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heartgold · 6 months

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as much as it's frustrating how only two of the umi episodes were penned by Sayo in the irl layer, I think it's fascinating to compare them with each other because so much becomes clear when you look at the writing choices in each one side by side

the specific ways in which Legend and Turn differ from each other makes me certain that one was among the first message bottles she wrote whereas the other was one of the last, but it's not clear which is which -- it depends on how you interpret her internal journey and process of creating all these tales and fragments. Sayo's writing as a whole is very marked by her personal observations of the sins and struggles of the family and using them as mirrors to actually write about herself, using characters as stand-ins that give voice to her own inner thoughts, but both stories are very different in tone and approach

Legend feels almost methodical with the ways the murders and illusions are carried out, and the way her resentment manifests is more controlled, understated. you need to wring it around a bit more to 'see', but in my understanding: it's interesting how the 3 cousins are all made to suffer incredible grief losing their parents and love interests in quick succession (Battler being the only adult cousin who only lost his parents and not a love interest feels important to get him to remember!), but they live until the end then get invited to the Golden Land and choose to resurrect their lost love. By contrast, Natsuhi is put through the wringer through and through while being given the opportunity to be the star of the episode with her struggles as a woman taking the center of the stage, only to lose a duel (!) to Beatrice and be denied entry in the very last moment. there's a lot of conflicting emotions all over the place in both cases which is of course very characteristic of Sayo but I'm fascinated by how the cousins' entire role in this episode is to lose everything they had, experience earth-shattering grief and be led towards a romanticized afterlife where they can heal that grief, making the choice to resurrect the love that was lost, whereas Natsuhi's role is to mirror and portray Sayo's actual interiority and struggles (many that were caused by Natsuhi herself!) that went unspoken her whole life and then be challenged to a duel and get shot. to shoot Natsuhi is to shoot herself. shooting her actual personhood and interiority and struggles to death. as a metaphor for the entire ceremony of Beatrice's revival being a suicide in order to pass on into the afterlife where compartmentalized parts of herself can simultaneously exist as whole and find happiness with their respective love interests. the final step of rejecting reality, seeking love by truly becoming fictional while the human heart of the actress behind the characters dies buried between the lines of the text unless you 'see' it. god she makes me insane. anyway

Turn by comparison is very brutal. Beatrice steps onto the gameboard and is at her cruelest here, and the deliberate narrative choices are dripping with anger, helplessness and sorrow. everything about the focus given to Rosa in her role as the main accomplice who only had eyes for gold vs the framing of the tragedy as the gift of a halloween party for Maria, the wolves and sheep allegory, the way Shannon and Kanon get repeatedly kicked around for trying to resist their fate and wanting to believe in love despite everything. Kanon's "corpse" being desecrated by being forcefully resurrected twice, not being allowed death. the barely contained sexual conflict and trauma in the themes and imagery all over the episode. the way Sayo personally kills Jessica and George and her personas are killed along with them, an utter rejection of the possibility of being loved in reality as something that can only happen in death and fiction, so they all get to die together and be connected by their souls, all portrayed as the innocent victims of a vicious witch. the unspoken horror of one of the few true closed rooms in the game, with Sayo physically killing herself while facing herself in the mirror after doing all that. no one could dispute that a coffin is a closed room. and with closed rooms in this game often symbolizing being trapped in your own logic even though the door was unlocked all along, it absolutely stands for Sayo giving up all hope. Beatrice won, the gold won, the family's curse won, Sayo's worst feelings regarding herself won. Kinzo won too, even as a dead puppet haunting the narrative, he 'lives' to the end and gets his miracle of meeting Beatrice granted again. just that says a lot. Turn is horror after horror and you can only fully grasp that with the context for her writing choices

Legend feels relatively composed and deliberate in its choices of allegory. it also carries a lot of pain and conflicted feelings (particularly with the way she hatewrote Battler in it) but the text in Turn is basically bleeding all of her self hatred and suicidality and conflict over the idea of being loved. Legend is for the most part a straightforward mystery embellished in illusions with her heart still very baked into the text, and it has a big focus on solvability (Eva as the main accomplice basically points Battler toward the solution... which he rejects) and gambling/risk-taking, with multiple moments where Sayo left things out of her hands and up to chance, making it so that she could've been stopped even by accident. and then Turn is basically an eruption of all the horrible feelings churning in her heart. it says a lot that in Legend, she left the people she loved the most alive until the end, as if hoping until the very end for the miracle that at least one of them would see through her and stop her from murdering them, while Turn kills off the cousins (barring Battler due to being the detective) and then herself before the ceremony even ends, destroying all outcomes beyond utter annihilation. Turn is absolutely about her surrendering and leaning right into the illusion she casts on herself of being an irredeemable monster, so Beatrice absolutely plays into that role here. fitting that it ends with Battler surrendering, too

the sheer tonal contrast between these two message bottles tells a story of the journey of how Sayo's mental state changed as she kept writing and running over her murder-suicide plans over and over again -- it can either show her hope and composure deteriorating as she resigned herself to accepting her dead-end of fate (Legend -> Turn) OR the raw emotion she felt in the beginning of the writing frenzy dissipating as she kept going, any result being a satisfactory outcome but still focusing on planning out a difficult but fair mystery, staking her hopes onto the miracle of having it solved by the person who shared her personal philosophy on mysteries (Turn -> Legend). I don't like relying on Confessions too much as "confirmation" of Sayo-related things because it doesn't sit well with me, but if you go by the way it portrayed the process, then it strongly suggests the latter explanation

wish we could have seen more of the countless tales she personally wrote because you can see so much of her personhood hidden within the text, her thought processes, personal views and authoral voice all providing characterization, but the two we got already tell entire untold stories. it's funny that the two first episodes are usually thought of as the least interesting ones on a first read when they're the ones with the most firsthand insight into the culprit's heart and how she felt about everything. the sorrows and pain but the strength of will and hope too

#umineko #umineko spoilers #◇#suicide cw #literally the character of all time. if u even care

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grapejuicestyless · 11 months

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Love Me Until My Breathing Stops?

Harry Styles x Fem!reader

Angst to Fluff

DISCLAIMER!: There are some very serious topics in this. Depression, mentions of fucked up relationships. This is not romanticizing this at all.

Teaser: "Now they'd pass with whispers about how she'd only ever be a shell of who she once was. Destroyed by the weight of the love that she'd given so recklessly and the evil she'd let sleep next to her in her bed at night."

To be honest, I had no idea where it went so irreparably wrong. You never notice you're slipping until your feet are out from under you and your head hits the floor. Maybe that's how I never saw it coming.

My bed was my new home, my tears were my midnight snack and my eyes were probably permanently shut from the puffy skin that was blotchy and irritated beyond belief. My pillow was my sanctuary and the darkness was my friend. I miss my old friend sunshine. I miss the backyard barbeques and the reunions in the park. I miss the kids running from the bees and the smell of the wet grass in the mornings.

It had been a month, two weeks, three days, twenty one hours and thirteen minutes since I'd fallen, unable to pick up the shattered pieces that became my identity. The shadow of the girl who used to find peace in the smiles from people passing by. The girl who threw welcome home parties and tended to her garden every afternoon. Now they'd pass with whispers about how she'd only ever be a shell of who she once was. Destroyed by the weight of the love that she'd given so recklessly and the evil she'd let sleep next to her in her bed at night.

I'd been so convinced that he was the one. Grew up these past few months believing I was all that he saw. Breathing him was slowly killing me. I thought so highly of the man I shared my in's and out's with. I'd wake up early just to see the even rise of his chest, dreaming of his curly hair and our future together. Now in my own suffering, I dreamt that he drowned.

But it wasn't his fault, no he'd asked if I would be okay. I promised I'd be okay. There was no okay, how could he believe me? How can someone simply be okay after wrecking the only thing I'd been sure of in my entire life? No, there wasn't okay. There was simply bad and worse.

Today, was bad.

On days like this, I would talk myself up to a shower. Rid myself of the stench of rock bottom. Ridding myself of the killer that drove him away. How could he be so forgiving to me not being enough? How could he brush off my wasted potential and blame it on himself. Guilt till consumed me whole, even if he'd underlined it in red that it was him, not me. His unfaithfulness that had torn a sweet love story to ashes. Tell me, how could the attentive wife to be miss the smirk hiding beneath his winning smile, his lessons really just weapons targeted at my deepest hurts. Every comforting explanation was twisted way back to what I feared most.

Soon, I'd find myself in the kitchen, raiding the empty cabinets and the ransacked fridge. There was only crumbs and lemon juice in the entire house by now. The appetite I'd worked up gone at just the flashbacks of the slow dances in the crack of the refrigerator light. His hand over mine and his empty promises soothing in my ear. Did he want me or did he want me not? I heard one thing, now I'm hearing another.

I felt rage boiling, the slam of the door rattling the plates in the sink and the pan on the stove. Ripping my hair from my head was the only reliever of the pain, tearing apart my body hoping that eventually it could be put back together into a beautiful bloody mess. Wearing my hurt on my sleeve and praying to god that, that someone could love me just as much for that.

I was thinner now, shedding the pounds like I had anymore to spare. The only clothes that still fit was a white ruffled dress that fell just below my knees. The straps hanging loosely and my feet slipped into black Mary Janes and red socks. I wonder how ghostly I looked stepping into the sun. Skin greyed from the lack of light.

I counted my breathing, noted the cracks on the pavement and counted the daffodils on the walk into town. All to cease the tears pushing behind my eyes.

It was nice out, the air was crisp and warming with the middle of spring having sprung. Vines were growing and the world was getting loud again. It was peaceful, I wanted a piece of that inner silence for myself. Maybe it would bring me a sort of closure, pushing me towards a more okay future.

I listened to the bell rattle with the push of the door, hands hanging loose at my sides. I waved towards the girl working the counter in the flower store. She smiled, recognizing the unrecognizable shadow that waltzed into the humid room. I pasted on the fake togetherness I'd mastered from unexpected visits from family and friends. Trying to imitate the girl who had lost her way long ago.

