plastered on my face. “Let’s go inside.”

Inside the bar was nothing much I hadn’t expected; smoke surrounding the atmosphere from cigarettes, and due to the time being early, the place wasn’t as crowded, but you’d assume it to be from the clouds of smoke that welcomed you once you pushed the door open - you could hardly see the lengthy oak wood table separating you from the myriad amount of drinks that could be supplied to you by a simple asking. Ushering over to the nearest booth available, me and Graham sat opposite each other. The booths were always much more comfortable to sit and relax in, the cushioning of the sofa was almost that of a pillow; it was so cozy it was hard not to fall asleep on them. It was a much better choice of seating rather than the tall timber stools attached to the bar. I never found it appealing to sit there and have a chat with someone; it felt as if my privacy had been snatched away with ears surrounding every place my eyes could land upon. It's a much more peaceful atmosphere in a booth, which I had assumed would be a preferable place for Graham, shown from his quiet demeanour. His quietness was something that engaged me so deeply into him as a person - he wasn’t the type to rush to the bar, get drunk, and go off with the first person he had seen, who he hadn’t properly connected with or perhaps spoken to at all. He was much more down to earth, potentially from the amount of fame he had gained over the past couple years; it makes those yearn for silence, and in turn changes their perspectives and outlooks on simple things like outings with friends, for some may avoid them at all costs out of anxiety and fear of being noticed. You’d think that’s the absolute of their desires, being famous, stealing the hearts of so many, but it becomes so much more than that. The press picking out every ‘flaw’ you have or things that you do, the crowds of youngsters dying to get an autograph as if their lives depend on it, the paparazzi perpetually flicking their cameras only because you trotted on the same street to go to the same shop that every normal person goes to… The amount of eyes constantly on you gets overwhelming. I empathised with those who turned to drugs and alcohol to escape horrible feelings like these. Just like Graham.

“Do you want me to get you anything?” I asked Graham sweetly, my smile still on my face.

“Yeah sure, I’ll have a beer.” He responded, our eyes glued to one another's which made me notice the eyebags that had drooped onto the top of his cheeks; it was very evident that he had attempted to nap before meeting me, which made my heart swell out of pity for him - it was obvious he was struggling to even sleep these days.

I nodded before heading to the bar and ordering our drinks. Waiting for our drinks at the bar gave me time to think over everything that was currently happening. It felt as if my entire day had vanished to this one moment where I had unexpectedly landed myself ordering beverages at a bar with the one and only Graham Coxon. It was a wonder to think about how he was feeling at this current moment. He didn't seem as if he was doing well at the moment, he always seemed so exhausted, and his social skills had become very poor over a couple of weeks. It went from him being very calm and candid in our short encounters, slyly recommending each other music with subtle hints of our liking toward each other, to him forming a much more apparent stutter in comparison to the one he already had, as well as being unable to connect eyes with me for a interminable period of time - it was evident that things were progressively getting worse for him, though I wasn’t going to force him into speaking about anything. I just wanted him to be aware that he had at least a friend there for him, potentially that being the girl that he would always see at his local record store.

Walking over back to the booth, I handed him his pint of beer. “Thank you,” he mustered, almost instantly taking a sip from it before noticing the drink I had bought for myself. “Orange juice?”

I laughed slightly at his shocked reaction as I lit myself a cigarette and took a hit from it, him definitely not expecting that of all drinks. “I don’t really like to drink, it never makes me feel that good.”

“But you smoke?” He questioned, a confused expression plastered on his face, paired with a grin.

“Smoking helps with stress, alcohol makes you drunk and gives you hangovers which simply ruin your day,” I answered back, taking a sip from my drink. “Also orange juice is literally the best juice, alcohol tastes like shit you know.”

A small chuckle escaped out of Graham’s throat, causing my eyes to land back onto him again. I gained the perception that he felt somewhat better about actually speaking with someone, which made me feel so touched and taken aback; I had genuinely felt my heart skip a beat out of sadness and yearning for him. He genuinely deserved better than what was going on with him mentally and physically, and the fact that he couldn’t even celebrate the release of his band’s 6th album was paining - he couldn’t attend a lot of the sessions, not out of detest towards any of his band members, but because he mentally couldn’t bring himself to. He was isolating himself without realising, or he may have realised, but couldn’t do anything to stop it. “I must agree on that… But orange juice is too sweet,” He replied, scoffing. “It’s definitely not that much better than a pint of beer, love.”

Shaking my head out of offense towards his last remark, I inhaled my cigarette once again before exposing the smoke from my lungs. Diverting my stare to the ashtray in the middle of the booth, I examined the built-up ash on the tip from the roll of tobacco crumble off from a single flick of the wrapped up paper. “Anyways, how are you?” I asked him, simultaneously offering him a cigarette whilst doing so to avoid any awkwardness.

After taking a cigarette from the packet I owned, then lighting it, he answered. “I’m alright. What about you?”

“Apart from being offended by you saying orange juice is gross, I’m alright too,” I joked, earning another laugh from Graham. “You seem tired.”

Sighing slightly, I watched him scan the room before answering. “Yeah, I am. What gave that away?”

“Your eye bags, you look like you haven’t slept,” I responded, hoping that what was leaving my mouth wouldn’t come across as offensive in any way. “Not in a rude way, though.”

“In all honesty, I haven’t really been able to sleep recently. Not a clue why.” He replied, taking a hit from his cigarette before copying my actions from earlier and erasing the gathered dust onto the ashtray.

“Oh, I understand that,” I said, taking a long drag of the cancer stick before replying. “Same thing happens to me when I’m stressed.”

As the night went on, we spoke about all sorts of things, trying to get to know one another much more as we were so intrigued by each other’s presence. Over time, he opened up much more, his poise changing from being a quiet, dismal, bereaved person, isolated from society, to one that seemed as if he was enjoying himself by hanging out with a friend. Seeing a beam constantly illustrated on his face made me realise this outing meant more than just ‘meeting a friend’. It was leaving the house for the first time in ages, to simply have a good time with someone. He was gentrifying the bare human emotions that he had forgotten were calloused out of anger inside himself. The atmosphere is much different when we’re separated by the till in the record store, the only conversations we could tend to have surrounding music or the weather that day. I felt so much more connected to Graham in this given moment, and knowing that he was gaining pleasure from this made me feel so much happier. Finally, he seemed content, relaxed, and much more aware of his surroundings, not caught up entirely by his mind and the evilness that he would be manipulated by. It was as if from this simple meet-up, he had realised that there was so much more to life than staying at home, pent up with his own thoughts; to his dismay. And though it can be extremely difficult to overcome the hurdles of not believing everything your brain implements to your mind, the important part was that he was making progress. By merely speaking with another person, about topics completely contrasting the negativity resident in his brain, it takes his mind off of things, and would allow the realisation that he is able to overcome these struggles, with the right support.

We hadn’t realised just how long we had been conversing for, until the room began pouring with young adults ready to enjoy a night with their friends. A quick glance at the clock gave the hour away; it was nearing midnight. The time was hardly wasted, we had both created a friendship and connection with one another which bloomed like roses during the spring seasons. Absolutely beautiful. I knew that what we had formed with each other would last for at least a significant amount of time, and I definitely hoped that it would. “Let’s get going, it’s getting a bit crowded right now.” I said, getting up from my seat - Graham nodding along and following me out.

There was a distinctive change in temperature inside the bar in comparison to the streets. The breeze was more prominent, with the skies now pitch black accompanied with the twinkle of the stars and the picturesque glow of the moon. We both began walking to the end of the street, having no idea what was about to occur, going along with it as if there was nothing else in the world except us two, as if it was just ours, and that nothing else mattered at all. This shared moment between us was the only thing able to plague our minds, for everything else that crossed our minds seemed to be insignificant, with no importance to our lives from here on, no matter how much it had afflicted our minds from apprehension hours prior to this moment. Oh, the vulnerable silence shared between us. How much importance it held towards aiding our minds, providing a certain mental clarity that was simply unheard of, as if a certain point of synchronicity in time was exposed between us, forming it as though, as banal as life is day-to-day was always, there was euphoria. Subconsciously, we were both communicating with each other in a sort of telepathy that was so rare in newly flourished relationships like ours. It was as if I had always been close with Graham, as if he was always a cogent figure in my life, that today was only just another catch-up session after not being able to talk with one another for a significant period of time. We both enjoyed ourselves, and there was no need to say anything about it. It felt as though if one of us spoke, it would erase all the memories of the occasion shared in the bar previously. Nothing could explain the elation my body was feeling at this time; from life seeming so meaningless and dull, experiencing something like this amount of joy came as such a shock to my body - it felt as if I had been drugged with so much alcohol that I was witnessing junctures that were only fragments of my imagination.

Stopping our slow pace at the end of the road, I turned my body to face Graham’s, him copying the same actions as me. Briefly, I stared lovingly into his eyes, a smile perched on my lips, him reciprocating with a beam, purely out of content, not mannerisms. Turning my head to stare at his hands, which awkwardly embraced one another, I mustered enough courage to form an embrace with both my palms - him slightly taken aback at first, to which he quickly went along with the moment. His hands were soft, delicate, and held warmth interlocked with mine. We simply stood there, hands laced together, inhaling the brisk air whilst slow waves of air gushed between us. Nothing could get more perfect than this. It was evident that between us, it was definitely more than a simple friendship, and it was obvious that both participants were not objecting against such passion to be compromised into something more. The action of holding his hand gave the notion that he was not alone in everything that he was undergoing; it was there for reassurance, as if it was me indirectly saying, I know you’re struggling, you don’t have to tell me, and I can tell you seem lonely, but I’m here for you. And I won’t ever leave, or let go.

“See you soon, Graham.”

#graham coxon x reader #blur band #britpop #nineties #imagines #my writing #fluff #graham coxon #blur #fanfic #band imagines #90s

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spicynamericano · 3 years

Text

Perception. - mk lee

sypnosis: you meet a stranger in the park, who helps you prepare for your interview with renowned author, mark lee.

word count: 2.1k

genre: fluff, strangers to friends!au, author!mark x reporter!reader

a/n: i impulsively wrote this in the wee hours of the morning because i can't stop thinking about mark lee and his poems! btw, this is my first time posting an au on this platform, but i do have ongoing twitter fics (written in eng/fil)!

I had just finished my late night shift at the office and was on my way home from work. Being a field reporter is not an easy job. I have to work my butt off to always stay up to date on the latest news and make sure to grab even the rarest exclusives.

I have to travel to basically anywhere, just to gather the most accurate information for the daily primetime news. And even if work is done for the day, I would usually go overtime to make sure no single detail is left out for tomorrow’s reports.

My workplace isn’t that far from home, or what I call home now. Moving into my elder sister’s old apartment was not a hassle. It was actually quite a blessing since I always used to stay over whenever we visited the city. I really thank the heavens that her place was near my workplace. Imagine the struggle of moving in and out from scratch. Actually, I wouldn’t even dare to imagine.

I would usually ride my bike to and from the office, but since I was running a bit late earlier in the morning, I decided to take the bus. Convenience at its finest. But it’s late now. A fifteen minute walk back home won’t hurt, right? Besides, I needed a breather. A walk in the nearby park would suffice.

It’s midnight and of course, the park is empty. Although Seoul is alive 24/7, I really like how some areas still have that laid-back vibe. I walk to the swings and place my bag on the ground. I do wish someone would push me right now. I just wanna be free from all the hectic stuff I’ve been doing lately.

But no, the quick rest I thought of didn’t stop me from going over tomorrow’s duties. I scan my little, brown notepad and check the work I have yet to accomplish. I mostly finished them before I got off work, but there is one more that I needed to do for tomorrow: interview Mr. Mark Lee, the author of the best-selling Late Night Scribbles.

It’s a collection of poems and prose he’s written over the course of five years during his travels to different cities as a renowned travel writer. His travel reviews and recommendations were something I always looked forward to reading. Maybe someday I could go on a stress-free holiday trip thanks to his advice.

I have read his book. For someone who’s trained into more technical writing like me, I could still clearly resonate with most of the poems he’s written. Not too shallow, not too deep. Though you do need to have a sense of literature in order to understand more of his deeper works. He isn’t famous for nothing.

What appalled me though is that he never showed his face to anyone, not even once. Some say he’s actually the main rapper of the world-renowned boy group NCT, since they bear the same name. I think otherwise. Well, it could be, though. Rappers do make their own lines and tell their own stories.

But I don’t think that Mark Lee would be the same person I’d be interviewing tomorrow. It’s weird because I won’t be actually meeting him face to face. He said he’d rather converse through email. Works for me since I don’t have to travel tomorrow. Thank God.

Well, let me tell you a secret. The reason I don’t think author Mark Lee is singer Mark Lee is because singer Mark Lee is actually my childhood best friend. Crazy, huh? I used to live in Vancouver when I was young until my family and I moved back to Korea during my teen years.

I don’t think he remembers me, though. But I do remember him. Our moms were practically best friends. I couldn’t say the same to us, only if he still actually remembers me.

I stretch my arms up high and bend it side to side. God, I need a massage asap. I was about to pick up my bag when a basketball rolled over and hit the tip of my loafers. A man dressed in black waves from the court, signaling to toss the ball to his direction.

I would toss it if I could but I walk over instead. Blame my poor strength and reflexes. And I obviously do not want to embarrass myself. A rough day’s a rough day. I don’t want an addition.

“Uhm, are you looking for this?” I ask the guy, tossing the ball mid-air.

“Yes, thank you…” he pauses. “uh…”

“Oh, it’s (y/n).” I introduced myself, “And you are?”

“Minhyung.”

“Well, you’re welcome, Minhyung. Good luck with your basketball practice!” I gave him a nod before finally turning back to go home.

“Wait!” he calls out. “Do you maybe wanna have a cup of coffee? There’s a nearby convenience store still open. I figured you might need it.”

Was it that obvious? I can’t imagine how stressed I look right now! He has probably seen the dark circles under my eyes. Gross.

I finally turn around and give him a smile, “You know, maybe I do need it. Let’s go?”

This man and I walk to the nearby convenience store just a few meters away from the court. It’s midnight and not many people are here. Well, just exactly like how I want it. The park can actually become full, even until 10 pm. But I guess these people also need some shut-eye. I’m actually surprised this man right here still has some energy left.

I wait outside and sit at the nearest gazebo while he buys instant coffee for the both of us. He arrives with three in hand. Does he like coffee that much?

“You’re really gonna drink two?” I ask him curiously.

“It’s actually for you,” he says as he hands me one of the cups. “I feel like you’re going to be staying up late tonight.”

Well, he’s right. I am gonna be staying up late. I still need to prepare questions for tomorrow’s, or later, rather, interview. I really won’t be getting some sleep tonight. I also need to do research on him too.

“Well, I do have an interview for tomorrow. I still need to prepare as it’s a very important one.”

“With whom, may I ask?”

“Mark Lee, the author. Not the singer.”

“Oh,” he lets out a soft sigh that can be heard, even through his mask. Is he offended that I don’t think author Mark Lee and singer Mark Lee are the same?

“Why do you sound so disappointed?”

“Uh, nothing. I just remembered the book he recently released. Have you read it?”

“Late Night Scribbles?”

“Yes, that!” he answered enthusiastically. Wow, I guess I found a fan right here. He might actually help me with my interview later. I need to grab this chance.

“Do you mind helping me? I’m actually going to interview him about it tomorrow.” I gave him the widest smile, hoping he’d say yes. I normally wouldn’t do this to strangers, especially at night. But I really just need to get this over with.

“Well, as someone who’s a fan of his works. I’d like to give it a try and interpret it,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “Just imagine I’m Mark Lee. Shoot your questions.”

“Hmm, I can’t be answering personal questions since you’re not Mark Lee.” I scratch my head. Damn, I can’t think of anything. My brain is not working right now! “But if you were Mark Lee, what would you want to be asked?”

“If I were Mark Lee? Well, rather than asking what my inspiration was behind the works I’ve made, I’d rather be asked on how I tried to convey my thoughts and feelings to this piece of work,” he explained, staring at the night sky.

I followed the direction of his gaze, and he’s looking at Orion, one of the brightest constellations out there. I gaze at it too while waiting for him to continue explaining.

“But isn’t it basically the same as drawing inspiration from something?” I ask profoundly.

“Not really. You can draw inspiration from anything. And you can come up with different outputs based on one inspiration. What’s important is how you’re able to connect the context of what you’re writing to the feelings you want to draw out,” he continues.

“With a single inspiration, I can come up with two completely different works based on how it’s written. The idea may be the same but the context is not.”

“Hmm, care to explain a little further?” I ask politely.

“We can use Black Socks as an example.”

