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anxietyriddled101 · 3 years

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What is Waiting in the Woods? Chapter 1

Male Werewolf Monster x Female Human Reader | SFW

The world is filled with so many different colors. Green. Blue. Pink. Maroon, that one has always been your favorite. There are more colors than you can even imagine. For you though...? The colors that you see are ‘dull’ and ‘lifeless.’ Your mother says you only perceive them like that because you’re sad… In her mind, it's because your dad died, but the truth is you’re happy he's gone. It's a little messed up to say about your parent, you know, but it's how you feel. He wasn't a good person, Momma just could never see it.

When they met she was 17 and he was 23. He just ‘liked her too much to leave her alone.’ Your grandparents from your mother's side never liked him, they could see him for what he was. A real monster. One who was ugly on the inside. Now he's dead, passed away peacefully in his sleep. It’s almost unfair, after all the pain and suffering he made you go through. Trauma that is unknown to anyone but you now.

So, now your mother and you are moving in with your grandparents into a town in the middle of nowhere called Trotwood, where you don’t know anyone. Don’t get it twisted though, you’re not complaining. The place where you lived previously everyone knew your dad, he was the Chief of Police after all. He was the very picture of ‘for the people.' Almost everyone loved him, almost… You wanted to get away from the world where everyone thought ‘perfect’ when they thought of him, so you were happy to go.

“Luca! Look! We are almost to the house! You’re gonna love it.”

Looking up from your phone, you take in your surroundings. A long, winding driveway leading up to a two-story house sitting on a hill in the middle of the woods greets your eyes. It looks worn down but stable. Honestly, just slap a new coat of paint on it and fix a few obvious things and it would look great. Some good ole TLC. You wonder how old the building is... You know that your great-grandfather gave it to your grandparents as a wedding gift. Preferring the old-fashioned way, they probably kept it mostly how he made it.

Wait.

Whipping around to face your mother, clear distress in your voice, you ask “Momma, does this place even have internet?!”

Glancing at you with the biggest shit-eating grin, she replies with a smug “NOPE.” With a distressed roar, you fall back into the moving van's seat with your hands covering your face. Your mother lets out a devious giggle while parking the van in front of the garage door. “Come on, honey! You are twenty-five, beautiful, and completely single. It would do you good to get out of the house for something other than work and food… Honestly, I need to get out of the house more often too. How about once we are done unpacking, we go to town and shop? We can look for a new job for you too!”

With a look that could only be described as a moody teen glare for being called out, you reluctantly agreed. “Fine, but you are buying lunch! Considering I have no money because someone suddenly asked me to move out of state with her, even when she knew I was flat broke.” You pull on your jacket, knowing it’s not made for winter weather but having nothing else.

Opening her door, she offhandedly replied “yes, yes. Now be careful, the driveway is gonna be slippery because of the snow. Don’t worry about anything other than your overnight bag and your electronics! I’m sure mom is gonna recruit some big, strong men up here to help unload tomorrow.” Sighing while opening the passenger door, you grab your things and head to the front door with your giggly mother.

As soon as you both get close to the door, it swings open revealing your grandparents. “My grandbaby! Oh, look at you, all grown up now! Come, come! It’s cold outside and late. We can do all the unloading tomorrow. I’ll call up some of the young boys in town and ask them for some help,” your grandmother says while moving to wrap you up in her arms.

Your mother looks at you with a smirk on her face, “I told you.” She moves inside and immediately starts removing her jacket, boots, and scarf while greeting your grandfather.

Giving your mother a look, you greet your grandmother while moving inside. “Hi, Nana, did you get the gifts that I sent you guys?”

The warmth of the house envelopes you in its comforting embrace. You start to have that telltale feeling of tingles in your toes from not having proper boots. How can it be this cold here? It’s gonna take some time to get used to.

Your grandmother looks a little nervous after she hears you ask. “Yes, sweetie, but I hope you don’t mind but I gave some things to our local snow plower and his son. He is such a sweetheart and very handsome too! He is actually one of our single fishermen. I’ll definitely call him to help with the unloading tomorrow so you can meet him.”