"Do you have any tulips?" My eyes remained glued to the flower beds as I searched the store for any bright pink clusters.

"A few in the back row, though you might need to hurry, they're quite popular today." I nodded, scurrying to the back in hopes to finally get what I wanted.

There, I saw the empty basket, the last bouquet of bright pink tulips being held up to a tall man. He was maybe six feet tall, but his posture made him seem a little shorter. His hair was chocolatey brown with free falling curls and waves pushed behind his tortoise shell sunglasses. He wore a teal cardigan over a white graphic tee that read something in blue I couldn't quite make out from the angle. His legs fit into lose jeans with rips at the knees and blue and white checkered vans. His laces were ripped slightly, probably from stepping on them, and he smelled like sweet vanilla.

He looked like happiness, a ray of modern day sunshine and fair love, his nose still buried between two flowers, eyes fluttered shut.

Some white carnations lined with a hot pink sat near the tulips, they looked just as beautiful as the fresh flowers that I'd missed by a second too late.

I let myself sigh after taking in the clean smell from the center of them, the crinkling of the paper distracting me from the hurt I felt inside.

"You planning a wedding?" His English accent wasn't horribly noticeable, but still able to be picked up on. I cracked a smile, trying to be polite. Trying to be the girl I missed.

"Something like that, yeah." He laughed, we made eye contact.

I could see his dark green eyes now, sparkling with interest. I can only imagine the lack thereof that I returned to him.

"I'm Harry." He held out his hand, smiling so much so there were crinkles by his eyes.

"I'm y/n." I met his palms. They were soft yet rough around the edges. His fingers had been picked at and he had guitar string scars across his hands.

There was a silence. It was comfortable, relaxed but still, I itched to back away.

"It was nice to meet you." I stepped back, walking away faster than I came to pay for the carnations clenched between my shaking hands.

"Hey wait!" His footsteps were heavy, hammering into the asphalt. I turned, but continued to move backwards, a faint smile played on his lips. Chasing after the beautiful fool who secretly adored the interest the random flower shop boy took in her.

"Missed me already?" I turned back to walk forwards once I felt his arm bump mine.

"Can't help it, you're just so missable!" He joked, flowers facing down at the ground, hitting each other as we walked close together. We left a petal trail as we walked.

"You say that to every girl you meet?"

"Only the runaway brides dressed up like Dorothy on her way to Oz." I covered my smile in my hand, brushing the blush off.

"I'm flattered." We shared a look, walking in silence as we looked at each others eyes.

"So tell me about yourself, Dorothy."

"Dorothy?" He pointed to my shoes, I scoffed.

"Okay..." I thought on it, counting the cracks again.

I knew I was barely together. Barely able to keep up with the work that seemed to just pile itself onto my back. I knew that my finger still stung from when I ripped off the engagement ring and told him to go to hell. I knew I was a fucked in the head, a childish girl who only wanted to be loved like she loved others. I knew at one point I would've said all these things to Harry, a man I'd met only a few minutes ago. Trusted him easily and let him in without an inch of doubt. But I also knew that wasn't fully me anymore.

"I haven't met the new me yet." I smiled at him, chewing at my cheek at the curious eyebrow lift and the breathy laugh.

'What about you, Harry? Who are you?" I looked to my feet.

"I'll let you decide." He looked to my face, my eyes finding it almost impossible to meet his warm gaze.

"Someone who reads too many love stories."

"Says the one dressed as Wendy from Peter Pan." I laughed, meeting his stare finally.

"Am I Wendy or Dorothy?"

"Why not both?" He was unbelievably easy to talk to, even in my mess and hurt, it soothed the panging in my chest with every breath he took.

"Let me walk you home, y/n?" I smiled.

"Okay." We fell into a silence again, out of teasing and jokes to share for the five minute walk remaining. I went back to counting the daffodils and he went back to sniffing his flowers. I went back to silently pulling myself together, picking up any shards of myself that had fallen and focused on my breathing.

"This is mine." I looked towards the dark home, the garden still neat despite the overgrown plants and the few dead plants. I looked back at Harry, then to his feet where his tulip petals continued to fall. They looked bare, hurt and dying now. I met his eyes again.

"Take good care of those tulips for me?" He froze, confused about the sudden request after my silence towards him and his polite offer.

"Yeah, of course." I nodded, turning myself slowly towards my front steps. I took in the pale blue of my paint, the new white shutters beautiful and perfectly matched with the white wrap around porch that hugged the west corner of the home snuggly and the short, white picket fence. You would've never expected such a fuck up to live in such a nice looking home.

"Bye, Harry." Waving, I made my way up the driveway, passing the fence and the the garden. All while he stood there, done with the chase, done with my mood swings. My politeness and my silence. My trust and my question. He stayed outside of my lawn, feet stuck to the sidewalk like gum.

Seven months, one week, six hours and eighteen minutes since I'd fallen, unable to pick up the shattered pieces that became my identity. Seven months, one week, six hours and eighteen minutes since the man who hung the moon for me in my eyes confessed his infidelities and left me to throw a pity party for myself. Almost six months since the next best thing had entered my life. My best friend, Harry.

Unlike my ex-fiancé, Harry came back. He came back and picked up the shards that I'd let crack and bleed under my feet and glued me back together. He'd come by once a week at first, checking up after noticing the vacant look in my eyes when we first parted ways. How I'd slipped into the darkest house he'd ever seen. Cold, tired, worked to the bone. Once turned into twice. Twice turned into four and four turned into almost everyday. His knock at my door my favorite sound. Yet, what he knew of me, wasn't fully me.

Even with Harry and his flowers decorating my home. Even with his laugh and his trusting demeanor, part of that girl I was was forever lost. That engagement ring hadn't only taken skin, it had taken the foolish woman who slept next to a liar and swallowed her pride. It had taken my ability to let people in so easily. And I wish he hadn't taken that from me, because as stupidly blind she was, she was some of the best parts of me.

"The Notebook or Ten Things I Hate About You?" Harry hoped over the back of my couch, his arm falling limp around my shoulders, each hand holding a movie for me to chose.

"Is that even a question?" I snatched the disc with Heath Ledger on the cover and waved it around Harry's face. He smiled, ruffling up my hair before getting up to pop the disc in.

"I need to stop asking you these things, Dorothy. I was hoping for the notebook." I stuck my tongue out, my heart flooding with a familiar warmth only Harry could pull from me.

I bit my cheek until it bled, my shoulder squished between his chest and the bend of his elbow. Silently, I mouthed the lines to the movie, my lips brushing against the soft cotton of Harry's white t-shirt.

"That tickles, my love." He laughed, craning his head down while mine stretched up. Crinkles folded by my eyes, smile lines permanently tattooed on my skin from just the past few months. What was a curse for others, was a permanent reminder of the adoration I had gained for Harry and his ability to fix what was irreparably shattered.

"What?" His whole body shook with a silent giggle, eyes reflecting the movie and an emotion I couldn't pin. I remained silent, eyes flicking down to his lips, his eyes following mine. I felt his touch tighten around my back and his body heat up.

Closer and closer, longer and longer. I panicked the closer I got to wrecking this beautiful relationship we'd built over a silly crush I'd obtained.

Sure, he was nice. He was handsome and possibly the best thing that had ever walked into my life, but stacking every single one of those reasons and more couldn't make me risk everything. I couldn't deal with someone else I loved walking out of my life.

I inched away, scared. I watched his face freeze, eyes relaxed and breath hot on my lips.

"Harry." I whimpered.

"Y/n."

"What if we fuck this up? What if after tonight you change your mind? I can't do that again Harry. I can't pick myself up again." I quietly rambled, tense, scared of the idea that I would face the hatred for my own reflection for weeks and weeks again.

"Y/n." He repeated, softer.

My mouth stopped, eyes flicking to observe his expression over and over. Trying to fight back the tears that built and built.

"I swear to you, I'm not going anywhere. If you trust me, let me in just this once, I wont leave until you're kicking me out." He searched my face now, an internal fight going on in my head. He made it so hard to think being so close him.

"Love me until my breathing stops?" I asked, tears springing from under my eyes and gathering at my waterline now. Scared, just as I was all those months ago. no longer a vacant stare, but one of fear and uncertainty.

"I'll love you until my breathing stops." He wiped under my eyes, fingers quick to land on my cheeks. He waited, patiently for any sign that it would be okay to continue.

I nodded, swallowing.

"Okay."

"Okay?" He smiled, shoulders slumping like a weight had been lifted and he was at ease.

"Okay." I returned the feeling, lips brushing his. They were soft and plump. They tasted of buttery popcorn and chocolate. His nose bumped into mine, skin brushing skin and limbs tangling the longer we tried to hold onto the moment.

When we pulled away, it was breathless, and suddenly I realized the man who'd hurt me seven months, one week, seven hours and three minutes ago hadn't stolen the best parts of me, he only scared her into hiding.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst

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sunsetschloe · 27 days

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The Poppy War Series

“How could she compare the lives lost? One genocide against another—how did they balance on the scale of justice? And who was she, to imagine that she could make that comparison?” --R.F Kuang, The Poppy War

I have so much to say about The Poppy War series. No amount of words will describe the feeling it left me when I turned the last page and broke a little inside, but I will try, because that's all I can do the lessen the heartbreak of reading this series:

Rebecca Kuang. No words will describe my adoration for her writing abilities. To be able to incorporate such beauty into such a dark tale is impossibly hard, and no words will describe my absolute respect for her. I absolutely loved her truthful portrayal of war, instead of just romanticizing cruelty, and how utterly blunt she was about the horrors that ordinary people faced during times of chaos.