Black socks are underrated

The way they connect the bottom sleeves of

my black sweatpants to my black sneakers

is just perfect

Pleasure from perfect alignment

That also goes for the ability to be parallel

with my thoughts and actions

I try to live out what’s in my mind, and keep

it consistent even when forgotten like a

working habit

A moment to think twice about what

seemed unimportant

Black socks have been making my day

these days and I knew I had to return the

favor by acknowledging them

I throw you in the bin only so that you can

be renewed again

“Black socks, literally an ordinary object that is tossed to the bin right after use. But what caught my eye is his appreciation for this mundane thing.”

“Through his words, you can tell black socks gave him comfort. He used a simple subject to convey his inner thoughts of how every little thing we don’t really recognize can actually be part of our routine, our life,” he said, looking me in the eye seriously.

“He found comfort in the most ordinary things no ordinary person would take notice of.”

Minhyung stands up and stretches his arms. He then continues, “It’s actually cool he shared this piece with us. If I were him, I’d go on and ramble how black socks could ruin my laundry.”

We both chuckle at the thought. It’s true. I hate how some of my black socks actually ruin my laundry. I dread the thought.

“It’s only a matter of perception, (y/n). Sometimes, you have to open your eyes and see, not look. Listen, not hear. Savor, not taste. Feel, not touch.”

“You know, you could actually be Mark Lee himself,” I tease him, “You do know your literature.”

I know he smiled at my remark. I can see his cheekbones rise from the edges of his mask.

“Sometimes, you just have to ask the right questions in order to get the answers you want,” he said teasingly. “You can’t get what you want if you don’t know what you want.”

For a stranger, he’s indeed a good talker. I actually learned so much from our talk tonight.

“Thanks for tonight, Minhyung. I really learned a lot.” I thank him before gulping down the last cup of coffee he bought me. “And thanks for the coffee, by the way! I now have energy to prepare for my interview later.”

“No problem. I’m just glad that I was able to help.”

I stood up from my seat and we both started walking away from the park.

“It’s 1 am. How are you gonna get home, (y/n)?” Minhyung asks worriedly. Yeah, it is pretty late. It’s a good thing I just live near.

“My apartment’s just two blocks away. I can manage,” I say with a smile, a genuine one at that. “How about you?”

“I’ll just grab a cab. Do you mind if I walk you home?” I don’t know why but I felt flustered for a moment. Surprisingly though, I just nodded my head, giving him permission to accompany me home.

We both arrive at the entrance of my apartment building and we say our last goodbyes.

“For a stranger, you really do know how to make people comfy,” I say, crossing my arms and giving him a stare, brows furrowed to tease him.

“Well, that’s just how I am,” he says while giving me a wink. Okay, now he’s flirting. Someone stop him, please. Just kidding.

“By the way, you haven’t taken your mask off the entire time except when drinking coffee. I couldn’t get a good glimpse at you since it was dark,” I explain. It’s true. Add the fact that I’m barely keeping myself awake the whole time. “I might’ve actually thought you’re an idol of some sort. Perhaps, maybe you are Mark Lee.”

“What?” he asks, puzzled and clearly taken aback. “Why’d you think so?”

“Because you share the same name with him.”

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lilydalexf · 3 years

Photo

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with tatooedlaura (Laura Sprys)

Laura has 28 fics at Gossamer, but the big treasure trove of her stories is at AO3, where she has 193 fics. Thank goodness for the richness of the X-Files and for talented, creative people like Laura who can find so many interesting ways to tell tales in the show’s universe. Big thanks to Laura for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Maybe reading mine but reading older fic in general is something I still do and something I still find entertaining. I do wish i could get into my old fics and post a warning that some of those were written before the author: ever had a drink, ever had sex, ever had a boyfriend, ever lived on her own, ever had a real job, or ever experienced much of anything in the real world.

Then again, fanfic is a perfect time capsule for the age and it’s always fun to see where the originals started and how they’ve grown.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

Back in the day and up and through today, it has always been a fun experience. From it, I’ve learned to love writing. I’ve learned that fans are crazy, weird, wonderful, generous, talented, committed, passionate, and imaginative. In a fandom, you can think whatever you wish and write about anything you like and because I’ve been around so long, I’ve gotten to watch the storylines shift and the relationships change ...

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Originally, I never had much interaction with people other than ones who sent emails commenting on my fanfic … the internet at my parents house was dial-up and I had to access through the AOL free disks that arrived in the mail so, for the most part, I didn’t have the bandwidth or the connection speed to do more than upload stories and download episode guides.

Good lord, I remember submitting a story and having to wait upwards of two days to two weeks before the new batch of stories was posted ... then ephemeral came around and you could actually have your story up in under a day ... all ya'll who started on tumblr and ao3, you have it great, let me tell you :)

One thing that stands out in my mind still (and I’m still friends with her on Facebook) was a woman from western Canada who I stumbled across somewhere while looking for the blooper reels. She offered to send me her copies on VHS for my collection. I don’t think she asked for payment and one day, a package arrived from a lovely woman near Lethbridge, bloopers playable, tapes labeled in clear printing. I still appreciate that 20 some odd years later :)

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

Fandoms are crazy places. Tread lightly at first but enjoy what you want, ignore what you don’t, rewrite what you hate, and write what you love. Don’t be an asshole when you don’t agree with someone … when you do, tell them …

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I was on board from the first episode. It was a show about two people who you felt were destined to be together but weren’t, and wouldn’t be for years. It was a cop show about aliens and a monster show with cops. I was in the right place at the right time in the right frame of mind and there was just something that clicked and I never looked back. Friends were not allowed to call me on Friday night and once it switched to Sunday, I made sure that my parents got us on early evening bowling league so we’d be home in time to watch. Even my boyfriend (eventual husband) knew to shut the hell up from 9-10pm, even if he was sitting next to me on the couch (with my parents in their chairs watching as well)

Also, my 56-year-old dad had a crush on Scully from the start so that was entertaining as hell as well

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I have been writing stories in my head for literally as long as I can remember. Watching some episode, I honestly don’t remember which one, I suddenly had an idea for a story about Mulder and Scully. I had never written a story with pre-existing characters before and it was totally foreign to me. How do you write a character with a current storyline. It was weird, it was difficult, it was some of the most fun I’d had writing up to that point.

Suddenly, I didn’t have to explain or describe the characters, think of jobs and mundane things … they already had those … and it was great.

Honest-to-God, my first fic was written, in pencil, on a yellow legal pad by flashlight while lying with my head at the foot of my bed so I could see my parents coming down the hall if they happened to wake up at midnight to go to the bathroom. Later fics were written by the light of an 10” TV/VCR combo with me still lying with my head at the foot of the bed. I still have those old legal pads somewhere and I remember having to type them in secret, having to wait until the house was empty for 20 minutes to an hour at a time. Uploading them was always unnerving because of the slow dial-up and the fact that I didn’t have my own email address, but had to use my dad’s. I’d have to make sure to check it whenever I could, intercept the feedback I’d get off gossamer.

I was such a damn rebel.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Well, I now know how to interact with people given tumblr and AO3 but it hasn’t changed much. I contribute a little more now that I understand posting on social media but mostly, I still just write like a fiend and post, read voraciously and give kudos and likes often, comment some and reblog.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I dabbled and have a favorite ‘Fringe’ fic … I tried to read a Harry Potter fic once … I type ‘West Wing’ occasionally in ao3 and tumblr ...

And nothing, absolutely nothing, has ever caught me like the X-Files did in regards to the fandom experience.

I have shows I watch and re-watch and re-watch but no two characters have ever had me writing and thinking and planning like Mulder and Scully. No other combo has ever made me write upwards of 300,000 or more total and still have plenty of stories to tell.

I’m okay with this.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Aside from Mulder and Scully and the gentlemen three of Frohike, Langley, and Byers … I love all Scully’s nieces and nephews in my ‘Life’ series … I also love Corduroy (picture books), Harold (purple crayon fame), Neville Longbottom, the characters from my own novels, Katniss (book not movie), Anne Shirley, Elnora (from the Limberlost), Will Stanton/Merriman/Barney/Jane from ‘Dark is Rising’ and 10,459 others …

I’m a children’s librarian so most of my favorite books are those written for the younger and YA crowd. I like my job :)

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I watch this show all the damn time. I will think about Mulder and Scully when I have nothing else to think about, normally writing and editing whatever story I may have in the hopper at the time about them.

My husband laughs when I have the show on. He knows all the episodes with me and it’s one of my comfort shows that I don’t have to pay attention to when it’s on. During it, I have edited books, decorated cookies, been sick, been recovering, simply wasted a perfectly good day because I could.

My 17-year-old daughter keeps it on while she does homework and works out.

It’s a staple at our house and no one is allowed to make fun of it, even though we all know that parts are completely ‘make fun-able’

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I read fic all the time … I have worked my way through AO3 starting from the beginning and if it was more easily readable on a phone, I’d work my way, once again, through gossamer.

Restated from above: I dabbled and have a favorite ‘Fringe’ fic … I tried to read a Harry Potter fic once … I type ‘West Wing’ occasionally in ao3 and tumblr ...

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I have all kinds of favorites on tumblr but right now, I honestly don’t remember most of the names … I pretty much read everything that comes through my dashboard and every few days, i read through the newest posts on AO3 … I love you all!!

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Of X-Files fics, I love my newer stuff … I read “Life” and its sequels every few months … ‘Your Place or Mine’ is another one I will read … actually, I’ll just say it .... I read all my own fic over and over again …

With fic, you get to write the characters as you want to see them and write situations that you want to see … I write for myself most of all and I love to read what I wrote :)

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I write them all the damn time. I have tons of snippets and half-finished that I occasionally glean things from but while sometimes, old stuff morphs into new, sometimes, it just needs to gather that dust and live a quiet little forgotten life in some backhand folder on my dropbox account ...

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

First question is answered above.

As for other creative work, I have published two YA novels, have the third in that series in editing … I have five other novels in the hopper in various stages of ‘good lord this needs an edit or twelve’ …

I am writing things constantly in my head or on my laptop … most is crap … stome sticks … some turns into fic and some turns into books …

But the point is, I am writing, in some form, at all time :)

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Some two sentence conversation will spark an idea … the line of a song will inspire an idea … a word will start a sentence which will turn into a paragraph which will tumble straight into a story … and sometimes, stuff just pops in my head for no damn reason at all ...

What's the story behind your pen name?

On gossamer, I am L. Sprys because that was my name at the time :)

On tumblr and AO3, I’m tatooedlaura because my name is Laura and I have, now, six tattoos (yes, I spelled it wrong in my handle but that’s life) … when I decided on the name, I think I only had two

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

They do now … it took me years to crack and tell them … my husband has never read them, nor have any of the people I have told (as far as I know)

Now, I don’t really care who knows … I’ll tell them I write smutty X-Files fanfiction and family-friendly X-Files fanfiction …

I am too old at this point to be embarrassed by what I like to do. If they laugh at me, I tell them they only get to laugh when they’ve published a book and I pull up my books on Amazon … I’ve only had to do that once and it shut them right the hell up …

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Gossamer: L. Sprys

Tumblr and AO3: tatooedlaura

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

I love you! I see you! I appreciate you! I hope you enjoy! Don’t judge me for my grammar issues! I will never be able to spell the word ‘excersize’!

(Posted by Lilydale on April 27, 2021)

#old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #tatooedlaura #laura sprys

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fireinmoonshot · 4 years

Note

Hi! Thank you so much for writing about The Old Guard! Could you please write something where reader has a panic attack after a Quynh nightmare and Booker helps calm her down?

A/N: This request came in at like... maybe 1:00am last night? I should have been sleeping but I’m terrible. But anyway, this request came in and it took literally everything in my power not to grab my laptop and write this request straight away. The only reason I didn’t was because I really should have been sleeping because I had work in the morning... but it’s written now and writing it made me feel a lot calmer after a long and stressful day at work. I hope that you like it!

Nightmares weren’t an uncommon thing. You had them more often than you had dreams. When you first died and came back to life, you’d been plagued by them. Even after Andy had come and found you and brought you back to the rest of them. You’d spent several of your first nights in their company waking up trembling, your heart racing, in the middle of the night. They were never about anything important. All just silly, trivial mundane little nightmares.

That was what they always were. Until suddenly, they weren’t.

This time, it wasn’t you that your nightmare was about. It was someone else, and the images flashing through your mind were of the most horrible kind. A woman, trapped in an iron coffin underwater. She screamed and screamed and screamed and then the water overcame her, and death drowned her. Moments passed, and then she would reawaken, just like she’d never died in the first place. Screaming. Always screaming.

The same screams pulled you out of your own sleep.

In the safehouse, there were three bedrooms. Nicky and Joe shared one, you and Andy shared one and Booker had his own. Where Andy was, you didn’t know, but when you woke up, your throat aching from the screams, the room was dark and empty and you suddenly felt as though you were drowning, too.

You scrambled to sit up, kicking the blankets off of your legs in an attempt to free yourself just as the door flew open. You expected Andy to be on the other side, or maybe even Nicky or Joe, considering their room was right opposite yours.

Instead, a frantic and sleepy looking Booker stood in the doorway.

His hair was messy from sleep, dark circles had settled under his eyes and he still looked half asleep. He was holding his gun, clearly having thought that you were in danger, but upon quickly scanning the room and realising that there was no one else there, upon seeing you, he dropped his aim and stepped into the room.

“What was it?” He asked, voice thick with sleep.

“A nightmare,” you managed. “She was– drowning. A woman in– in an iron coffin. She was drowning and she– she–” Your breaths became heavier as the images came to mind again. You felt like you were drowning, too. You couldn’t breathe. Panic overcame you suddenly. One moment you’d thought the nightmare was leaving you, the next it had crashed over you like a wave.

Booker crossed the room instantly and took a seat on your bed, but made a point not to sit too close to you. He recognised what this was. He knew the last thing you needed right now was to feel like you were being crowded. And the nightmare, too, must have had something to do with it. A woman in an iron coffin. Drowning. He knew the stories of Quynh, though he’d never met the woman himself.

“You’re safe,” he said softly. “Nothing can hurt you here. Not with us around. Not with me around. You’re okay. You are.” His words didn’t seem to be helping as much as he hoped they would. But he stayed despite that. You needed his help, or he thought you might, at least. What sort of man would leave someone in their moment of need? “Can you concentrate on your breathing for me? I know you can do it. I’m gonna count to ten. Can you breathe with me?”

He began to count slowly, taking long, deep breaths between each number. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, and slowly, in time with his counting and his breaths, yours slowed down.

You still felt as if you were going to shatter any second. Fragile as porcelain.

Booker shuffled ever so slightly closer to you after a few minutes of silence. He was worried to overstep, especially so soon after. “What do you need from me?”

“She was– she was like us,” you managed, speaking in a whisper. “The woman in the– under the sea. She kept… she kept drowning and she kept coming back. She– I could feel her dying. I could feel her drowning, Booker.” You met his eyes. “I felt her dying.”

He nodded once, then sighed deeply. “She was one of us. Her name was Quynh. She and Andy… they knew each other. Before I came along,” he explained. Then, he paused. “Are you okay? You didn’t answer my question. What do you need from me?”

“I don’t know.” You shook your head. “Where’s Andy?”

Booker shrugged. “She went out a few hours ago. Not back yet.”

You glanced around the dark room. Every corner seemed as if it were filled with something now, something waiting to pounce out and attack the second Booker left. The last thing you wanted was to be alone right now. With a sigh, you slid back down in bed, head hitting the pillow. Booker took that as his cue to leave and stood.

“Don’t go.” Your words were quiet. “I need you to stay.”

Booker didn’t question it. “Okay.”

“Will you lay beside me? Just until Andy’s back. I don’t… I don’t want to be by myself. The nightmare… it might… it might come back.”

There was no hesitation in Booker as he moved around to the other side of the bed and lay himself down on top of it, beside you. He glanced over at you as you stared up at the ceiling. He worried about you, especially in moments like this. For the longest time, he hadn’t thought that you liked him. He was mistaken.

You reached out a hand and held it up between the two of you.

“Will you hold my hand?” It was the only thing you could think of to anchor yourself to someone else. Hugs were out of the question. You’d just feel like you were drowning like Quynh again. But holding Booker’s hand would keep you firmly rooted in the present if the nightmare crept up on you again.

He didn’t say anything, only reached out and took your hand in his.

Andy returned to the room several hours later, when the morning sun was only just rising and the birds were only just beginning to chirp. She was more than surprised to find Booker sleeping at your side, one hand on his gun, the other hand holding yours.

From that night on, Booker slept at your side, ready to be there for you, no matter what the nightmares held.

#booker #booker x you #booker x reader #the old guard #the old guard x reader #the old guard x you #sebastien le livre #sebastien le livre x you #sebastien le livre x reader

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fanfictiondreamscape · 4 years

Text

Average? Darling...

