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aloneinthehellfire · 4 months

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Chapter One: A New Friend, A New Enemy

The Pariahs That Saved The World (Masterlist)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: mentions of death, canon descriptions (vecna's curse)

[A/N: Thank you to everyone who seems really excited about this! I am going to try and post for this one weekly, just so I have enough time between uni and work to write new chapters :) This one is a little long, but I needed to set up Reader's character a little more so enjoy!]

The Introduction <-

A New Friend, A New Enemy

“Y/n!”

You slip off your headphones and greet your grandmother with a smile, laughing when she squeezed you tight. It had been almost 8 months since you watched her wave her hand of farewell in the rear view mirror. You had missed her the most, you think. Her warm hugs, her calming perfume, the way she cared for you.

“Come on, I’ve made us some lunch.” She hurries you inside and you laugh again.

“I need to grab the rest of my things, first.” You shake your head in amusement, escaping her clutches and darting back to the taxi, thanking the man for pulling out your luggage.

Just as you hitch your duffel bag over your shoulder, your eyes catch something familiar a few houses down. A worn out and beaten Chevrolet sat abandoned outside of its former resident’s house, a white piece of paper resembling a ticket you had seen when the mechanics would return your property if not claimed. You could just make out the ‘for sale’ sign driven into the mud, your heart wrenching. You had hoped your return would be free from unwanted memories. That obviously didn’t exist in Hawkins.

“So, tell me everything. How’s Stanford?” Gran rushes through with excitement just as your feet are barely inside the door. “Oh, we are so proud of you, honey. Our little star, a Stanford journalist!”

“Gran, you know it’s only my first year, I haven’t even managed to write anything let alone publish it.” You say, following her with your bags. She was leading you up to the guest room. Well, technically, it was your room. You had never really accepted that.

“Oh, did you notice the Hargroves house is for sale?” She whispers out like an unspeakable secret, and you dump your bags on the floor.

“Yeah, I saw.” You try to remain emotionless, rolling your shoulder until the usual ache faded. You were used to it now, the muscles flaring up every now and then.

“Apparently- now, you didn’t hear it from me…” She starts to lean in and you suppress a smile. Your grandmother, the gossiper. “Apparently, the husband just took off.”

“What?” You suddenly gain interest, frowning.

“Oh, yeah. The end of last summer.” She nods knowingly. “Must have been hard for them after their son died. It was a tragedy. And that poor girl… Andrea down the road told me she and the mother were forced to move into the trailer park down by Kerley. Not fit for a child, if you ask me.”

“They obviously couldn’t afford anywhere else.” You say, mostly to yourself, and Gran simply hums in agreement.

“Oh, which reminds me, Melanie, the one with the bird nest hair, she…”

She begins rambling once again about the neighbourhood, obviously pleased to have her granddaughter back so she can share the gossip. You listened intently, nodding when you needed to, offering your own remarks when prompted. You loved your Gran. The thought of her being alone in this house affected you more than you realise.

The real reason you were back wasn’t because you had missed Hawkins. In fact, you were set on your Spring Break exploring Stanford and all it had to offer. But about two months ago, your grandad was omitted to the hospital and a week later, he was no longer with you. Your Gran had shared how his health had been deteriorating for a while now, that they had expected it sooner or later. So, in the end, it wasn’t a surprise. It didn’t make it any less sad.

“Should I be expecting guests for dinner?” She asks and you blink, frowning.

“Guests?”

“Your friends.” She reiterates, already busying her hands by pulling out your already folded clothes from your suitcase and refolding them how she liked it. “I assume everyone will be anxious to see you. It’s been eight months, hasn’t it?”

“Uh…” You purse your lips, shrugging. “I don’t know, I thought it could just be the two of us tonight.”

Gran gently places down a sweater and eyes you suspiciously. “So, you’ll be seeing them tomorrow?”

“Maybe.” You give off the first vague answer in your head, fiddling with the sleeves of your jacket and sitting down on the plush bedding behind you.

“Hm.” She sounds, sliding shut the first drawer before she silently walks around the bed and sits beside you. “You won’t be seeing them, will you?”

It wasn’t a question. You lift your eyes to meet hers and sigh.

“We aren’t as close as we were before, Gran. It’s… complicated.” You decide and she takes your hand in hers.

“You’ve known them since you were just a little sprout.” She ruffles your hair and you cringe, laughing and batting her hand away. “I’m sure whatever happened can’t be so complicated that you can’t… I don’t know, catch up over coffee? Or whatever you kids are doing these days.”

“I wish it was like that.” You say, and you meant it. After a moment, she seems to understand that you didn’t want to continue this particular conversation and she stands, brushing her outfit back into simple perfection.

“Well, sandwiches, anyone?” She offers and you grin, nodding.

The day before you left for Stanford, you were contemplating whether or not it was the right choice. Gran was right, you have known them since you were a kid. But last summer changed all of that. You weren’t sure you could see their faces ever again.

So, rather than try and find them, you decided to spend the next day unpacking. You’d be here for a month so it made sense to have everything neat and tidy. It was just until the funeral, and then you’d be back at college and studying away any memory of Hawkins being your home. Because it wasn’t. Not anymore.

You can hear the distant ring of the phone echoing up the stairs, continuing to pull out your books. You might as well be caught up with your classes if you were going to spend all your time inside.

“Y/n!” Gran calls up and you push away from the desk to lean over the banister.

“Yeah?” You ask as she stares up at you, the phone in her left hand while the right covered the receiver.

“It’s your friend.” She says with a small smile and your face drops into a frown. “She says it’s urgent.”

“Uh…” You shake your head. Who would be calling you? “Yeah, I’ll be down in a sec.”

Gran nods and relays the information, setting the phone on the side table and disappearing back into the kitchen.

Your footsteps were wary as you descend the staircase, eyes set on the white object beside one of your grandmother’s vases. There was a hauntingly familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through your body, one you hadn’t felt in a long time. Once you reach the table, you shift your focus to the photo frame. It was small, a collected memory from a few years ago now. You were stood there smiling, the camera capturing you in pleasant surprise when a brunette girl behind you had jumped onto your back. It made your eyes sting, and you knew you had to make the decision to answer the call.

Hesitantly picking up the phone, you hold it to your ear and close your eyes.

“Hello?”

“Y/n?” Nancy’s voice blares through and your eyes snap back open.

Barrels of apologies and excuses spewed from her lips and you stand in silent shock, clutching the receiver a little too tight. She could only be calling for one reason. You had known it before you had even answered the phone.

Something was happening in Hawkins. Again. And if Nancy was calling for help, then she truly needed it.

And you’d never let her down.

“Have we met before?” You ask, studying the girl stood next to you.

The walls of the archive were surprisingly bright, shining an iridescent hue on her dark blonde locks. Her blue eyes were blinking back at you, pink lips stuck in a soft pucker of indecision. She was pretty. Really pretty. And at the same time she looked effortlessly cool, a jacket you wished you own. Something about her felt familiar to you, drawing you in.

Then a pang of guilt hits you and you force your concentration on waiting for her answer.

Robin felt weak. Who were you? It was taking everything in her to open her mouth and speak which, as literally everyone knew, was incredibly unlike her.

“I don’t think so.” Robin finally breathes out. There was softness in the way you spoke to her too, calming her nerves. Those strange waves of anxiety were being taken with the tide like you were her lighthouse in the stormy sea of her mind.

“Oh.” You scrunch your face with a smile. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.”

She was surprised to see you put out your hand but she willingly shakes it anyway, smiling back.

When you pull away, Robin seems a little more comfortable, coming closer to peer down at your old project folder, reading along with Nancy. You tried not to stare, busying your eyes with your own work in Nancy’s hands.

“Anything… juicy over there?” Robin asks Nancy and the girl throws her a tight lipped smile.

“Nothing new yet.” She responds and you notice the strain in her voice. She adopted it any time she was struggling to enjoy somebody’s presence.

“Victor seemed like a normal guy. Dead family, missing eyes, took a plea deal, sent to Pennhurst. Blah, blah, blah, blah.” Robin utters as she skims over the page below, slowly raising her head to look at Nancy. “What are we looking for exactly?”

Nancy doesn’t respond and continues flicking through the pages, making Robin’s eyes widen.

“Nance?” She tries again and you frown.

“She’s focused.” You offer, smiling. “She zones in so much that she zones out sometimes.”

“Right.” She nods slowly, still staring at her. “Um, so are we, uh… looking for any mentions of dark wizards or alternate dimensions? Things in that vein?”

You remember something and open your mouth to speak before Nancy interrupts with a huff.

“I don’t know, okay?” She sighs loudly, leaning against the desk and meeting Robin’s eyes. “It’s starting to seem like this was just a big waste of time. And you’re obviously bored so why don’t you just call Steve? I’m sure he’ll come pick you up. And I mean, I’m not really in danger here, so…”

With that, she walks away from the table and grabs another folder you had brought, furiously flipping through as she travels down a different staircase to the filing room. Your eyebrows raise.

“Woah.” You simply say, noticing Robin’s frown. “She’s, uh… hell, I don’t even know. Nance gets ultra focused when she thinks she has a lead on something and, well… she doesn’t like to get it wrong. Which is understandable.”

“So, she acts like this with other people?” She asks and you tighten your lips.

“Um…”

“Okay, that’s a no.” Robin groans, dragging her hands down her face. “I’m trying, I really am, I just struggle with whatever the hell bonding is meant to be, I mean me and Steve literally only bonded because we were both getting tortured and thought we would die. Which, no, not an ideal way to start a friendship but you know what, it’s better than whatever the hell this is.”

“You were at Starcourt?” You frown and she looks back at you, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up-”

“No, no, it’s okay.” She waves her hands, “I, um… no one really mentions it anymore. Unless it’s the news and they’re pretending like it was a-”

“Fire, yeah. I heard.” You say, staring at the stairs Nancy descended. “How did all of this start?”

“Excuse me?” She blinks and you turn your attention back to her.

“This… Vecna, was it? How did it start?” You repeat, shaking your head. “Nancy could only tell me so much over the phone so I’m a little behind.”

“A girl was found dead in the trailer park.” Robin relays, gulping. “Chrissy Cunningham? She’s a cheerleader. Was. They found her with all her bones snapped and her eyes were… gone. They think Eddie Munson did it-”

“Eddie?” You gasp, and Robin looks surprised. “No, Eddie wouldn’t do that-”

“We know. Trust me.” She says hurriedly, “He told us everything that happened. Apparently she was floating in the air and her bones were snapping- it’s a really gruesome story but the same thing, like, just happened to Fred and we need to figure out who this Vecna is before someone else gets hurt.”

“Okay.” You breathe and she raises her brow.

“Okay? I just unloaded a dump of hell onto you, and it’s okay?” She sounded intrigued and you shrug.

“The last few years have been… weird. To the point where weird sounds normal now.” You say, a soft frown on your features.

Robin wasn’t entirely sure where you fit into all of this. Sure, you had information they needed, you’ve been a part of their group for some time, you made sense. What she was struggling to understand is why you were here now. And why you weren’t here before.

“How’d you meet everyone?” You ask before she can. Any thought she had of questioning your arrival was cleverly misplaced. For the moment.

“I worked with Steve at Scoops Ahoy last year.” Robin nods and you frown.

“But I never…” You start before your eyes widen, mouth curling into a smile. “Oh my god, yes! I do remember you!”

“You do?” Robin tries to comb back through her memories.

“Yeah, Max dragged me there maybe… a week after it opened? She was telling me about Steve’s little sailor outfit and of course, I didn’t believe her, so she had to show me proof.” You giggle to yourself, meeting her eyes. “I remember you were taking a break outside, Max introduced us. Well, kind of. She never got to my name before Steve arrived with that stupid frown on his face.”

“I don’t remember that.” She frowns and you bite your lip, shoving your hands into your jacket pockets. “Sorry, I don’t mean that in like, a mean girl way. I mean, my memory is apparently broken because I’m very sure I would have remembered you. Not in a weird way, either, like- I just think you make an impression on people- a good one. Not a bad one.”

“It’s okay.” You laugh and she shakes her head enough to make her bangs sway in her embarrassment. “I looked a lot different then. And I was, like, super shy. I was probably hiding my face or something.”

“Hold on.” She blinks with a smirk. “You’re the girl? Like, the girl?”

“Am I meant to know what that means?” You squint your eyes.

Robin simply laughs to herself until she clocks your confusion. “No, I… Max did bring someone in for, like, one of our first ever shifts together. I remember because when they left, Steve looked like some kicked puppy and I couldn’t work with him and that stupid frown so I made him tell me what was bothering him. Apparently, the girl that left was the girl he couldn’t get in high school and it ‘haunts’ him. It’s so stupid.”

You go quiet and her eyes widen.

“Oh god.” She covers her mouth. “Did I talk too much again? God, I’m sorry- I literally can’t control my mouth.”

“No, you’re right.” You say, shaking your head. “Steve… he and I don’t really get along. Opposite ends of the high school popularity pool until I won this debate contest and suddenly everyone wanted to be my friend. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, but suddenly I was on Steve’s radar and, well, you know the rest.”

“You can do better.” She simply nods and you raise your eyebrow at her remark. “What? Oh, he’s amazing now. Like, a genuine gentleman kind of guy, but King Steve? Whew, that boy needed a leash or something.”

“You guys are pretty close, huh?” You ask and she smiles.

“Yeah, he’s my best…” She begins before her face drops. Oh.

“What?” You ask when she starts walking away.

“I know why!” She exclaims before turning her heel and marching down those steps to Nancy, finding her sorting through the filing cabinet.

If Nancy heard her, she didn’t acknowledge it. Robin felt so stupid. It had been a while since she’d been a part of ‘girl world’ or, more specifically, ‘girl-code world’. The thought of there being any tension hadn’t even crossed her mind before.

“You do know that Steve and I are, like, totally not a thing, right?” Robin asks breathlessly, leaning against the wooden banister.

“What?” Nancy frowns, shaking her head and turning to look over her shoulder.

“So I figure that you and Jonathan are still going strong ‘cause you guys are going to college together, and you’re like one of those unstoppable power couples, but I… I just… I wanted to make sure that you knew that Steve and I are just friends. Like, platonic with a capital P.”

Nancy’s response in underwhelming at best, a tight lipped smile and Robin almost groans in frustration. She can hear your sneakers steadily descend the stairs and she turns back.

“Just in case that’s adding any tension between us.” She expresses to Nancy and you frown at the interaction.

“It wasn’t.” Nancy replies and Robin sighs.

“Uh…” You start to say, both pairs of eyes immediately looking at you. “Sorry to, um, interrupt. I have stuff I need to do…”

“Right.” Nancy blinks apologetically, looking back at the folder in her hands. “I’m so sorry, I really thought I was going to find something. I… I didn’t want to drag you into this, really, it’s just-”

“Hawkins.” You finish her sentence, stepping off the final stair and leaning against the banister. “Yeah, I know.”