Rin, Nezha, Kitay, Venka, etc etc. They were just children. That's all I can say. They were children that were no longer innocent because adults shoved swords into their hands, and told them to die for a cause. They were so fucking young when the responsibility of millions of lives was forced upon them, and no person should ever have to make a decision that had such impact, especially not some young people. I loved each and every one of them, and I also loathed the decisions they made, but at the end of the day, they were just children born into a fragile world of cruelty and darkness.

Rin

"Dying was easy. Living was so much harder--that was the most important lesson Altan had ever taught her" --R.F. Kuang, The Burning God

From her choice in choosing to pledge Lore, till the end when she took her own life, I didn't like Rin. I didn't like her decisions, and I didn't respect how she treated her friends, but I did grow so SO attached to her as a character. I hated her for leaving Nezha with a shattered nation, but I also realized how much courage it took for her to take that route. Since she was born, survival mattered the most, always, and the fact that she chose to kill herself, with the interest of her country in mind, deserves so much respect. Yes, you could argue that she realized how hard surviving was, and chose the easy way out, but she was nurtured in a way that forced her to choose survival, to choose life, even if she wasn't truly living. Along with that, she also had Kitay's life bound to hers, so I don't think she made her final decision out of selfishness, but rather a willingness to sacrifice her life so that millions more would keep their own. As long as she was alive, the Hesperians wouldn't leave them alone, so she made her final decision for her country.

Nezha

“He knew exactly what choice she'd made and what she intended. And that made everything- hating her, loving her, surviving her, so much harder.” --R.F. Kuang, The Burning God

I truly believe that Nezha only acted the way he did because he was fucking terrified of everything happening around him. Yes, he was bred for this, but nothing ever prepared him for the shit that was going to come his way. And when Rin was going to kill herself, his composed mask just faded and he revealed the fear he had in him all along. He was another victim of the fragility of society, and I truly hope that no matter what happened after the third book, he found his peace and order.

Venka

After her reappearance (iykyk), I was so terrified that she would die, or go through something just as traumatic again. AND SHE DID. I was trembling when Rin accused her of being a traitor, and the way she threw herself on top of Rin to save her just broke my heart. I refuse to believe that she sold them out and wrote the letters, because how could anyone be a traitor, and still be willing to sacrifice her life for the person accusing them of such things?? Since the truth will never be uncovered, I will live with the hope that she was innocent all along, because she's been through so much, and her legacy should live on clean and untarnished.

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ramrage · 22 days

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How about another Fortune?

Chapter 1: Part 1

work rating: M

chapter rating: M

relationship: John “Soap” MacTavish x Simon “Ghost” Riley (endgame); John "Soap" MacTavish x Original Female Character (temporary)

characters: John “Soap” MacTavish, Simon “Ghost” Riley”, Original Female Character

tags: Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Straight? John “Soap” MacTavish, Cheating, Non-Chronological, this is a (gay) lovestory, Self-Discovery

summary: Soap is a heterosexual man in love, and everything is great. Really, it is. Factually speaking, no less.

Enjoy what you have, hope for what you lack. How about another Fortune? SecondFortune.com Lucky Numbers 19, 54, 37, 40, 47, 21

A/N: multimedia, nonchronological weirdness. pardon that. also, it doesn't start that way, but it's a ghostsoap (soapghost?) endgame. fret not.

ao3 link

part 2

John MacTavish with Ella Mitchell

💙

In a relationship with Ella Mitchell

February 14, 2014

67 Likes | 14 comments

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Ella Mitchell Congrats, Johnno. Really lucked out with that one :P <3 Like | Reply

PARADISE

Life is good. Can be, rather. So good that you’re drawn out of the moment for a split-second of awe, some shattering clarity of how fucking right things can be sometimes. And then you’re back in it, and somehow it’s even better.

“God, I fucking love you,” John breathes, not a post-nut bout of romanticism, short-lived. There she is: Ella. Sweaty, beautiful, and smiling. Sex on perfect fucking legs, and sweet. So damn sweet. “Fuck, I love you.”

He think it again when she looks away, shy, and looks back again with that wry smile, the one that has him love drunk and stupid every fucking time. “I love you, too, Johnny.”

And then the fucking minx rolls her hips, “but I’ve only cum twice. And you, my dear,” she muses, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek “promised me three.”

“Bleeding hell,” John thinks. “I’m gonna marry her. Mother of my future children.”

He makes good on his promise, of course. Lets her take his iPod and play the music she likes as he settles between her thighs afterwards, and throws in another for good measure, because of course. For her, it’s fucking nothing. Anything. Forever, and always, and all that other bullshit.

Time is a pesky bitch, is the thing.

And proximity is one hell of a drug.

HEALTH STATISTICS (UNOFFICIAL)

ORGASMS PER CALENDAR YEAR: 2021

SUBJECT: JOHN MACTAVISH SEX OF SUBJECT: MALE (REPORTED) SEXUAL ORIENTATION OF SUBJECT: HETEROSEXUAL, STRAIGHT

ORGASMS FROM PARTNERED SEXUAL INTERCOURSE

VAGINAL, receiving: N/A VAGINAL, giving: 8 ANAL, receiving: 0 ANAL, giving: 0 ORAL, receiving: 3 MANUAL, non-penetrative: 4 MANUAL, penetrative: 0 TOTAL PARTNERED SEXUAL INTERCOURSE: 15

ORGASMS FROM SELF-STIMULATION

ANAL, manual, non-penetrative: 0 ANAL, manual, penetrative: 0 PHALLIC, manual: 172 PHALLIC, oral: 0 VAGINAL, manual, non-penetrative: N/A VAGINAL, manual, penetrative: N/A NON-GENITAL STIMULATION, manual or oral: 0 TOTAL SELF-STIMULATION: 172

YEAR TOTAL ORGASMS: 187

COMMS TRANSCRIPT

VERDANSK, KASTOVIA 02 11 2022 21:07:33–21:07:38

21:07:33 G: Soap, you’ve got three enemies moving in East. 21:07:36 S: Copy. Permission to engage? 21:07:38 G: Give ‘em hell.

TROUBLE IN PARADISE, PT 1

They aim to call every week, even though they both know more often than not, it’s more of a monthly occasion. But it’s a low key Thursday, and for a change, John actually has time.

“So, how’d it go?” Ella sounds flat and tinny and terribly familiar over the phone. It feels like half the time they speak, her voice is like this. Compressed, still rising and falling with the gesticulations he can’t see, and wrong.

“Good, good…”

He can’t exactly say, “Nah, but don’t worry. The other guy got off much worse. Blew his head clean off his shoulders, actually,” so he tells her everything went well instead. It doesn’t exactly suck, and it isn’t exactly lying. “Yeah,” he continues, “can’t say much, but it was a tight operation. Clean.”

“And that’s why they call you Soap, eh?”

“Pretty and smart. I’ve won the lottery, haven’t I?”

“Mhm. Just gotta come and cash in your winnings is all,” and John’s stomach sinks because the anticipation he should feel is definitely anxiety. Any talk of coming home had slowly and consistently fallen from grace in his mind, and what used to be a respite feels more like faffing about in fairy land. For better or for worse (and in sickness and in health), he is married to his job. Thats how it goes with shit like this: too high-stakes to be anything other than wholly committed to.

Morality aside, two-timing is exhausting business and as John sees it, it just gives you two cakes that you can’t have, and can’t eat either.

PURGATORY

“Happy birthday, Johnny.”

Pulling away from Ghost’s lighter, Soap exhales that first draw, acrid as always, before chuckling. “Aye, cheers. Not how I expected it to go, but…”

“What did you have in mind then, eh? A little pub crawl out here in the middle of nowhere?”

Ghost manages to look nonchalant as he scans the blackdrop forest, leaning into the safe house’s dilapidated siding where he and Soap had posted up not too long ago. There’s bare little to see, bare little to do, so they smoke and shoot the shit.

Happy Birthday, indeed.

“Ha, fair. No point in making plans in this line of work.” He leaves out the part about Ella at home somewhere, filling the bin with pound shop birthday decorations. No use in reusing them. You only turn 30 once, after all. Ghost’s quiet, so he amends, “at least, not personal plans.”

“Had me worried there.”

“C’mon now, the planning is your’s and Price’s domain.”

“Watch it, sergeant. Arsekissing will only get you so far.”

“And how far it’s gotten me.”

“Ungrateful bastard. I got you the candles and everything.”

Soap snorts. “Aye, and you’re always hauling cake, so I reckon I’ve got that, too.”

“Fuckin’ hell.”

Thank god there’s no HR department in Arsefuck, Russia. Soap’d be toast by now. Or maybe not. This isn’t the first time he’s pulled this shit, and the reaction’s just about the same.

“I‘m just sayin’, ‘s not my fault you’re addicted to deadlifts.”

“Fuck—I wanna let you see another birthday, MacTavish, but you’re pushing your luck.”

“So you do like me.”

TROUBLE IN PARADISE, PT 2

“Hey, good-lookin’. How does this sound? You, me, a little takeaway, maybe a movie?”

John glances up from his phone. “What?”

“I was wondering how you felt about a night in.” Ella groans, noticing John’s eyes are still glued to his phone. A couple of snaps in his face, and John finally looks up. “I’m sorry,” she begins before he has a chance to apologize. “Am I interrupting something?”

John shakes his head. “Baby, no. Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s fucking work shite, shouldn’t take me too much longer.”

Ella doesn’t look appeased. Not remotely. Eyes burning mad above the dark circles, fingers tapping testily where they rest on the waistband of her joggers.

“How many times are ya gonna be sorry, John, eh?” Exasperated, she runs a hand through her brown hair, messing it up even more than it already is. “You’re gone for months on end, and that’s fine. I knew that was what I was getting into. But then when you’re actually fucking here, you couldn’t give a damn.”

“Elle, c’mon, don’t say that. I promise I want to deal with this shit even less than you do. You know I care, ba—”

“I don’t know that I fucking do, John. I don’t know that, and honestly, I don’t know if you really do care.”