Request: Hi! I saw requests were open so I was wondering if you’d be ok with doing Headcanons with Undertaker and Sebastian with a s/o who doesn’t really think their pretty? Like they don’t think their ugly or anything, just mundane and average so they just think people are being nice and don’t really mean it when they’re told they look pretty? (Sorry this is long, I wanted to make sure I made sense) thanky and I hope you’re doing well amidst the chaos going on!

Title: Average? Darling...

Genre: fluff, mayyyybe a little bit angsty (yay insecurities!) (emphasis on mayyyybe)

Pairing: Undertaker/Sebastian Michaelis x Fem!reader (separate)

Notes: This made me so happy to see. Literally. Anon, thank you for requesting this!

That said, I totally understand this idea and outlook, and I still struggle with thinking of myself in a way that isn’t seen as absolutely hideous or terribly average. I can only escape that through cosplay, and I absolutely hate taking almost an hour or two putting on makeup just to feel drop-dead gorgeous for thirty minutes.

Anyway, you can ignore that little tirade if you want! I tried to make it as realistic as possible (from my experience), so I hope it lives up to what you like. Otherwise, thank you for saying that - I hope you’re doing well, too! (It didn’t come out trippy this time, yES-)

It is also a female reader default, so I apologize if that isn’t what you expected. It seemed to flow better for me personally, so I just rolled with it.

Below the cut!

Undertaker

surprisingly, out of these two, i find the undertaker would be more inept here

because while both him and sebastian are not human and can barely understand certain human emotions,

one has had more basic observation and interest than the other

that ‘other’ being undertaker

from what i can remember, i can only assume that he would have focused his attention towards his over-the-top plans to screw with the reapers, demons, and angels

but that’s not the whole point right now

to cover how your relationship happened, you would have had to know him for a while

and he probably would have only come to realize that he had feelings for you after he got to know you

so to sum that up: your personality is sexy to him.

that was the first thing that he was attracted to, but your appearance?

that was a bonus

so when you stop and say that you aren’t anywhere near as beautiful as people say, he just tries to get you to admit that you are wrong within a few minutes

“i’m really not as beautiful as they claim, undertaker.”

“dear, that is not a funny ‘joke’.”

“i’m not joking, darling, i’m nowhere near as beautiful as people claim i am.”

he jumps into a tirade

i don’t make the rules, okay? he just does.

and it involves many, many, many instances of your beauty.

your eyes?

they glitter and almost glow in the shadows and light in the most attractive manner.

your hair (or lack thereof)?

simply gorgeous, simply shining - quite beautiful

your figure?

quite fitting for the time, and quite a sight to see when walking.

to him, you are what an angel looks like, and you have the personality of one as well

a total package, if he must say so

but that is about where he would stop.

it doesn’t last long, but it does hold meaning and he refuses to let you believe anything else

but he may only step in and say something when it gets to be too much for you.

those times when your insecurities get the better of you?

he’s already on it, coffin open and ready for you to cuddle with him as he makes grand statements of your beauty

“your beauty truly reaches across centuries, across millenia - a quite haunting beauty if i may say so myself.”

“your eyes perfectly match your complexion, almost glowing against your countenance.”

“and darling, your figure...if i may, i must say that it is truly gorgeous...truly supple. it fits your clothing very well.”

(that last one was a lil bit sensual but hey - it was bound to happen at some point in this)

but every one of these times was very short.

eventually, though, his words started to make sense.

through those short little sessions, they worked somewhat.

i’d like to say that they worked almost immediately

but that is a blatant lie

again, this is undertaker

subtly only matters to him when it is a part of a scheme he has.

so that immediately negates any hint of it becoming extremely common, as that depends on how often you vocalize your thoughts on people’s compliments

but otherwise, they work a little bit.

in a weird way

(again, undertaker.)

but he tries, so make sure that he knows he has made you feel a little better

don’t lie, but don’t hesitate to tell him what you thought of his perspective

he covers it in his own little way, and you both don’t mind it too much. :)

Sebastian Michaelis

okay so

sebastian found you to be meager at first

but that was because you were shielded by a shadow and he only caught a glimpse of your outfit

when he caught you in full light though?

gorgeous.

he had held a distaste to angels, but you were one that he doubted he could stay away from

and because ciel had gotten tired of watching his butler fawn over you as you two worked together, he straight up demanded that he talk to you

and a butler can’t deny his master’s orders, can he?

from there, he grew to love you more

and though he will admit that he fell in love with your appearance at first, your personality was even more beautiful than you

so you can imagine his surprise when you told him that you were only average

he had caught you looking at yourself in the reflection in the glass of a window, and he became intrigued

was this simply a human thing?

possibly a female quirk, though he may have chalked it up to feminine mannerisms

but when you spotted him and he questioned your actions teasingly, you gave him the answer to his question.

“darling, may i ask why you are gazing at yourself?”

*shock*

“um, well - when you or someone else tells me i’m pretty, i don’t believe it.”

for once, pure and unadulterated shock presented itself on his visage

“dear, i must inquire why.”

“well, i’m not...’gorgeous’ as you claim. i’m simply average, nothing more.”

he had decided then and there to treat you as the sparkling darling that he knows and loves

“well, darling, i beg to differ.”

you and him then sat down and just talked.

unlike undertaker, who i feel would try to make his s/o feel gorgeous from the get-go

sebastian would be the type to get the point across over time

he’s observed humans for centuries, so he has the least amount of understanding

human insecurities cannot be mended within minutes, but rather longer

so he did the best that he could to make you feel better about your beauty

after all, he appreciates art in it’s finest form

and you fit into that category

so after reassuring you that you are just as gorgeous as others see you to be

(”your eyes are the most beautiful (e/c) i’ve ever seen.”)

(”your skin is quite glowing, much like you yourself do.”)

(”your body, too, darling - it’s to die for. just perfect.”)

he makes it a goal that you become completely aware of your beautiful

someone just complimented you and you reluctantly accepted it?

“darling, i promise you that you are gorgeous.”

another person just told you your beauty measures to that of madam red?

(don’t blame me, blame google - i tried to find more information, but this is set in the 1880s, not the 1890s, so gibson girls were barely there and were not yet considered the peak of beauty at the time. and after that mess, i went to see what characters were ranked highest and madam red was the highest ranked female on that list, at 14 i think, as the rest were male. due to that, and the fact that she is a doctor that must be fairly well known, she would be known and ogled - cuz lets face it, she is sinister, but she is also gorgeous.)

(sorry about that, let’s continue)

“they aren’t incorrect, my dear. you do truly glow, much like she does, but your’s is more bright.”

anyone compliments your figure when doing measurements and you tell him?

“as i have said, your figure is truly fair and quite admirable.”

sometimes, even when you were resting at either your’s or ciel’s manor, sebastian would make sure to remind you of your higher beauty

before you were to go to bed?

“dear, sleep well. i would say that you may want your beauty sleep, but you don’t need it when you’re already gorgeous.”

reviewing papers?

“your eyes, my darling - quite beautiful. they truly do sparkle.”

simply reading and resting?

“a beautiful brain and a beautiful appearance - my, my, you really are a gem to view, my love.”

you blushed every time, but the more he did what he did and said what he said

you slowly came to realize that you truly are as beautiful as others say you are.

and though you are aware that there are others out there that may be more beautiful

you now know that your beauty is much more prominent than that of the common female

and your realization made sebastian all the more giddy

(well, as giddy as he could get - remember, demon!)

(and again, that little rant earlier, i-)

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thechekhov · 4 years

Photo

Due to popular demand, I’m making a 4-part series about how to make a comic! Check out the other parts while you’re here!

1) Thinking of a story 2) Making characters (this part) 3) Drafting pages (coming not soon) 4) Presentation (coming eventually, we hope)

So, here’s the big question:

How do you make a good character?

I’m going to have us step back for a moment to say:

There is no such thing as a “Good” Character. Because how good a character is or isn’t is subjective. We can argue back and forth for hours about what we value in a character, but no one will ever agree. You can’t make a character that EVERYONE will like, and you shouldn’t try to.

Instead, I urge you to focus on trying to make ONE or MORE of the following:

Relatable characters

Sympathetic characters

Useful characters

“What the FUCK is goin’ on here I just wanna know” characters

I think they’re pretty self-explanatory, but let’s go through it anyway.

1. Relatable Characters:

What is says on the tin. These are character you and someone else could relate to. Maybe they’re a teenager who hates school. (Timeless classic.) Maybe they’re a young adult down on their luck and in need of money, willing to forgo some moral standards to get by. (Millennials, roll call!) Or maybe they’re just like you (or literally you. We don’t judge self-insert. There’s a reason Write What You Know is a thing.)

Regardless of what you want to believe, many human experiences are universal. Some of them are universally unacknowledged, but they are still universal. You want to just be careful about falling into the ‘my character is so special and the rest of my characters are dumb’ trope. That isn’t interesting - or realistic.

(source: xkcd)

2. Sympathetic Character:

I also call this the Looking Glass Character.

Even if most of us have universal human experiences, many of our own experiences are also unique to us. Some experiences are things we will never live through - but we can still sympathise with the emotional state of the characters. If a story allows us to experience new things THROUGH a character, we feel connected to them.

Keep in mind - this character still has to be somewhat relatable. We have to be able to say “if I was in this situation, I would do that too!” Allowing your readers to believe what is happening makes the reading experience more believable.

(I’m pretty sure none of us have been a half-gem half-human hybrid suffering through trying to right your defected-the-diamond-authority war-criminal mom’s past mistakes, but seeing Steven repeatedly say “I’m fine!” as he descends into madness is something we can all sympathise with.)

Similarly, if your character is in the woods and finds a tiny house on the edge of the prairie and it’s getting dark and the house has flickering lights - whether or not they go inside is inconsequential to sympathy. What matters is if they have a good REASON to go inside. Sometimes, it’s not the actions that’s sympathetic - it’s the motivation!

(My sister disappeared in just such a house! I must get revenge! vs I’m a bored teenager with a potentially unrequited deathwish and/or a crush on a ghost. Well... scratch that, I can sympathise with both scenarios.)

3. Useful Characters

I was previously asked what to do to avoid making your characters into a Mary Sue. This part will be about that.

Let me start by saying: I don’t think Mary Sues are as prevalent as some people bemoan them to be.

A Mary Sue is a character that is often described as ‘too perfect’ - they can do everything, know everything, never fail at anything, have a tragic past that excuses every emotional outburst, and are overall just ‘too good to be true’.

I think, if played correctly, such a character can still be a good one. What makes all the difference is how useful these aforementioned traits are to the plot - or to other characters.

Let’s acknowledge some universal truths (aside from the one about the men in want of wives and the relation of such a desire in proportion to their fortune):

The plot must go on. That’s obvious.

In order for the plot to move, there must be things happening (in one sense or another). Also obvious.

In order for things to happen, there must be a conflict or a tension of some sort. THAT is your litmus test for a ‘Mary Sue’ character.

“If I remove them from the plot, will the plot suffer any holes? Will they impact the plot or impede it? Will their OP superpowers make some other worldbuilding completely useless? Will their incredibly tragic backstory overshadow another conflict between other characters?”

Characters should be like legos - they must have a function within your plot. Looking cool isn’t a function. Well, sure, it CAN be - but it must also be a function that doesn’t break Newton’s Laws. An object at rest will remain at rest. If your Perfect Character is already flawless, they have no reason to change, ergo nothing needs to happen.

Make your character serve a use within your plot!

4. WtFiGOHIWK Characters:

Do you ever watch a show, or listen to a podcast or read a webcomic and think to yourself “Okay, cool, but what the FUCK is UP with _____? What’s their deal?!”

I like to categorize these characters in a group of their own. These characters are likable ONLY because we all have a socially wired brain that makes us CRAVE comprehension of social background like drugs. We CRAVE THAT MINERAL. And the mineral is - gossip. Backstory. Tea. The DEETS.

Many characters are somewhat of an enigma, and the initial plot doesn’t give away all their secrets. We get hooked not because the characters are relatable, and sometimes not even because they’re sympathetic - but because their social tension within a group of other characters is RIDICULOUS and we are wired to want to understand them.

Everyone has their own examples, but one of my favorites is this asshole:

Do I relate or sympathise with Dr. House? Broadly, no. He’s obscene, rude, and most of the time he’s not even the good guy in any given episode. But his morality roadmap resembles knitting directions for a scarf and his reactions to the most mundane situations are FASCINATING.

(Never underestimate the power of human curiosity and how strongly it can work to make your readers turn to the next page, even if your whole plot is about a dumpster truck on fire next to a fireworks factory.)

Q: So how do I make a character?

There are several options:

- Wait and do nothing. The character will happen when you least expect it or are least prepared. Now they’re in your head. They won’t leave. aaaaAAAAAAA!

- Take a person or another character you know. Change 3-5 fundamental things about them (I don’t mean name, hair color and shoe size... I mean something PERSONAL, like background, motivations, religion, dream job, species, etc.) BAM character. (I mean, is it QUESTIONABLE to write a story about your sister as a lizard who wants to go to the moon? MAYBE. Should she still be more grateful than she is? ALSO MAYBE.)

- Take yourself and change uhhh... at least one thing about the character. Try to veil the fact that it’s actually just you. Fail. Wipe away tears. Write the story anyway. Hope no one notices.

- Write a story in your head and then think “Who is the LEAST likely person to participate in these shenanigans?” There’s your character.

Q: What should I avoid in a character?

Honestly, you can go around to 100 people and ask this, and they’ll give you 100 different answers. What people dislike and like in characters is so vast that there’s NOTHING you can do to stop people from hating on a character.

But yes, there ARE some overused tropes and I want to share 1 rule that I personally keep to when making characters. (Keep in mind, this is MY personal list. It isn’t the end-all-be-all, and yes, you can argue about this. But don’t @ me, I don’t care.)

DON’T describe your character as “______ is kind and friendly until you piss them off - then they will kill you.”

This has been my biggest pet peeve since high school - and it’s unfortunately an absolute staple of any YA character. Someone is ‘friendly’ and ‘nice’ and ‘shy’ UNTIL - you hurt their friends. Then they go berserk.

I know it’s tempting because ‘usually demure character lets loose their True Potential’ is a very empowering thing to see. (And I admit, I think Mob Psycho 100 pulled this Trope back in by the scruff of its neck and managed to get JUST the right angle for it to work.)

BUT it’s overused and it tells us absolutely NOTHING about your character. It’s a calorie-free fact. Feels like a description but is actively devoid of any interesting information about your character.

Why? Because literally EVERYONE is like this.

We are all, at a baseline, somewhat friendly. That’s... just how most people are. Societal convention tells us we must behave with some semblance of dignity and respect towards others in standard situations in order to keep peace.

And I daresay getting pissed off and Breaking Character is ALSO a thing that most humans experience. Getting angry when your friends/loved ones are hurt is the bare minimum necessary for being relatable.

Not to say your character can’t do this but - it doesn’t need to be described as a part of their personality any more than, say, the fact that they have hair on their head.

Q: How do I make my character more believable?

Research.

We all hate that word, because school usually teaches us to think of research as boring but it is ESSENTIAL to your desire to make ‘good’ (relatable, sympathetic, useful) characters.

IF YOU PLAN TO WRITE FOR AN AUDIENCE, THEN YOU NEED TO PUT IN THE EFFORT OF MAKING YOUR CHARACTERS MULTIDIMENSIONAL.

That means - knowing their background. Knowing details. Knowing cultural, financial, religious terms you need to know to write them believably.

I know, I know - what if I’m just writing for myself? you say.

Well, fine. If you’re not planning to have your work be widely public, if you’re just having fun and don’t care, then write whatever you want. Make a Japanese character with a Korean name. Force your UK characters to use USA slang. Forgo any historical accuracy. Change up facts! Erase the moon landing, whatever.

But if you want to share your work with people, and if you want people to interact with your writing on a more serious level, then you NEED to know how to use Google and gather at least SURFACE information what you are writing. If you don’t but pretend you did, people WILL be jolted out of their zone.

Research the things and people you are writing about. And more importantly - READ about the experiences of the people you are writing about! Avoiding Stereotypes in this day and age is EASY. You literally have an endless, free encyclopedia in your hands. If you can send a tumblr ask, you can google it.

That’s all for now, and CHEERS!

#how to comic #how to comic part 2 #chekhov writes a tutorial #writing

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whatwouldmindykdo · 3 years

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I wrote a little something about coming to terms with my sexuality and thought I’d share it here...

For as long as I can remember I’ve dreamt of my wedding day. As soon as I was able to comprehend the concept of wedding and marriage it became my only goal, my ultimate achievement: I wanted, I needed to get married. This would make me successful and prove my worthiness. I would be happy forever. And so, for years, I’d spend hours imagining the magical day: the dress, of course, and its designer, the venue, the guests, the music, the menu, the bridal party, the decor. And of course, the groom. Because it was always a groom. However, I would find it extremely difficult to imagine him. I could think of qualities I would look for in a partner, but that was it. Looking back now, I think that, more than any of these things, what I dreamt of was being loved and being in love. I was just hoping to find the kind of unconditional love I grew up surrounded by. Not a person but a feeling. An ideal.