“Holy shit.” Robin gasps, suddenly grabbing the folder out of Nancy’s hands despite her silent protest. “Is that from The Weekly Watcher?”

She points to a specific part of one of the tabs and you move to peer over her shoulder, nodding.

“Don’t they write about, like, Bigfoot and UFOs?” Nancy scoffs, already dismissing the idea.

“First of all, UFOs are absolutely real. Bigfoot I’m still on the fence about.” She comments and you hum agreement. “But may I remind you we are looking for information on dark wizards? If someone’s gonna write about that, it’s gonna be these weirdos.”

“She’s not wrong.” You add and Nancy’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Yeah, there’s a whole article about Victor Creel. He claimed that a vengeful demon killed his family. Obviously I only added a reference for context, I never actually believed it. You know, before…”

You vaguely gesture the space around you and Robin flips the page over.

“According to several insiders, Victor believed his house was haunted by an ancient demon.” Robin read aloud, and you could feel the goosebumps prickle along your skin. “Victor allegedly hired a priest to exorcise the demon from his home- pretty novel for the 50s, Exorcistwasn’t even out yet.”

“Keep- keep going.” Nancy insisted and Robin frowns.

“That’s all that’s here.” She says and Nancy looks at you.

“He claimed that the exorcism failed.” You recall, staring at the cut out photo of the Creel Family. “He said it angered the demon. It murdered his family, removing their eyes.”

“Did it say why he wasn’t killed?” Robin questions.

“Victor believed he was spared as a punishment.” You say with a twist in your stomach. His whole family died. He was all alone.

“Yeah, that’s pretty convenient for Victor.” Nancy mumbles and Robin frowns.

“Yeah, or super inconvenient.” She challenges, her eyes looking at yours for support. You simply nod, feeling sick. “Victor was declared legally insane by the court, right? Well, what if this is why? I mean, it sounds pretty insane, it just didn’t go public because-”

“The plea bargain.” Nancy jumps in, and you can see her trying to slot all the pieces together, “The records were sealed.”

“What if a demon did invade Victor’s home.” Robin glances between you both. “It’s just, this demon wasn’t any old demon.”

“It was Vecna.” Nancy finishes, and you immediately start shaking your head.

“Okay, you guys got everything you need?” You quickly rush out, sorting the folder around so it would shut. “Actually, you know what, you guys can just keep that, I need to-”

“You’re leaving?” Nancy frowns, following you as you jog back up the stairs and to where you had dumped your bag before. Robin hurriedly grabbed your folder and followed suit.

“Yeah, I told you, I have stuff to do.” You mutter an excuse, slipping your bag over your shoulder.

“But what about-”

“No, Nance.” You suddenly say, much stricter than you intended it to be. You pause your steps, taking a deep breath to look her in the eye. “I hate that there’s something new terrorising Hawkins. And I’m sorry you have to deal with it. I am. But that’s your choice. I can’t do this again.”

Robin stood there, clutching your folder to her chest. Nancy was struggling with her words, and you didn’t look like you were going to stick around long enough to hear them.

“We need you.” Robin blurts and you look at her, frowning. “I’m sorry, but we do. You know more about this case than any of us, you dedicated, what, a whole month? Maybe more? To learn about the Creel House, about the murders. You have information we can’t possible find because Hawkins doesn’t like to keep around its records of murder, and- and Nancy said you were great at this detective stuff which basically means you know what we need to do next.”

Rather than respond, you start weighing your options. The best decision you ever made was leaving all of this behind. Stanford had everything you wanted; hope. Anytime you decided to help them, it was always your life you were risking. That they were risking. Why would this time be any different?

“I really hope you win this.” You finally say, offering half a smile before you push through those doors and don’t look back, disappearing into the darkening shadows outside.

“Damn it.” Nancy curses, resting a hand on her hip and the other on a table.

“What happened between you guys?” Robin asks into the silence and Nancy looks up.

“What do you-”

“I don’t want a vague answer.” She says, still clutching onto the folder pressed against her chest. “She looked terrified. Which, yeah, it makes a lot of sense under normal circumstances. But this was more like PTSD kind of terrified. What the hell happened last year that no one’s telling me?”

The silence left Robin in the dark, Nancy’s features pouring over in restrained emotion.

By the time you had dug out your keys with trembling hands, you could feel the prickling of tears threaten to spill at any moment. They had no right to ask that of you. Especially not Nancy. She was there last year, she knows why you left. And yet again, none of them were listening to you.

You sat in your grandad’s old armchair for about an hour, a book resting on your lap but it remained untouched. It would just be another distraction, another reason to pretend like nothing was wrong. To stop yourself from remembering, feeling.

It’s why you went to Stanford, really. You didn’t care about journalism like you used to. But the work load was almost unbearable, which meant that every waking moment would need to be dedicated to studying. If you didn’t occupy your mind, you’d have to relive last year.

“Hi, sweetie.” Gran says as she enters the room, a shopping bag in one hand. You hadn’t even heard her key in the door. “Did you see your friends?”

“Yeah.” You clear your throat, setting aside the book and leaning forward.

“What did you kids get up to?” She asks before quickly disappearing into the kitchen to set down her groceries. When she returns, you have your head in your hands.

You can feel her fingers gently pry away your hands as she takes the chair opposite you, smiling like she already knew what was going through your head. Looking at her, the way her eyes were glazing over, you felt so selfish. You had left to escape everything that happened last year, and you had left her for months to deal with it all alone. Here you were, wallowing in self pity because your friends hadn’t been there for you when you needed them, and it turns out you’re doing the exact same thing to her.

“I’m so sorry.” You say, wiping away the tear that trickles down your cheek. “I should have stayed with you and Grandad.”

“What?” She frowns lightly, shaking her head. “Darling, no. All we ever wanted for you was to get out into the world, find something that made you happy.”

“But I’m not happy.” You express, catching a sob that threatened to escape. “I just wanted to get away, get out of Hawkins. I wasn’t even thinking about it, I- I just couldn’t…”

Her hand suddenly finds your own, squeezing it tight.

“It’s okay.” She says and you lift your head up. She continued smiling, but it was much sadder now. “No one can expect you to move on from what happened last year as quick as that.”

“And what if I never move on?”

“It’s not about moving on.” She smiles. “It’s about acceptance. It’s about holding onto the memory because you cherish it, not because you are haunted by it.”

The clock in the distance could be heard counting the seconds as you sit there in silence. She was right, as per usual. You weren’t letting yourself feel. You should be embracing the fact that you still had her. Even with all Hawkins has been through, you still had her.

Your heart pangs with panic. She was still here.

“I should be getting to bed-”

“Come with me.” You offer suddenly and she raises her eyebrows.

“To Stanford?” She says as if it were absurd.

“I’m serious. Let’s move away, start fresh. We’ll find somewhere new, Gran. Please.” You beg and she offers a smile, capturing your hand by placing another on top.

“Hawkins is my home. It always has been. I was born here, I met the love of my life here. I watched my little one grow up and, when he had little ones of their own, I watched them grow up too. This is where my family is. I… I can’t leave.”

“No, don’t worry, I’ll get it.” You say, smiling. “You should get some rest.”

Your heart wrenches. If only she knew what you did. About what really happens in Hawkins, what lurks there in the dark. She can’t stay here, not when you know it isn’t safe. Not when she’s all you have left.

Three knocks echo out from the front door, and Gran shifts in her seat, quickly glancing at the clock. Who would be here at this hour?

“Thank you.” She stands with you, squeezing your hand as she dropped it. “Try and get some rest.”

You wait until she’s heading up the stairs and out of earshot before you rush to the door, gently brushing aside the small curtain and frowning at the silhouette. It wasn’t who you had expected.

The door is open barely four inches before she starts talking at you, ring-donned hands clasped together.

“Look, I know we’ve literally just met. And I probably- no, I definitely don’t have the right to ask you to stay with us, but we’re basically alone right now. Half of us are in California, we don’t have any connections in the sheriff’s department anymore. Everyone who would know what to do is gone, and you’re kinda the only person left who can help us. I get so much happened to you last year and I- I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but if there’s even a tiny part of you that wants to do this, then please listen to it. Please.”

Robin didn’t know what she was expecting when she left the school. Her feet had taken her further than her mind was planning, but she knew she had to find you. Max was in trouble, and they were all way in over their heads to not have help. Nancy refused to bother you any further, and she understood, she really did, but this wasn’t a normal circumstance. This was bigger than all of them, bigger than everyone.

“Robin?” You say, brows scrunched together in surprise. She thins her lips.

“Sorry to just blurt that all out, but I didn’t know if you were just gonna slam the door on me- or maybe I’d forget what I wanted to say.” She explained, feeling the embarrassment creeping up her cheeks. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing to you. “Max is in trouble.”

“What?” You sobered at the thought, leaning closer to her. Then, in a moment of split decision, you glance back up the stairs before stepping outside and closing the door behind you. “What happened?”

“We found a connection between all the victims.” Robin tries to explain, and you noticed how expressive she was with her hands. “Basically, Max has the same symptoms as the rest of them, and she’s, like, 100% sure she’s next of Vecna’s kill list.”

“Is she okay?” You ask, and Robin can see the desperation behind your eyes.

“Yeah. Shaken up, but she’s fine. For now.” She clears her throat, a pleading look as she stares at you. “We need to find Vecna as fast as we possibly can before he can get to her. I… I know about what happened last year. About your dad.”

You seem taken aback by her knowledge, eyes darting down to your shoes.

“I don’t blame you for wanting to leave all of this behind.” She sympathises, and she let herself be much calmer than she felt. “But I’m asking you if you’ll help us.”

Your heart was aching as you wipe your sweaty palms against your jeans, barely even feeling the cold rush of wind hitting your bare arms. You had meant what you said earlier; you couldn’t do this again. It took everything in you to move out of Hawkins, go to college and live a life the person you loved the most couldn’t do anymore.

But you were currently stood in front of a door. And behind that door, was the last person you had left, and she wasn’t planning on leaving her home any time soon. As it turned out, fleeing wasn’t an option for everyone else.

“I’ll do it.”

Robin blinks, studying you for any ounce of uncertainty. You looked deadly serious.

Maybe, just maybe, with you by their side, they were taking down Vecna after all.

taglist: @kryztalglear @officerrrfriendly @a-simpfortessa-lesbriean @spacedoutdaydreamer @em16cor @endurexxsurvive

[if you see your name highlighted in pink, it means that tumblr wouldn't let me tag you! i am trying to figure out the reasons behind this but it could be as simple as visibility settings so please check that <3]

#stranger things x reader #stranger things #fanfic #nancy wheeler #robin buckley x female reader #robin buckley x reader #robin x reader #robin buckley #sapphic #sapphic fic #st4 fanfic #st4

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devotedtomarvel · 4 months

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This could be a long one, but I was scrolling and I think I saw at least 3 posts of people saying that the Xmas episode of ghosts was too repetitive, using plotines done before and was an overall let down. Sure, we've seen mike’s parents being too involved before, and we've seen the ghosts being absolute pains before but I think that was the charm of the episode. The episode had all of the highlights of the series and l think that it was the perfect way to say goodbye- just a regular episode for the most of it, while still letting us say bye to the characters that we love so much. I'm glad that no one was sucked off but also glad that it wasn't completely a normal episode. I'm glad that they left all of the ghosts to live in button House forever because it leaves us to make up the bits in between, almost like the series isn't really over, because so much more could have happened in the years in between. We can write our own ghost stories for as long as we still love the series, and that was the beauty of the episode. I cried when Alison said they were leaving, because it finally hit me. The series that helped me through a lot of tough times when my grandad died, the series that taught me how to laugh again was really over. And it felt unreal but also achingly real at the same time. Ghosts was a phenomenon, a jewel of pure comedy that will always hold a special place in my heart. I hate that its over but I know that the show couldn't go on.i can't wait to see what will come next. I do, however, wish that the episode had been written by Ben Willbond because that would have torn our hearts out. So, year, l just wanted to share my thoughts on the episode and say how much ghosts really meant to me. I'm sad to see it go, but it had to happen eventually.

#ghosts bbc #bbc ghosts captain #bbc ghosts #ghosts #the captain ghosts #six idiots #ben willbond #martha howe douglas #larry rickard #jim howick #simon farnaby #matt baynton #thank you

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fatherentropy · 1 year

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Because my tES roster has gotten large and complicated I thought I should make this and ramble a bit. And then tumblr ate my post so let's try to do this AGAIN but quicker because I started writing this at midnight and it's now 6 am SO!!

warning for child endangerment/death

Winter, Summer, Autumn and Spring are names given to girls kidnapped by this one man. There have been multiples of them but the last four are here. Winter was murdered before she could reclaim her name, Summer forgot hers and Spring...I just haven't named her. She's not that important outside Lily's story aah.

Lily is not coping well with anything going on in her life but is doing remarkably well for a girl who was orphaned at 11 and raised herself on the road. Largely because she's being personally supported by Sheogorath because she's his "Grand niece." Dedicated her life on Nirn to hunting Thalmor and Stormcloaks, blaming them for her parents' death.

Lulueith was raised by her mom in Valenwood but left to look for her dad after she passed from illness out of curiosity and nothing holding her where she grew up. She was disappointed because he's largely just a drunk content to drinking himself to death in peace. Just here to vibe now.

Part of Lulu's dad's angst is from Summer trying to kill him before abandoning him altogether. She was a very bad mom but she tried because she tries a lot of things seeing if it'll make her feel anything significant since growing up in constant fear has kind of fucked her brain up. She meant to destroy Tuveri's life specifically but her plan was foiled by Martin's kindness giving Tuveri the power to push her away. Fled Cyrodiil after Martin died because part of that seperation was Tuveri warning her that the next time he saw her he was going to kill her.

(I also drew Summer's line too dark but I think I'll keep this. I like it more than what I've been rolling with.)

Tuveri!! Is an Ashlander actually. His dad got sick and died and Tuveri was in the middle of making him a cairn when he got too close to the road and was pinched by the man and brought to Cyrodiil. Would have returned to Morrowind after escaping with the other two surviving girls but he kept dreaming of Cyrodiil and took that as a sign he had to stay. Thus him becoming HoK and then Sheogorath after that.

I have a lot of thoughts about Tuveri as Sheogorath but that's another rambly essay. To put it simply he's kind and caring to those who are "his" and malicious to those who aren't because that's typically the role they cast him and his in. Thus him targeting Ulfric and his scheme resulting in his son named both Martin (by Tuveri) and Yngve (by Ulfric).

Have a lot on Yngve's emotional state but not a lot of anything else just 'cause Todd willing I might plop him in the next game whenever tf that happens. (Y'know providing we don't go back the timeline/they don't add a super specific opening ala Fallout 4.)

detour to talk about Laury

He's named after the witch his parents managed to take down before they were murdered by the other three while trying to protect him. He was then raised by them to be Hermaeus' champion. Though large parts of that time is lost because his memory is swiss cheese between the alchemical shit he was forced to imbibe (Fun fact! Laury has taste only in one small part of his mouth) and depression.