John’s since put down the phone, but stands to wrap Ella in a gentle, rocking hug. She only fights him for a second before slumping against his chest. He likes it here, likes resting his chin on her shoulder where he can smell the lavender of her shampoo and her unwashed sleep shirt.

“Ellie, my darling. Give me five more minutes and I’m all yours. Put the order in on my card, and we can crack open the nice wine in the coat closet.”

“Dinner and drinks won’t just make it better, John,” she protests, muffled and half-hearted.

He leans back just enough to catch Ella’s eye, “No, it doesn’t.”

He jerks his head to the side, indicating she ought to let his hands guide her, turning until she’s facing away. She sighs and curses “that fucking MacTavish charm” when he starts kneading at her small shoulders. “That’s why I’m also planning on giving you a massage,” he begins to her answering hum, “a long one, and when you finally feel nice and relaxed and pampered, we can play that game you’re so fond of.”

“Which game?” she quips back despite knowing already what he means.

“Well, all you have to do is sit back and look pretty and let me see how many times I can get you off.”

“Mm, right, that one.”

“So, how does that sound for a night in?”

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HELL, UPPER CIRCLES

“Alright, fuck, get the fuck off me.”

Ghost relents and rocks back on his haunches, offering a hand to help Johnny roll to sit cross-legged. “You’re getting better.”

“Fuck off,” Johnny pants.

“Stronger, yeah. But smarter.”

“I’m plenty smart as is.”

“Weren’t always. Ya used to run in headlong, make stupid mistakes. You still do, granted, but not as often.”

“If that’s so, how’d I end up flat on my arse?”

Ghost shrugs, scratches the back of his neck through his damp mask. “I’m better.”

“Cocky bastard.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Soap rolls his eyes, wincing as he pushes himself up to stand. He squeezes a long stream of water into his mouth, missing near half of it before chucking Ghost’s water bottle across the gym.

He feels neither pleased nor surprised when Ghost turns the other way to lift his mask and drink. It’s what Ghost does.

“Five minutes and we go again,” Soap says, because it’s just enough time to catch his breath, “and this time, I’m fucking pinning you.”

“Fat fucking chance, sergeant.”

Enjoy what you have, hope for what you lack.

How about another Fortune?

SecondFortune.com

Lucky Numbers 19, 54, 37, 40, 47, 21

GOOGLE CHROME

SEARCH HISTORY

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secondfortune.com

SEE FULL SEARCH HISTORY

(link to part 2)

#another fortune #my writing #mine #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #soapghost #soap x ghost #ghoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish

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obsessedwhim · 5 months

Text

Sweet Treat

Quick footsteps paced through an empty town late at night, arms tight around you as bitten lips rolled and split to take in deep uneven breaths.

Doing everything in your power to stop your mouth from falling into a painful arch. And with you out in the open like this, you were hopeful that it would strengthen you from having a terrifying breakdown.

So focused on the twister of emotions within, your vision blurred perfectly enough that it was hard to take notice of the oncoming bench.

And just like the fanny you believed yourself to be, you bent your knee so perfectly wrong that the hardwood of outdoor seating spliced through the gap of the right knee's patella and tibia.

An exemplary sweet spot for instant pain.

An entire torso's worth of muscles strained at the attack. Your throat clenching to smother a monster of a scream.

Your bones collapse as you attempt to breathe in only once, you just can't take it anymore. One hand slapped across dry lips as the other squeezed if only to bring you a short moment of peace. The throbbing knee. Both legs had been shaking from the awkward squat you found yourself in.

Tears finally fell and escaped their swollen barriers, easing you for a second before you realized what was happening.

"God... why" you sobbed, falling to the cold concrete below with the grace of a cardboard cutout and leaned into the scene of the crime. Wounded knee kept at a bend to not anger its soiled joint.

The other knee came up with a quiet creak and you bowed an aching scull, arms raising to his your pitiful cries from the world. Teeth grit to contain the machine flesh raging from within. Fuming at the unluckiness of it all.

You tried so hard to not let it all get to you, but the human body could only contain such powerful emotions for so long, and you had yet to fully cry at your current losses.

A Partner of Ten Years, ten whole fricken' Years! And you introduce him to one best friend who had just moved back into town and Boom! Like a bad joke none saw coming, he left you. Dust in the wind, off to be cradled in her romanticized touch.

As if you were never anything to him in the first place.

Good thing he left you without notice, lest you lose yourself and try to claw out his perfect eyes.

For a second, your shoulders slumped in your pile of pathetic clutches 'Why even care? Why should I be upset when I did nothing wrong?'

'BECASUE?? YOU LOVED HIM?? Gave him everything you had, even!'

Shoulders raised, fingernails dug into your one working leg, scratching away at the jean fabric covering your shin. Until your fingers grew heavy and you wanted your limbs to fall apart.

'I mean... sure yeah I- but it's not like-' Much like Jenga, you wished you were a bunch of blocks because board games dont have to deal with life-shattering realities.

'Shut up, shUT THE FUCK UP. SHUT. UP. STOP!'

Your strength came back in muscle-breaking waves, and you were sure you could break this bench if you tried hard enough 'Dont let some... M A N rot you from the inside because that's TO EASY, YOU DON'T DESERVE EASY!'

A black shadow peaked from a rooftop, watching as you constricted and loosened. 'That can't be healthy' the spectator thought, only noticing you after a strange squeal echoed from a nearby park and bounding over a handful of buildings, there he saw you curled before the unoticable criminal that halted your late-night walk.

'Are you really gonna let your foundations collapse just because of one bump in your timeline?'

You sniffled, using a damp sleeve to wipe away tears that refused to let up. This was the beginning of the end, you thought. It was hard to not allow any of your cracked sobs to pass through your clenched throat.

"Uh.. hey there"

You yelped, the loudest noise you had made all night. Your head turned with a tilt as your soiled vision rose past purple appendages. A green coat topped with strangely bright hair pulled you from the inner voices continuing on with their rants about current events and how you shouldn't let your horrible pathetic self fall apart.

Cold night air refreshed your tired lungs and you blinked a couple of times as the stranger moved to take a seat next to you, his bending legs missing the bench and sitting on the cold ground with an arm's length between the two of you.

"Yooou... okay?"

"Yeah, just... a rough day at the office y'know?" You snorted through a blocked nose, shrugging as sleeves wiped away at the water barriers between your eyes and the stranger's features.

"Don't you work in a sandwich shop?"

Taking in a stifling breath once more, you turned to meet the pinched features of a familiar ginger. "Oh, it's you. Hello Mr. Customer" You turned away quickly, why did such an attractive customer have to find you in such a state at so late of a time? You must look like such a weirdo.

Ichigo frowned, he wasn't used to seeing you in any other state than unbearing cheeryness. Even from a whole building away, Ichigo was able to recognize you.

He thought about how strange it was to see you out of your regular setting, how much smaller you looked despite baggy clothes hanging from you. Ichigo sighed with a saddened look in his eyes.

The next few minutes were filled with awkward conversation. It's not like Ichigo knows how to comfort someone he's barely talked to, and he doesn't even really know what's upset you in the first place.

You cackled at something he said, your dry laugh filling the empty street till your hand slapped over your smiling mouth. Voice lowering to a hushed giggle "Oh god, that was so loud"

Ichigo stifled his own laugh, but you pointed out how his face strained at the act. He breathed out the funny and did his best to keep his composure. You really were loud.

------------

Ichigo waited for you on a street corner, hazel eyes glancing over a shoulder at his reflection for only a short moment but the ginger huffed and fixed his shirt for the third time since he'd arrived. Fingers rinsing and raking through his orange hair to perk his spikes up just right. You mentioned how you liked his hair slightly messy one morning.

He took in a deep breath, and a grip around the sunflowers that he had brought grew sweaty. A great icebreaker and gift, Ichigo was sure you said sunflowers were a favored plant.

"Hey gorgeous"

The male spun on the spot, quickly turning to meet your raised vision and his face nearly exploded with blood.

God, you were cute, it was almost too much. Ichigo's heart clenched but he hadn't yet realized you took notice the flowers.

Your hand covering his circling grip and lips pressing against the corner of his jaw "How's the most wonderful man in the world doing today?"

Okay, now he was definitely about to explode. Stream rising and ears turning red. Lips wriggling as he did his best to welcome you.

---------------

Ichigo had been making his way through some paperwork he brought home, but it was way past noon and you knew he hadn't even attempted to head to the kitchen for some food.

It was too nice of a day to spend locked away in his office, not when you were out here.

You sighed from said kitchen. Leaning on the doorframe with a hand pinching at your chin.

What should you make your beloved for his lunch? You wondered with a hum and turned to head into the sun rays stretching from the front window.

Though Ichigo was deep in concentration, it was hard to miss a bowl of spicy karashi being set in the middle of the dinner table.

Ichigo eyes shone at the familiar bright yellow goo and glanced up at you with hope in his tired gaze "Are you... making Mentaiko?"

"Sure am" you glowed like some sort of beautiful food angel "I've cut the fish, just waiting on the rice now" and you walked away as if it were nothing, but secretly, deep within your heart lunged at Ichigo's adorable features.

You hoped he'd be okay with you joining him for lunch because there was simply nowhere you wanted to be more than with him, even if it was just for lunch.

-----------------

Though most of your morning was spent canoodling with a more cuddly than usual ginger, you stood before a till and kept yourself busy with customers, cleaning, and restocking.

It was a nice day of sunshine and music filling the small business from a random radio.

A coworker had come from the back kitchen and asked if you'd like to take a break, and you were never one to decline lunch.

You hummed and sparkled as you constructed the perfect sandwich and picked out a slice of strawberry and chocolate cheesecake. Your work pal snickered at your sudden shift to favoring strawberry desserts, and there wasn't one bone in your body that would disagree "I guess he really is the Love of My Life" You smiled down at the slice of berry garnishing your dish "I miss him!"