I grew up in what you would probably call a liberal family. My parents are very open-minded, left-wing voters and I grew up having political debates at the dinner table. But it was always about tolerance. Every love is love, they would say. Everyone deserves to be happy, they would say.

This, however, was not true for them growing up. Both my parents grew up in working class families and worked their way into the middle class. As liberal as my parents are, their own parents were rather conservative in thought.

My father’s parents had grown up on farms. Their own parents, my great-grandparents, lived a life I cannot even begin to comprehend. After the Second World War, as life was changing everywhere, and especially in the countryside, my grandparents left for the city (well, a city, not THE city) to work in factories. They were deeply religious and my father was raised a Catholic. However, he also enjoyed great freedom. He was free to come and go, almost as he wished, to play with his brother and friends. He was free not to work in school, drop out after middle school and go on to work with his father. Which he did, for a while, until he realized he didn’t want to do that his entire life. In other words, he was free to fail, and try again. Would it had been the same thing had he been a girl? We will never know, as he was one of two boys.

My mother, on the other hand, was not. Her grandparents had been mining workers, as almost everyone in the area. Her own parents had been saved from this life, and pushed to look for work in other industries. They had married young and my mother was the eldest of two. Her parents were heavily involved in political and union movements, pushing for workers’ rights. This gave her an awareness of the political situation and an ideal of what is achievable when you work for it. My mother, however, is also a woman. And as such, her parents expected her to behave a certain way.

She was expected to be the perfect little girl. Calm, pretty, smiling. Not to take too much space. Do well in school. Be polite. And so my mother tried her best to be this ideal girl. She excelled in school, practiced many sports, and took it upon herself to keep the family together and happy. She eventually went on to work and had to move out to another city, but always close to family as she was sharing an apartment with her aunt. When she found another job closer to her parents, she moved back home. Eventually, she met my father. They dated for a couple of years, but moving in together was unfathomable. Not before marriage. And that’s how my parents ended up married without having ever lived together, something I honestly find quite hard to imagine. Her brother, on the other hand, lived a life closer to my dad’s. He could not roam the streets or drop out of school but he did leave high school without graduating, moving out to work away and never looked back. He introduced many girlfriends to his parents before eventually having a child and getting married, in that order.

My parents would probably tell you that they raised me and my brother the same way. That not more was expected of me. That I could do the exact same thing he did. And to some extent that is true. We were both expected to excel in school. To be polite and respectful. We were both told we could dream of being whoever we wanted to be. But what had been instilled to my mother was also, somehow, perhaps more sneakily, taught to me. I also had to be the perfect little girl, no excuses. The one that doesn’t move. The one that doesn’t scream or make a scene. The one that helps at home. As Michelle Cliff says in Notes on Speechlessness, ‘I am reminded that a great compliment of my childhood was: ‘she’s such a quiet girl’’.

Instead of rebelling against this system I made it mine: it was my way of taking up space. My way of being remarkable. I was expected to excel at school: I was top of the class. I was expected to be calm and discreet: I would literally never speak. Even today it takes a lot for me to be able to do things I know my parents disapprove. Because I have built myself through others’ approval, and then who am I once they don’t approve?

What does that have to do with being a lesbian, you may wonder. See, I knew about lesbians. I knew about gays. It was not entirely unknown to me. I saw them on the news, we talked about them at home. But no one in my family was gay, lesbian or part of the LGBTQI+ community, at least not openly. That was not what we did. As much as my family rebelled against capitalistic society, we were expected to conform in certain areas, and this was one. We, as a family, are heterosexuals. And so I unconsciously associated being a good girl to being heterosexual.

I don’t remember the first time I heard of the LGBTQI+ community, nor do I remember the first time I had a crush on a girl. I am quite sure she was my primary school best friend. I very clearly remember wondering whether I was in love with her or whether that was just how you felt for your best friend (hint: I kinda knew the answer). And so, little me moved on with life. Eventually the feeling wore out, and there was a very intense and dramatic fall out. But that was it, no more questions about my sexuality. Not until I was well into my teenage years, at least. When I made it to university I had began what I would call my transformative journey, learning extensively about feminism, inclusivity and human rights. I was passionate about these subjects and wanted to learn more, and more. I surrounded myself with people who were open-minded, teaching me about these very topics, and, for some of them, part of the LGBTQI+ community. At about this time I began identifying as pansexual or bisexual. I have never been really sure about this. There was no major coming out though. I just stated here and there that I thought love was about a person and their soul, not their gender. Even though I was identifying as pansexual / bisexual, the doubt never really left. I felt ill-at-ease with the identification. Maybe I’m not into labels, I’d think. Maybe.

Deep down, I knew. I think I’d always known. I would get major crushes on women in films and TV shows. Maybe that’s just identification. I could hardly imagine being in a relationship with a man. Maybe I just haven’t met THE one. I would feel uncomfortable whenever a man flirted with me. Maybe I’m just not into him.

I just couldn’t imagine being a lesbian. And that’s not to say that I could fathom the very existence of lesbians. I knew they existed, I had a friend as they say. I truly believed that all love is love. What I couldn’t accept was that I was a lesbian. How could I not like men? Good girls like men. Good girls are straight. Good girls get married TO A MAN, and have children WITH A MAN. No way. I must be pansexual. Or bisexual. Not lesbian.

Funnily enough, the pandemic was a big transitional time for me. I was able to truly connect with myself. Away from the world and the mundanities of everyday life, focusing on what really matters for the first time, I came to a realization. I do not like men. I do not find pleasure in imagining a relationship with a man. This realization was validated by experience. I signed up on a dating app (what??? I know, don’t judge). My immediate reaction was to set up my preferences to women only (that should have been another hint right?!). However, almost immediately I changed those preferences to everyone (men and women). Why? Because, I thought, by excluding men I might miss out on the one (he’s always somewhere). What if I miss on the opportunity of happily ever after because I renounce to dating half of humanity? And oh boy did I regret that. I was instantly contacted by half the male population of my surroundings (the joys of being on a dating app) and it really felt like it was not for me. I was feeling miserable rather than happy, anxious rather than excited. I switched back to women only and I have felt safer and more myself ever since.

I guess you could say that I have been feeling rather at peace with who I am. I have come out to a few (selected) friends, in the least dramatic way possible (well, they also are the least dramatic women I know). There remains the question, however, of coming out to family. Because although I have come to term with being a lesbian, I am still scared AF when it comes to coming out to my family and the main reason is: what if I am not lesbian after all (eye roll emoji)? The real reason, though, is that I know that as open-minded as my parents are, a coming out also means a period of adaptation, of understanding what it means exactly. And for someone like me who hates both confrontation and disappointing this feels like a big deal. Selfishly, I wish someone had been there before in my family. That I would not be the first. The trailblazer. The odd one out. The lesbian aunt. But then, I think of my little cousins. And how I could be that person for them. If I allow myself past the fear.

Thing is, I also truly believe that I will not be able to be fully happy until I come out. I will not be truly happy until I can be who I am fully, knowing that the people who accept it are the ones who love me, for real. But what if that means losing my grandfather? What if it means that people will literally never stop talking about it?

As much as I have talked about the hardships of coming out and coming to terms with my sexuality, I will also mention that coming to terms with this reality has been a huge relief. It has opened me to a world where love and inclusion are legion. A world where you are accepted for who you truly are. It has given me role models, values and a political awareness that I probably would not have had otherwise. In other words, being lesbian is a blessing because it is who I am, fully. And when I get to be this person, I can finally start to breathe. I can finally start to live.

My problem lies with mainstream culture and the way it portrays lesbian relationships. I have grown up with the ability of seeing gay couples loving each other, hating each other, flirting, breaking up. Mainstream media and popular culture have very much romanticized gay relationships. What of lesbian relationships then? The reality is completely different. And how could it not be when Instagram still censored the ‘lesbians’ hashtag two weeks ago? When we only have The L Word as a reference? Where on TV and in films have lesbians been given the space and time to actually develop a relationship except in that show? And I’m not even talking about the perfect, happy relationship. Just any relationship. More than 3 minutes of screen time. You’ll have to agree that this is rather recent.

How different would my life have been if I had seen lesbian couples on TV? How different would my life have been if people had not shied away from lesbian relationships? It is time for pop culture to be inclusive of our people. Little girls need this representation. They need to know that this kind of love exists, is normal, and brings fulfillment. I wish this had been my reality so that I wouldn’t have been mad when Casey from Atypical dumps her boyfriend to explore her relationship with Izzie. Because then perhaps I wouldn’t have been mad at her for doing that. I wouldn’t have been mad at Izzie for being honest. Because that is how deeply rooted my fear of being a lesbian was: I was mad at these two women for having the courage to explore their feelings and be true to themselves, when Casey could have had the perfect ending with Evan. And that is not ok. I need to let go of the idea that the perfect life means being in a heterosexual relationship. Because I know that this is not for me. This will not bring me fulfillment.

#lesbian #lgbtqplus #about me #sexuality #coming out?#gays of tumblr

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wingardium-letmefuckyou · 4 years

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Like The Stars Miss The Sun In The Morning Sky (Mitsuhide x MC)

Summary: The irony is that sometimes when you are afraid to lose someone, you lose them exactly because of that...

Words: 1498

Warnings: break up, anxiety, but there is a happy ending

Notes:

These are going to be the longest notes I've ever written at the start of a fic... I had the honour to meet a man who reminded me lot of Ikesen's Mitsuhide. He was a wonderful, intelligent man who lived by his own principles and a delightful tease who could hypnotize me with his voice alone. He was so generous with his affections. He was also someone who worked so hard, who gave everything he had to help others at the expense of himself, his mental and physical health and his freetime. Sounds a lot like Mitsuhide no? I also had the honour to date him for a while and he made my life so much more interesting, wonderful and magical. But we do not live in an otome game and real life is shit sometimes. As if starting to date during a pandemic wasn't hard enough already there is also the fact that we're both damaged humans. I'm not an MC in a game and I have my fears, insecurities and past trauma's and I make mistakes. And neither is he a perfect love interest in a game, he's just as human as I am and he makes mistakes too. So yeah, this is me writing about my own heartbreak, about dealing with the pain and guilt of losing someone you were so afraid to lose. Because it hurts like hell, waking up every morning and realizing you (both) screwed up and someone you hold so dear is no longer part of your life. So if Mitsuhide feels a bit out of character, you know why.

I did give the story a happy ending, because it's a story and while real life doesn't always have a happy ending I felt like the story still deserved one. Let's spread more happiness and love in these horrible times. I hope that one day I get to the point where MC is stronger because of what happened to her, that would be a great happy ending for me. Slowly, step by step I'm getting there. And who knows... maybe... one day...

It was in that moment, when their gazes met and the universe shifted just a little and everything felt right and good and wonderful, that she realized she needed Mitsuhide in her life. And for a while, a blissful while, he was. Until he wasn’t. Neither and both were to blame, although she would blame herself for a very long time, letting the guilt eat at her heart and soul like a slow poison. Never really sure where she stood with Mitsuhide, she had grown insecure and anxious that one day he would leave her, slipping through her fingers. How ironic really, how her fear of losing him had led to exactly that. She had never meant what she said, never meant to sound ungrateful, never meant to blame him for her own insecurities. All she wanted to hear was that they were okay, that the fox was hers just as she was his. Fear can make you a monster, clawing its way out in venomous words while all the monster wants is to be soothed with love and reassurance.

And so she found herself as she was now, sobbing into Hideyoshi’s shoulder, hot tears burning a path on her cheeks. “I... I lost him...,” was all she managed to choke out. Hideyoshi was drawing soothing circles on her back, for once clueless about what to do to make his favourite chatelaine feel better. It was devastating to see her like that, curling up in herself in a futile attempt to keep the shards of her broken heart together.

Days went by and her heart stayed broken. She wanted to explain to Mitsuhide what had happened and make things right again. They could talk this out and continue their story, of that she was sure. If only he would let her. But Mitsuhide was in the middle of an important mission for Nobunaga, barely having hours left to spare to eat or sleep, let alone to listen to a scared and insecure girl. She would have to wait.

And wait she did. She would run into him at the castle from time to time, her eyes meeting his and longing for the familiarity of the way he had looked at her when they had been lovers. One day, she tried to stop him in the hallway, wanting nothing more than to simply ask him how he was doing. The question was well meant, she did still worry for him and his well being but for the first time in her life she saw panic in his eyes while he tried his hardest to get away from her as swiftly as possible. Needles went through her soul. The embers of hopefulness that had been smouldering brightly inside her diminished slowly as time went by and she started to realize that Mitsuhide had no intention of actually giving her a chance. The pieces of her heart that had been salvaged together with the glue of a fool's hope shattered again.

The other warlords did everything they could to distract her and make her happy. Masamune cooked all her favourites, Mitsunari was his sweetest and kindest self, Ieyasu let her pet Wasabi, Sasuke visited her more often and brought little trinkets, Nobunaga even shared his secret stash of konpeito with her. Hideyoshi, her dear best friend, was always there to listen to her and lend her his shoulder. Letting her speak out when her brain was running in circles, letting her cry when the pain was too much to keep inside. She felt like Mitsuhide had taken part of her soul, leaving her incomplete. Oh and she missed him… She longed for his teasing, for the ways he could make her shake with laughter and smile with glee. She yearned to hear him read stories to her like he used to, immersing himself in the act like a true performer. She wished she could tell him about her day and all the mundane things that happened to her and hear him do the same in return. She just wanted to hear his voice, that voice she had grown to love so much.

Time passed by, day by day and somehow she got accustomed to the feeling of constantly drowning. She was tired, so tired, but with the support of her friends she kept paddling, her head barely above the water. Until one day she found that she could swim. Not long or far but for just a moment the movements came easily and she went forward. The next day she tried again and she went forward and then the following day she did the same. Some days were easier than others, the water calm and gentle. Other days she could barely manage, feeling like she was trying to swim through a storm. But she kept trying, day after day. The mornings hurt the most, waking up when her heart and mind were at their most raw and vulnerable and realizing that Mitsuhide was no longer part of her life. But every morning she shouldered through, determined to face the day with courage and grace.

The warlords were relieved to see her ease into herself again, to see her smile and genuinely enjoy her life. Yes, she would indeed never be the same again but while she shone with a different light now, it was just as beautiful as it used to be. Like true kintsugi pottery, the gold that filled the scars in her soul made her who she was. Broken but mended and more stunning than before. She was human and perfectly imperfect.

She has stopped counting how long ago it was that she had last seen or heard Mitsuhide. While a small part of her would always long for him, he was no longer in the forefront of her mind, the pain no longer consuming her every waking moment. She cherishes the peacefulness of being able to concentrate on her hobbies and herself, to feel like she is living again. With utmost concentration she pulls needle and thread through the fabric of the kimono she’s making and almost misses the sound of the door sliding open. It is only when she looks up that she realizes who is standing in her room, her breath hitching in her throat.

“Mitsuhide…”

He kneels in front of her and while she used to pray for this moment in the past, she now feels oddly calm. No fear, no anxiety, just the certainty that whatever happens next she can handle.

“What are you doing here?”

“I… I miss you.”

Mitsuhide looks at her, his golden eyes meeting her own. She can spot no lies in them, no deceit or teasing, only honesty and an open vulnerability.

“You left me alone for a long time. No closure, no chance to work things out.”

It’s an observation she makes, not an accusation. While it had hurt and cost her a lot to get where she now was, she could never bring herself to hate him or even be angry. That was not her way.

“I know and I am sorry. I was afraid, afraid of the intensity of your love. Afraid that I could never answer it, that you would always love me more than I love you. Afraid that one day you would realize that and see that you deserved better.”

The words baffle her. How would one start to measure love anyways?

“You literally ran away from me when I tried to simply talk to you. Why?”

She needs answers, needs to ask the questions that kept her mind burning for so long even if they do no longer.

“Because it was so hard to stay away from you and if I had stopped to talk to you, if I had dared to look at you then I would not have been able to resist you.”

Mitsuhide looks at his knees, at his trembling hands resting upon his legs. Then he looks at her again and he sees her, sees her for who she truly is. A phoenix risen from the flames.

“I didn’t realize it at the time. I just thought I was too busy and that you would only give me trouble. I believed I had no time to help you or be what I thought I had to be for you. I was a fool, you never needed my help to begin with. I see now that I was wrong, I know that I wasn’t running from you, I was running from myself.”

“Oh Mitsuhide... “

Her hand reaches out tentatively to rest upon his own, the warmth of her skin seeping into his. She is no longer the same woman, no longer the frightened mouse that succumbed to anxiety. She is more, she is stronger. And she finally feels that she is capable of truly loving Mitsuhide, unconditionally and unafraid.