There's math somewhere in the blank space of me trying to figure out Winter/Autumn's ages during Morrowind because I realized I could go the full nine yards and pull Laury into this weird mix above by doing this:

Nerevarine as dad or grandad? I dunno yet but next time I try and play that game... yeehaw. That man is gonna have a bad time.

Also think it's very tragic of Winter's mom to look to Hermaeus for answers and become one of his biggest shill holes when he sponsored her daughter's kidnapper.

(technically still thinking about whether I should but I'll probably do it. You've heard rule of cool, have you heard of rule of sad?)

I have other ESO alts besides Yorick and Illya but I tend to delete them on a whim so! Hypothetically, Yorick is actually like 50ish% human so a(n indirect) descendant of his could be the man but that's a lot of centuries between. Do you know how many bretons you could fit in there? At what point does it stop mattering.

Illya is just a dragon priest that saw the writing on the wall and fucked off. Kept the mask and became a vampire because can you imagine dying? Couldn't be him. He is my Miraak expy and I love him even if I do nothing with him ever.

#the elder scrolls #dunmer #altmer #bosmer #argonian #CWart #Laury #Autumn tbn #Summer tbn #Laughing Lily #Lulueith #Yngve Stormcloak #tES Illya Voss #tES Yorick #Lily's face looks ridiculous. she's just stressed and tired from acting scary all the time

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loganwritesprobably · 20 days

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CW: Discussions of dementia/Alzheimer's

This is just a quick little vent post, mostly

If you see this, and you read it, and you can relate - you are not alone. This is hard, and I see you - I hope you're doing okay, or as okay as you can be

So my grandad has both. I often joke that he was simply too powerful, he was going to be immortal, they had to nerf him. So, my grandad has both dementia and Alzheimer's. I still don't entirely understand it, because one is a type of the other, but it creates some unique issues.

My grandad appears to be losing his memories randomly, while also going backward in terms of what he remembers, and he's potentially making up false memories in the process. I spent the last five or so years learning to listen when he spoke, because I knew one day I'd mourn the chance I'd lost to learn. Now, when he speaks, I don't know what's Certified Grandad Lore and what's the illness.

He doesn't remember the names of his daughters. He often becomes distressed because his mind works like Dory the fish, and he thinks his eldest daughter Sophie is called Samantha (fake names) and can't find her in his contacts. However, he knows who she is when she's there. He remembers me, I think, and my sibling and my cousins.

He doesn't remember his nephew, barely even seems to remember his brother-in-law who months ago he was telling me I needed to deliver a message of violence to (mostly playful, I think) because he doesn't treasure his wife enough.

I don't know if he remembers me. I wanted him to walk me down the aisle. The last time I saw him, he asked my dad who he was, and then he laughed. I don't know if he was playing off that he needed to be reminded, or he was joking about his own illness.

His wife died of Alzheimer's. My grandmother. Both my dad's parents. His sister-in-law died of Alzheimer's.

For a disease I knew very little of for a long time, and seemed so rare just a few years ago, is so frighteningly involved in my life.

My dad is very serious when he tells me that if he starts developing Alzheimer's or dementia, he intends to kill himself.

There is an increased risk that I will develop one of them. That my sibling will. That my aunts will. That my cousins will.

I fear a day in which my body isn't my own, and I forget that it used to be.

My grandad doesn't think his house is his, but we can't figure out where he thinks he does live. He doesn't remember where the toilet is, and forgets to eat. He's so skinny now, so slow. My grandad used to be untouchable.

My grandad once comforted me after I broke up with an ex by telling me that I should marry a rich man instead. He laughed, and I laughed with him, and it made everything much easier.

The last time I saw him, I wasn't sure that he remembered me, but he assured me that he thought I was doing something good with my life by being at university, because he missed that chance when he was younger and he wished he hadn't. He was narrow minded in his ambitions, and I'm doing well to do differently.

I will graduate, and I will do it for him. I will marry and be happy because that's what he wanted for me. One day, once I'm happier, I'll grow out my hair again because he liked it long. Once I have a job, I'll donate regularly to attempt to get this horrific disease cured.

There is nothing worse than slowly watching your loved one die, and they don't even know they're your loved one.

When you die, you leave behind everyone who loved you, but when you have demenia or alzheimer's, or somethig similar, you don't even know you're leaving them. There's no comfort to be given or gained.

I'm three hours away from home at university and my grandad is dying at home. I live every day dreading my phone ringing with bad news. One day he will die, and he will not walk me down the aisle, and I likely will not have seen him for months.

He will not walk my down the aisle, but I will save him a seat in the front row.

#CW: Dementia #CW: Alzheimers #cw: vent

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minimoefoe · 2 years

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Thirteen Era Rewatch: The Woman Who Fell to Earth

I'm re-watching Thirteen's era in lead up to the Centenary and since this is likely going to be my last full re-watch for a while I thought I'd do a post on each ep where I just go over all the things I love, hate or just have some general thoughts on. I've tried to keep this organised but it's a bit ramble-y.

I don’t fully understand Graham’s desperation for Ryan to call him Grandad. He married Grace when Ryan was like 16. I can’t imagine many 16yos are going to call their Nan’s new husband Grandad. I don’t think it’s the end of the world bc I love Ryan and Graham’s relationship and watching them grow through the series and I think Ryan changing to calling him Grandad is a good way to represent their growth but it is a little odd imo

Love 13 and Yaz’s interactions on the train, the Doctor basically convincing Yaz to not call it in, and of course it doesn’t take much. Could be showing that Yaz is already intrigued by the Doctor this early into knowing her or it could be showing how Yaz is young/naïve bc she’s letting this random train woman take control, basically showing the Doctor companion power imbalance, Yaz is obviously out of her depth with this.

I love Ryan’s vibe. Sometimes he’s quiet, sometimes he’s moody, he’s low-key kinda funny. I’m a big fan. The moments are small but they work for me.

The back and forth between Graham and Ryan in this ep is so good. I think the scene where Graham mentions Ryan blaming his dyspraxia for starting the invasion is maybe a bit much? But idk, Ryan has been making comments for like half the ep at this point, and probably for the last three years, so maybe Graham is allowed to say something twatty back every once in a while.

The scene where they find the dead body is a bit odd because we don’t see anything, we just get them taking turns describing what they see. I get why, they’re obviously not gonna show the stuff they’re describing in a family show, but I wish they’d showed us something.

Thirteen is true chef’s kiss when it comes to confrontations. I love how she says ‘Get behind me now’ and I love that it’s a theme that runs through the era. It’s giving not wanting Bill 2.0 to happen because she wasn’t in the way to stop it.

Love that while Thirteen clearly wants to keep the fam safe and seems to like them, she isn’t massively attached to them. There are multiple times where she basically tells them to shut up because there’s important shit she needs to get on with.

I find it very interesting, and depressing, that Grace is the only one in the episode to explicitly say that she loves what’s happening and then she is the one who dies.

It isn’t my fave thing in the world that the way Tim Shaw was defeated was because 13 did a bunch of things offscreen that we didn’t see and that weren’t mentioned at all prior to that point. They show the red thing that helps Tim get home during the sonic making scene but that’s it from what I noticed. It's not a big deal for me because I think the main thing about this ep is that we get to know all these new ppl and not that the resolution to the plot is 10/10 but it is something I noticed.

I love the start of this ep with Ryan’s video and how we think he’s talking about the Doctor but it ends up being about Grace but tbh Ryan doesn’t give me a YouTuber vibe. It feels like they did it in this ep bc it was cool and they didn’t think about it much outside of that

I would really like more concrete information on what happened between Grace's death and her funeral tbh. I find the fact the Doctor stayed, especially this Doctor who goes on to be known to not want to let people get too close, very interesting. In my mind she spent the time before the funeral living at that place where she made the thing to get her to the TaRDIS, maybe with the fam dipping in to see her, bc imo that would explain the fact she still hadn't got changed, and then she decided to stay for the funeral and leave as soon as it was over

I love Ryan and the Doctor's chat at the funeral about Ryan's dad. She is literally his surrogate dad I stg

Graham's funeral speech is so Thasmin coded it's disgusting. Only having a short amount of time with her, she showed him a better way to live?? Also this shot while Graham is saying that? Earlier Yaz was complaining she wanted more and now she is about to get more !!

I think the fam are well fleshed out in this ep? Especially Ryan and Graham. Idk I’m not that good at like, analysing shit but just from this one ep I feel like we know them decently.

Graham - Wants a relationship with Ryan, had cancer, was a bus driver, loves making one liners

Yaz - Wants more from her job, can be authoritative

Ryan - has dyspraxia, isn’t a fan of Graham, bad relationship with dad, works in a warehouse, doing his NVQ, YouTube

Yaz is defo the one we have the least concrete info about at this point but even then I think the main thing we do know about her, the fact she wants more from her job, is kinda an important thing so meh

#doctor who #thirteenth doctor #13th doctor #yasmin khan #ryan sinclair #graham o'brien #grace o'brien #nataliechats #dw meta #idk if this counts as ameta but whatever #also idk how in depth each ep post is gonna be #its very possible therell be some eps where i dont really have anything to say but we'll see i guess

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negative-corgi · 11 months

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I did not mean for this to be so long, I'm so sorry lmao

Also I'm so sorry if things don't make sense or there's a shit ton of mistakes. Firstly I didn't write down everything in my clan, I'm basically going by what I remember and the family trees. I'm also not a good writer lmao

So if i guess I post about Clan gen now and my clans drama.

So, my current casual clan I play is TornClan and I accidentally started a type of Monarchy way back with a cat called Swampstar who was the daughter of a loner Crouchwhisker and adoptive daughter of kittypet and former deputy Joobchomp.

Swampstar would have a short relationship with a she cat named Icefeather who's death is unknown and later becomes mates with a loner named Brindlefoot who she would have a MASSIVE litter of kits with (this would become an ongoing thing in the family). Brindlefoot would eventually die of Yellowcough and Swampstar of old age. Swampstar's son, Palestar, would take her place as leader.

Very similarly to Swampstar, Palestar would be in a smae sex relationship with a warrior named Fuzzback. Unfortunately Fuzzback would die at only 58 Moons old after freezing to death in a sudden snowstorm.

Palestar would then become mates with highly respected warrior named Brightfur. The two would have one very large litter of kits, just like Swampstar and Brindlefoot. This time however, Palestar would choose to train his kits to become the next leaders of the clan. Many of them took up spots as deputies, medicine cats, mediators and highly respected warriors. Unfortunately many of Palestar's kits would get lost and die outside the clan. Palestar would die of old age. (Brightfur's death is unknown because the game keeps crashing when I try to look at her history lmao) Palestar currently has 6 living grandchildren and 17 grandchildren all together.

Galestar would be the chosen child of Palestar to take his place as leader. In fact, Palestar actually retired early and gave up his lives to see his daughter become leader. Her sibling Talonclaw would take place as deputy. Before I talk more about Galestar, two moons before she died she came out as trans. So for the majority of her life she was identifying as a tom hence why she had a lot of kits before coming out (I have same sex kits off to prevent a sea of kittens). Palestar would spend most her life as an incredibly competent leader however when she became around 50 moon sold she would realise she needed a mate to carry on the new tradition of leaders being related. She (*cough* I *cough*) would search for moons to find the perfect mate. Finally she would stumble up a kittypet named Beanie Baby who would quickly become Galestar's very loyal and loved mate. Galestar then proceeded to CHEAT ON HER 4 MOONS LATER WITH HER DEAD SISTERS (BLUETOOTH) MATE ROOTBACK. Rootback would hope none of the kits looked like Galestar but Gladekit would look like a mix between Galestar and his Grandad Palestar. All the cats in the clan could tell this was Galestar's kit and it caused a lot of judgement on her. However she would ignore the other cats and still try to train Gladepaw to become next in line. Unfortunately during this time Gladepaw died from water-inhalation after a river accident.

Obviously Galestar was not the only kit of Palestar, she also had her siblings. Since Galestar and Beanie Baby were struggling to have kits. Galestar decided that any grandchild of Palestar was worthy of becoming the new leader. Two cats in the clan stepped up to take challenge. Bogcry, Gladepaws only sibling who was essentially cast aside for Gladepaw when they were little. Galestar's nephew Wheatswipe who was his brother Mosslight's son, would also step up. Neither cat were particularly liked. Bogcry was not very popular due to being overshadowed by not just her dead brother but also by Wheatswipe confidence. While Wheatswipe WAS more popular than Bogcry, cats could tell he was not mature enough to take the leaders place. Too aggressive and willing to start fights. Wheatswipe attitude would be the death of them after they picked a fight with a large group of rogues they could not win against. This might have seemed like a win for Bogcry as she no longer had any opponents but just then, Galestar would announce that Beanie Baby was pregnant and having kits soon. That was Bogcry's chance blown..

Galestar and Beanie Baby would have 8 kits but unfortunately unlike Palestar and Swampstar, some of the list would die before making it to adulthood.. some not even making it to 6 moons.

Galestar would die just before her kits were 6 moons old. (And I can't remember how because I keep getting the history crash rip). Obviously, the kits are not ready to be warriors so Talonstar takes over as leader with their sister Roaringgale as deputy.

Currently Galestar's kit Venusfang is set to become deputy once training an apprentice. She has already got her warrior name while her siblings are still in training.

Some info about Galestar's siblings because they were my favourite litter and I'm mega upset so many of them got lost.

Talonstar - Leader - First non-binary leader and possibly aesexual as they've never had interest in romance. Has had 6 apprentices so far !! Talonstar is still alive !

Roaringgale - warrior - Originally got lost and finally made it back home to be with her siblings. Roaringgale is still alive !

Bluetooth - Mediator - Original mate to Rootback and adopted all of her children. She holds no bad feelings towards Rootback for having kits with her brother and says that Bogcry and Gladepaw are just as important to her as their other adopted kits. She has two living grandkids, Stonedance and Leapstripe. Bluetooth died outside the clan.

Fogstalk - deputy - Fogstalk was actually deputy before Talonstar and consistently clashed with Galestar. Fogstalk would be one of the siblings to get lost and never be found again.

Mosslight - Mediator - Mosslight was one of the siblings to not get lost and spent most of their time as the clans head mediator. Later in life Mosslight would make a questionable decision to have kist with a cat named Springheart and then immediately get into a relationship with a warrior named Amerettofalls claiming they were not his despite 3/4 kits having a black and white coat like him.

Rainchaser - warrior - Rainchaser was a childish cat and only made it to 19 moons old after being killed by a dog when trying to lead it off the territory. Ironically, Rainchaser has a scar on her face from his mentor and Grandmother Brightfur after she scolded him for not taking her duties seriously enough.