"Get over it already, the fanny's probably on his way to see you right now" They waved a dramatic hand "Shout on me if there's a customer would ya, I gotta get some stuff from the back"

"Sure thing!" You made your way to a favored booth, with enough room for two.

The door to the cafe rang and a wide body came through with a scanning stare.

Ichigo found his steps were quicker than usual. He got a little too caught up at work, and translating took a lot of concentration.

Thank goodness for his Hollow Hunting habits, keeping him fit and speedy. Though there were a few handful times of nearly running into some poor pedestrian but he was so close!

Just one more corner and Ichigo would make it to your place of work, of course, slowing to fix his clothes before stepping through the shiny glass door.

The bell rang and his ember gaze found you quickly, but you hadn't noticed him yet. You're attention taken away by a large being kneeling before you with a strong grip keeping you from retreating farther into your booth.

"Please Baby, I miss you so much. I always loved you y'know?" the stranger's voice was padded and sweet "It was always you" but his grip slid from your wrist to your forearm and there was no way Ichigo would let those grimy fingers gain another inch.

He was close to yanking the fiend away but said fiend screeched and cried and screamed for his dear hand where an unused fork splintered from his skin. Popping from the shallow wound and ringing against the hardwood floor "What The HELL?! You Crazy BITCH!"

"Don't Make Me Use My Knife!" you held up a rather threatening butter knife, meant for your sweet treat but some would say revenge may be even sweeter.

"You Shithead! You Better Leave Right Now!"

Ichigo knew about what this Ex had done, how he'd treated you, and stepped to the side as- you named him perfectly- Shithead stumbled and winced in his rush to leave the establishment.

"Ah! I'm so sorry everyone!" you apologized to local patrons with a deep bow and red face, but a few of them clapped at the experience "Dinner and a show, well done young lady," A customer told, others soon agreeing.

You sprung from your bow, and tears inked at the side of your eyes. The regulars were very in the know-how about their servers.

A smile split through your hot cheeks, almost at a melting point as Ichigo came from behind with a curve in his brow and a gentle hand on your shoulder "Are you alright?"

You didn't know if you had any teeth left to bear. Leaning in with a hand covering his, you said "I am now, everything's just perfect"

#bleach headcanons #bleach ichigo #fanfic writing #fanfiction #ichigo kurosaki #ichigo kurosaki x reader #fanfics #ichigo kurosaki x oc #bleach x reader #adult ichigo kurosaki x reader #fluff #fluff prompts

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anti-spop · 3 months

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tumblr hates me since it recommends me regular spop posts sometimes, and this one showed up...

honestly though, what bothered me the most was the notes. sadly i didn't screenshot them, but everyone was treating this like a joke. like catra was just a bad kitty that knocked over your mug. (no rlly, someone said like "no no bad kitty!")

like okay, in the su fandom a lot of folks joked about the time steven shattered jasper, bc it was just too shocking that steven murdered someone on screen. but at the same time, the fandom understood it was a serious moment. he was able to bring her back and he felt a lot of remorse for it. his actions had consequences. might be a wild comparison, but think of how ppl treat b/reaking bad.

(CORRECTION: we don't actually see steven outright shattering jasper. it cuts to a black screen and then steven is seen with her shards. however you could still apply lars' death here, which DID happen on screen.)

but that is not the case for catra. a lot of ppl even romanticize this shit, like catra destroying reality just to be with adora was peak romance. or just her being a petty bitch - which DID happen tbh - but no one wants to hold catra accountable for all the horrible things she did. they don't care that catra nearly destroyed the entire existence of the world. they don't care that catra in a way killed angella (and catra is very satisfied about that). and this is just season 3. she gets a lot worse.

(also i saw a post somewhere that said "catra actually deserved to kill people on screen". like... oh my god.)

please don't harass the op if you find this post.

#i post #spop critical #anti stans

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whumpbot · 10 months

Text

WhumpAI Prompt #2:

Content: | Medical Whump | Hospital | Seizure | Injury

|| The AI is starting to get the hang of it and I can pick out more prompts. I’m trying eliminate any generated prompts that romanticize the seizures too much, steering clear from chronic condition like epilepsy from these scenarios, but some of the prompt below may still be distressing or upsetting ||

1. Seizures in HospitalWhump

Whumpee's convulsions grow increasingly violent and uncontrollable after the incident, causing caretaker's heart to break a little more with each hospital visit. Seeing whumpee lying in bed padded with pillows on all railings, nearly always asleep in-between the fit under heavy anti-seizure medications the doctors desperately tried out. This isn't any ordinary illness. He need to find out what whumper has done to them. The clock is ticking, and the whumpee's life hangs in the balance.

2. Acute seizures in head injuries

Whumper's triumphant expression fades into horror as he witness Whumpee’s body starting to convulse. He didn’t hit whumpee’s head THAT hard, did he? He initially taunt fhem for attempting to mock him. But as foam appears on Whumpee's mouth, panic sets in and Whumper's threat dissipates into urgent concern. With a surge of adrenaline, they swiftly turn Whumpee onto their side. Whumper's sense of power over their victim is shattered, replaced by a chilling awareness of the unpredictability and intensity of this condition.

3. Impending Seizures

“Caretaker...”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t leave.” Whumpee grasps caretaker’s sleeves, their eyes wide with fear and a sense of impending doom they know so well. ” “I-it’s coming. My... Oh my god, dont leave, I-I had thought month its going away”

“Oh." Caretaker’s heart sinks in realization as well. He kept reassuring front, though, his voice filled with a mix of concern and determination.”Whumpee, its okay”

Whumpee's speech becomes slurred as both panic and the seizure takes hold, but caretaker understands the urgency. Gently guiding Whumpee, they help them lie down in a safe position. "You're doing great, Whumpee. I'm right here with you," caretaker whispers, offering support and comfort in the face of the approaching storm.

4. Secondary injuries

Whumpee's seizures intensify to the point where their body goes into convulsions, causing severe muscle strains and dislocations. Caretaker becomes skilled at gently easing their limbs back into place after each episode, all while grappling with the emotional toll of witnessing their loved one endure such torment.

5. Lingering symptoms

During the period of Whumpee's recovery from their episodes, they experience lingering effects on their cognitive abilities, leaving them in a temporary state of confusion and disorientation, even during moments of respite. Caretaker patiently guides them through daily tasks, offering unwavering support and compassion, accompanying whumpee to waitout the fog and providing reassurance along the way.

#whump #prompt list #medical whump #whump prompt #seizure #head injury #tw violence #tw illness #ai generated #multiple prompts

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vampiiu · 1 year

Text

Bloody Painter x Addict!Reader

TW // CW: Referenced drugs, vomit, angst, strong language

What to expect: Gender neutral reader, no specific drug mention, raw pain, non-romanticized drug use.

He came as soon as he got your call. He's known about your drug issues for a while, but he didn't know the withdrawal symptoms would appear so soon.

"(Y/N)!"

His heart immediately shattered when he saw your vulnerable figure laying on the couch. You were gripping your stomach, completely soaked in your own sweat and tears. He sprinted towards you, avoiding the puddle of vomit in front of the sofa. He grabbed your face in his hands as he placed a peck on your lips before asking a panicked

"Are you ready to be picked up?? We need to get you to bed"

You nodded a relieved approval and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. He picked you up bridal style and carried you to your room. Helen laid you in your bed. At this point, he was sweating almost as much as you. He had never been in this situation before. He muttered a few curse words at himself before hurrying into the bathroom to get a small trash can before you puke again. When he got back, he sat the trash can on the ground.

Helen teared up. "I'm so sorry I didn't get here sooner," he apologized.

You panted a few times before you could get any comprehensible words out. "honey it's okay.. you.. you're h-here no-'' You interrupted yourself with a groan of pain and a fast hand to your chest.

Helen's eyes widened as he tried not to cry in front of you. His emotional barriers have always been strong, but he can't handle seeing you in this much pain. He sat next to you on the bed and held one of your hands in both of his.

Suddenly, you couldn't hold it in any longer. You screamed. Not at Helen, not at yourself, not even at your crazy neighbor who always gets on your nerves; just at the universe. At any god who is out there. Hoping whoever or whatever the fuck made withdrawal symptoms would acknowledge the agony they brought to so many people.

Helen couldn't conceal his emotions either. He bit his bottom lip and his throat felt as if it was on fire. It felt scratchy, acidic even, as he tried to stay strong for you. Unfortunately, he couldn't keep it up. He choked on his tears before seizing you into his tight embrace. Tears streamed down his face and his usually emotionless eyes had become a glassed over ocean. You sat in your bed, in his arms, sobbing and sniffling. Your head was turned upwards, you didn't want him to see you in such a horrible state. His head was tucked into the crease of your neck as he yelled a strained "IT'LL BE OKAY! YOU'LL BE OKAY!!" as he wept even more. He inhaled and exhaled heavily before whispering in your ear, "It'll all be over soon.. I promise. It's only temporary, and at least you're still clean," he kissed your earlobe before continuing, "You're getting better and I'm so fucking proud of you."

#creepypasta #bloody painter #helen otis #helen otis x reader #bloody painter x reader #male reader #gn reader #gn #bloody painter x gn reader #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta helen #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta fic #angst #creepypasta angst #unknown #cp #cp fandom

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puppyboypatrick · 10 months

Text

(a)romanticism

cupid shot the wrong lovers. not because he shot you and i, but because he missed my heart and barely grazed my shoulder. he put an arrow through my throat and i got all choked up, rendered speechless not by your touch or the look in your eye but my inability to tell you that none of it makes me feel anything. the parts of my machine are cracked, my gears shattered, but even a broken clock is right twice a day and thats got to count for something.

“i think youre my soulmate,” maybe in another lifetime. i adore you in all the ways you dont want me to. you want me even if you shouldnt. that sounds like a fair trade. ive watched everyone around me fall in love with each other. ive watched you fall in love with me. i think its alright. you dont love me, you love the part of me thats the empty drugstore on the corner of the street on a desperate, 4am thursday. youll learn im not worth committing to, maybe youll forget me along the way.

tell me a bedtime story, ill sing you a song about not knowing how to be in love with you and your late night loveletter eyes.