His eyes meet hers again and the universe shifts just a little and everything feels right and good and wonderful.

#mitsuhide x mc #mitsuhide akechi #akechi mitsuhide #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku mitsuhide #therapeutic writing #wingardium-letmefuckyou writes

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

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Transgressions || Morgan & Leah

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @phoenixleah & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Leah has secrets to reveal: one for herself, and one for Constance. Morgan finds that sometimes answers aren’t enough.

CONTAINS: Brief references to past abuse.

“I still can’t believe you found something on her,” Morgan said, following Leah inside. “I must have torn up every other repository of books in town. I even had someone dig up legal documents from the town and county’s files. And all I got was a lousy death certificate, which was wonkily dated because when you surrender your body to pay for an infinite curse alone in the woods, no one’s around to clock your real time of death back in eighteen whatever. Nothing that could help satisfy even a knowledge-focused intention or answer literally anything substantive.” Morgan paused, smiling apologetically. Between all the attempted murder, ingredient hunting, and the convenient lack of support from Nell, Morgan felt like she was being cut down to one brittle edge. But Leah was a good friend, and she would give Morgan the missing pieces she needed in Constance’s story. Pieces she needed to make sense of the fuckery that had plagued her existence, and might give her something to twist the knife when she finally had her pinned down in the exorcism. “Thank you. You are the best. I’m sorry I’m kind of...on edge.”

As Leah led Morgan into the library, long after closing hours, her lips were pressed together to suppress a grin. There was always a sense of pride that came with coming across information that no one else seemed to have access to, and the praise that came with it didn’t hurt, either. She let out a chuckle at Morgan’s words, turning around to face her. “This is what friends do”, she said, brushing off Morgan’s thanks. “It’s so weird, but as soon as you mentioned her name to me, it sounded strangely familiar”, she explained, reaching behind Morgan to lock the entrance to the library behind them. She had a few dusty tomes piled up on the front desk, pressing her lips together as she watched Morgan take them in. They certainly weren’t books you’d find in a typical library, so she wondered if she’d take notice. “A lot going on lately?” she asked at the admission.

Morgan shrugged. “Okay, maybe not a lot by White Crest standards, but with the latest nonsense and my being stalked and hunted by a hundred year old ghost teenager, I’m feeling a little...end of my rope-y. You would think that the endless physical stamina thing would come in handy here, but while I am an expert at pulling a good old fashioned all-nighter, the whole not-being-able to sleep thing means my brain will, eventually, in its near inability to reach total unconsciousness, turn on itself and make everything happening to me worse.” She cleared her throat, realizing that she was veering dangerously close to dumping everything on Leah at once. “But! This is going to be great! I mean, she wrecks my car, she sends ghost minions after me, she tries to kill me and friends, it’s like, who are you? Why are you like this? Obviously we are way past reasoning and talking things out nicely, but I would feel pretty satisfied knowing how long she’s been this awful.” She hoped, more than anything, to walk away with what she had done to Agnes that finally made her realize how awful the girl was. Had she hurt her? Or someone else Agnes cared for? It made Morgan’s stomach clench to think of this curse being leveled against a teenage girl who’d just been trying to protect her family. The idea made the whole curse more twisted, that they were all punished for nothing from the very beginning. But the more she was forced to contend with Constance, the more it felt ikely. “Can you walk me through what you got? These definitely don’t look like your average tomes. Like, at all.”

As she listened to Morgan explain, Leah tilted her head to the side in curiosity. “You need to rest”, she agreed with assurance. “You’re feeling end of your rope-y because you’re probably physically and mentally at the end of your rope. I think you’re poor brain has been non-stop stressed since everything with Deirdre and her mushrooms.” She put a hand on Morgan’s shoulder, noting the cool temperature compared to her own. It was a relief that her friend now knew her secret, there was no longer stress about explaining mundane things away like her warmth. There were far more important matters to worry about. And tonight, apparently, another secret to reveal. “So once we’re through with her, I’m definitely setting up a fae and zombie approved spa night somewhere in that gorgeous house of yours.” A soft smile began to grow the more Morgan ranted about this girl, … this Constance. “Sometimes spirits that haven’t moved on have a very very specific one track mind… so… if it’s you she’s back for, it’s you she’s going to concentrate on. We just need to figure out why.” She bit her lip as she glanced back at the tomes, leading Morgan over to them tentatively. “So… in order to tell you how I know what I do and make it make sense, I also need to, sort of, tell you something else about myself. But this secret, Morgan, it’s even more important that it stays between us than my being a phoenix, okay?” She glanced to the door that was now behind her, the one to the basement of the library that held years and years of private journals with supernatural knowledge. “Have you ever heard of the Scribes?”

“No such thing as physical exhaustion for a zombie,” Morgan smirked, her mouth curling bitterly. “It never stops. It’s just the brain that gets tired. I’m pretty sure sapient consciousness wasn’t meant to run twenty four-seven, but that’s what spacing out into the abyss is for!” A small laugh bubbled out of her, but there wasn’t much joy floating in it. “It’s really not… I’m just being a baby. I want a break, I want the skinny ghost bitch gone, and I had this delusion that being done with my curse meant being done with all of this… tragic backstory deluxe family pack.” She sniffled and dabbed at the corners of her eyes before her tears could start running over and make a mess of the books and her makeup job. “Anyways, you were doing me a big favor and we were being proactive.” She moved in close to the books, brushing one open with the tip of her finger. The leather bound volume was—handwritten?

It was then that Leah’s question came. Morgan said nothing a moment, looking from the old journal, to Leah, and back again. “...I have, yeah…” she said slowly. “I kind of… there’s this place in the woods? Rio calls it the Scribrary. It’s been helpful to me over the months. Even if I don’t know how to feel about the whole… hands off, true neutral thing. But they’re not around anymore to—” She stopped, eyes going wide as she looked at Leah. “Is this? Are you—?” Her brain was struggling to compute. “Did past life you steal these?” She asked, lowering her voice to an amazed whisper.

“I don’t think working yourself to the point of exhaustion is being a baby, Morgan. It’s predictable, honestly.”, Leah said, absentmindedly running her hands over the binding of the tomes. She softened, sympathizing with Morgan. “You’d think that your death ending your family curse would have been enough tragedy and inconvenience for one person, but, I hope after this, you can be done with all the bullshit. We’re going to get her gone, okay? Both you and Constance need to rest, in your own way, and I’m one hundred percent sure we’ll find a way to make that happen.” The scribary, she’d have to get Rio to get her in there sometime. She had a lot of information, sure, but the tomes there had to have gone back even further than hers did.

Leah watched carefully as Morgan seemed to play her words around in her head, working out exactly what Leah could mean. She was always worried if it was suspicious- to be so openly knowledgeable about the supernatural world, to be able to offer help or random spurts of information about any number of creatures. Some people had to suspect, right? Suspect that, while yes, the scribes were essentially dead, she and her family had somehow fallen through the cracks of the tragedies and misfortunes that befell them. But then, there was Morgan’s question, and it was abundantly clear that there were no suspicions, at least not on her friend’s part. It was a relief, honestly, because as one of the most intelligent and well-read people she knew, Morgan seemed like the person who, if anyone, would have suspected. She couldn’t help but giggle at the question, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Steal them?” she asked, covering her mouth. “No...n-no, they’re not stolen. They’re mine.” She looked down at the ones in front of her proudly, pressing her lips together. “Well, ...ours. My family’s.” She let out a breath, a sense of pride filling her up as she looked back to Morgan. “Because we- well… the scribes aren’t all dead like everyone thinks. The library’s always been a nice cover, honestly.” She gestured to the door behind her as she spoke. “The uh, basement is bigger than you’d think.” She felt nervous again, hoping that this new information, another secret she’d been keeping from Morgan, wouldn’t turn her friend off in anyway. “It’s not something that many people know about me, because protecting this information is integral to protecting White Crest and the integrity of the scribes, but…”, she ran her hands over the dusty tomes in front of them, grinning, “...well, I’m pretty sure I wrote all of these myself.”

Morgan stared, waiting for some other catch to come in. “Yours,” she repeated. “And ours. Not you and me ours, but you and...your family ‘ours.’ Because you’re...for real scribes.” She gaped, trying not to laugh with disbelief. “Holy shit. The scribes are alive, and the scribes are you and---holy shit!” She doubled over, trying to process. Leah didn’t really seem like the bystander syndrome type. She was always ready to learn and share with anyone, a lot like Rio. Did Morgan have the scribes all wrong, or did it take a mini apocalypse for something good to grow? She turned upright, her face still awed. “I have a lot of questions. Like, a lot. But, I think the first one is...do you actually remember any of those...things? I mean, do you know her or is it more like...as if your great great grandma knew her? You...just discovered this, right? I mean--” Morgan reached out for one of the books, her hand frozen over the pages. “You don’t really know her, do you?”

Leah couldn’t help but laugh at Morgan’s reaction, the giggles bubbling up unexpectedly. She knew most people thought all the scribes were dead, and honestly, most of them were. Her family was rare in that they were able to keep their archives over all these years, and she attributed it mostly to some of them being phoenixes. She tilted her head once she calmed down, an apologetic look forming on her face. “So, sadly, I don’t have many memories of writing this, or of what happened when I was writing it. I mean, as a phoenix I should be able to piece together some things, but for some reason, that’s not so easy for me in this lifetime.” She really needed to explore the theory that something happened to her memories, because the older she got, the more inconvenient not knowing who she was in the past was becoming. “I think that’s a better way to look at it. But luckily… Great Great Grandma Lucrecia seemed to be pretty thorough”. With that, she pulled the first tome off of the top of the pile, opening to a page that she had marked with a tab earlier. She looked up at Morgan when she found the page, the traces of a grin playing on her lips. “It seems like your friend Constance was surprisingly powerful”, she said, turning the book so Morgan could get a better look.

Leah’s giggles were reassuring to Morgan. She wasn’t offended by Morgan's confusion and she hadn’t been sitting on some secret past life friendship. “Okay!” She breathed, “No, that’s good. That’s really good.” She sighed again, laughing as she did. “I mean, you have these resources that literally no one else on the planet has, and you weren’t like, hiding things. Which is great because I feel like this whole time I just...cannot get people to understand why I need what I need out of this mess, and knowing that this is just...exactly what it seems like, which is a fucking miracle…” She wiped her eyes, realizing she was crying and wasn’t even sure why. “Anyway, uh, my thanks to Great Great Grandma Lucrecia. If there’s a way to pay respects to phoenix past lives or past incarnations, however that is, I want to know about it. And do that, if that’s okay.”

She gestured to the book, making sure it was really okay to get a look and peered in. It seemed like Constance had made a regular nuisance of herself at the local scribe library, gobbling up as many magic texts as she could. She told Lucrecia that she had mastered whatever else was given, enough so that Lucrecia was skeptical of her claims, but it seemed Constance could summon at least basic potential in multiple fields of magic. And of course, she didn’t care about using it with tact or responsibility, although Lurecia’s words were much kinder, even sympathetic about it. Constance was well-meaning, too eager, too desperate to impress. She was a prodigy, and she was interested in the art of spellcraft, hoping that she could challenge, and even outrun herself. “Wow, goodie for her,” Morgan grumbled bitterly.

She gestured for Leah’s help with turning the page and came across and entry that gave her pause. “Hey, Leah? What does this line mean? She makes it sound like...Constance was being mistreated? She had to call for a healer...again? Do we know if these injuries were actually attributed to home stuff, or could it have been more magic experimentation going wrong, do you think?” Arcane backlash was nothing to sniff at, but it didn’t necessarily go in line with the broken bones and bruises written about in careful, solemn detai. But then again, Morgan had barely tasted what the backlash of a miscast spell could do. Her mother had been so harsh on any of her flaws, she’d never had the chance to fail that spectacularly. “And what’s this about Agnes visiting with her? Are there more entries like this?”

“It’s a very rare person that gets to see these, Morgan,” Leah started. “I still try my best to keep within scribe traditions, but it’s been more than a few times that I’ve had to break them to help someone in town. I’m usually able to pull it off secretly, though. Like you with the zombie stuff. But I thought...there was no way knowing about your personal family history could have been explained away.” She gave Morgan a light nod, signaling it was okay for her to continue. Given Morgan’s history with books, it was clear she could be trusted not to damage anything. She watched Morgan take in the new information with rapt attention, remembering the little details she’d read earlier that week.

“It seems that they were attributed to home things, but I can’t be sure. The fact that I mentioned them in the journals makes me think that they’re supernaturally related. They’d be some sort of spell backlash then, right?” She cleared her throat, gesturing to the page. “But then, there were so many other things to do with Constance that I seemed to comment on, as well”. Leah pressed her lips together, watching Morgan carefully. There had been more than a few entries that her past life had written that touched on something very specific. Something she knew that the Leah, or Lucrecia of the time could definitely relate to. Anges and Constance, Constance and Agnes. It was clear what she had been hinting at. Had she related to it, then, because she’d spent so much of her own time hiding a relationship like theirs? “It seems that I… well I had some suspicions about how much time Constance and Agnes spent together.” Although her head stayed low, her eyes traveled up to meet Morgan’s, searching them to see if they understood. Even now, when Constance was a ghost hell bent on ruining Moran’s life, it felt wrong to out her.

“Some traditions are meant to be broken,” Morgan said with a little smile. “I don’t know your whole scribe-y ethos, obviously, but I would figure that there shouldn’t be anything wrong with using your power or your knowledge to help people who need it. I mean, what’s the point of all that knowledge if you’re just gonna sit on it, right?” She continued to read, having to force herself to slow down and actually take in the old, loopy script and ink smudges. She was so focused on finding something that would say ‘reason for assholery here’ that Leah’s words reached her at a delay. “She worked in the house,” Morgan muttered. “They were close.” Which made the whole thing where Constance ruined her life extra shitty.

Then Morgan found the word. “Romantic.”

“Oh. You mean...Stars, what the hell? Who does something like this to someone they--” Morgan shook her head and kept flipping. “I guess I’m just glad she had her tiny claws in my great-great grandma and not 19th century you. Seems pretty safe to say you dodged a bullet.” Morgan shivered and started flipping ahead to the months before Constance’s death. “See, look, Constance was-- ‘cast aside.’ They fired her, I guess? But it doesn’t say why just that it was ‘unjust’. Thanks for the objectivity, Lucrecia.” Morgan rolled her eyes and skimmed for more clues. “Wait, you weren’t thinking that it was because they--because of Constance and Agnes, right?” She looked back at the book. Worse things happened to girls who kissed each other, even now. She took a slow breath. “I swear to every atom in the universe, if I was cursed and fucking murdered because of a bad breakup and homophobic parents…” Well, Constance didn’t have a head to roll. But Morgan could try and step up her efforts to get everything she needed for the ritual. Get an exorcist on the phone and see if she could speed things up.

Leah smirked at Morgan’s musing, and she nodded in agreement. “Sometimes they are, with restrictions, of course.” She watched Morgan as she read through the pages, taking in the information. It must have been hard for her to be objective, when Constance had caused so much harm to her family already. But Lead felt genuinely that there was something else she needed to understand before she knew the whole picture. “Helping people with the information is what it’s for, I think. And maybe, with the information I found here, we can find a way to help Constance move on peacefully”.

Leah let out a low, slow breath, closing her eyes as Morgan tried to process what she was reading. She turned the book back toward herself briefly, only so she could find a specific section she’d flagged enthusiastically a few pages beyond where her friend had already been reading. “It was a bit more than a bad break up, I think”, she said, pointing out the section of writing. It was the most candid Lucrecia had been about the whole situation, and her past life seemed utterly torn about how to feel. “They were going to...they had plans”, Leah elaborated, pausing a bit to turn the book back and let Morgan read on her own. “But, when they were caught, well…” she licked her lips, sighing sadly. “Agnes sort of… abandoned her. Blamed her, and they forced her out. And Constance was left with… Well, she was left with nothing. No home, no family, not even a future to build. She had nothing, Morgan. After she and Agnes had promised each other everything. For all the time I- or Lucrecia spent talking about her frivolousness, I practically weep here in sorrow for how she was treated after they were caught.” Part of her wondered still, if she had related in some way.

Morgan went stiff at Leah’s mention of the word ‘peacefully.’ It was true that she hadn’t brought up the details of the ritual she was gathering materials for. She didn’t have the stamina to be judged by or lose another friend. But she had kind of hoped that with all the anger and the generational angst she’d been put through, Leah wouldn’t assume giving Constance a peace she hadn’t earned as the default option. Morgan tried to think about at what point things had become so dead-set for her, if she could have ever stomached doing anything different without feeling like her body was going to destroy itself with rage.

She couldn’t.