Badgerfrekle - Warrior - Similarly to Rainchaser, Badgerfrekle would die very young. Even though he was young, he was a model warrior many had respect for. He would die from a broken bone.

Flickerghost - Medicine cat - Flickerghost was one of the lost siblings. Apparently a loved medicine cat, the clan did not get to spend much time with her. (Death unknown, history crash)

Dreamily - warrior - Originally one of the lost siblings, Dreamlily would eventually make it back to the clan in one piece ! Like her siblings, she is close to 120 moons old and is ready for retirement. The only thing she regrets is not getting to spend more time with her clan and having her own kits.

OH GOD THAT WAS TOOOO LONG

I'm sorry

For anyone who reads this jumbled mess, thank you ??? You must be really bored lmao

Originally had this at the top of the post but have moved it here. It's just ranting about twitter lmao

-----

Once again I suddenly attempt to be active on Tumblr. Twitter has gone to such shit. I follow like 500+ accounts on there and I'm lucky if I even see 6 of them now. I actually like Tumblr more than twitter, I just don't know how to use it properly lol.

#clan gen #warrior cats #clangen #clan generator #cat drama #warriors #erin hunter warriors

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inkmemes · 3 years

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this country ( 2017 - 2020 ) sentence starters ↪ taken from the bbc mockumentary. trigger warning for mentions of religion, death, sex. alter as you see fit ♡

“i like the underdog.”

“don't be a fucking dick.”

“everyone comes together on days like today and just forgets their utter hatred of each other.”

“everyone who's anyone's going to be there and there are people from my past that would love to see me slain.”

“there's a tea rooms there and under the counter they've got a panic button and if i take one step inside, they can press that. the police will be there in three minutes.”

"he whatsapped me the other day asking us to go laser quest with him and i ... well, i clicked on it by accident, didn't i? so he knows i've seen it."

"i mean, i get it, but it's not making me feel nothing."

“it's baffling. i'm baffled by the entire situation, if i'm honest.”

“what the actual fuck? what the actual fuck? you have fucking lost your head, mate. you have lost your fucking head.”

“when i get hold of you, i swear to god i will fucking deck you.”

"someone's just been throwing plums at my house. i'm going to kill them. i can't believe it. i can't believe it. all over this. plumming on here, plumming on that. plum on the sofa, look! there's nothing left that hasn't been plummed."

“i've had a target on my back since the day i was born.”

“thank you very much, enjoy your free potatoes.”

“do you know how small your brain is?”

“hogwarts is that way, dumbledore.”

“he used to say i looked like the puppet off the dolmio advert.”

“there's a kid crying over there. do you want me to...? i can tell him to shut the fuck up if you want?”

“he genuinely looked like a moomin.”

“on my first day of karate club, karate master goes to me, [name], i don't know why you're here because i can't teach you anything. if anything, you should be teaching me." and just gave me his black belt.”

“you know that little old blind man? yeah, when i was punching him in his face, the lens from his glasses broke and cut my knuckle.”

“some things are just best left in the past, where they belong.”

“what's the point in knocking if you're just going to walk in anyway?”

“it was a miscarriage of justice though, cos what people forget is 12 out of them 20 hostages actually found it funny.”

“i lied so much i still don't know what's real life and what's plain lies.”

“i'm so glad you're out of that lying phase.”

“he likes to be the only person on the road, so whenever he sees a car coming the other way he just pulls over.”

“nasa went through hundreds of them in the '60s. and now every time i see a really bright star in the sky i can't wish on it, cos in my head i'm thinking, ‘that's probably just a spacecraft with some monkey bones in it.’”

“you absolute traitor. that's my cheese - it's my fucking house!”

“don't you dare eat that cheese. you eat that and i will smash this. i promise you, i will smash you with this.”

“fuck! you switched them!”

“yeah, i can see it's fucking burnt, sherlock.”

“i honestly am ashamed to know him, sometimes.”

“if you knock on someone's door, don't take no for an answer. get into their house. if they say, ‘leave my house’, stay. and if they say, ‘i'm going to call the police’, you walk upstairs and see if there's anybody else upstairs to sell to.”

“she looks like uncle fester.”

“right. i'm going to piss in their flowers, then.”

“you really need to go home. your mum's called the police and everything.”

“you're also fired from being my best mate, by the way.”

“in business, there will always be setbacks. i don't drink my own juice, fray bentos doesn't eat his own pies. but that's business.”

“do you know what, i don't actually want to play this any more, because it is actually very, very boring.”

“i'm ashamed of myself, that's not usually me, so don't get the wrong impression.”

“i genuinely think one of them fancies me as well.”

“it's fate her moving across the street.”

“the problem with finding a girlfriend in the village is that most of the girls you meet round here are old-age pensioners.”

“yeah, i am looking for a relationship, but thing is i've just got so many trust issues, yeah, with being fucked over massive in the past, so no matter how much i get close to someone now i'm thinking in the back of my head, ‘shit, am i going to get fucked over?’ because i've been fucked over in the past massively. my last relationship proper fucked me up.”

“i went through a really dark phase. listening to papa roach and just blowing everything up with them little french bangers.”

“shut up, you don't know what you're talking about!”

“i don't like the man. i know he's my uncle, but i don't like him.”

“it's just malicious lies, that's all it is.”

“i'm not saying i've got a cruel heart, but if she ain't willing to take me as i am rather than the monster i've become, then she can literally just jog on back to sea with all the other fish cos i don't care.”

“what do you look for in a boyfriend?”

“the key to dating, yeah, is the two rs and the three ts. 'respect, rapport, and talking, talking, talking.' don't ever let that ball hit the ground. good relationships are built on great conversation.”

“on a date, you've got to tell them all the interesting stuff about you, because that's what they'll be interested in.”

“he said to me, he goes, ‘you can't smoke on here.’ i said, ‘i'm not smoking, i'm vaping.’ the look on his face when i said that. i don't think he knew what vaping… what a vape is.”

“you would make me the happiest mouse if you say yes and become my spouse.”

“here's a tip, [name], next time you take a chick out on a date, don't bore her to tears.”

“roses are red, violets are blue, i've got five fingers, the third one's for you.”

“get out of my way, pipe cleaner.”

“[name] phoned me the other day at three in the morning saying, ‘come quick,

there's a hedgehog in the garden that looks exactly like grandad.’ so i got up, i got dressed and i ran over to [name]'s as fast as i could and then i just stopped in the middle of the street at three in the morning and thought, ‘what the fuck am i doing with my life?’

“you're joking me? because if you are joking me, that is massively harsh.”

“oh, let me get a song up on youtube. you're going to absolutely love this, [name]. here we go… listen to this. oh, for fuck's sake, advert.”

“let's go down the pub and get shitfaced.”

“where do i see myself in five years? well, me and [name] will have a flat in the middle of the village and all of our furniture will be inflatable and we'll have cable and it will pay for itself, because we're going to use the spare room to breed quails, because their eggs are worth fucking shitloads.”

“is this about the calippo, still? because you offered to buy me that.”

“if he wants to go, good luck to him, i say. i reckon he thinks that i can't live without him, which is a laugh, because he went a whole weekend away once and i got on all right. i just ended up following this cat around the village.”

“i've got to do what's right for me, at the end of the day, instead of worrying about other people.”

“how about you say sorry? sorry for the massive knife that's hanging out the back of my back because of you.”

“oh, and while you're stabbing me in the back, feel free to bend down and kiss my arse.”

“can i just ask you an honest question? why would you want to leave the village when we've got a pub and a shop?”

“i think you don't know how lucky we have it to be doing nothing with our lives, like. we're all going to die, anyway, so what's the point in doing anything?”

“i want ownership of the words fucknut and dickmilk.”

“i had this come through the post. and i've got a few concerns about it. firstly, this guy on the front looks really arrogant. not the sort of guy i was expecting, if i'm honest.”

“this is starting to stress me out a little bit.”

“why are you trying to stress me out? you know i'm already stressed out as it is.”

“the bloke that used to live in there, right, kept hearing strange noises coming out of his attic at night. and he'd go to the fridge and find that food was missing from the fridge. so he thought, ‘i'm just going to go up to the attic and check this out.’ and he found an entire family of peruvian panpipe buskers just living up there. and he thought ‘i'm just going to leave them to it, ‘cos they're not really doing me any harm.’ and then, a few years later, he thought, "well, i'll just go up to the attic to check on them. ‘see if they're all right.’ and it turned out they'd all died of asbestos poisoning. yeah, he doesn't live here any more.”

“some people will always be scared of me, and i can't change that, no matter how nice i am. but there's a balance to be had between being nice and being feared.”

“don't really like catching up. it's not my thing.”

“i just watched this video of this girl doing a random act of kindness on youtube. she basically paid for this old man's shopping at the till. and this old man was, like, about 90 years old. and he's so fucking old, like, you could see through his skin. and he just starts bawling his eyes out. he's like, ‘you're fucking joking me, this ain't fucking real life.’ i just thought... i want to make someone feel like that. ‘cos that's... i really… that's what i want to do.”

“i'm not dead. just can't be arsed to text her sometimes.”

“you know, correct me if i'm wrong, but four texts a day is complete madness. no-one can keep up with that.”

“i am doing kind things selfishly.”

“i was at midnight mass one year, right, someone got tipped off i was there. as i was coming out the church, someone tries to shoot me with a crossbow.”

“well, i haven't seen the film, have i? that's why i came here - to watch the fucking film - like a normal human being.”

“i've made an effort by coming here tonight. i didn't want to come.”

“i had to wheel him here from his house in an asda trolley, cos he was just too heartbroken to move.”

“sometimes you don't know what you got until you ain't got it any more. like blockbuster's. i just took 'em for granted - and then, one day, gone, and you spend ages trying to figure out what went wrong, and then you realise it was your fault all along.”

“i thought you said you wanted to fix things.”

“she wanted it to go that way, and it just wasn't gonna go that way. she even got me thinking that they'd get back together… ..but that's manipula.... manipulative people... do that. and he's better off without her.”

“that wasn't much to write home about.”

“it's fucking dead, isn't it?”

“basically, somebody's been sending me threatening letters, and i don't know who's doing it - and i am concerned, because my peripheral vision is poor, so, if somebody attacks me from the sides or snipes at me from an upstairs window, i am fucked - but my hearing is excellent, see? so i just need to spend a few days inside honing my sonar, and i'll be fine then.”

“if you don't like the work, the circus is in town and they're always looking for clowns.”

“his soul is just going to crumble to dust.”

“this really is not a good situation for me. a physical threat is something that i can deal with, but a sexual thing is not my area of expertise.”

“just really fucked in the head, mate.”

“what have i done? i haven't done anything wrong.”

“do you know how sad that is? that is so, actually, sad. that makes me sad for you, that you can't take a joke.”

“i think i just got a bit carried away with the whole thing.”

“your finger's going up my arsehole, mate.”

“i'll hold the back of your head, so you don't bash yourself.”

“when i lie in future, i don't want a massive lecture on how bad lying is, cos deep down, you're the worst of us all, mate.”

“i'd quite like a coke.”

“it's going to be like gluing a breadstick back together, because… like, as if a breadstick's been in a blender and it's all… ...the pieces smashed up.”

“like, this one time i started a fight club in the village hall, and i got a black eye from beating myself up. but it made my enemies think, ‘fuck, if she can do that to herself, what the fuck can she do to me?’”

“i'm absolutely 1,000% sure i've broken it in two places.”

“i knew this day would come.”

“i should be in tk maxx, getting the bargains that i deserve.”

“unlike you, [name], i'm not a fashion disaster.”

“i'm still warm in my grave, and she's sucking off the pallbearer.”

“you know, it took me ten years to get over [name], and i only went out with her for half a day.”

“i swear to god, if i see him here again, i swear to god, i will have no hesitation in just going up to him and just planting one on his face.”

“right, then keep your nose out of my business, yeah? nosy old cock-womble.”

“[name]’s attitude to me is puzzling. if i walk past her in the street

and say hi, she'll tell me to fuck off. yet every year, she sends me a really sweet, nice christmas card. you know, there's just no consistency there.”

“he's good-looking up close, isn't he?”

“don't show me any weakness, because i will take advantage.”

“no, put the brick down, you fucking psychopath.”

“when i asked him, he just said, ‘come to my office now,’ which means we're in the fucking shit, cos we're always in fucking shit.”

“i shouldn't be paying you at all.”

“i've always had a son. i talk about him all the time.”

“he's my son. he's not my dog.”

“it reminds me of the wicker man. i don't really know why.”

“i just find it weird how you can be so close to someone and they can be such a big part of your life, and then the next minute, you're just sort of strangers in the night.”

“i don't want the emotional implications.”

“well, about five years ago, i sold my birthday to my mum for about 200 quid, which means my mum's legally entitled now to never celebrate my birthday ever again for the rest of my life. not even, like, a happy birthday cup of tea, or a moonpig card, nothing - which is the worst decision i ever made in my entire life.”

“he deserves that anyway, because he's been sexting my nan, so…”

“what's this surprise? cos i need to know whether it's going to be worth this walk.”

“i always see them banners above the motorway, and i always thought, ‘who the fuck does them?’ well, now i know. people like me.”

“did you know you can't get stung by a stinging nettle if you grab the leaf top and bottom, like that? it's only when you touch it on the sides, it stings. agh, actually, that stung, then.”

“pez dispenser, they're cursed. they are, i'm not even joking. honestly, when i had one of them, i had the worst bout of bad luck i ever had in my life.”

“i swear down, it's a short cut. it might be a pleasant walk, we might enjoy it.”

“i'm not scared of the fox twins. i'd just like to sit them down and ask 'em plainly, ‘look, guys, what is going on? ‘cos this has just gotten completely out of hand now. you know, stop walking on your knuckles, stand up straight, be the best version of you that you can be. get a job, even. there's a trolley boy who works at tesco's, you know, who may as well have been raised by wolves. if he can get a job, you guys can walk it.’”

“yes, there has been talk of strange goings-on in the woods, ghost sightings and the like. but… ...they're never from particularly reliable sources.”

“i live with a ghost. there's a ghost in that house. he's like a civil war cavalier, with all the hair and the hat and all that. and every time i walk into the living room, he doffs his cap. and on his shoulder, he's got this crow that barks at me. it means i spend less time in the house, really. not because of him, because he's-he's quite peaceable. but the crow is malevolent. and i'm not having that. i can't share my house with a malevolent bird.”

“that's haunted as fuck.”

“am i going mad here, or does that, to you, look like that's where just ghost will hang out all the time?”

“look at him, little red riding twat.”

“if he's got an attitude with me, i swear to god, i'll just grab the steering wheel and drive us all into a wall.”

“it's a bit annoying, actually. cos this is not the first or the second time i've had to tell you, really, is it?”

“his sparkle has just gone.”

“you know my dad actually wrote the song wonderwall on the back of a beer mat in the space of ten minutes, don't you?”