“you remind me of someone.” who? “someone who doesnt know what they want. someone who isnt ready.” but i am ready. i do know what i want. “then tell me why youre not like the others.” i am like the others. im made of the same things they are. im human, just like them. “but you arent.” what? “where is your heart?” pressed in the pages of a hotel bible.

“you dont believe in god.”

i know.

#my post #my writing #arospec posting tonight sorry guys #ps.txt

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shallowseeker · 1 year

Text

"Oh, Cas. I believe in you." Why I believe Michael ripped this line from Dean's mind:

I think I finally have an uplifting headcanon surrounding the last episodes and why Michael was so amused in 14x10 with these believing-oriented lines:

From 14x10, pink collateral (Nihilism):

Televised, it sounds even more like he's getting private, perverse delight in quoting a deep part of Dean:

"Oh, Cas. I believe in you."

///

What gives? Why is this line so remarkable? Because it is the unspoken answer to a very deep, very private question Dean was asked in the previous season, by the therapist Mia Vallens, when Cas was dead:

13x04, Yellow Draft (The Big Empty)

Mia: "Dean...what do you believe in?

"So, what do you believe in, Dean?"

He answers this question at the end of the same episode, scripted and televised in 13x04, Yellow Draft (The Big Empty):

Dean: Right now, I don't believe in a damn thing.

Cas comes alive lying asleep in a field, wild blackberries framing the shot, and he is full of gratitude and life.

///

Cas was asked by the Shadow why he would return, when "there is nothing for you here."

Supernatural asked that question often enough: How DO you keep on living when the worst has happened to you? It could be the loss of a parent, a brother, a child, a spouse. How do you find meaning and keep on living when the hope and future is dashed to pieces? When your faith is gone because you've lost almost everything? When the thing that made you matter is gone?

Lamentation and fatalism can blind us to the gratitude and life still available to us. We see this when John lost Mary, when Sam lost Jess, how John could not lose Dean even when Sam still needed him, how Ellen could not lose Jo when Bobby still needed her, how Dean could not lose Sam, and how TFW could not lose Jack.

For Cas, his fatalism and Heaven-as-corrupt-war trauma often prevent him from embracing what he already has. He sometimes cannot even recognize his own love or the love that others have for him (i.e. he tends to rework happiness as Big Destiny, and family as Holy Cause). Like a broken tapedeck (14x09 The Spear), Cas cannot "hear" the music, or freely enjoy the love that is available to him. In Meredith Glynn's script (13x14 Good Intentions) it is more obvious that Cas returns to "angel instincts," embracing war and his Self as weapon. ("You're more than a weapon, Cas.")

///

When Dean lost Cas, he was afraid (13x05 Advanced Thanatology) that he was shattered beyond repair, that there is "nothing for you here." He did not look for Mary; he felt powerless to bring Cas back. Dean wanted to die.

Like John, Dean struggles to be there for Sam (who becomes all parents to Jack) and for Jack (the scapegoat for the loss of Dean's future).

13x05 Production Draft, Advanced Thanatology

Billie: You tell people you'll work through it. But you know you won't. You can't.

Dean: I don't matter.

As audience, we want to tell Dean (and John): you can. You still matter to us, to your family, even without your ideal future. We can build a different future.

Why does Dean feel this way? Like in season 7, he can't shake Cas, and he doesn't know why. It's because when Cas is alive, Dean matters. In the beginning of season 4, despite himself, Dean was in awe to matter to God and to holy cause. But post-Heaven-disillusionment and post-Heaven-moving-on-to-Adam, Dean still mattered to Cas. And Cas mattered to him. And that deepened something between them.

Consciously or not, Cas is a vital part of Dean's Faith, and he is the cornerstone for Dean's *honest* conceptualization of his own non-romanticized Future.

///

This is why Sam is spooked in 15x09 The Trap during Chuck's vision.

Still conceptualizing Dean as "the brother who raised me," and "the invincible parent that never gives up," Sam finally grasps that his brother is fallible. He might even finally grasp how and WHY Dean always gives up (when Cas dies), if the end of the episode is any indication.

Juxtaposed with Dean frantically running around Purgatory, it's perhaps a visual tiein between the oblivious Sam and the oblivious audience, who just, up until this point, don't get the Whole Dean-Cas Thing. (There is even perhaps giving an aborted love confession hidden here, "Cas, I need to say something" / "You don't have to say it.")

In a way, the story of SPN is about Sam learning to understand his brother as person rather than as (sometimes admittedly-unhinged) caretaker, and a big part of that is showcased when Sam says, "Cas," in this vision, with no small amount of dread.

By the end of this episode, even if purely on a gut level, Sam finally understands that The Hope for his brother's Future is intimately tied to Cas, and Sam will not vanish that future.

This causes him to doubt their plan for locking up Chuck.

This is why he doesn't roll the trap.

///

In season 14, Dean learns his "life's work is a hoax."

This is a parallel moral injury to early-seasons-soldier-Castiel, who spent season upon season grappling with the sometimes paralyzing horror of Heaven's disillusionment. Now, it's Dean's turn. (Indeed, in season 15, Cas is better positioned to withstand some aspects of Chuck, because he painstakingly built a phenomenal resilience to soldier-disillusionment already.)

All suffering soldiers grapple with depersonalization/derealization/"what is real?" It is NOT a romantic question so much as the mark of soul-shattering existential crisis.

When Dean lapses into pure, blood-and-bone nihilism in late season 14, it's not just that nothing matters...Dean no longer matters. "His life's work, a hoax." Son, gone--sucked dry by an enemy Dean let overpower him. Mother, gone--obliterated by the dehumanized "shell" of the son. Michael won. His nihilism suddenly rings true. Life IS meaningless.

Based on my own conjecture, in this time frame; that is, post-resurrected-Jack and The Empty deal, Cas had to have been pulling away in terms of emotional intimacy. This, combined with depressed!Sam and soulless!Jack, further stoked a loss of Resilience in Dean, post-Dean's second Michael injury.

Indeed, Cas goes lone wolf with Anael and looks to God instead of hashing out these difficulties with his human family. And poor Cas--as usual, he does it too late, when shit has already hit the proverbial fan. Because when Cas really wants to do something, like torture Donatello for example, he rushes in unilaterally and bypasses discussion. (They all do this, of course. They take turns at the wheel of desperation and attempting to solve it on their own.)

It's not about Fault so much as it is family dynamics that contribute to a loss of Resiliency.

///

Revisiting 14x09 The Spear and 14x10 Nihilism:

Dean was undoubtedly psychologically injured by AU Michael. We see this in the following bit about how utterly devastating the second Michael possession is:

Off their shocked faces-- Michael!Dean drops the sarcasm.

MICHAEL! DEAN: Dean-- he was resisting me. He was too attached to you-- to all of you. He wouldn't stop squirming. To get out-- to get back. (then) So I left-- but I left a back door open-- just a crack.

CASTIEL: Why wait?

MICHAEL ! DEAN: To break him. Crush and disappoint him so completely that, this time? He'II stay nice and quiet for a change-- buried. (then, feeling himself) And he is. Beyond subdued-- he's GONE.

On Sam, Cass, and Jack-- absolutely GUTTED. Then--

And how horrible we should expect Dean's condition to be on Michael's departure? According to this, "Nothing but blood and bone."

Strange then, how Dean's post-Michael possession is mostly spent taking care of others. We see him continuing to parent Jack, and we also see Dean and Cas JOINING FORCES to parent Sam out of his grief with the AU hunters. (Sam is running them ragged!)

But there are no plotlines for Dean's post-Michael recovery. Not really. Some viewers even sofaras to paint everything that follows as a fundamental evil, and NOT a reaction to these devastating events.

I suggest that housing Michael levied a grievous psychological injury, one that went forgotten as we focused on Jack's soul and Sam's loss of the AU hunters. Cas tried to lend support the best way he knew how, in a distanced manner, while being somewhat emotionally handcuffed by The Empty deal.

///

So, it goes. It all came crashing down.

When Mary is dead, and when symbolically the-Jack-Dean-knew is dead, Cas is also "dead" to Dean, and so is hope and faith for the future. Dean will not touch his failure to contain Michael, but make no mistake, it is the Core Hidden Wound here. It's why Dean so easily submits to suicidal and familicidal ideation. He doesn't matter. Nothing does. He gave up, and then he marched off to kill what was left of Jack and himself.

Season 15 would feel more complete if it more expressly spelled out The Michael Wound and the perils of the moral injury and disillusionment with Cause and Self, as Dark Kaia says in 14x03:

Dean matches her gaze.

DEAN: Not him. Not Michael. Not anymore.

But that's what Dark Kaia meant. She already realized that.

DARK KAIA: I know. (then) You're much weaker.

That lands on Dean, rattling him.

Dean is paralyzed by his own weakness, by botching his big hero moment with The Spear.

DARK KAIA: You're no different than him. (then) Threats, violence, whatever it takes-- to get what you want.

DEAN: I'm nothing like him.

DARK KAIA: You are. (then) And you always were. I saw what you did to her. When you got angry. When you shoved your gun in her face.

And we POPFLASH to episode 1309, "The Bad Place"- -Dean threatening Kaia with a gun.

That's war. REMEMBER: Dark Kaia, a soldier in her own right, recklessly resorted to flinging her own violence and anger at Claire Novak. She wields violence intimately, and she knows how being bound to protect people gets twisted up with violence.

When what you want is your family's safety, your fear turns to anger turns to morally bankrupt action. Heroism and pride is just a balm to cover this. That's moral injury in the face of desperation, and War..."war is what Michael does," so the two are hopelessly intertwined.