Destroying her would have been the only way to end the curse, and as those fucking mirrors in that fun house had shown her, there had been no chance in hell Constance’s magic was ever going let her free. She’d been fate-screwed from the beginning and this, numb and broken with no rest or relief in sight, not for now, not for a whole fucking eternity, slipping away from everything, struggling to just manage herself into a ghost of normalcy, having to be bound just so she could take a break from controlling herself all the time.

“That’s just based on what past-you heard from Constance. Who, I would like to point out, also goes around calling herself ‘my justice,’ ‘my fate,’ and my doom.’ You know, when she’s not victim-blaming me for her own bullshit.” Morgan skimmed the words. It was horrible, and some part of it was almost certainly true, but she didn’t feel like dropping everything she’d been working for because, oh, poor baby, abandoned by a girl you liked. Like her curse hadn’t done that to Morgan so many times before White Crest. Like that balanced with all the women in her family she had ground up and broken into monsters.

Morgan closed the book abruptly and stepped away from it, not quite looking at Leah. “Thank you for trusting me, Leah.” She muttered, her voice flattening as she choked down her bitterness. “I appreciate what you’re risking by doing this, and your secret is safe with me.”

Leah alternated between holding her mouth shut tightly and worrying her lower lip with her teeth while Morgan spoke, knowing full well that convincing Morgan to take some pity on Constance wouldn’t be an easy task. It made sense that Morgan felt the way she did- a lifelong curse that stubbornly followed her into her afterlife for something she had no part in was anything but fair. But it also wasn’t fair what had happened to Constance. She worried that striking back instead of trying to find a balance would just continue this cycle further. “Past me seemed rather annoyed by Constance, mostly, or at least turned off by something about her. Maybe I was pretentious, or maybe she was childish- who knows. My point is, despite my aversion to her, I still seem to sympathize and write about what happened to her as if she’s the victim here… It doesn’t negate all the horrible she’s done to your family, obviously, or to you.” She let her eyes leave the dusty tome to find Morgan’s, searching them to try and find a way to get her point across. “Betrayal and tragedy can do something to a person’s psyche, and that’s heightened in the afterlife if left unresolved- that’s all I’m saying. And when all that tragedy is trapped inside someone for years upon years, thinking clearly is not going to be that someone’s forte. This information is for you- it’s yours… I’ve made copies of things I found significant just in case you want to study more”, as she spoke, she slipped out a rather bulky folder from inside her desk, sliding it over to Morgan. “It’s yours to do what you want with it, and despite my opinion, I know whatever you choose to do will be best for you.”

“Hey.” Leah reached out, gently grazing Morgan’s arm, as if that would offer some sort of comfort. She knew it wouldn't, or couldn’t, rather, but it felt like a necessary thing to do before she spoke. “I’m sorry this is happening. You don’t deserve it, and I hope with everything that it’s over soon. You’ll let me know if there’s any other way I can help, right?”

Morgan understood that Leah was just trying to be a good friend: talking as much dirt as she could manage about someone she had never met before who she knew Morgan hated, balancing her automatic sympathy (the same sympathy everyone wanted to give Constance just because she happened to make the decision that bound Morgan’s existence to perpetual suffering at nineteen) with a take she thought Morgan would appreciate more. As if it would make her stance sting a little less if Morgan thought they could bitch and stitch about her after work, as if this was just a case of clashing friend groups. Morgan’s jaw clenched, but she kept her voice low and even and clear as she spoke. “I am intimately aware of how repeated traumas and tragedy can negatively impact someone’s ability to function, much less thrive. I’ve been in and out of therapy for fifteen odd years, processing my steadily growing pile of baggage and the truly awful things that were done to my mother, because of Constance’s curse, that she then passed onto me in her own special way. It’s been over a hundred years of crushing my family until they turned that damage on themselves and each other. By the time I came along, the world I was allowed to have was so small… And, you know, I take a strong prescription that has to be injected directly into my brainstem along with some spinal fluid now that my circulatory system doesn’t work anymore, on account of Constance murdering me six months ago. So I get it. I do. I know suffering does something to you after a while.” Morgan’s lip trembled and she bit down on it to keep steady. “I don’t think I need your copies, but I’ll take them, just in case. Because I know you want me to.”

She flinched at Leah’s touch. Part of her was desperate to let it happen, to clutch her hand as hard as she dared and tell her everything, tell her to please, please understand what it’s like to find out you never had a chance, to be born as some invisible monster’s damage toy, to build up so much hope and wind up on the floor over and over again, to have your wires so fucking crossed you want to hide or break over anything that feels like calm or normal, because that means it’s all a second away from being smashed. She could never seem to find the words, and could never let herself back into those dark rooms that had been cut into her. Everything that happened to her was so absurd, so improbable, and with every curse year, the ordinary mishaps of existence sent spikes of terror into Morgan for days, for weeks. It was the best mindfuck of all because part of it, the worst of it, was real.

Morgan remained still, unable to press in, unable to shake her off. “It’s my damage, my problem. You’ve already done enough for me, Leah. I do genuinely appreciate that, and everything else. I should probably go now, right?”

“I-I didn’t mean to… I just meant that-”. Morgan’s reaction wasn’t at all unexpected, but it still made a mixture of guilt and sympathy ping in Leah’s gut. This situation wasn’t as black and white as either of them wanted it to be, and there was no easy solution- no right opinions. Two wrongs didn’t make a right, but how many wrongs was Morgan supposed to suffer before she was completely broken? Still, there couldn’t have been a better way of dealing with Constance than benevolence, right? Show her the thing she’d be constantly denied all those years ago, show her that change was possible, and send her off to rest peacefully. Whatever afterlife karmic balance existed would deal with her crimes on their own. “I’m sorry”, she said, finally. “There’s no possible way for me to understand where you’re coming from, or how much you’ve been through. My intention was to make this easier, not more difficult for you. I’m sorry if that’s backfired.”

She blinked, pulling her hand away slowly after a small squeeze when she realized Morgan was going to remain stiff. “It’s not only your problem. That’s what you have friends for, you know? Like I said, despite what I think, whatever you choose is what’s best for you, because you’re incredibly intelligent and compassionate, and you know better about this than anyone.” She looked around the empty library, letting out a slow breath as she gently traced the tome’s binding. You can leave, but if you’re up for it, I’d like to treat you for lunch. I never repayed you for letting me stay with you and Deirdre and helping discover my sleepwalking. How about some Al’s so we can forget about this shit? At least for an hour or two.”

Morgan tried her hardest to not cry in front of Leah. Up until this moment she had trusted Leah with just as much as she did the rest of her friends. Not Constance, that had blown up in her face enough times already and she couldn’t being tricked again, but the promise of an answer, something to tie her closer to Agnes, had been too much to say no to. She couldn’t slam the brakes on a trust like that, or tell her body this wasn’t worth it and have it listen. She scrubbed furiously at the corners of her eyes, but at the word ‘intention,’ she let her arms fall limp and let the tears fall, surrendering to embarrassment of showing just how much she’d been hurt, just how tired and alone she felt for a walking corpse that could shamble on forever.

“You’re a really good friend, Leah,” she sniffled, staring at the cuffs on her jacket. “I know you’re trying and that’s, that counts for…a lot.” It was almost worth everything. More than she could reckon on from others she’d known longer. It gave her hope. Only, in the past few weeks, hope had cut worse than any other wound. Morgan let out a shaky exhale. “Um, I don’t really eat out anymore, and playing pretend sometimes makes me really sad, when I remember how good stuff used to taste, so I’m just gonna--” She gestured to the door, tried to smile like she was totally okay and certainly not on the verge of blubbering. “But maybe we’ll do something else another time.” Morgan didn’t have it in her to give even a half hearted wave. She shoved the photocopies into her bag and left, eyes narrowed only on the road ahead and how many steps she needed to get through the next minute, and the next, and the next.

#wr leah #wr chatzy #wr leah chatzy #transgressions #abuse tw #//just gals being pals #// '''soft'''#wickedswriting

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justjessame · 3 years

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Babysitting Butcher Chapter 52

I was sitting with Frenchie, Kimiko was going over the footage from the drones with Billy, helping him edit it with more precision and a better eye than most people would think to give her credit to have, and I was explaining the issue that I had after my chat with Grace about the chips.

“So what you’re saying,” he was squinting at me, but I could tell he wasn’t seeing ME. “Is that Ryan has trios chips, but Mallory doesn’t believe that they were placed there to track him?” I nodded, still not quite sure he was paying attention to my image. “What would be l’ objet then?” His eyes narrowed, as though it would help him grasp the answer to the same problem I had issues finding the solution for. “Chips, they are used to track, to listen, to -” his eyes widened, and then he refocused on me. “Is there someone here, in the building,” he clarified, “that knows more about tech?”

“Yes,” I’d looked up our in-house technology guru, wanting to know their name, just in case I had to tap their shoulder next. “Carrie Stavos.” I grabbed my desk phone and hit the extension I’d memorized that morning. “Stavos? Yes, this is Dr. Taylor, could you come to my office? Of course, finish that up and come up after.” I signed off with the young sounding woman and hung up. “She has to finish up with -” It was my turn to squint. “I’m sure you’d understand what she’d explained,” my lips quirked and Frenchie smirked in answer. “She’ll be here when she finishes up, in about ten minutes.” I checked my watch. “That gives me a chance to go through some emails, and you can check on those two -” I nodded toward Billy’s desk where he and Kimiko were working in almost complete silence, but their heads were close and they were both taking turns clicking and moving the mouse.

While Frenchie slid over to Billy’s side, I clicked through emails, finding one from an unknown source with a video file included. Great, fabulous, just what my day needed, more shit. First I put the email through the handy dandy backward trace, thinking that my new fan would need to learn quickly who they were dealing with and what type of fun resources I had at my fingertips. The video I sent to the security systems, they could look to see where it originated, who saved it, and then hopefully who forwarded it to me.

While those systems were running, I answered the more mundane of my correspondences. The yeses and the nos, the requests, and the denials. I had to imagine that I wouldn’t have the answers to my mystery email by the end of the day, normally anonymous emails took anywhere from forty-eight hours upward to backtrack, so I was shocked when I got the telltale ping that signaled they’d run it through the available programs and they had my answers.

Clicking open the report, I sat back as I read it. The email had originated from our office, from one of the mailroom email accounts. This account is utilized by anyone who can access the mailroom, which means literally anyone who can gain entrance into the building. The mailroom computer isn’t secure. It holds nothing classified, so needs no password to log on. Great, that’s fun.

The video, I read on, was also from our building. My office, it went on to be more precise, on the date of my hemmorage. When I nearly went nuclear and wiped out EVERYTHING. It was time stamped from the moment I swiped in that morning until an hour after I’d been rushed to the undisclosed clinic. The security person who had backtracked the feed and written this piece of the report said that only our people should have access to the feed, and only the people with security clearance of those in the video storage and above should be able to clip, edit, and share it through our systems. The clearance numbers used, however, match nothing they could find.

I sighed and sat back, somewhat surprised that Billy didn’t hightail it to my desk, but he was muttering with Frenchie about something in their footage. Why this video, I wondered? Why now?

Putting the headset on that I kept on hand, just in case I needed it for something as tasteless as this, I took a deep breath to fortify myself and clicked play.

Have you ever watched yourself nearly die? I don’t mean figuratively, but literally see a video of you come within inches of death? There are films, entire movie series that have that trope. Escaping death, only for it to continue to come for you, wanting nothing more than to make sure the balance is kept even.

As I watched the video of the day I walked into our office, so full of certainty that I’d fixed it, I’d fixed the massive fucking disaster of a personal invasion that Homelander forced on me I felt bile start to rise in my throat because of the surreal quality of it. Hearing my voice say the words that I barely recalled saying to Billy come out of my mouth. Seeing me do things that I still take for granted, the mundane day to day shit, things that I knew within moments would become things I’d pray I could do again.

Seeing Billy go for our lunch, the rolling in my stomach grew, a pain reminiscent of what I’d felt before. I knew what was coming, but to see it from THIS angle? It was as if I HAD died, and this would have been my view - what I would have seen while people rushed inside. Wait-- How had they rushed in?

I clicked back, the rush of the blood down my legs my starting point. I hadn’t made a sound, but Billy mentioned that my temperature had gotten so high that I’d set off an alarm, which alerted security. Why didn’t I hear it on the video? The alarm didn’t start until the first three people came in, faces I didn’t recognize, and none of whom should have been able to enter, since only Billy, Mallory, and I had access aside from Security override. None of this trio had security markers on, and they didn’t look all that rushed. I couldn’t hear their conversation, another redflag, since I heard every other sound, and after a gesture, the alarm FINALLY sounded and then things moved the way they should have.

“Billy?” Calm, that’s how I sounded, which would have shocked me, but by this point nothing was all that surprising. “Could you take a look at something for me?”

Getting Billy calmed down after HE watched the video wasn’t as simple. Frenchie’s eyes were wide enough to see every divot on the moon, and I was contemplating cancelling everything for the rest of the day to distract him the best way I knew how.

“Those three fuckin’ -” how his nostrils could either get so thin that NO air could possibly pass through or so wide that he could inhale ALL of the air in the free world was beyond me, but the true power was how he could do either and make me want to climb him like Mount Everest and - Damn it, Ronnie, get your head in the game. “You coulda died, and they were doin’ fuck all.”

“Actually, they were wasting time,” Frenchie offered, and I could tell he wished he hadn’t. “I meant they were possibly looking for a way to -”

“See how long it would actually take for my self destruct button to engage,” I nodded, why bother fucking lying? “Who are they?” Important question, since clearly that mattered most. “I couldn’t really see their faces, but they don’t look familiar.”

“Knew where the cameras were,” Billy grunted, pulling me onto his lap as he sat in his own chair. “Knew where they were and kept their heads down. Not amateurs. Knew they’d have to raise the alarm too, cause sooner or later, your temperature would and no one could cover that mess up.”

We were considering this newest blip in our nest of blips when the knock came to the door. Kimiko raised her eyebrow at me in question, but I just sighed. “That would be Stavos. The techie guru we asked to consult.” Pulling free of Billy, but not before giving in to a steadying kiss, just to remind one another that at least ONE part of our world was steadfast, I walked to the door to let in what I could only imagine would be MORE bad fucking news.

Carrie Stavos didn’t look like I thought she would. I had a thought that she’d be spiky haired and edgy. Instead she looked more librarian with a hint of a kindergarten teacher tossed in for fun. Glasses perched on her nose, she took in her surroundings with the ease of someone who was used to blending in with the wallpaper. Unfortunately for Carrie, I needed her to be the center of attention.

Once I had her situated in my chair, my laptop out of sight out of mind, I started with the soft balls. First with the types of chips that might be implanted in people, then on to the reasons for the chips. From there we went to more nefarious reasons for chipping people, superbeings for instance.

“Superbeings?” Her eyes widened. “You want to chip supes?”

I shook my head emphatically. “No, I most certainly do NOT want to chip supes.” Couldn’t be further from the truth. “I’m simply asking, if I found out that a particular supe was, in fact, chipped multiple times, what would the purpose aside from GPS be for those chips?”

From wide to narrow slits, thinking hard, I could tell, Carrie was working out the question I’d posed her. “I know that the Seven are chipped, for location, of course.” A tilt of confirmation and understanding on my part kept her going. “If you found that other supes were chipped, and if they had more than one?” Another tilt, and she sighed, her head shaking. “I can only think of one reason and it’s terrible.”

“Terrible?” It was Billy, leaning forward and eager, because while Ryan was his responsibility if something was terrible for a supe, he would like to hear about it.

“Yes, terrible.” Carrie looked a little green around the gills. “I’ve heard of a type of chip, I thought they were like Urban Legends, but maybe not.” A tiny sigh escaped ever as she blanched a bit. “Inhibitors.”

Now my eyes turned to slits as I tried to process this reality. That a chip could be implanted to - no, they wouldn’t have, would they? “Inhibitor?”

“If there’s more than one?” I nodded, barely seeing Carrie as I ran through the list of Ryan’s powers like a scroll. “Each chip could be specific for ONE power, in place to stop that one, hold it at bay. Inhibit the supe from accessing it.” Not training him to use his powers responsibly or control them, but to literally neuter him. I felt like throwing up. “Terrible.” She whispered and I had to concur.

#billy butcher x ofc #the boys #alternative universe #mention of smut

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s-mething-mbti · 3 years

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Hiya! I just discovered your blog and was wondering if you could help try to type me (sorry this is pretty long)

1. I’m currently pretty torn between the intuitive introverts. I was able to narrow it down to INTJ, INFJ or INTP. I’m about 97.2% sure I use Ni. The only thing that’s giving me a bit of doubt is I find myself occasionally learning for the sake of learning which I’ve found is a traditionally Ne trait. Despite this I’m still pretty sure I use Ni as when I go down a rabbit hole and start learning for the sake of learning its always about a topic that interests me or is entertaining. I won’t waste my time learning about something I find mundane or drab. I resonate a lot with Ni’s “aha” moments where the correct answer simply pops into my head or a vision suddenly seems clear or a plot holes solution suddenly seems painstakingly obvious. I also resonate with starting out with a broader range of information/ possibilities and narrowing it down to one or two things. Another intuitive thing I highly relate to is living in the future. If almost never living in the present, and a constantly fixate on the future. I have a distinct, clear, and well thought out plan for the next 20 years (give or take).