You almost fall taking off your shoes. “Nana, are you trying to hook me up with someone already? You know I’m not interested in dating anyone. I just wanna focus on making money and enjoying the peace and quiet.”

“Oh, fine! Even though you two would make me the cutest great-grandbabies!”

“Clarice! You leave our beautiful grandbaby alone,” Gramps shouts while smiling as he walks up to give me a big bear hug. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

“Fine, now that I’m no longer stuck in that van anymore. It almost felt like we were gonna have to live in it,” you grimace while rolling your shoulders. Your body is gonna ache in the morning. “Oh my lord! I can’t wait to sleep in an actual bed. If you don’t mind, can I just go to sleep now and we do all the reunion stuff tomorrow?”

Your mother jumps in before Nana and Gramps can say anything. “Luca was the one driving most of the time, so I think that’s a good idea. Where are our rooms? So we can put our stuff down and she can sleep more than two hours.”

“Oh, my poor baby! Yes, we can show you where you guys will be sleeping. Though you're gonna wanna put your shoes and jacket back on- Wait let me get you one of my warmer jackets for you to use until you get one of your own," Gramps started searching through the closet by the door.

Perplexed, you asked “what do you mean ‘I might want to get my boots and jacket back on?’ Am I not allowed to sleep inside the house or something? Am I staying at a motel?” At this point, you’re just dreading having to get in a car so soon again.

“Oh, no! No! Here, put this on and follow me. It’s not even that far from the house and it has a pathway cover so that the path doesn’t get as much snow. It’s a loft house so you’ll have your privacy and you won’t have us waking you up or disturbing you,” Gramps explains while we walk out the back door. Going down the stairs of the back porch, you see what he was talking about. The pathway is protected by a thick roof awning with basketweave walls and wall lights, every once in a while there is a gap in the walls to let you out into the woods.

Not even 3 minutes of being in what can only be described as the tunnel to Winterland, you come to the exit. Sitting in front of you is a small but more modern-looking A-frame cabin.

“We thought if you ever visited us you would want something like this, so we had it built a few years ago. Now you get to live here and have your own space. It has indoor plumbing and its own complete kitchen, we put a few snacks and water bottles in the fridge for you. A flat-screen TV, a futon couch, and an office area. Then up these stairs is the loft, it has a queen mattress with an abundance of pillows and if you want more blankets or a heating blanket, this little closet here will have what you need. There is a wood stove in the living room and the wood is in the wood chest outside by the door, make sure you shut it properly or the logs will become too moist to burn. I already started the fire for you so it’s nice and warm,” he says as he opens the door.

In amazement, you look around the small loft house. “Gramps, it’s perfect! You guys didn’t have to build this for me. I could have just stayed in one of the guest rooms in the house.” Dropping your bag on the coffee table, you turn to your grandfather. “I can’t believe you guys had this built for me…”

Your grandfather smiled. “I’m glad you like it! Well, here are the matches for the woodstove. I’m gonna let you go to sleep and head back to the house now. Have a good rest, sweetie.” He sets down a large box of matches on the kitchen counter and then walks over to give you a kiss on the forehead.

“Thanks, Gramps. Be careful on the way back. Don’t fall and break your hip,” you say as he opens the door to leave.

He whips his head around looking offended, “I am sixty-eight, not a fragile ninety-year-old!”

Laughing you shout a 'goodnight' as you grab your sleeping clothes and make your way up the stairs. Hearing his 'goodnight' and the door shut, you begin to change. Sighing, you look through the large window behind the bed out into the dark woods. You jump as you see two glowing eyes out in the dark. “Well, at least it was only an animal that just watched me change and not a person.”

Waking up the next morning, you head to the bathroom downstairs. “Oh, good! There’s even a washer and dryer. I don’t have to walk to the house just to do laundry.” Grabbing the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash sitting on the counter you sniff them. “Hmmm… This isn’t made for color-treated hair and I don’t particularly like citrus scents. I’ll have to get some when I go shopping with Momma.”

After your shower and getting ready, you start walking to the house. “Ugh, this wasn’t a good idea. My hair is freezing! But I don’t have my blowdryer unpacked yet.” You see something pass by through one of the gaps in the pathway walls out of the corner of your eye, making you stop and look. Seeing only a small rabbit you continue to the house, “ okay... Those creepy animal eyes last night are making me paranoid.”