“i've just got a tiny, tiny, tiny little favour to ask you.”

“when i think of [name], i think of someone who is very loyal. and very, very stupid. sort of more stupid than loyal. sort of 70% stupid, 30% loyal, probably. because she's very loyal. but extremely stupid.”

“do you know what? i actually don't think he loves you at all and i don't think he's ever loved you.”

“all right, that's harsh and unnecessary, but fine.”

“frankly, she is behaving like the antichrist.”

“i literally just got here.”

“you are such an unemotional slab of ham, [name].”

“i've got so much shit on that man you would not believe.”

“there's something in my eye.”

“i just can't quit him, you know?”

“yeah, we might have a fiery relationship, but when we're together, it's just… it's just pure chemistry, isn't it?”

“i'm not proud of it, believe me. but at the end of the day, i'm a very vindictive person, you know? it is what makes me me.”

“i basically went out and bought an alpaca off gumtree for £500. of all the mistakes i've made in my life, that was possibly the largest. definitely the physically largest.”

“yeah, i really don't wanna talk about that.”

“her only loyalty is to herself, staffies, and the tv channel dave… ...which, in my opinion, is a tv channel made by knuckle-draggers for knuckle-draggers.”

“i can't move on till i've seeked revenge, unfortunately.”

“if that was in france, that would be fine, but we're not in france.”

“the only thing we had in common, really, was stealing, and that was more my thing that i got him onto. but it just goes to show, you know, some friendships last and some friendships don't, but that's just the way it is.”

“you know it was me that got you sacked, don't you?”

“the thing i learnt about friendship is, you gotta accept each other's flaws, no matter how toxic they may be.”

“shit-stirring from beyond the grave.”

#rp meme #rp prompt #rp starters #rp sentence meme #rp sentence starters #this is the nichest meme ive made #but this show is so fucking funny okay

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the-royal-teacup · 3 years

Text

This is going to be a bit of a nostalgic/pissed off rant post, so skip it if you’d like! 😳😊

So, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, but these last couple of days I’ve been feeling very nostalgic/sad because I’ve been missing my grandparents, who are sadly no longer on this earth. Anytime I see a wholesome post of people with their grandparents, it makes me smile, but also sad. So, that got me thinking about Mr Markle and the way he treated his grandparents and the way he is still treating his grandmother, so here I go…

I was lucky enough to have my grandparents for 14 and 21 years respectively, but even that wasn’t long enough. My grandparents were a HUGE part of my life. My mum raised me and my sister as a single parent, so they were like an extra set of parents and we shared a beautiful bond from the minute I was born and the moment they died a little piece of me died with them. Dramatic? No. I don’t think so…

So, to see the way Harry has treated the Queen makes me mad. How he treats her as a Queen is bad enough, thinking he and his wife can dictate to her and back her into a corner is shitty enough, but imagine treating your 95 year old Grandmother like that. I can’t, because I wouldn’t. I respected my grandma, I treasured her and I would have done anything for her, to me she was the Queen of our family, and I would have bowed down to her if that’s what she had wanted! Harry’s grandmother protected him at one of the worst moments in his life; losing his mother. She went against her advisors, her government and even her people, to keep them at Balmoral and keep them away from the hysteria of the world over Princess Diana’s death. She was thinking only as a grandmother and not as a Queen, and it was the right thing to do. But, you wouldn’t think that with the way Harry is painting it, would you?

His grandmother lost the love of her life, and instead of being there to comfort her, he made it all about himself. Instead of coming home to say goodbye to his ill and dying grandfather, he sat down with Oprah and trashed his whole family, whilst his grandfather was sick in a hospital bed. I would have given anything to say goodbye to my grandad, but he left this world before I could tell him one last time that I loved him and that I was grateful for every last moment, every last piece of knowledge he had imparted. I would have given anything to just sit beside him again and just listened to him talk and tell tales from his life, and from our life together as grandfather and granddaughter. My grandad loved and protected me my whole life, from the minute I was born and I am so thankful to have had him in my life.

Prince Philip fought for Harry, he helped him, he handed over his treasured patronage’s to him and Harry upped and left with his bitch wife and threw it all back in his face. Philip walked side by side with him behind his mother’s coffin, he told him if he didn’t want to do it he would fight for him not to, but if he wanted to do it, then he would walk with him. Harry tells a different story now; it traumatised him and he hates that he was ‘made to do it’ here’s the thing most of us have had to walk behind the coffin of those we love, the only difference is we didn’t have the eyes of the whole world on us. But, we still remember it and it is still awful looking at that wooden box knowing someone you love is inside of it and they’re never coming back. But, do we blame people for ‘making us do it’? No. We don’t. And we certainly don’t blame the people that were there to help and pick up the pieces, especially not over twenty years later, on TV, whilst your grandfather is dying.

I feel like nobody ever knew the real Harry, at least outside of the royal family. I feel like the royal family knew exactly who he was, and they protected him, and when things did manage to leak to the public, they covered it up and helped him like a family does. They closed ranks, rehabbed his image and made him into the forever bachelor loveable rogue persona. Then, he meets Markle and all the work they had done over the years was un-picked stitch by stitch and we have the real Harry revealed; a bitter, selfish, disrespectful, two-faced, money grabbing coward.

How he has treated his grandmother, before and after Philip’s death is truly disgusting. How he’s treated his whole family is down right disgusting, but this was about grandparents and the respect you should have for them, especially if they have done nothing but love, protect and care for you. You should protect them, love and treasure them, end of.

Instead he paints the Queen and his family, as the monsters of his story; when in reality he was the monster all a long.

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ddagent · 3 years

Note

Hiii if hot Instagram dad Jaime maybe decided he wanted to do some fun maiden day activities to post onto his account and dragged long suffering Brienne into it, I would love that. (I will die for that universe)

Thank you so much for the prompt, Anon! This is not *quite* what you asked for; consider it a mild reboot of the insta!dad Jaime ‘verse. I hope you enjoy it all the same.

“This is a passenger announcement. Flight 8OATH7 to Storm’s End is delayed. Please check the departures board for further information.”

Brienne let out an almighty groan that was shared between her and the other passengers wanting to leave Braavos. A quick glance to the departures board showed that the two-minute adjustment in departure time had now extended a full two hours. Several of her fellow passengers headed off to the bar or duty-free shops. Brienne just slumped into her seat. At least it wasn’t Sevenmas she was missing. Just Maiden’s Day.

Oh, but she was really looking forward to spending Maiden’s Day with Jaime.

Slipping her phone out of her pocket, Brienne scrolled to Home and pressed the call button. After a few rings, a confident little voice answered. “Lannister-Tarth residence. This is Catelyn speaking. Who are you?”

Brienne felt herself beaming at her eldest daughter’s phone manner. “Cat, it’s Mummy. Is Daddy around?”

“Mummy! When are you coming back? We miss you!”

“I miss you too, Little Lion. I’ll be home soon. Can you put Daddy on?”

“Sure.”

There was a clunk, then a long pause, before Jaime came on the phone. Excited babbles came over the line, and Brienne could just envision Jaime in their foyer at Evenfall, holding their youngest in his arms. “Hey. Everything okay?”

“Not great. I’m stuck in Braavos; there’s not a flight out for at least two hours. I don’t think I’m going to get home today.”

“It’s okay, Brienne. We can celebrate Maiden’s Day tomorrow, or the next day, or whenever. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Ending the call, Brienne settled back into the uncomfortable plastic seat made for a person at least a foot shorter than her. The other passengers were on their phones, playing games such as Angry Dragons or Game of Tarts; more than a few were scrolling through social media. Brienne followed suit. She opened up her ravenmail account and replied to a few emails; the university wanting an update on her latest findings. Unfortunately, the Braavosi artefacts she had been sent to authenticate were frauds. After she’d done that and sent a text to her Dad, asking him to check in on Jaime and the kids, she went to open up her own accounts. That’s when she heard it.

“—I guess we’ll have to celebrate another night. Sweetling, we love you, and I can’t wait for you to get home.”

Two seats down were three young women dressed for sun and fun rather than Brienne’s ill-fitting business suit. They were staring longingly at one of their phones. “He is just so hot. He’s such a great dad and clearly an amazing husband.”

“Did you see the snap of him doing topless push-ups with his kids on his back? Oh-em-gee, I nearly died.”

“What about the one at the zoo? All tanned and muscular picking his daughter up to look at the lion cage? He is hot a-eff. I swear, every time I look at his Quip feed, my ovaries hurt.”

The three young women continued to drool over Brienne’s husband, or the hot Dad at kingofthe_pride. He’d had the Quip account since Catelyn was born, wanting to show off adorable pictures of their baby girl while he was a stay-at-home-dad. The account had grown popular as Jaime was earnest, loving, and downright gorgeous. Users on Quip had followed him from being a first-time Dad to looking after their boy, Brynden, and their youngest, Joanna. It brought in a little sponsorship money and a lot of unwelcome DMs. He screenshotted her the best ones, along with some personal pics just for her.

Loading Quip, Brienne found Jaime’s most recent story. He was in their garden, Joanna climbing on his shoulder while the other two gathered round to stare at the phone. “So, I just got a call from my wife that she’s stuck in an airport departure lounge and won’t be able to come home tonight. Which is a shame, because these three cubs were going to stay at Grandad’s.”

Jaime offered the camera a sultry wink that would melt most women. Hells, Brienne had been married to him for nine years, and she was still a puddle! “I guess we’ll have to celebrate another night. Sweetling, we love you, and I can’t wait for you to get home.”

All three of their children waved at the camera; Brynden and Ser Roar blowing her a kiss. It disappeared onto the next story – Jaime’s sister, Cersei, wine tasting at her vineyard in Dorne – before Brienne clicked back to his account. There was another post already.

“Oh–em–gee, they’re making Maiden’s Day cards together.”

The picture was, in fact, in the children’s playroom. The large mahogany table that had once sat knights of old was now covered in card, glitter, and felt tip pens. Jaime’s shoulder-length hair was pulled off his face, his grin wide and bright, as Joanna helped him pour sapphire-blue glitter into the shape of a heart. Brynden was working on his letters in his own handmade Maiden’s Day card. Catelyn was drawing something else.

kingofthe_pride: Couldn’t get to the shops, B. Handmade okay?

Brienne chuckled, especially at the next picture of Jaime holding up Catelyn’s drawing of Ser Galladon of Morne and his sword.

kingofthe_pride: Little Lion misunderstood the task. Think you might enjoy it better than mine.

Already the picture had a ton of likes and plenty of comments. Brienne tried to avoid deciphering the string of emojis following several of them; instead, she focused on the smiles of her husband and children. An email from the university diverted her attention, but, when she returned, there was another post from Jaime.

kingofthe_pride: All your partner wants for M-Day is flowers, chocolates, and a sword.

It was a photo of Jaime in the Evenfall museum on Tarth; a crimson bow attached to the exhibit glass holding Oathkeeper. Brienne barked out a laugh, startling a few nearby passengers including the young women who had been drooling over her husband. The next few posts were equally touching: Jaime and the children making flower crowns (#myqueenofloveandbeauty); Jaime and the children making chocolate cupcakes (#knight-feast).

Shaking her head, Brienne opened up her messenger app and found her husband’s name.

B: I love you. Ser Husband: I know. I’m very lovable. B: And modest. Ser Husband: Well, that picture of me with a flower crown has over 600 likes already. Ser Husband: I just wanted to lift your spirits while you’re stuck in a dingy airport lounge. B: You did. Thank you ♥ Ser Husband: Would you like a kingofthe_pride exclusive? B: Always.

The next photo was a selfie. Jaime was in her study; the last of the afternoon light streaming in and highlighting the blonde in his hair and the crow’s feet around his eyes. The angle was off: there were no pixels of his muscular arms or tight abs. He was just a forty-year-old Dad taking a poorly aimed selfie, and staring at the camera with so much love it made her heart ache.

B: I miss you. Ser Husband: I miss you, too.

“This is a passenger announcement. Flight 8OATH7 to Storm’s End is now boarding Please check your ticket information and proceed to Gate 14.”

B: See you soon x

#Anonymous #braime #jaime x brienne #ship: braime #mine: paragraph prompts #brienne is clearly 'ser wife' in his phone

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jacobtroodart · 3 years

Text

This is a painting of my Grandad completed in oil paint. Back in the 1970s Grandad decided he needed more hobbies so that he wouldn’t be bored once he retired. He found a class teaching beekeeping in the local newspaper and began attending. He learnt how to keep bees and, with help from my dad, began to build a thriving apiary. He soon found himself going on European trips to widen his knowledge of beekeeping before holding many positions in the Taunton and Somerset beekeeping Associations. He was also very good at art and taught me how to draw and paint from a very young age. When I started full time education in art, he would often claim a piece couldn’t be done. Then an hour later would phone up to say he’d thought about it and decided it was a good idea and we should try it. Sadly, my Grandad died at the end of January and while looking at some old photos I found a photo of him beekeeping and thought it would make a great painting. We have decided to ask for donations to go towards research into European Foul Brood, a honey bee disease that affects their larvae that can weaken and kill colonies. We are hoping that this will help to save the bees. To donate please follow the link in the post.

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nicknellie · 3 years

Text

I had Thoughts™️ about Reggie so I wrote them down. A lot of what I say in this post will be me drawing from my own experiences so I’m asking everyone to be respectful when adding to this or giving criticism or whatever.

TW for dementia, specifically Alzheimer’s.

When Reggie was little, until about the age of five, he was really close with his grandfather (on his father’s side)

His grandmother had died long before Reggie was born, so his grandad lived alone

When little Reggie visited or when his grandad babysat him, Reggie would always have the time of his life

His grandad was a talented artist - he and Reggie would paint together, and no matter what Reggie’s end product was his grandad would stick it to the fridge and proudly ruffle Reggie’s hair

Reggie would help his grandad in the garden because caring for his plants was always a comfort to his grandad

His grandad would tell little Reggie stories about all the plants - how the fuchsias were little ballerinas, and toadstools were their homes, and how the dandelions would dance with the daisies and the daffodils

Reggie loved hearing all his grandad’s stories and they always made him giggle

They would play music together too; his grandad had a marvellous old grand piano and although Reggie was more suited to guitar he enjoyed plonking out chords to go with the pieces his grandad would play

One day, when Reggie was six, his father picked him up from school early

They drove straight past Reggie’s house, so Reggie asked where they were going

His father told him very simply, trying not to frighten or worry him, that his grandad had tripped over so they were going to go to the hospital to see if he was alright

Reggie was immediately worried - he didn’t want to see his grandad hurt

They found out that when he fell his grandad had hit his head and hip - his hip was broken and while he was in hospital he needed multiple surgeries all very close to one another in order to keep him alive

He was in hospital for months, having surgery after surgery

The doctors hadn’t thought that the head injury was that serious and they had been correct, but the many surgeries caused some sort of other trauma to Reggie’s grandad

Eventually, he was discharged from hospital and Reggie’s dad bought him a frame to help him walk

As the months and years went by, Reggie started to notice small changes in his grandfather’s behaviour

It started with the smallest things

“Blast,” his grandad would say, “I’ve lost my bloody keys, I bet that awful neighbour stole them!”