Where I run into a bit of trouble is when I try to figure out which judging functions I predominantly use. It honestly feels like I use them all (though I know you’re only supposed to be able to use two well). For example I plan out everything, and set deadlines for myself. My desk often seems really messy to others especially when I’m doing art. This isn’t because I don’t value cleanliness, but because it simply makes more sense to keep all my art supplies out rather than having to spend at least fifteen minutes taking them out and then putting them away only to take them right back out the next day. I set goals based off of easily measurable, external things such as time, or grades. I make daily to do lists that outline everything I’ll need to do in the day, and some stuff to focus on if I have extra time. With my to do list I also plan out the approximate time each thing should take. When coming up with a scientific theory, I take others opinions/theories and test them against each other, and current scientific laws in order to formulate the most probable theory. External opinions (in a scientific/ logical manner) mean a lot to me (I don’t really care about how people that aren’t my friends think of me). To me these things seem very Te. But then I’m always smiling and am a fairly warm person. I want my friends to be happy, and I want to help others. I despise emotionally driven conflict(though I love debates), and while I’m not afraid to disrupt it if it threatens my morals/ is promoting something blatantly wrong (factually or morally) I do really harmony. These seem like pretty Fe things to me. As for Fi, I rarely share my negative emotions, preferring to deal with them predominantly alone. While I may not talk about them much I also have EXTREMELY strong morals. If something is crossing them I’m not going to simply ignore it for the sake of harmony. While I tend to be private I do try to be as authentic as possible. My morals are derived by information I’ve collected and decisions I’ve made myself, rather than being derived by ‘the groups’ collective morals if that makes sense. To me these things appear to be very Fi. As for Ti, sometimes I enjoy learning simply for the sake of learning. The knowledge may have no practical use to me but if I find it interesting or want to learn about it I can devote hours to it. I try and come to the most logical/accurate conclusion possible, and when I’m offering advice I may offer additional advice that takes different variables into account. The truth is really important to me as well.

2. Reading. I absolutely ADORE reading(specifically fantasy/sci-fi/dystopian books or research/scientific articles about topics that interest me). For reference there was a period of time when I had some free time and I was reading 2 or 3 books a day? Read maybe 50 books in the span of 20 days? But yeah I absolutely love reading. Just he way the book sucks you in and deposits you and a completely new world full of wonder and disaster and ugh it’s just magnificent. And don’t even get me started on impeccable character development and eeee. The way rereading a book feels like you’re reconnecting with an old best friend or going back to your childhood home and *sobs*. I also LOVE trying to predict plot twists and character deaths. Most of the time I can predict things correctly and idk it’s really fun to just try and figure out what’s going to happen before the big reveal. And the rush of satisfaction you get when you’ve guessed something right- it also helps me brace for character deaths (sorta. For example I knew *the* death in the final empire [by Brandon Sanderson] was coming since nearly the very beginning [I had my suspicions since the moment vin was introduced] but I still sobbed when the character died. [a tad off topic but what caused me to cry wasn’t the death itself but another characters reaction to it. This is often the case I find. A death of a character I love leaves me feeling empty but what typically gets me to cry is the others reactions- for thus reason funerals usually make me cry. I should also add that I only cry when I’m alone. I’ve cried around people (that aren’t my parents) a grand total of 1 time.]

Uh and daydreaming. I’m almost always daydreaming. Ie. if my brain was a search engine or whatever one tab would be reality and I would consecutively have at lest 20 other tabs open. Some of then playing videos (daydreams) others supplying music(if I’m not actively listening to real music my brain cycles through songs I have memorized. Occasionally does this with book scenes too if I’m bored [yes, I memorize some of my favourite scenes, word for word, so I can play them like a movie in my head when I, bored) others containing random info (just me thinking random stuff) etc.

3. I guess how to solve some problems? Wether it’s a math or science problem, or an argument between friends, figuring out how to solve things has always been something I’m decently good at. Math and science just. Make sense. And then with issues between people I’m good at looking at different perspectives (even ones that I don’t agree with) and playing out different scenarios/ possible outcomes of different approaches. This lets me come up with a solution that will successfully solve the problem with the least amount of negative ramifications involved

4. Hmm maybe being present? I honestly feel like life is passing me by and I’m just immobilized on the sidelines. Im so far into the future that I kinda forget to actually *live* every once in a while.

5. Honesty? Truth? Morals? These topics are all really interesting as they can be kinda subjective. The line between honesty and cruelty is so small. What is truth? Cause while yes, we have some set truths (such as the earth is orbiting the sun) so many ‘truths’ are simply subjective and completely depend on ones perspective. And morals my goodness. The stormlight archive is a really fun series that plays around with things like what is justice? And honour? I won’t get into it now but it brings up so many really interesting questions regarding morals.

6. Perspective . I think perspective is such a fascinating thing. Just. Different opinions. Seeing the world through completely different lenses. Interpreting the same thing in utterly different ways. When toying around with an idea I find it really fun to try and imagine opposing perspectives. While I can find different perspectives really interesting, they can also well... get on my nerves to say the least. Sometimes someone perspective is just? So blatantly wrong? And has absolutely no factual evidence backing it up? And part of me wants to just just scream and it would be so much easier if everyone just. Assessed the facts in front of them instead of making wild accusations or whatever without anything to support them. But yeah overall I think perspectives are really cool and they’re part of what helps to make the world diverse and life so much less interesting without different perspectives.

The future. I’ve found a bunch of my friends find thinking about the future stressful but if I’m being honest I find solace in thinking about the future. Having things planned out and knowing what I intend to do/ where I want to go takes off so much stress. I lowkey live in the future and I honestly cannot wait till it comes, and I achieve my goals. While I might be a bit scared the future excites me so much more than it’ll ever scare me.

7. Maybe add some more stuff about the judging functions and feelings and thinking etc . I absolutely adore science and math. I literally do math for fun. I’m currently aiming to get my PhD in astrophysics.

Not sure if this is relevant at all but my biggest (harmless) pet peeves are my grandmother’s door stopper (it always gets stuck in the door and then u can’t get it out and the door won’t close properly- I have an unhealthy amount of hatred for that thing AHAHJSEJKSMDJDJDJJ) and when people say some variant of “you did good”. Like nO NO YOU DID NOT DO gOoD. YOU DID W E L L (Anyways theres my little mini rant).

I’m my friend groups therapist (sorta). While I’m really not good with words and recycle the same three responses I always let everyone know that I’m here for them and they can talk to me without judgement etc. While I really don’t know what to say or do I try my best because I care about my friends and want to help them. I love them and so I want them to be able to be happy. Im always smiling (though this is more so because people don’t ask me how I’m doing when I look happy than because I’m genuinely happy. Most of the time I’m he farthest thing from that). I’m a pretty warm person who’s always happy to help, however I’m very introverted. I haven’t had a single conversation with the majority of people in my class (I’ve had a convo with maybe 5. Talk to 2 regularly. There are 26 people in my class). I never express negative emotions (with the exception of stress- I panic intensely in the 5 minutes immediately before taking a test as this helps me to completely turn off my nerves while I’m writing the exam. I may also make a joke or two about my negative emotions with close friends). I should also add that when making decisions I value logic more and think thinks through thoroughly, examining the pros and cons etc. While I take feelings and emotions into consideration when making decisions they’re more like an additional variable to consider rather than the main driving force that determines my decision. If I’m feeling really emotional and I need to make a decision I will postpone deciding until I feel more levelheaded. I’m really not impulsive in the slightest.

Thank you so much!!

INTJ

Living in the future rather than the present and your comfort in that sapce, your ability for and enjoyment of making predictions, your ability to really understand and try on different perspectives you don’t necessarily agree with, your focus on “ramifications” (aka future implications) while problem solving - this all points to high Ni.

You also show a Te preference - goals based on external metrics, to-do lists for daily tasks, logic based on the outer world (external opinion). When you said “While I take feelings and emotions into consideration when making decisions they’re more like an additional variable to consider rather than the main driving force that determines my decision” - that is a clear cut definition of Te over Fe preference.

Your tertiary Fi shows through here as well - willing to disrupt harmony if it upsets your morals, your morals being personally derived, needing to understand your emotions while alone. And lastly, your statement about “forgetting to live” from being in the future is pretty textbook inferior Se.

#ask #type me #intj #mbti #myers-briggs #Anonymous

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thehereticaldeserthermit · 4 years

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𝕆𝕦𝕥 𝕆𝕗 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣 ℚ𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤

ROLE PLAYER GET TO KNOW YOU PROMPT

Alright TDC Community It’s time for a task,

and this time we’re all going to get to know each other a little better.

Under the cut, you’ll find forty out of character questions split into two parts: OOC about your muses, and OOC about yourself! Answer what you’d like, add more if you’d like.

When you’re done TAG some of your writing partners and keep FUN going.

-there is no pressure to participate

-IF You Are Reading This And You’d Like To Participate Consider Yourself Tagged My Friend!

Much Love,

TheJesseWhoLurks

I tag @lyr-taxidermist @theghostofharar @hurdygurdyskeksis @urskekyagvi @skekmal-the-hunter @skekso-the-emperor @gourdplayer @hedonistschambers @ulvanmaudra @littlebluezoologist @the-wandering-urru @queenofthetides @juliejewel24 @thecastleurru

OOC About Your Character(s)

1. What do you want to get out of playing this character(s)?

The reason I wanted to write for Gra was to meet fellow fans that loved the world of TDC as much as I do, I wanted to find fellow writers. I wanted to steep myself in the fandom. You can easily consider me skeKSis obsessed but I am growing a fondness for their counterparts -slowly ❤

2. Describe your character(s) with three words.

Passionate | Erratic | Trustworthy

3. What made you decide to write this muse?

Originally I was going to pick up The Ritual Master, he’d been my OG fav from the movie BUT Gra kept ... poking me with his scepter? Like; I live in the desert, you live in the desert, Ima recluse, you’re a recluse =we are simpatico. I think The Heretic picked me because he simply would not leave my mind when I considered him as a possibility.

4. If you could change one event in your muse’s life (in their main or canon verse), what would you change?

Canon. I mean they left us kinda hanging there. We really do not know what happened do we? They are simply, just not there anymore. I do not want them to perish, I want them to make it to the finish line and become urSkek. It breaks my heart to think they did not make it.

5. If you could tell your muse one thing, what would you tell them?

I would not say anything, just hug him REALLY tightly and probably not let go until he gives me a chitter-laugh.

6. If you could give your muse one gift, what would you give them?

I would like to give them...ME.

7. If you had to take one positive thing away from your muse, what would you take away?

I do not want to take a positive thing from the fibers that make up Gra. I feel they are very interwoven in his tale. Removing one would make another untether. If I could take away or diminish a bad trait Id have him not be so stubborn and or impatient but then again he would not be Gra now would he?

8. If you could “borrow” one aspect of your muse and apply it to yourself or your own life, what would you borrow?

His determination, passion. Damn son. You get things done.

9. Do you genuinely want your muse to be happy? What do you think would make them most happy in life?

Yes. He’s gotten his ass handed to him, I think he might be owed a slice of peace and happiness. What makes him most happy? He’s already showed me; his relationships whether its friendship, extended family or a lover those are treasures he holds near and dear to his heart.

10. Do you enjoy putting your muse through angst? What do you think would break their heart the most?

Usually I prefer to plot out angst rather then let it completely run a-muck because you never know what your partner is comfortable with, what might trigger them in a detrimental way and simply set fire to a plot unintentionally.

I already know; it literally is ... break his heart.

11. What do you love about your muse?

His dynamic energy, the wild fire, the mystical chaos, the creativity is off the charts. His sharp distinguished features, the way he looks shamanistically feral as compared to his brethren and their Garthic garb. His use of the color red. His scratchy rasp of a voice. His laugh.

12. What do you hate about your muse?

He is a high maintenance muse, he is demanding and screeches loudly for what he wants.

13. What about your muse amuses you?

The fact that he is a skeKSis. This brings a whole slew of challenges to the table for a writer. Case in point, I was writing a reply one day and I went to put something in along the lines of ‘he arched his brow and blah blah’ THEN he hit me! He has no eyebrows to arch, ahhh! I have to stop and think about how to write out expressive traits or reactions that are not of the usual human reaction tone.

14. What about your muse makes you sad?

How fragile his heart really is after all the shit he’s endeared.

15. How would you describe your muse to someone about to meet them, in person, for the first time?

Get Ready For A Wild SURPRISE!

16. Would you like your muse as a person if you met them in real life?

Yes, I like creative souls. I cherish them.

17. In what ways are you better than your muse? In what ways are they better than you?

I do not think I am or he is better than the other.

But I will say he is a handsome devil, for a skeKSis.

18. Why do you think you connect to your muse?

Creative. Outcast.

19. What aspect of your muse’s personality is most important to you? What aspect of your muse’s personality do you think is most important to them? Is it the same? Why or why not?

His passion and drive. I’d say its the same answer for us both. All of the accomplishments he tackled probably had their stacks of obstacles with each to-do. You’d have to have an unending supply of passion and drive to keep going, to complete all. He really is a work-a-holic and a busy body skek.

20. Has your character(s) changed over the time that you have been playing them? How have they changed?

Not yet but I am sure he will, creative liberties will be taken since I only have a a episode or two to work with -am I right?

About You!

1. What is your name?

Jesse.

2. What is your profession?

secret shit.

3. What do you do to relax?

I write. Play video games. Naps are divine. Hot coffee and watch YT videos. DOodle. Desert combing walks. Long hot baths. Organize things xD

4. What is your favorite treat (desert)?

All kinds, I’m not picky. I love me some chocolate lately.

5. Favorite movie

Too many to list. Its October right now. All I want is Hocus Pocus, some Harry Potter and Practical Magick at the moment. Tis the season.

6. Favorite book

I do not think I have a favorite. BUT I will admit that I have a copy of The Dark Crystal that I STOLE FROM A LIBRARY YEARS AGO! I have kept it all this time, its falling apart and its aged with beauty and I adore it ❤ I also have a Jim Henson book about puppetry and his works, there is a page from TDC and if my memory serves me right it has the concept art of skekGra in it sooo sooo I was looking at skekGra YEARS AGO AND HAD NO CLUE the conjunction that would line up in the future! I really neeed to go find this book but its in a storage shed that will be a fresh hell to get to =[ *

7. Favorite vacation spot

Anywhere where its either very green and or by some body of water. Ocean, river, lake. Yes, good. -not very many humans around save for present company reading thiiiis.

8. Favorite Disney movie

Are you kidding me? Too many to list, although I will say The Sword In The Stone did play a part in Gra’s Crystal Skimmer named Archimedes after the grouchy old owl.

9. How did you first get into role playing?

Years ago. I started writing on face book. I wrote for a pirate believe it or not, he was my first muse and he holds special place in my black heart and probably always will. But I am disinclined to acquiesce the gift of further details about this scurvy cursed muse, Ha!

10. What was your first platform? If it was something other than Tumblr, what made you get into Tumblr?

It was face book, before they got all crazy about accounts and security. I moved over to tumblr because writers were incredibly rude and rapid fire RP-ers. One liner sentences and I’m like NOPE I need a novel length.

11. What’s a grammar rule you find yourself breaking or ignoring a lot?

Sometimes I have a touch of dyslexia, sometimes I typo, sometimes I am too tired to proof read, sometimes I make blunders. But I tend to focus on my mistakes rather then other peoples. I just go with the flow, I just write no matter what their level of ‘proper grammar’ IS because I’d like to think that maybe they are just starting out, maybe they will fall in love with writing and maybe they will be the next author who creates a world we all fall in love with and want to immerse ourselves in.

12. Are there any languages besides English in which you think you could comfortably roleplay?

I do not RP in other languages. However I did have a muse at one time who was French, I would throw in little phrases but it was never entirely done in French and I do have a British muse at the moment, so again I will use slang and little sayings to make them well rounded as best as I can. Those are just little details I like to include that many others might skip on but I thrive for deets.

I do however have role play writing partners that are from ALL over the world which is amazing to me.

13. Do you listen to music while your write?

ALOT. I have tracks specifically for skekGra, that take me to his frame of mind. Even TDC soundtrack at times, the puppet show song and the blue flame part 2 are on replay a lot.

14. Are you a morning, day, evening, or night writer?

I am all over the place. My life is very hectic. I’d like to say its usually in the afternoon of evening for me, the house is settled down and things are silent but thats not always how it works out. Oftentimes I will sit down and write a reply or two, then dip to do mundane human things that adults do, then return back for a few more replies.