Speed walking to the house, you open the door to see your mother and grandparents in the kitchen. Your mother and grandmother are pulling things from the fridge and your grandfather is sitting at the kitchen table filling out a crossword puzzle.

Your grandfather was the first to see you. “Hello, sweetheart! I hope you slept well. The girls were about to start on breakfast. Come sit with me.”

At the mention of food, your stomach growls loudly. Embarrassed, you cover your stomach with your hand and rush to sit at the table with him. “Hi, Gramps. Still obsessed with word puzzles? How many of those puzzle books do you have? I might steal one for later.”

“Go right ahead, sweetheart.”

Your grandmother brings over some cups and a pitcher of orange juice. “Sweetie, the boys from town will be here to help unload in an hour. Marco will be any second to plow the driveway to your cabin. So when he knocks, will you let him in?” Right after you give her a nod, you hear a large truck pull up and start plowing the snow off a hidden driveway branching off the main one. “Oh! Speak of the devil!”

After ten minutes of doing crossword puzzles with your grandfather, you hear a knock at the door.

Getting up, you go to the front door and open the door just as this Marco fellow is about to knock again. “Uh, I was called here to help with plowing the driveway to the cabin in the back and, uh, it’s done” he says in a gruff voice while lowering his arm awkwardly. You were too distracted by his appearance to respond or even move out of the doorway to let him in.

Standing before you was a man standing at about six-foot-two. Skin as white as snow with hair to match, long and braided resting on his shoulder. His red eyes are curtained by his long white lashes that brush against his pink cheeks. Square jaw, plump kissable lips surrounded by a white goatee, and thick eyebrows. He even had that lumberjack build you see in those naughty calenders. This man was a unique type of handsome.

His face suddenly shifts, his eyebrows scrunch together and his eyes darken. Grunting and nudging you to the side to get in, he grumbles “it’s rude to stare.” After successfully moving you out of the way and getting himself out of the cold, he hangs up all his winter gear on one of the coat hooks and takes his boots off. Scratch that, the jerk’s not handsome. Nope.

Without thinking of consequences, you sarcastically respond with “well, it’s rude to just walk into someone’s house as if you own it.”

Oops. You have a bit of a bratty side. You can usually keep it under wraps but something about him just made that side of you itch to act out.

Seeing him walking down the hallway and toward the kitchen, you scramble to close the door and follow him. “Wait! Uh-” But it was too late, he’s already greeting your grandparents.

“G’morning, everyone.” Turning to your mother, he introduces himself, “hello, ma’am. It’s nice to finally meet the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Hemmings. They constantly talk about you and your daughter. They were very excited when they informed the town that you two would be moving here. Though, I heard from them that you actually grew up here.”

Your mother is visibly swooning over how ‘gentlemanly’ and ‘handsome’ he is. Shaking his hand, she says “yes, I did. Though I moved away for college and then stayed because I got married.”

“Well, glad to have you back, ma’am.”

Putting her hand to her cheek in embarrassment, your mother chides him. “Oh, stop with the ‘ma’am’ thing! You can call me Kelsi!”

Ugh, your mother is already wrapped around his finger! If he wasn’t such a jerk, you would be to though.

“Anyways, I would love to stay but someone radioed in and informed us that a tree fell on a road to the West. Meaning, we will need most of everyone who was going to help you move in to move the tree instead. Only two are able to help you today. Sam and Adam Whitaker.”

“Oh no! That’s fine! Just the twins will be enough. I’ll get our giant thermos and some disposable coffee cups for you to take some coffee to warm yourselves up, you can just drop it off later. Was anyone hurt?” Your grandmother rushes to pull out the thermos and pour coffee into it.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hemmings, that’s sweet of you. Also, no. I was told nobody was hurt, thankfully.” He carefully took the giant thermos and something square wrapped in a napkin. “Oh? What’s this?”

Your grandmother gives him a loving smile and says, “some coffee cake to snack on since you can’t stay for breakfast.”