And little Reggie, only seven and very confused, would say, “They’re here on the table, grandad.”

And his grandad, usually mild-mannered and very kind to Reggie, would snatch them up off the table and snap, “You probably put them there, trying to hide them from me. Trying to make me look stupid.”

Whenever things like that happened, Reggie would put it down to his grandad being in a bad mood

But things just kept getting worse and Reggie couldn’t understand it

Once, he asked his grandfather to make him a sandwich

“What?” his grandad replied

“A sandwich,” Reggie had repeated, thinking his grandad just hadn’t heard him

He got a blank look in return

“I... a what, son?”

“A sandwich, grandad.”

“I... I don’t know... No, I can’t.”

Reggie hadn’t had an explanation for that one. He got up and made his own sandwich and one for his grandad too, which remained uneaten

Another day, when Reggie was about ten, he and his grandad were going to go on a walk together

“Don’t forget to lock the door, grandad.”

“Lock the door?”

Reggie had turned around to see his grandad stood in the open door, looking utterly bewildered

“Yeah,” Reggie said. “Come outside and lock the door behind you, then we can get going.”

His grandad slowly came outside and shut the door behind him, but then looked to Reggie for help

“Do you have the key, grandad?”

“Of course I’ve got the key.”

He didn’t actually have the key - Reggie had to go back inside to get it and found it on the kitchen table

He came back outside and showed his grandad how to lock the door

“Well, of course I knew how to do that,” his grandad huffed

For the most part, Reggie could ignore it - old people forgot things all the time, right?

And it wasn’t like his grandad forgot everything; they would still paint together and they’d play music and his grandad would tell him all his stories about his garden (maybe just not as eloquently as before)

When Reggie was eleven, his grandad said, “Pass me the television remote, Arthur.”

Reggie had laughed and handed him the remote, saying, “It’s Reggie, grandad. Arthur is my dad.”

Reggie’s grandad had looked bewildered

“Reggie?”

Reggie had nodded, starting to feel concerned

“Yeah, Reggie... I’m your grandson, remember?”

His grandfather hadn’t said he remembered, he had just looked away and got back to changing the TV channel

Similar things kept happening: he would call Reggie ‘Arthur’, or the name of Reggie’s uncle, or what Reggie learned from his father was the name of someone he’d befriended in the war

“Why does grandad get my name wrong?” Reggie had asked when he was twelve

His father had sighed and run a tired hand over his eyes

“He’s got dementia, Reg. Your grandad, he’s going to forget a lot of things. Like names, and how to do easy things, a—”

“And his own family,” Reggie had said, remembering how his grandad hadn’t known who he was

“It’s not easy, Reg. And I’m sorry that he doesn’t always know who you are.”

“How do we fix him?”

His father had looked away - later Reggie would realise that it was because he was crying. “We can’t. There isn’t a cure.”

It had taken Reggie a while to understand what exactly dementia would do to his grandad - it was hard to understand how he didn’t know how to swallow a pill when he could sing entire songs off by heart before the lyrics had even started

Reggie tried to carry on as normal as possible

He learned to respond to the names Arthur, Brian, Oliver, Christopher, Ted, and any other name that wasn’t his own

He learned that when his grandad said “spoon” he actually meant “cup”, which was an easy enough link to get

But sometimes his grandad said “pillow” when what he really meant was “washing machine”, or he’d say “bird” when he really meant “paintbrush” and mistakes like that were harder to unpick; it made communication hard and his grandad would get frustrated when he wasn’t being understood

Reggie was keen to find ways to connect with his grandad, but it all felt bittersweet and painful

His grandad still loved it when they would paint together, but where he’d once been able to create beautiful sweeping landscapes there were now only blotches of dilute colours and the odd shape here and there

They both still loved playing music together, but now his grandad’s fingers would stumble over the piano keys and he’d lose his flow

His grandad could hardly get outside to attend to his garden safely anymore

Reggie’s father started hiring carers to go in every day and look after him

When they were around they would boss Reggie about and tell him not to get in the way

He understood they were just trying to do their job, but he didn’t like the brisk, harsh, matter-of-fact way they handled his grandad

His grandad didn’t deserve that; he deserved patience and kindness and to be helped gently rather than forced

Visiting started to get painful - Reggie would go to his grandad’s house and he would have deteriorated severely even overnight

Conversations had become repetitive and almost impossible - Reggie would answer a question and be asked the same one not a minute later

Reggie visited less and less

He never stopped completely, but sometimes it would hurt so much that he would leave weeks in between visits and his grandfather started to forget him even more

He couldn’t help how much it hurt - he had all those memories of spending time with his grandad, talking and laughing and being loved, and his grandad was losing it all; Reggie was losing his grandad right before his very eyes and there was nothing he could do to stop it or make it easier

He just had to watch as he became less and less like the man Reggie had once known

Reggie tried writing songs about it once Sunset Curve formed

Luke helped him sometimes, but Reggie didn’t like it when he did that - Luke didn’t have the right experiences, so his lyrics were forced and inaccurate and sensationalised and they didn’t show what was really going on

He never managed to finish any songs about his grandad

One day, Reggie was going through some old stuff he’d found under his bed, and came across a box of paintings he must have done with his grandad

One of them was a black background with a white emblem on it, a sweeping line almost like a road

Reggie spent the entire night painting the same thing but on a much bigger backdrop, emblazoning it with the words ‘Sunset Curve’ and adding splashes of colour

He was no artist but he drew upon every technique his grandad had ever taught him and it looked good in the end

He brought it to the next rehearsal, asked the others if they could use it, and they all agreed

When Reggie was fourteen, his grandad was deemed unfit to live at home by himself and was moved into full-time care

He couldn’t take everything when he moved into the home, so Reggie and his parents had to sort through it all

His mother just threw anything away that didn’t seem important; his father kept things with sentimental value; Reggie didn’t want to throw anything out at all

By the end of two weeks, his own bedroom was filled with things he didn’t need but couldn’t bring himself to get rid of: old cigarette cards, a collection of toy cars, a dozen flat caps, a broken walking stick, toys Reggie had played with as a child, hundreds of other items

The magnificent old grand piano now was in Reggie’s living room

Reggie would visit his grandad at the home

His grandad despised living with all the other old people, but the carers were good at making him happy

He liked seeing Reggie even if he didn’t have any idea who he was

Reggie would bring his bass sometimes and have the volume as low as it would go, playing for his grandad in his room

His grandad loved it

Sometimes it could get too much for Reggie to be there - usually a carer would notice and provide him with an excuse to leave or take a breather

It hurt having to leave without saying goodbye, but it saved a lot of pain and confusion

A few days after Reggie’s fifteenth birthday, his dad got a call from the care home

His grandad had fallen again and was in the hospital

Reggie visited with his dad

His grandad was in bed, practically immobile - the doctors said he had broken his hip again

Nobody told Reggie, but it was obvious that recovery was unlikely

His grandad was sent back to the care home to be looked after, but was bed-bound

Reggie visited as much as he could, trying to make up for all the time he had missed when it had been too painful to go

One day, Reggie was shown into his grandad’s room and sat beside his bed as usual

His grandad turned to face him, smiled, and took his hand

“Reggie. It’s so lovely to see you. Thank you for coming to visit me, son.”

It had taken everything in Reggie’s being to stop himself from bursting into tears

He clutched his grandad’s hand tighter and shakily breathed, “Always, grandad. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

There was a pause

“I will miss you,” Reggie whispered

“And I will also miss you.”

That evening, just as the family sat down to eat dinner, they received a call from the care home telling them that Reggie’s grandfather had passed away in his sleep

It was over

Whenever Sunset Curve made money from gigs, Reggie made sure to donate some of his share to dementia charities and the care home that had looked after his grandfather

He tried writing more songs for him, but still couldn’t find the words

Every now and then, he would find a birthday card or something similar that his grandad had written him - his handwriting and spelling had got worse and worse as his dementia had progressed but Reggie’s heart swelled when he read them

‘Dearest Reggie, happy birthday. I love you very much. Grandad.’

Reggie kept that little note with him wherever he went

When Reggie died, he almost hoped he would get to see his grandad again, but he was glad that he didn’t - that meant his grandad had crossed over, which meant that his life had been fulfilled

And for the rest of his life and afterlife, fuchsias remained Reggie’s favourite flower

He would see them dancing on a breeze and hear his grandad’s voice telling him they were beautiful ballerinas who lived in the toadstools

It comforted him on his darkest days

This is a link to a post I made where you can learn more about dementia and donate to Dementia UK and the Alzheimer’s Society.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #reggie peters #sunset curve #headcanon #jatp headcanons #tw dementia #tw death #tw surgery mention #tw hospital mention #dementiaawareness #dementia awareness #alzheimersawareness #alzheimers

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limelocked · 3 years

Note

hello you talked about maybe making a post examining phils trauma and I would absolutely love that if you do decide to make it

okay, this post will be very unstructured and may be triggering to some readers so go into it knowing this and stay safe

i dont know how many people in this fandom have been suicidal but i can guess that a smaller number have had a suicidal friend and have had to talk them down

i had a friend who was a pathological liar so i dont actually know what was happening at the time since i now doubt everything that person said to me however at the time i fully believed it when this person told me that they were going to take their own life by jumping out the window from high up in a multistory building

this context is important because if you think about it too hard what phil did wasnt murder, it was assisted suicide done semi unconsentually

phil couldnt get into dreamsmp before he “hacked” his way in on the 16th and any contact with dreamsmp before that was instigated by the people on the server or went through what his chat told him, there was Nothing that he could do before he was whitelisted

then we look at alivebur who had tnt IN the button room before quackity and tommy took it out and was quite clearly depressed, using blue already before becoming ghostbur as a way to cope

so phil joins the server, he is in this cramped room and people are already fighting outside, he only thinks that whats at risk is some buildings being blown up but... chat has told him stuff that might be true so he tries to talk wilbur down and he does pretty well all things considered... and he fails... wilbur presses the button and while neither of them die what happens afterwards is something that is HORRAFYING to me

wilbur begs phil to kill him, gives him a sword, invokes killza, he tells phil that he should do it because THEY all want him to, They all Want wilbur dead and phil tries to defend himself, man is fucking panicking “YOURE MY SON!” but the human mind isnt really made to... handle that kind of stress and phil never got the time to really... process the information or anything at all, at this point he might not even know about how canon deaths work since he only know schlatt died via heart attack/falling out of the world

so the mind goes into autopilot and he kills wilbur, he doesnt have time to process it because then techno goes to spawn the withers and he has to deal with that

there is some sick and wrong part of you while trying to talk someone down from suicide that just wants it to be over, that wants your own personal stress and trauma to just finally be over and for me in highschool this equated to wishing for either this person i was talking down to finally be fine and out of harms way or to just... be dead, and thats horrible its so sick and twisted of the brain to do but it would remove the pressure of being the single thread holding this persons life up and out of the abyss because at that time you are the only support system that person has

phil said that he went into the arctic to reflect and process and he prolly did but he comes back to ghostbur, and alivebur in the end wasnt the wilbur he knew but ghostbur is even less so, ghostbur is a shadow of what wilbur was and a CONSTANT reminder of what happened to him, thats why phil doesnt really... like ghostbur... he’s easily annoyed at ghostbur and snaps at him sometimes, ghostbur reminds him not only by EXISTING but by constantly telling him about how actually ghostbur is happy that phil killed alivebur and phil is never comfortable when ghostbur brings this up, replying to ghostbur in this kinda... restrained and quiet voice

i cannot blame phil for not alligning with lmanburg, that group of people twisted his son into someone that forced phil into assisted suicide and that group just kept being corrupt. Dream didnt take down the walls, phil and bad did and yet he is placed under house arrest and has to watch his best friend be executed by the president who might also be his son, he has to see his grandson, WILBURS LEGACY steal from him, force his hand again into back handedly betraying said best friend and then have the AUDACITY to claim that he still loves his grandad

and lets not beat around the bush; phil watched techno die, a totem brings you back from the dead, it doesnt shield you from the death itself so thats two of phils closest relationships killed by lmanburg, first wilbur then techno

i dont think that phil only left lmanburg because of anger against the government, i think he also left and decided to stay with techno because techno is consistent and he is safe. techno is a rock that never changes and hes strong enough to not depend on phil for carrying his emotional bagage. techno is so very predictable and hes strong enough to be able to fend for himself, phil doesnt have to worry about techno

i think tldr on phil: watching your best friend get executed right in front of you while you can do nothing is pretty fucked up but the fact that phil essentially failed to talk his son down from suicide then was forced to kill him as part of that suicide is like... deeply fucked up

moral of the story.. kinda? STOP ACTING LIKE PHIL IS A FUCKING TRAINED MENTAL HEALTH PROFESSIONAL OR EMERGENCY RESPONDER FOR SUICIDE PREVENTION my man has had his hands tied for so long and finally now hes free to hang out with his safe best friend where he can work thru that trauma

#suicide mention #this is mostly kinda to put down my thoughts because like...#phil is not immune to the effects talking someone down has #not proofread like at all honestly #Anonymous

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amethystpath-writes · 3 years

Text

Revenge of The Two Weeks (3)- that's right. We named it, folks.

Continuation of this original story.

Continued directly from here!

@tears-and-lilies @whatwhumpcomments

If anyone would lile to be added or removed from any tag lists, plz let me know! I don't mind either way!

Heed the tags.

******

The flaps of Hero's tent flapped in the wind, distracting him slightly from the task at hand. The commander was testing his strategy; he was testing all of the mens' strategy, trying to figure out who might gain his own title when he retired- if he ever retired.

Hero picked the tip of his finger up off of the map, replacing it with another finger on his other hand while he moved his first to the right side of the parchment. The commander was wanting to expand to the eastern part of the lands. Problem was the number of geological obstacles: craters, hills, ponds, and mushy swamp-like areas galore.

Sighing, Hero threw his head back. It seemed impossible. He eyed the blue flag closest to his right finger, picked it up, and threw it over the shoulder. There, he thought, Get rid of the bloody pond. If only it worked that way.

There were three blue flags, all within several hundred meters- realistically speaking- of one another. Very little room for our legions. Hero debated whether or not to fight on horseback. As great and obedient as the horses were, they were large and clumsy in close proximity. With little space, there was too much room for error. So no horses. That fixes that problem.

One yellow flag. The marshes. A big ole stretch of hard-to-walk-through mush, at least for a human. So yes to the horses. Or no? God, I don't know. The swampish lands would result in more army and artillery men's deaths than if a few horses fell into the ponds. Keep the horses. And that would allow for the use of their bows, which would presumably be an advantage.