15. How does tiredness affect your writing?

Kills it. The weekends I work long hours therefor my brain is like WHAAAT.

16. What is your biggest obstacle to writing every day, if time doesn’t count?

It is always TIME. Sometimes stress levels can be an obstacle too, no lie. If something major is going on, I just throw my hands up like ‘I got nothin’’ and thats that.

17. How many drafts is a paralyzing amount?

Oh damn. Been there done that. I am much more picky about it nowadays. I try to limit skekGra to a certain number of replies because he also has to allow room for other muses.

Currently: Gra has ten replies on tumblr -no actually 11 &&& 4 on discord. I am two shakes away from cutting HIM OFF! lol.

18. Is there anything character-wise or writing style-wise that you can’t stand?

I’m open to different characters, I have written with a lot. I love a writer who has style, I appreciate the effort.

Etiquette, manners and consideration are oftentimes LACKING as of late.

19. What kind of anonymous questions are your favorite?

ANYTHING as long as it is not anon HATE.

20. What is your weakest point in writing? Angst, fluff, dialogue, etc.?

T I M E not having enough time to write the angst fluff and dialogue, smut too lets be real. It really is a bummer to me when I do not have the time, I work, I have a a lotta responsibilities, my life is like a hurricane a lot of the time so TIME is my weakness, oftentimes I am super J E L L O of people who are online all day, every day, always there I’m envious and I get writers FOMO which makes me laugh but its so damn true I could ugly laugh cry about it.

#OOC: Post Is Out Of Character #||| Just a lil get to know me thingy |||#the dark crystal #tdc age of resistance #skeksis #skekgra #skekgra the conqueror #skekgra the heretic

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haberdashing · 4 years

Text

No Puppet Strings Can Hold Me Down (10/?)

The Magnus Archives fanfic. An AU that diverges from canon between episodes 159 and 160, in which Peter Lukas’ statement that “he got you” takes on a different meaning.

on AO3

Time dragged on. There were a few mundane tasks to be done around the safehouse--repairs to be done, supplies to be sorted through, essentials to be unpacked--but for the most part, the time was spent just... waiting, though what exactly they were waiting for Jon couldn’t say.

Martin seemed convinced that Jon hadn’t gotten a head injury by collapsing to the floor, which he supposed was better than the alternative, and his headache and weakness went away as minutes turned to hours turned to days, though the flood of mostly-useless information he had acquired remained his to access.

Part of Jon wanted to dive into it, desperate to find something, anything, that could give him answers, give him an upper hand, let him know what to expect from the days and weeks to come.

Part of Jon suspected that if he dived in, he might never surface again.

Jon resisted the urge for the time being, though he kept the option under consideration in case things managed to get even more dire; perhaps that was what they were waiting for.

They slept, they ate, they tinkered, they made awkward attempts at small talk. Jonah didn’t have Jon pretend to read a statement again, but if Martin thought that was unusual, he didn’t say anything about it. Once their sleep schedules were at least slightly closer to that of most people, Martin went into town to use the payphone there and check how things were going at the Institute, as the safehouse itself didn’t have a signal.

The hours went slowly enough when Martin was there and Jon couldn’t reach out to him, literally or metaphorically, but somehow, time seemed to go even slower when Martin wasn’t there with him, when he was alone with the man keeping him prisoner in his own body.

Jon didn’t talk (well, “talk”) to Jonah in the meantime, instead silently waiting for Martin to return, and Jonah at least did him the courtesy of returning the favor and not disrupting Jon’s looping thoughts, thoughts that kept running through the same few points over and over with no end in sight...

Then eventually, finally, Martin returned, the door knocking gently against the wall after Martin pushed it open.

“Jon?”

Jon’s heart was racing as he made his way to the front room, both metaphorically and literally this time; evidently Jonah was as eager to hear what Martin had to say as Jon was, though presumably for a very different reason.

“You’re back?”

“No, I’m actually a very elaborate hologram.” Martin paused for a beat before saying, “Yes, Jon, I’m back. Observant as ever, I see.”

“I do try.”

“I’m sure you do.” Martin hung up his jacket on a nearby coat hook before settling down on the nearby couch. “Talked to Basira while I was out.”

Jon eased into the open space on the couch next to Martin. They weren’t quite touching, their bodies separated by about an inch of beat-up fabric; given his current situation, Jon wasn’t sure exactly how to feel about that fact, but it remained at the forefront of his mind just the same. “What did she have to say?”

“A few things, but the most important one is...” Martin turned towards Jon, his gaze fixed solely on Jon’s eyes--or on Jonah’s eyes, really. “She says police think you’re the one who shot Elias.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Guess you really are on the run for murder again now, huh.”

It wasn’t quite a question, despite the phrasing, and Jonah seemed to recognize this, as while Martin took a moment to take a deep breath and stare at the floor before turning his gaze back upwards, Jon didn’t say a word in that time.

“Did you kill him?”

Jon found himself blinking several times rapidly, which was rather annoying because he’d much rather have his vision unimpeded and get to stare at Martin without any disruptions. “Elias? No, of course not, don’t be ridiculous!”

“You can tell me the truth, you know, Jon.”

“I am.”

“I wouldn’t judge you for it, either. Hell, I came pretty close to doing it myself.”

It was hard to focus on the implications there when he could instead focus on Martin’s soft, shaky laugh, but Jon tried just the same. Was that what he’d missed on his way to the Panopticon, something Martin had been considering before being flung into the Lonely? Or was there some other instance in which Martin had come close to murdering their mutual boss?

“Really? Well, that... that doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t kill Elias.”

“If you say so.” Martin sounded less than convinced. “What about Peter Lukas, then?”

“What about him?” Jon kept waffling on how good he thought Jonah’s impersonation of him was, but he had to admit, Jon would sound every bit as exasperated as his voice did now if it were truly him having to field questions about that man. Perhaps Jonah Magnus loathed Peter Lukas every bit as much as Jon himself did, though Jon doubted that their reasoning would be the same.

“Three of us went into the Lonely. Only two of us made it out. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that there’s a story there.”

“...if you’re trying to imply something, I’d much rather you just spit it out already.”

“Fine then. Jon, what did you do to Peter?”

There was a long pause before Jon spoke, a pause in which Jon considered what he’d actually done, what Martin would think of it, and whether Jonah would tell the truth or lie about what had happened in the Lonely. What Jon had done to Peter... it wasn’t a moment Jon was proud of, that was for sure, even though it was probably the best possible outcome for the situation given that Peter Lukas seemed to have no intention of letting Martin escape the Lonely otherwise.

Peter Lukas was a murderer, that much was clear. He’d killed sailors on the Tundra, even killed Institute staff, and there was no reason to believe he’d stop without being forced to stop. But now Jon himself was a murderer. Was that really any better, killing one murderer just to take his place?

And come to think of it, Peter’s last words about his deal with Elias, how “he got you”... he’d been referring to exactly what had happened to him afterwards, hadn’t he? But how was Jon’s possession connected to Lukas’ deal with Jonah Magnus? Why was now the time Jonah chose for him to become possessed?

“...exactly what he deserved.”

The words were spat out without warning, suddenly derailing Jon’s train of thought. He hadn’t expected them, hadn’t expected the venom apparent in his own voice, hadn’t expected Jonah Magnus to sound like he hated the man every bit as much as Jon did for what he’d done to Martin and the Institute.

Martin looked like he hadn’t been expecting such a response either, his eyes going wide and his face pale, standing up from his place on the couch in the blink of an eye. “I... I’m going for a walk.”

“Martin, you just got back from the village.”

“Yes, and I’m going out again. Alone.” Martin paced over to the door once again, grabbing his coat off the coat hook with what looked like rather more force than was necessary.

“Look, if this is about what I said, we can talk about it-”

“Yeah, we’ll talk about it. Later. When I get back.”

“Martin, I-”

Martin opened the door, a brief bit of cool autumn air flowing into the room before he slammed it behind him.

Jon felt like slumping down, like sinking into the couch until he and it were one, but instead, as the sound of Martin slamming the door faded away, he stood up instead, a strange smile forcing its way onto his face.

#tma #tma au #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives au #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #personal #my writing

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calliope-love-corner · 3 years

Text

Insomnia

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

"Up late again, are we?"

I nearly jump out of my skin at the sudden unexpected voice. Never a dull day in this house.

"CHRIST, Annabelle, you have GOT to stop doing that!" I scold the silhouette against my dark bedroom window, clutching my blankets in tight balled fists, heart pounding. I'd bolted upright from where I'd been comfortably laying down in my bed, a position I had held for the past several hours. I held my phone close to my chest, where it had once hung loosely in my hands, bright screen angled down to my face. Annabelle gave a low, amused chuckle, and folded her arms, leaning on the windowsil.

"Mm. Don't you have an early shift tomorrow?" She asked coyly, ignoring my protests. My heart finally steadying itself, I rub my eyes, trying to adjust them to the dark of my bedroom. She was right- I had to go in at 8 tomorrow- or today, rather, as it was already just past 2am.

"Don't YOU have something to do other than sneak into my room at night!?" I huff, only really half annoyed at her. This wasn't the first time she seemed to pop up out of nowhere. "Seriously, how did you even get IN here?"

I saw her dark outline shrug. "Oh, you know. Dark apartment, bright screen, quiet footsteps. I can just slip right in, and most of the time, you're too preoccupied to notice."

Fair enough. How she got into my apartment in the first place I suppose ill never know, but I guess a girl's gotta have her secrets. I sigh.

"Whatever. Just. Keep the spiders out of here right now."

"Awe, why?" She prods, adding just enough whine to her tone to make her seem a little bit genuinely disappointed. I know her better than that, though, and she knows that she can't play me that easy. She probably already is playing me, though, in some roundabout way. There was something about the web- their girls always knew how to play the long game, and I was always just along for the ride.

"You don't even know they're there! Too dark to see, and ignorance is bliss, is it not?"

I nervously look around in the darkness, trying to scout any sign of hairy legs or scuttling movement. "I think it's the not knowing that's the worst part, honestly."

"If you insist. Fine, I'll leave your room spider-free. For now."

I could almost hear her wink. I let myself relax a little- as much as one can around someone notorious for their manipulation skills. She'd ways been kind to me, though, and even if at the beginning id been extra-cautious about sniffing out ulterior motives, her presence had become sort of a routine for me. I'd let my guard down. I was playing a dangerous game, and I knew that, and part of me was just waiting for the day she decided she'd gotten what she needed from me and betrayed me. Until then, though, she was just too damn charming.

"Thanks. I guess." I purse my lips, well aware that not setting a horde of spiders loose in someone's bedroom was the bare minimum requirement for politeness. Annabelle laughed again.

"You're funny. So, what's keeping you up, then?" She moves to sit down at the edge of my bed, tucking her retro skirt under her legs as she set her slender form on the mattress. Her weight was barely enough to shift the bed at all. I scoot away, either to give her room to sit, or to put a little more space between her and I. I could not confidently tell you which one. I set my phone down on my pillow and crossed my legs.

"Dunno. Can't sleep, don't want to? Something like that." I tuck my legs up, resting my chin on my knees. "I guess I probably could, but I've been taking a lot of benadryl lately, and it'll make me lag in the morning."

"Oh, well, that's nothing one of your fancy energy drinks can't fix, no?"

"I guess not. I mean, ill be tired no matter what, and a monster will always get me going, but I sorta have to get out of bed in the first place to drink one."

"And that's the hardest part then, isn't it."

"Mm."

This is far too mundane for her to want to really talk about. I wonder why she's really here.

"Guess you have a choice to make, then. Wait 'till you get tired naturally, which could take ages, knowing you- or make yourself sleep and face the consequences in the morning."

I flop back down onto my mountain of pillows, and grumble. "I'm shit at decisions. No matter how simple."

Annabelle laughed again, sweet and genuine and low in her throat. I smile a little. "It's true. You can never make up your mind, can you? Always have to stop and think."

"Mm," I agree. "If you asked me who I would save if my mom and my best friend were hanging off the edge of a cliff, I think I'd just fucking throw myself off."

Another laugh from my visitor. I feel proud of myself for amusing her, a reminder of my place in nearly every friend group I've ever been in as 'the funny one' since as long as I can remember. It feels good to make people laugh.

"So hard on yourself today." She poses the thought in a way that's more fond and inquisitive than accusatory. "Why?"

I crack my knuckles one at a time absentmindedly. "Well, I'm still switching over my medication, so I've felt pretty weird all day. Spacey. More dissociative than usual."

"Oh?"

"Mm. Mirrors have been especially unkind to me today." I continue. "The caffeine probably didn't help either. It's been all spiraling thoughts and impulse ideas and such since I woke up, really."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. I was feeling fine last week though. Parents want me to wait until I'm all switched over before asking to go back on my 20-dose in the morning, but I think I've already decided that's what I wanna do."

I glance over at her sharp brown eyes, that look almost burgundy in just the right light. They're quite freaky, really. Now that my vision has adjusted to the dark, I see her intently looking down at me, as if hung on every word I say.

"Also," I start, realizing how long I've gone on for. "You are FAR too good at making me talk."

"Hah," she smiles. "Maybe consider: you just talk a lot?"

"True. Never been good at shutting up."

"Or maybe I just like listening! Who's to say?" She gives a coy shrug. I squint at her, the traces of a grin tugging at my lips.

"Who's to say." I repeat with a sort of finality, finding myself enamored with the moment. The moment of pause between her next speaking point seems to stretch on for hours before she finally makes the call to break the silence.

"You know," she starts, with that voice of hers that I could never seem to tune out. "I've not really minded our chats lately, really! You're very funny."

"First of all, I know," I accept the compliment. "Second of all, you minded before?"

I'm not exactly hurt by the revelation, per se, more surprised that she's even acknowledged a change in her out attitude out loud. If her attitude has changed at all. I'm not stupid- I know what the web does. I know I can never truly, wholly believe anything she says. But I can choose to try, if just for now.

"Sure," she shrugs. "Most of the time, when I talk to people- especially any of you assistants, good lord- it's busywork. Chores to do, to check off the list. But lately, I've found myself looking forward to our visits. Isn't that strange?"

Always turning things into a question for me to answer. Always trying to get something more out of me. Information, my thoughts. She needs to know how I feel. What I'm feeling now, how I felt earlier, how I'll feel later, how I feel about her. I'm a puzzle piece. I'm a pawn in a big, web-infested game of chess, but my heart still skips a beat when she tells me she actually sort of likes spending time with me, even if she is lying. She probably is.

I decide not to give her the satisfaction of telling her how I feel with this one.

"Personally, I think I'd look forward to them a lot more if you didn't scare the absolute shit out of me every fuckin' time."

She laughs again. "Oh, come on, now. I have to do something to keep in interesting, right? Have to keep you on your toes somehow. If you expect me, I become SIGNIFIFANTLY less scary."

That was true enough. I really didn't mind the occasional jumpscare, to be honest. It did keep things interesting as she said.

"Whatever." I roll my eyes in mock annoyance. She stands up, straightens out her skirt, and folds her arms neatly behind her back.

"Well, I suppose i should get going, then. Don't want to keep you up too long." She smiles.

"What, that's it for tonight? Where's the pizazz, the charm, that signature web flare?"

Annabelle chuckles. "Afraid so, darling. And you know very well that the web works more in subtlety than any other power." She strolls lazily over to the side of the bed. I watch her carefully with my hands folded behind my head.

"Wouldn't exactly call giant fucked up spiders all that subtle."

"Everyone's a critic, I suppose. But a literal fly on the wall seems a little too obvious, no?"

"Touche."

She huffs a final little laugh, and chances a carefully manicured hand to the side of my head, brushing a bit of hair off of my face. I hold completely and utterly still, biting down hard on my cheek. As she pulls away with an elegantly devious smile across her face, a few silver wisps of cobweb trail behind, woven messily into my curls at her touch. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, and annabelle rests her hands daintily in front of her.

"Don't get too comfortable, love. Lest you forget we feed on fear?"

I swallow hard, and cannot find a response in time. Annabelle has already started out the door.

"You really should sleep, you know. Big day tomorrow."

This snaps me out of my frozen state. "Wait, what?" I call after her, the sound of her heels clicking through my apartment getting fainter as she leaves. I just KNOW she's smiling like the devious bastard she is. "What's tomorrow?? It's just Wednesday???"

The door clicks open, and then shut. She's gone.

"You're a real cryptic bitch sometimes!" I yell after her in vain, rolling over onto my side. I bring a hand to my forehead and grasp at the loose tendrils of web, combing them out of my hair and flicking them aside. I close my eyes, and soon enough, I am fast asleep.

#trapped in my head🗯#fictional other #f/o #selfshipping #selfship #tma selfship #all part of the master plan 🕷💐🕸#a little bit of writing for my insomnia. it worked too!! im quite tired after writing this #thanks annabelle♡♡

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