///

So, then we come to the backend of season 15: Against all odds, the family tries to rebuild, even without Mary. The Dean-Cas future is reignited in Purgatory, in the land of metaphorical suicide, because traditionally they choose each over (family) and grow new things (the future)--all against the backdrop of the gray, colorless, Nihilism-Unthinking war-Suicide spectre that Purgatory represents.

Even before they get Jack back, Dean wanted Cas to stay. It's another example of choosing to try to heal together, despite the hardships of life (and being faced with holy-narrative-nihilism). These are embers.

However, after Jack returns, the allure of Jack's birthright and power strikes again, and through Billie (Death), the plan tragically sways to thoughts of revenge (Dean) and destiny (Cas). They respectively think these paths will grant them the futures they want: to finally be free.

///

Later, after 15x18, when Dean loses Cas for the final time, something remarkable happens. Dean decides not to give up,

...which is why I don't hate everything about 15x19 Inherit the Earth and 15x20 Carry On. This is a man living a nightmare:

"To see if maybe all this was just a dream..."

And trying to be strong for everyone else. Because this time, Sam has given in to Chuck's nihilism, and Jack is lost without his dad.

Despite everything that went down before, Dean decides to try, "because you have to believe that you can start trying to be good any time."

Dean is trying to find new meaning outside of the future he wanted for himself! Like when Cas awoke from The Empty, Dean is trying to find gratitude and the warmth of life against this backdrop of apocalyptic bleakness. That's what Miracle is about.

It's the anti-thesis to John losing himself after Mary's death.

Although initially offering himself as a sacrifice to Chuck, there are bones to it that hint Dean may be trying to honor Cas's memory rather than become a dead man walking. ❤️ And that was beautiful.

But it was too late to fix things with Jack, a realization that rendered him mute...but not hopeless.

Dean can't speak.

(How terrible, then, that the writers did him the way Jack did Felix the snake. Dissolved him because "he missed his friend," robbing him of the chance to even try to live.)

#dean believes in cas #he believes in family #in trying #that he matters #cas makes dean feel like he matters

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csprslvt · 9 months

Text

you and i, and her. pt. 9

Chapter 8

Summary: The journey with Ellie thickens and you run into some obstacles. Getting closer and closer to the WLF has some risks and before you could make it far enough, you are attacked by the WLF who doesn’t yet recognize you. Ellie is kidnapped and you run for it. Now reader is in a dilemma sooner than she thought she’d be. Now in the territory of what was once her home she could risk being identified. Exposing her secret to Ellie.

Warnings: Once again reader hates herself, Ellie’s flirting is getting kind of obvious. Kidnapping, brief descriptions of violence, fighting, shimmer dies. Not much in to worry about in this chapter. Please see notes at the end to help me make a decision about tomorrows chapter! thanks for reading xoxoxo!!

You were sort of not the greatest person in the world. And that became more clear the longer you started to reciprocate Ellie’s advances. Ellie had done nothing but support you, she was a good person. But here you are, entertaining the idea that you weren’t an awful person, romanticizing yourself so Ellie still liked you. She was going to find out soon so what is the harm in embracing every moment you have with her now?

It’s actually probably very harmful. But you felt selfish, especially after such a heartbreak.

Abby cheated. You had never broken up, she just left you to die. She didn’t look for you like how you’d look for her. Your heart was growing and it was settling a place inside for Ellie. Was it possible to love two people at once? Or were you just liking the idea of one of them while genuinely loving the other. It was so fucking complicated. But as far as you knew. Your long romance with Abby was over. Still a part of you that was so enraptured in her, hoped at the end of the day that you would find eachother again.

“How stupid of me” you’d thought.

You and Ellie were deep in some sort of downtown past the music shop, You’d been on Shimmer all day and your legs kind of felt numb from sitting so long. Being on a horse was not the most comfortable thing in the world. there was a building titled “Ruston Coffee”

Ellie and you jumped off, you wondered how you’d get in for a second until you heard a loud shatter of Ellie throwing a random brick at the window.

“Ellie! Oh my god warn me next time”

Ellie smiled and climbed in, beckoning for you to follow her.

You went in, careful of the sharp glass around you. You both went out back, to the bathroom.

Very suddenly an infected came out and sprung at Ellie. Her reflexes were quick and she slit its throat. The way she was so quick with her hands made you question her experiences and how exactly was it that she was so skilled in killing. Joel must’ve had a big influence on teaching her, you assumed. You’d explored for a bit together but ultimately found nothing worth your time other than a small key that seemed to be attached to a dog tag. Ellie held it up.

“What’s this?”

“A key.”

“Well no duh Ellie but what does it say?”

“Uhm it says Barkos”

“Hey I think I saw a place called Barkos Pet Store west of the music store!”

“Let’s go then”

Ellie grabbed your hand as if it was an obvious thing to do and helped you step out of the window. She kicked glass out of the way before you stepped in it. She was awfully chivalrous.

“Such a gentlemen” You grinned, gripping Ellie’s hand gently.

“Of course m’lady” She said with a doopy smile

The entire walk to Barkos she didn’t let your hand go. It felt nice to be cared for. You’d feel guilty another time now you’d just enjoy some time with Ellie. You’d walked down a side alley together and headed inside. Luckily enough Ellie discovers some type of Poster from the WLF. You were getting close and it created an awful turning in your gut.

You leaned over Ellie’s shoulder and read the poster

“They think we’re sheep, bare your fangs.”

Ellie was quiet.

“Cringe” you’d spoke blunty.

Ellie looked over at you. She relaxed,

“Yea it’s pretty cheesy.”

“Weirdos with weird propaganda.” You said, as if you weren’t one of the concept artists for posters like this years ago with Abby.

“Your so right”

You kind of liked hating on the WLF with Ellie. Though it was very hypocritical the entire Owen thing made you feel quite petty. It was indirectly a way to talk shit about Abby. Whom you really really felt very disconnected too at this point.

You rubbed the locket that settled on your collarbones. Maybe it was time to take it off. Were you ready to let go? Did you even deserve that? Deserve a chance to change? Did you deserve Ellie? No, probably not. But you would try your best to be better for her. She had been through enough and the fact that you already betrayed her and snuck away from her on top of Joel’s death and whatever other trauma she had made you feel like you wanted to improve as a person. She was good for you, you wanted to be good for her.

You then both left Barkos, finding nothing interesting. Heading down the south road, there was a walkway going over the street. You both climbed up the walkway an approached a building. Once again, Ellie there a brick at the windows, this time she warned you though, which you appreciated. It was highly populated with infected so you grabbed out your axe while Ellie approached them with a knife.

Ellie took a deep breath, “Here we go.” she spoke, anticipation in her voice.

Going counterclockwise Ellie started with the clicker in the room while you went straight for the runner in the doorway. Once they were eliminated, you’d both gone round to others in the end room. Going to a long corridor, you moved in stealth back to back, watching eachothers weak spots. The coast was clear.

Eventually you both started talking again once deciding that there was nothing else to harm you. The duo traveled down the lobby, there wasn’t much light so you’d both turned on your flashlights.

“Oh shit!” You mumbled

“What?”

A rotten corpse laid on the floor, completely decomposed.

Ellie made a gagging noise. “that’s why it fucking stinks in here”

You reached down and found a letter it seemed like a plea. You pocketed it for later.

To the left was a wooden door but it was locked. You turned to Eilie,

“Go ahead”

She smirked and threw yet another brick (where was she finding those?) at the window to enter the office. There was a safe and you took notice of it for later. This time Ellie didn’t let go of your hand even when you were out of the window. You’d both look through some filing cabinets and Ellie found a book you recognized.

“Prep, a survival guide for the silent majority”

“Silent majority. Ominous”

“I guess so” Ellie responded.

It stank in this room as well, and you noticed another lifeless body in far stages of rigor mortis. You pulled machete out from inside of it. It made a strange wet noise.

“Gross”

“Why’d you take it?”

“Not everyday you see a perfectly good machete lying around”

Ellie left it at that, looking around some more, still with entwined hands. It was almost like she didn’t notice her hold on you. Like it was in her nature. A code was written on the whiteboard,

“Ellie go put this into the safe, 860722”

Ellie let go of your hand to open the safe, the feeling of her touch lingered.

“Oh fuck yes!”

You kneeled by Elle, both eye level to the safe.

“Some more raviolis!” Ellie spoke with some excitement in her pretty green eyes. You admired them for a second before quickly avoiding her stare.

“Why would they be in a safe?”

“Well there’s some ammo too” Ellie said, stuffing everything in her already full pack.

“Doesn’t explain the ravioli”

“They’re just that good!”

“Sure Ells. That’s totally why”

“Oh whatever y/n, let’s keep going!”

Ellie took your hand again and walked to the lift shafts. You dropped into the elevator and once in the garage were immediately placed into combat. Infected were everywhere. Saving ammo, You both used hand to hand on the Runners, careful to dodge them. You plunged your machete into them, decaptating each one.

“Told you it would be useful!”

Ellie didn’t pay any mind to that comment she was using her gun ( or rather one of them) to fire at clickers. They fell to the floor with a heavy thud.

Eventually you both made it last the garage unscathed.

“We…make a good pair” Ellie spoke, breaking the quiet you were wandering in. You didn’t look at her when she said this, her gaze on you was too strong. Sometimes eye contact felt like it hurt. Especially with her loving stare. You didn’t deserve it.

“Yea, we really do” in your peripheral you could see her face lighting up. And it hurt you. Knowing that would someday turn into a hateful glare hurt. But for now, you’ll grasp at every part of her she shared with you.

You headed to a gate that said FUCK FEDRA in big letters. Conveniently someone had gotten there before you as the gate had a damaged area big enough to crawl through.

And so you kept riding on. This time when your arms wrapped around Ellie’s waist, she held one of them, rubbing circle’s soothingly into your knuckles. It was sort of impressive, her ability to ride with one hand.

You stopped when another large building came into sight.

“The Servena Hotel.” Ellie read out loud.