The horses will require resting breaks. What would happen if they exhausted a bunch of them? Men would have to walk, which would exhaust them. That was better than all of the men exhausting themselves at least.

Hero bounced a fist off the table. This was so frustrating. He thought, now, maybe he wasn't cut out to serve under the commander's- and certainly not the king's- name. But he had to. Because fighting was all Hero could do. He wasn't good at anything else, but if he failed in this test of strategy, he was done for. He'd be demoted, become one of those scavengers of the army who were responsible for picking up dismembered body parts and burning them. How disgusting. How lowly. How vile.

"You kept the dagger."

Hero gritted his teeth together, jaw askew. He didn't need to turn to know who that was. "Yeah? It's my dagger. Just because you stole it from me then gave it back doesn't mean it hasn't always been mine. Of course I kept it."

The tent flaps were quiet, Hero realized. Villain must have been holding them still. It was with this information that he began reaching for his dagger, saying as a distraction of sorts, "Do you remember Grandad?"

Villain laughed. "Don't try to settle me with your old stories. I don't care about them anymore."

"You used to." Hero swallowed, adjusting the handle of his dagger until it felt just right.

Spiders crawled up his spine to the base of his skull. He spun, dagger held with the blade outward. This hadn't been his plan. First, Hero's plan had been to launch the dagger at the wooden tent post, just close enough to scare Villain. But now he was in front of him.

"Cute," his younger brother commented, and pushed Hero's wielding hand aside. "But I have my own." He hummed. "You give into me so easily. You ought not to, for your own sake. To me it's fascinating, but who knows when I might actually decide to slit your throat?" It was with this that Villain brought his own dagger to Hero's neck. "And what would you ever do to stop me? You already had the chance to both throw a blade at me and stab me with it. You've done neither."

Hero rolled his eyes. Villain was shorter than him which only aided in the harshness of the sharp dagger on his neck. His brother was pushing up at a cruel angel, one that Hero had to avoid swallowing against.

"What do you want me to tell you? You're right, okay? You're right. I have guilt and I hoped that I'd never see you again because of it. But you're alive." He took a breath. "It's up to you what you do with your life from here. You can chase me around crazily as you have been, thus driving me to continue ignoring you every chance I get. Or," Hero ventured, "we can work on reestablishing what lost relationship we had."

The knife cut in. Hero squeezed his eyes shut, let his nostrils flare. A warm trickle slid down his neck into his uniform. "You might not want to maim a trusted person of the Guard and Commander."

"Oh, I don't think that matters much." Villain cocked his head to the side, peering at the map left on the table behind Hero. "If anything, I'd replace you. The Commander likes tough boys, isn't that still right?" He sighed. "I know I overstayed my two weeks in the woods, but well..." Villain laughed. "After a wolf tore my friend and a six year old child apart before eating them, the woods actually welcomed me. I'd tell you where I stayed, but I promised the boys I wouldn't compromise them."

Hero's breath caught. "Some of them still live in the woods?" He tried to pull back, away from the blade, but Villain pushed it forward as Hero pulled back.

With a shrug, Hero's younger brother- who had been gone, presumably dead, for five years said, "Sure. Not all of them felt like returning to a place that couldn't accept them as they were. They found new families, ones that fought to keep them alive. They became brothers to one another."

"How poetic." Hero scoffed. "They should be brought back. They're not safe out in the woods."

The dagger slashed through the air, away from Hero's neck, but not straying at all from his shoulder. Hero hollered out, but Villain clamped a hand over his mouth before anyone else could hear. Not that it mattered. Like Villain said before, the worst that could happen was Hero lost his position, which Villain certainly didn't mind. Still, he wanted to torture his older brother this way for a little longer before he did anything too drastic.

"Funny," Villain spat, stance like a cobra ready to strike. "You didn't say that when you led us all to the woods before. Do you know how old the youngest was?" His voice was venom.

"Six."

"No, that's just the one who died. My friend who was also killed by the wolf was sixteen- just to give you a little perspective."

"Five, then."

"Three or four." Villain explained, "He didn't even know his own age." And then he turned to blame, "You left him in the woods. You took him away from his family, and you are the reason he's going to grow up always overexerting himself to please others, only to feel like he's never enough."

Villain bit his tongue to stop himself, but then said it anyways. "I'll be surprised if he doesn't kill himself in three or more years. He feels like a disappointment to himself, Hero, because a man he was supposed to look up to told him he wasn't enough and then sent him off into the woods- where he watched every horrific image you can think up happen."

"I don't know what you want from me!" Hero roared, and this time he finally did move to fully strike a blow on his brother. He shoved his shoulders hard enough that Villain nearly fell on his bottom.

Lucky for Villain, he was able to balance himself out before that could happen.

"I'm sorry, alright! I'm sorry that I failed the four or five of you-"

"Seven of us."

"-and that I was too cowardice to see for myself if you lived or died. I'm sorry. But I can't do anything to fix it except offer myself to you now. So that's what I'm doing, Villain. I'll be a better brother this time around. If you're looking for something, some sort of closure though...you're not going to find it another way. Because no matter how much you torture me, you'll never be satisfied knowing that I left you. That I created memory after memory with you just to leave you to packs of vicious wolves and hungry, lonesome bears.

"I fucked up, Villain, I know I did. But I can't fix it now. I was- and am still- just as scared as you were in those woods. Different scenario, but same, same hot-coaled fear. I'm sorry I wasn't as brave as I made myself sound. I wanted to be a role model to you, but I- I don't know, brother." Hero sat on a cot in the tent, put his head in his hands for a moment before looking up again.

"The Commander is a daunting man and I found myself cowering. You haven't seen him, Villain, haven't endured the training he puts us through, or the screaming he does- like we're prisoners of an enemy kingdom and not soldiers of his own. I'm not making excuses for myself; I know I was wrong. I know what I did is unforgivable, but I'm begging you, brother, please-" Hero kneeled, throwing his knees to the floor, tilted his head to the ground with eyes closed "-please try to understand."

A hand landed on Hero's soldier, but he kept his head down. He wished he would have opened them before, for a new pain bloomed in his shoulder. His mouth became gaped and he choked on the feeling, especially as it spread.

Villain twisted the dagger with a sick satisfaction. "I'll understand when you walk yourself into the woods for two weeks."

Twist. A sharp gasp. Ragged breathing.

"When you hear the deep growl of a wolf- deeper and more impactful than thunder."

Another twist. A pained holler and cry.

"When you watch the person who did everything they could to make you feel at home dies as he's immobilized by razor teeth in their leg. And when the teeth finally rip into the throat of a boy who doesn't want to die after minutes of fighting."

A plunge of the dagger. A wordless scream. A limp body- still breathing, but in so much pain that it can't even think of moving- against Villain's leg.

"When you wake up with your own bloodied fists and two piles of bones and drawn out, tattered rags beneath you- because you slept on a branch in a tree to avoid getting eaten yourself. When you spill every ounce of fluid in your body out into a creek because you're so traumatized. When you suffer the way I did...when you spend just the first week in the woods like I did, maybe then I'll try to understand."

As a finish, Villain yanked his dagger from his brother's shoulder and said, "You don't get to keep this one." He wiped the blood off on his pant-leg and walked out.

******

@badthingshappenbingo

Original Work

Knife to the Throat

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lady-plantagenet · 4 years

Text

What hasn’t already been said: The Spanish Princess 2

Episode 2: SOdden (or Sod ‘Em depending on your persuasion)

(Dont know how long I’ll be able to keep these puns up)

Catherine, like this woman, does not really fit into this era. But while this woman seems dropdead cool and at least looks the part, Catherine just...

To all those of you keen enough to have come back for another segment of ‘what hasn’t already been said: TSP’, as opposed to have just been scrolling when you see this - welcome back! (Scrollers you too <3)

To anyone who’s seeing this for the first time: what this is a list of observations, jokes, reactions and criticism which occur to me upon a rewatch. I wait every week until Saturday to do this so that I have had my fill of scrolling through the tag and aggregating what has already been said. I tried doing a whole spoof (here where I gave up 10% in) but tbh a) I don’t know the history well enough b) it’s more time consuming than I thought and c) this series is just not as funny or as crazy as TWQ, so it’s untenable. Having said that: This is not a hatepost. I’m not hatewatching this series and nitpicking on purpose but expressing my honest views and trying to find the good in it as well as the bad.

Without further ado...

First Scenes:

The baby cloth lifting into the ceiling of the chapel had nice ‘myth of the demon countess of Anjou (ancestress of the Plantagenets)’ vibes. I am 100% that was unintentional. I get this impression by the cringiness of the baby’s screams (what’s up with those sound effects? It sounded like a zipper).

Henry gives me such softboi vibes? It’s pleasing to me because it’s making me attracted to him as a viewer, but no good in convincing me this is Henry VIII.

I think Catherine’s exposition about how she feels is pretty ok actually, it’s fitting that she would feel anger.

CHARLES’ FATHER IS NOT MAXIMILIAN, IT’S PHILIP (or rather it was). ~~ A quick wiki search guyz, a quick wiki search. Ughh

Again with the whole everyone acting like Catherine is Queen. Can they cut it out? Also while we’re at it, what was Catherine’s attendance in councils even like?

The music was nice

Post Child announcement phase:

Oof I hate to say it but I lowkey wanted de la Pole back in this mother. Mainly because it would mean more Margaret Pole and by this point I am scared her storyline will fade in prominence now that there’s no longer a Yorkist subplot (showhorned as it was, it was the crowning glory of last season tied with Arthur x Catherine).

More x Maggie Pole and all of it over Seneca and learning :’). I already know this will be the best part of the episode.

‘We certainly know stoicism in our family’ ~ I guess she’s referring to Reggie? Because our boi Clarence was no poster boy for stoicism. Though could she be making an ironic reference to her father~?

Edmund de la Pole Debacle:

Well this convo at least passed the bechdel test.

Maggie and Edmund’s interactions here are touching. I know this plotline was rushed but I think it was just right to bring us back here for 5 min as a mournful throwback to the bygone era to which Maggie Pope belongs to and now continues to do so alone. It is emotionless and you can just feel how the York cause was hanging on by a tired old threat by that point.

Maggie Pole is becoming matronly now and I like this transition.

What bothers me about a lot of fans of Margaret Pole is that what they don’t realise is that she wasn’t all like ‘I want nothing to do with my family I’ll stay low and obscure’. While far more cautious than the likes of her ancestors, she did engage in land disputes with Henry VIII and was an outspoken supporter of Catherine and Catholic. Having her be a woman woth dubious loyalties towards the Tudors is accurate.

Scotland with Meg and Jammes:

LMFAO it’s like they read my mind when I spoke of how much I laughed when Meg was like ‘Alexander Steward you pig!1!!’ last episode.

Nice reference to Aulde Alliance

I like James.

Henry and Catherine on the balcony:

Was she commander of the forces? Was Howard appointed that? Regent she was, ok.

Charlotte Hope’s new hairstyles really suit her!

‘Will you please stop cursing’ agahsjdk ahah

No offence to women (of which I am one) but this comparison between childbirth and war is just... wrong. I know Starz think they are being smart but childbirth is far less impressive than winning or surviving a battle - comparing the two diminishes the bravery of soldiers. YET ,having said that, childbirth is necessary for our society whereas war is almost always futile and by comparing them, it wrongly represents violence as something inherently as natural to us as birth and continuing of civilisation. overall not a smart, respectful or accurate parrallel to make.

Meg and prep for invasion + Catherine in her weird armour:

So Margaret dreams that her husband is dead and bloody in her bed. Ughh show you neeed to get more creative. But I did like the whole ‘dreams are how our ancestors talk to us’ line from Angus Douglas.

Re: Meg in her beret... Why is Meg dressed like me going to the London shops in October? Digging the aesthetic but not sure about the accuracy.

Rich of Catherine to bring up Edmund.

Why is Ursula Pole crying??? What is all this to her really?

Did Howard just call the guard... sonny?? Is this some WW2 crossover?

Catherine - James and the tent parlay:

Did Catherine just insult Meg’s intelligence??

Also lmao I’m going to miss James.

Re: Howard saying ‘I’m not going to get insulted by a man wearing a dress’ .. UMMM Starz, you do know that just thirty years ago men were prancing about in dresses and leggings (essentially). From around the middle of the 14th century to the beggining of 16th century (if not earlier), Englishmen were also essentially prancing about in ‘skirts’.

Am I getting a weird cooperation-partnership vibe between Meg and James?

The Battle:

Charlotte Hope looks so good with the helmet, she’d really suit an english hood! Such a shame they won’t give her one!

Ewwww he’s eating mud, why?

Just standard battle scene. They are all the same to me no matter which movie.

Aftermath:

Jesus, I find the whole Meg crying over James IV so heartfelt ‘you arrogant bastard’ for some reason just came out so full of emotion. Can someone please explain why the hell I ship them more than Henry x Catherine?? Like how ??

Awwww Linna is sooooo adorable ughhh. Also this whole Catherine going into armour among all the women crooning over the children gives this adorable sense of Catherine boyish and bloodying herself out to protect their peace, idk. All I have to say is that these series is less eager to pitt women against each other than the previous. I think that’s a step forwards.

Also, good to see Catherine being modest about her victory so Henry can save face. Finally starting to seem like the real Catherine.

‘Go on you dog’ arghh ahah he sounds like some public school rugby lad egging his mate on.

Re: Wolsey cock-blocker; the real Catherine would know it was uncatholic to have sex when you were pregnant. Also Catherine is not technically speaking in confinement if she’s wandering about.

It’s nice to see Catherine sticking up for Howard, she at least learned to respect him during the battle.

I foresee Oviedo having enough of this Christian stuff and wanting to return to the berber domains (I suppose Spain is out of the question)

Knighting Ceremony:

Apparently Margaret Pole herself was made Countess of Salisbury during this same ceremony... right? @houseofclarence

Also Maggie Pole being like: “being a rebel is in my blood, or so they tell me”... gahhh what’s with these shows and the Clarence erasure? Can’t they make one bloody reference to her dad or grandad Warwick? Ugh. Especially with lines like this. Actually? You know what? Ignore my previous comment about the stoic remark and it being an ironic reference to Clarence. I put such subtlety above this show’s writers.

Catherine has a habit of going to the coldest places possible to lose her children...

Haha @ Henry asking Bessie Blount (of all people) where Catherine is.

Conclusion:

6/10

What I’m happiest about is that Flodden got dealt with in one episode because warrior xena Catherine is not what interests me most about this show. Having said that, it was a true shame that James IV died because his were some of the best scenes. This whole show is starting to feel so historical fantasy-ish because the aesthetics are so confused. Granted it’s still pretty (not eyesore like Reign) but it doesn’t penetrate.

I am as always invested in the Poles (and More) but am also starting to get attached to Princess Mary whose actress exudes plenty of charm. This show remains confused with its feminist message because while it shows women being proactive there is so much emphasis on babies that what remains with the mind after watching is this womanish birthdrama, as opposed to a show about struggles which affect both genders.

You might tut at me and say I’m being ridiculous and that it is historically accurate to put so much emphasis on women’s babies and I say that’s swell. I would happily watch a show where that element is strong (most pre 1995 historical dramas are like that with traditionally feminine characters and I gulp them up like sustenance), but if a show promises feminism and women-men being partners I want it to deliver that properly. As I said in my previous post, why do we keep trying to make women engage in acts like war as if such an abhorrent act is the only way to take them seriously? I await the day where cunning, rationality and cool-headedness will be the traits portrayed as feminist ones.

There is nothing else to really comment on... the only potentially deeper message in this is the gender discourse. I am unsure about the accuracy so I can’t speak of the historical value of the interpretation. But what I will say is that though I remain excited for each new episode... I’m just not as invested as I was in TWQ (rewatch every year dont @ me) or TWP despite their many flaws. Some characters pull me in eg Maggie Pole (Carmichael is a bae), Thomas More etc but not the whole cast like TWQ. Anyway... would be interesting to see if anything happens with Lina and Oviedo tommorow as their storyline is conspicuously slow.

#the spanish princess #the spanish princess 2 #fool if you thought I wouldn't jump on the whole 'being a rebel is in my blood' opportunity to bring up Clarence #I was delighted last time when people left comments and stuff #rofl #so yeah #Please please I love discussions and do not think twice before sending me an ask or commenting !#lady plantagenet's series reviews #the dialogue remains a bit trite #the sugared grape counterpart for this episode was edmund's death and the whole ironic reference to Senenca and stoicism #not because the dialogue around edmund's death was particularly poignant but how conspicuously quiet and swift the whole affair was as #...as compared to previous york pretender plotlines left a mournful note #basically I feel like I keep focusing on stuff the show doesn't want me to focus on #and am projecting therefore

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joe-young-stories · 3 years

Text

A Week.

Hey, new to tumblr. This is something I wrote in an enclosed, dodgy Christian community in 2018.

The last time I saw Dad in person I was seventeen, and I’d either just finished my A-levels or I was halfway through them. I’d seen him a year before, for Grandad’s funeral. After we’d got home from the wake I’d nicked a crate of Guinness, and thrown up on my suit. I’d thrown up all over the guest bed as well, and I’d left all the empty cans in the waste paper basket. I told my dad that the emotional stress of the funeral must have affected me, and I didn’t really give a shit about the fact that he knew.

This time it was summer, and it was that one week of the British summer that is actually scorching hot. Dad was waiting for me at Oxford train station for my visit. Visa Skank was there too. Visa Skank is my dad’s Russian wife, and perhaps she married him for a visa or perhaps she really loves him. I’ve never actually had anything against her. It was rude, offensive, calling her Visa Skank, but it made me feel really savage and clever back then. This day at Oxford train station she was in her late forties, and she was wearing this shimmer- shimmer peach linen halter top harem pants combo thing with a dainty cream pashmina and a big floppy straw hat. She was basically just easy mockery.

We went straight from the station to this ultra quaint Riverside pub/restaurant garden. I had Peronis. I had a burger too. We didn’t really have a conversation because Visa had seen a picturesque riverside photo opportunity, and she had my dad take pictures of her next to a drainage sluice for almost an hour, at different angles and filter settings. At the end we walked back through the pub to get to the car and she started draping herself mystically around rustic beams and cosy fireplaces, or sat herself next to like, napkin dispensers that pleased her. And my dad took more pictures. I just wanted to get back to the house. I don’t remember too much more from the meal.

In the daytimes that followed I fell into a routine. Dad would wake up late (his teaching job at the schools wasn’t on) and he might mooch about or he might go into Oxford, or he might just go to Headington High Street. Visa Skank had a busy social schedule attending a young mum’s social club in the Florence Park Cafe. She would spend a lot of time there. I would wake up and take a walk into Central Oxford. And I would stop for a pint in the White Horse, where we used to go for Lunch when I was little. In town I would walk the old streets around the Radcliffe Camera, and this was back when I had academic ambition before I stopped caring about most things, and the scholarly atmosphere excited me. I walked past the cathedral boys’ school – my first school—and into the Eagle and Child, or the Kings Arms, or the Turf Tavern. I would read Franz Kafka stories or Iris Murdoch novels or I’d listen to pretentious students talk shit and praise myself for being more intelligent than them. After a few pints I’d saunter back over Magdelen Bridge and back up towards the house in Headington.

Dad’s house had changed a lot over the years. The retro porn PC used to be in the dining room, and all my 9 year old self used to do at my dad’s was either play SimCity on that computer or watch Dad’s porn. He’d archived literally thousands of pictures, all categorised according to hair/boobs/race etc. Albums of particular stars. I got up early at that age, and if you were proper stealth about it could get up with the dawn and watch a four second clip of a woman getting pleasured by a mechanised shoe buffer. Only if you were stealth though. The computer screen could be seen from the stairs via the dining room mirror. You had to listen for footsteps. God forbid that Visa or even Grandad would walk in. View me wanking it to Dad’s shoe buffer porn.

Now though the house layout was different. Grandad had been a cantankerous twat since Nan died, and all he ever did was sit in the living room watching cartoons and chat shows. GMTV, Pokemon, Digimon, Homes under the Hammer. That was all I ever saw him do on visits to my dad’s. I left him to it.

But he started losing control of his faculties, and Dad and I would walk in from the pub to a stray smell of nappies, the CBBC channel playing in the background. His osteoporosis got worse. The last time he was alive I was seventeen and he’d been moved to a hospice. He was half asleep next to his colostomy bag but he murmured a greeting and a goodbye. The three of us, Grandad, Dad and me, sat in near silence for approximately fifteen minutes. “Good to see you, Grandad,” I said to him as I was leaving. Grandad had written “to a very impressive grandson” on my birthday card seven months previously.

While Grandad was dying his house was being renovated. The dining room and kitchen had been knocked together into this rustique farmhouse experience, with a big beaten up pine table, a pine dresser and a freshly installed aga. An aga in a nineteen thirties semi. There were a lot of wholesome wicker baskets bought in and gooseberry jam jars were placed in them for effect. Next door the garage was knocked down and a den/conservatory/stargazing lounge/music studio was built. The living room, where Grandad watched all the kids TV, and which I was told was always going to be “His Space” had had all the carpets ripped out and new sofas put in. Floor to ceiling bookshelves covered every wall, and they were all full of this intelligentsia Russian shit no one read. The retro porn PC was upstairs in Dad’s bedroom now, so after I got back from Oxford that last week I’d sit in the conservatory on my laptop. Sometimes if my dad was around I’d bring up an attractive female friend’s Facebook profile and wait for him to ask me about it. He’d talk about organic food and hand picking your own raspberries, and how Russian customs and traditions were the best way to live. But most of those afternoons he was upstairs in his bedroom checking his email, which took about two hours and was a pretty full-on activity for him. If Visa was at home she’d make still life displays from Kitsch crap she found in charity shops. And she’d do photoshoots. Most of the time she was out though. Presumably with the young mums.

When I was downstairs on my own I would drink from the many, many bottles available on the farmhouse shelf. I never drank in front of Dad, but I’d never bother hiding how drunk I was getting either. A little bit of gin, little bit of vodka, whiskey, white rum.

I’d always done this. When I was about twelve, thirteen, fourteen I’d go through Dads bedroom and raid his wardrobe. I’d find his extensive magazine stash and his books on “Tantric Passion”, “The Multi Orgasmic Man”, “Make Her see you Mean Commitment”. I’d find the hamper full of Bombay Sapphire bottles; I never questioned the water bottles full of urine next to his bed. I wasn’t subtle. I’d try and incite his scorn, his discipline, his parental authority. I’d find glow in the dark condoms in his bedside drawers, and I’d take them out of the packets and leave them under his pillow like a treasure hunt. I would neck a bottle of chardonnay, refill it with tap water and leave it in the fridge for him to find. He’d look at the bottle, look at me, deliberate and stammer “I must have rinsed it out for recycling and put it back on autopilot.” I don’t think he knew me well enough to confront me. He once drove me back to mums with me throwing up ass the way down the M40, and we both agreed that I must have eaten some “ropey” quiche.

I didn’t want Dad to parent me anymore; I just didn’t really care. So while Dad was upstairs checking his email I’d access the WiFi and watch naked men beat each other, and I’d masturbate and drink gin. I think on the Tuesday of that week he found me full-on passed out in the stargazing conservatory, sleeping it off. Later on he’d said something about travelling being exhausting, especially across London, and it always took a few days for the mind to properly relax on holiday. I agreed.

In the evenings we’d go out to a pub, the Vicky Arms or The Chestnut or something. I would tell Dad what A levels I was doing. I’d namedrop attractive female friends quite a lot, and talk about parties I went to with them. I’d wait for him to be like, “Are they pretty?”, “Are they into you?”, “Like yeah, get in, my son!”, “Well done, boyo!” and things like that. Visa would come with us. She’d sit there in peach tracksuit bottoms and some kind of burgundy flamenco/matador top, and she would say things like, “Never microwave food because it changes the molecules. Did you know this? We go through a recipe book and you will find meals you would like to try.” We might order popcorn from behind the bar. Visa might demand a photo shoot of her next to an inspiring sunset or whatever.

At home Dad and Visa would go to bed in Grandads old room. Nans room, now the guest bedroom, was being fitted with a “Roman balcony” so I slept on a blow up bed in the living room with all the Russian volumes. I’d drink more whiskey and watch a comedy show about teenage lesbians.

That was it, really. The last week I saw my dad was fairly uneventful. Mundane. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was the last time I saw him I doubt I would have remembered it

Only two events stand out in particular. On the Thursday of that week Dad was playing at a jazz and tango concert at a bar/club in Wantage. He did concerts like that to keep money coming in when the schools weren’t on. Visa took tango lessons down at the community centre, and she’d met a new friend and tango partner called Allan. He had had a stroke and divorce in a five year period and had taken early retirement, so I was told. So I was briefed. Briefed why? I didn’t care.

Allan met us at the house. We all sat about having a back garden beer and then Dad and I set off for Wantage. Allan’s and Visa came later, in Allan’s car, which he could still drive all post stroked up apparently. We had another pint in a pub in Wantage. Dad introduced me to the concept of a “Session Beer”. Advice I have never followed.

Dad gave me money for the evening and then left me to my own devices. I sat on the balcony and drank a lot of Stella, and from my vantage point I could see Dad playing onstage. I could see Visa and Allan as well, and she had her head on his shoulder and he was holding her close around the lower back. This didn’t look particularly tango-ey, but Visa had told me on one pub evening that tango was more about feeling than steps. “Feeling. Yes?” she had said with gusto. This was the passion of the dance I was watching, then. Dad had told me in the car that tango was Allan’s hobby, it’s what got him out the house, like his physio. I looked at Dad, and he was playing some sassy chords on the piano, watching the two of them become one with the dance. He didn’t do anything else. He just sat there, watching them get on with it. I finished one of my Stellas, and later on I thought to myself that he looked like a drooping bunch of flowers in a vase, half dead. A bit sad, maybe. A bit lacking. I was quite proud of myself for thinking of that. It felt very grown up.

Two days later we were having a back garden beer, Dad and I. The garden had changed, and where a swingset once stood there was now a very wholesome vegetable plot. Beyond that was a washing line. It was one of those washing lines with one pole in the ground, and it folded out like an upside down pyramid. You could spin it around for ease of pegging/unpegging. I looked at the washing line and remembered my eight year old self playing by it. I had been playing with a football. I was staying with him for a few weeks or so over the summer. I was out there, by myself, with the football. But I liked to pretend I was playing with all the other children I knew from school. Kids who were actually busy with their own friendship groups or who called me poofty boy by the wildlife pond. But when I was playing with them by myself they were all like, “I did not see this coming! We have not appreciated your serious skills! Hey guys, check out this Baller!” and none of them called me a poofty boy by the wildlife pond.

I had devised a game where you had to throw the ball into the opened up washing line to score a point. Dad came outside just as I was about to land the sickest shot from ten feet away, the shot which was going to blow George and his gang away, and was going to make Sadia and Carrie-Ann think I was total boyfriend material. He asked me if I wanted anything to eat.

And I really don’t know what came over me, but I said something along the lines of “I’m playing a game. We have to get the ball off each other and get it in the net. Do you want to play?”

“Oh, right!” was something like he said “Yes alright then, I will”. I’d never played a game with Dad before, and we were both a bit hesitant. Like, do we just…start, or what? I chucked the ball at the line and missed, and he grabbed it. We ran around the garden, playing the game. He scored a point. I scored a point. At one point he wrestled me to the ground to get the ball off me, and then helped me up. I remember laughing and smiling, being out of breath. I was tense, too. How did things like this come to a logical end? Did, like, the session finish? Was there a way for this to end without Dad having to just be really rude? Like: “I’m sorry Joe, but I need to stop doing this at this point and go back to my day. You are welcome to continue though.” How did it work? After approximately fifteen minutes it mercifully started raining, and we went inside. It was the only time we ever played the game.

Sitting and having a beer with my dad that last week was the last time I looked at the garden, or indeed spent any time with him. Halfway through our drink Visa came out of the stargazing conservatory doors, and she was wearing a floor length lacy white gown, a white bonnet and silky white gloves. She was carrying a large wicker hamper, and she put the hamper down and pulled out a silver teapot. “I am English lady at tea,” she said, and she raised the teapot in the air. Then she laid the patio table for a country manor high tea, and started demanding a photoshoot. I went inside.

The next day I was due to go home. I woke up that morning to find that I’d drunk too much and pissed the blow up bed. I put my soggy boxers in a plastic bag, and I covered the damp sheet with my duvet and left it to fester.

I hardly spoke to dad after that week. There was no reason to most of the time. I rang him twice to ask for money, once to say merry Christmas can I have some money and once to tell him I’d just left rehab. In 2018 I had written to him to tell him he was a cunt and I wanted to burn his house down. “Past wounds” with my Father had become a significant part of my “Life Story” by that point, and I thought that sending such a horrible letter might activate a Life Event in some way, some dramatic finale.

Dad has always had his settings such that I can’t find him on Facebook, so I have to log in as my mum to see his profile. Him and Visa quote Oscar Wilde and Shakespeare sonnets on each other’s pages. Visa’s profile has about 64 photo albums. They’re all called things like “Casserole dishes on the patio”, “Beauty In Autumn”, “Sensuous mermaid has adventure”. Her name isn’t actually Visa Skank. All the photo albums are silly and innocuous. When I’m drunk, or self pitying, or feeling like a victim, or all of the above I sometimes find myself thinking about the game me and Dad played with the washing line and the football.

#writers on tumblr #writers #short story #story #childhood

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