The place was absolutely trashed. Infected ran rampant but with Ellie, killing them felt like a video game. Getting rid of obstacles rather than people who were once human.

The lobby was soon cleared out and Ellie held your hand again. It was almost like an instinctual urge she had, to be touching you somehow at all times. Upstairs you both raided the cabinets. Finding more artifacts of the WLF. There was a hotel door slightly ajar. You headed in.

The light in this room was orange, there was dust visible in the atmosphere and the curtains were tightly shut. As if hiding something. You walked in further. A body was bound to a chair, leaning to one side, beaten a bruised they had put up a fight for sure.

“Shit” someone had been here, you approached first. holding your pistol out to them. They were leaning over and Ellie then pushed their head up.

“What the fuck happened here?”

Ellie paused, recognition flickering in her eyes you watched her carefully.

“Tommy did this.”

“This? What?”

“This was one of the ones that killed Joel” Ellie spoke with a tone of rage in her voice.

You didn’t realize that Tommy was on his own journey this entire time. Now Abby had two people to worry about. One of which, Tommy she didn’t know about. Fuck her anyways though. She would be “fine” according to her.

You made a few steps forward before noticing another one.

“There’s another one over here”

On his side sat a man tied down to a chair. His brains were blown out of him. Blood dripping in a pool by his ear. It smelt of copper.

“I don’t recognize him” Ellie muttered

“He was using them against each other”

Your expression must’ve looked a little terrified. You were starting to see how violent Tommy could really be on the hunt for justice.

“How?” you questioned

“Joel told me about this.”

You raised an eyebrow for her to continue.

“You ask this guy a question but you don’t make him say it…. you make him write it down. Then you ask this guy and if the facts match they’re telling the truth…if not”

“ You fuck em up” you finished

“Yea”

East one was written on the floor along with a number. Ellie took out a map of her own. You didn’t even realize she had one in the first place.

“Another gate code?”

“Looks like it”

“This just happened Els, he can’t be far off”

“Yea” Ellie responded monotone once again. Seeing these people clearly dragged her back into a place she didn’t want to be. A place where you couldn’t reach her. You didn’t like that. Not at all.

You then both proceeded to the next room. Ellie found a hammer and kept it “just in case”

Continuously you started to explore again. Until you spoke up,

“I say we find shelter and we set up camp”

You were interrupted by a large blast and were knocked off of Shimmer. A trap. You groaned in pain and rolled down some sort of surface. Separated from Ellie

A group of people ran to you “Get the other! Don’t loose her! Go!”

“Y/n!” You heard Ellie shout

A gunshot and a loud whine pained your ears. Shimmer was definitely dead. A loud groan and a crunch sounded. And it scared you.

“ Ellie please be okay.” was the last thought you had before quickly running away. out of sight.

Notes: So, more angst will be coming up soon that is if the reader is recognized by the WLF and exposed to Ellie. I wonder exactly how this should go about since Ellie will obviously find this unforgivable. Will reader be accepted by Abby again or will she be shunned from them all and left alone? I’m still debating it myself and all the possibilities this story could be. I don’t plan on ending it any time soon. Feedback would be appreciated! After all this is all for my small group of loyal readers that I really do appreciate. xoxo! Thanks for reading!

ps i still haven’t found my charger and writing on google docs iphone has been difficult pls lmk if y’all see any mistakes! thanks! <3

#abby anderson #abby x reader #ellie tlou2 #angst #ellie x reader #gaming #eventual smut #fem reader #the last of us 2 #ellie williams

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lorcandidlucienwill · 2 months

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idk if you have anons or anything but man I'm really anoning you a lot my b, I'm just having epiphany after epiphany over here feyre and rhysand under the mountain has similar energy to leia and jabba the hutt game of thrones has a lot of gross shit some even similar to this but i don't think its so romanticized(?), its not meant to be sexy, its meant to be as it is rereading acotar again with a new understanding and feeling icky cuz the first time i read that was in 6th grade around when it first came out i think, and i think it may have been negatively impacted how i view relationships w men... yikes

I'm so sorry it negatively impacted your relationships with men!

I love the Leia and Jabba the Hut comparison. For me, Feysand in general had the exact same vibe as Juliette Ferrars and Aaron Warner from Shatter Me. I DNFed Shatter Me the moment I realized that prick was endgame. I can't remember which book exactly I realized this at, but it was when I realized Aaron could completely deactivate Juliette's touch that allowed me to figure it out, plus the suggestiveness sprinkled into Juliette's fucking abuse by Aaron (kind of like feysand utm). I DNFed ACOTAR the first time around after that wedding scene in ACOMAF because I knew Rhysand was endgame. I came back to it a few years later because I wanted to read Crescent City and someone told me to read ACOTAR before Crescent City so I told myself to finish it and be a critic. But ACOMAF was so hard to get through, oh my god... And it personally made me super uncomfortable because the abuse paired with the trauma dumping and gaslighting on Rhysand's part reminded me a little too much of my own father. I didn't even realize this was why I hated the idea so much until my boyfriend opened my eyes to how fucking horrible my father is. Please don't feel bad about sending asks, I love to talk as long as you're not attacking me!

#anon asks #anti rhysand #anti ic #anti shatter me #anti aaron warner #anti feysand

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myristicisms · 5 months

Text

trigger warnings for this drabble include; vague mentions of child endangerment regarding miriam's childhood, vague allusions to self harm, minor body horror, mention of needles, and suicidal ideation/thoughts/romanticization of death

this drabble is compliant for miriam's default verse and her baldur's gate 3 verse

God, religion, oddities in of themselves that always had some ridiculous notions and taboos attached to them; Were there a god then why would one worth a grain of salt allow monstrous beings to exist and bring harm to the so-called beloved humans they had made? Were there a god, then why would they allow their cherished humans to commit atrocities against one another with little consequence? There was no god, not to Miriam in any case.

That had been a revelation long since held throughout her childhood, when needles dug deep within her flesh to drain her of blood to monitor and when daggers carved unknown script ( which later she'd found to be Enochian ) into her body with little regard for the sobs of a child begging to be freed and left alone; Death was something akin to a gift, Miriam had thought, it must've been if the damned alchemists had fought tooth and nail to keep her alive even despite the ever constant dizziness and nausea that left her malnourished as a child.

Every night she'd pray to God for relief, and every day she'd awaken in misery, the ever present freezing chill of the shard slowly embedding itself within her spine a constant reminder of her ailment, when the alchemical process first began, she remembered far too vividly how it felt to stand and walk, like daggers shooting through her very being and leaving her exhausted after mere minutes of activity compared to the rest of the children who'd yet to be pushed through the same process; Eventually, though, everyone within the orphanage had endured the curious proddings of lunatic men claiming to be alchemists.

The thought was laughable in of itself, bitter enough to drive the taste of bile deep within her throat - Perhaps in title they were alchemists but as far Miriam cared, they were nothing more than frauds and monsters. And as far as Miriam was concerned, part of this heinous experimentation had been at the fault of the ever rising sentiments regarding religion; Had the alchemic guild not lost funding due to the rise in spirituality for a god that seldom ever answered prayers ( and likely doesn't even exist, given how little they care for their people ) then their plunge into insanity and degeneracy likely never would have happened, Gebel would not have been so ill much the same as Miriam herself.

Alfred and Johannes were among the few ‘ good ones ’ as far as the guild was concerned, although the bar for that was intensely low to begin with. As the years passed on and Miriam grew older, the more she questioned what little faith she'd had, questioned herself too, simply because when one is raised as a weapon, a monster, it becomes difficult to truly know if perhaps the lack of answers was due to a lack of a god, said god not caring one bit, or the answer that lingered and made the most sense; She was not a person.

Not any longer, no. She was a monster, a demon, and beast, one that thrived upon slaughtering whatever hellish creatures she'd been forced into combat with to collect data and absorb their lingering magic within herself.

Hellish, painful, hideous, awful, putrid, vile, monster.

Every night, shattered shards covered in crimson and alabaster would rest upon once pristine wooden floors, shaking fingers prying each one out with the intent of some form of normalcy and yet they only return as swiftly as they're removed. Humans do not experience that, humans do not need to pry crystal from their flesh, humans do not experience the feeling of claws ripping apart their ribcage and intruding upon her very core to develop some form of newfound strength, humans were not Shardbinders and Shardbinders were not human, they were extensions of hell in a way, a conduit of demonic energy that drew other monsters to their vicinity to continue an ever looping and hideous cycle of violence only ever broken by the sweet caress of death's fingertips.

Every morning was new misery, new pain, the ever present shifting of crystals within her body molding her skin into something thicker, something near cold to the touch, and each new piece of herself she'd discover would only further raise the same question within Miriam's hardly beating heart; Where is God? Why won't he stop this madness and end her ever growing misery.

It wasn't until years later down the line, where Miriam begged and pleaded to be slain that finally she'd had something answered to some degree, angrily lashing out at Gebel over her condition simply because she'd been bitter ( fitting given her name, of course ) and he'd had the audacity to try to be optimistic, that she finally understood what she was, who she was to some degree. Shardbinders weren't a thing, a simple label that held no meaning to those who knew themselves and knew their capabilities too.

‘ Our power doesn't make us good or bad. Our choices do. ’

That had been what he'd said to her, what put her mind at ease and chased away the ridiculous notion that just because the alchemists had changed her, deformed her body to some degree and even marred her heart some, Miriam was no monster. She was no demon, nor some hideous and evil beast, because her choices were that of a human's, as righteous as they can be while still allowing wiggle room for growth and flaws, she was no monster and thus there was no god because what god would allow their cherished creations to suffer so terribly by one another's hand?

#muse;; miriam #ephemeral files;; musings #infinite in mystery;; drabbles #verse;; hopeless thorns #i wanted to explore miriam's relationship with religion and her childhood #and how that would affect her as a whole #additionally wanted to give some insight into her character too #she's not hateful of religion and those who follow a god #but she definitely has her own form of religious trauma to work through

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