Smiling boyishly, he said thank you and a quick goodbye to everyone. Turning and heading for the door, he gave a quick glance to you while walking past. Your mother and grandmother went back to making breakfast while your grandfather stays standing in front of you. Awkwardly holding yourself, you make eye contact with your grandfather. He’s giving you a knowing look, flicking his eyes between you and the hallway behind you.

Sighing, you rush back to the front entrance to see him geared up and already closing the door. “Wait!” Grabbing the door, you pull it open and take a step outside. “I’m sorry! Uh, that I was, uhm, staring earlier! It’s just that, uh-” Seeing him stop, you felt relief but only for a second before it was crushed, the next words that come out of his mouth made you fume.

“First time seeing an albino? Ha! Sorry, but I’m not a part of some freakshow for you to stare at like an idiot,” he says as he shakes his head. After he got done bashing you, he continued on to his truck. By this time, your thick socks were no longer protecting you from the freezing snow underneath your feet.

Frustrated, you take another large step forward to a small snowbank. Bending down you gather snow and pack it into a loose ball. Standing up, you immediately throw it at the back of his head, making him flinch. “I was staring cause I thought you were handsome, but you know what? Fuck you! You’re just an asshole who likes to put words in other people’s mouths.” Huffing, you turn and run back inside slamming the door and pressing your back to it.

Looking up you see your mother and grandparents peeking at you from the kitchen doorway. Clearing his throat, your grandfather guided you back into the kitchen. “Alright, enough of that! Let’s get those socks off, hang them by the fire so they can dry, and eat some food. Tell your Nana and me what you two have been up to these last couple of years while we wait for the twins to get here.”

Sighing you go to hang up your socks and make a plate.

Remember to click that little heart and reblog my stories if you liked them! It really helps with getting the word around about them!

#werewolf #werewolf boyfriend #monster lover #monster boyfriend #my writing #monster romance #exophilia #werewolf x human #What is Waiting in the Woods

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maxineswritingcenter · 3 years

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You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 24

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2004

“We lay to rest a beloved member of the community. A mother. A friend. A daughter. A wife. Claudia Stilinski...” We stood on the lawn of Beacon Hills Memorial Cemetery, watching Aunt Claudia’s casket being lowered into the ground. She had been sick for so long and it was starting to turn ugly... But she was in a better place now, that’s what Uncle Noah said. When he spoke at least. I looked past the grieving people, like Ms. McCall, Scott, the entire police department, and looked at Stiles. He looked so tired. His cheeks were tear stained and his eyes were red from crying.

Once people started to disperse, my parents and I made our way over to Uncle Noah and Stiles. While the adults talked, Stiles and I just continued to stare at the grave. The grounds keepers were starting to cover her body with dirt.

“Do you want me to spend the night tonight?” I whispered, reaching over and holding his hand.

Stiles shook his head, chewing on the inside of his cheek, “I want to be alone tonight.” He gave my hand a squeeze.

“Wouldn’t tonight be the worst time to be alone?”

“I just want to be at home with my dad. I need some time for myself.”

“(Y/N).” We both turned at my father’s voice, “Let’s go, sweetie.” We both looked back at the grave.

“Okay. Well, call if you change your mind.” I gave his hand a squeeze before letting it slip away.

We got into the car, making our way back home.

“How you holding up, sweetie?” Mom turned back and looked at me over the sink.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” I said, looking out the window.

“Well, you don’t have to.” Dad said, “We’ll get into our pjs and watch Disney movies. You know how much Aunt Claudia loved Disney movies.”

I swallowed thickly, “Actually... I was hoping that I could go to see the Hales. If that’s okay.” Dad sighed loudly and mom smacked him subtly.

“Sure, baby.” Mom said, a sad smile on her face, “I’ll call Talia when we get home.”

When I was dropped off at the Hales’, Talia welcomed me with open arms, a blanket, and a hot chocolate. I guess what I needed was away from the whole situation. We played games, Laura braided my hair, we made friendship bracelets. At the end of the night, Laura and Cora had fallen asleep to the movie we had been watching and Derek had snuck us both onto the roof of the Hale house. We were on our back, looking up at all the stars in the sky and the moon shining down on us. We had been in silence for a while until Derek cleared his throat awkwardly.

“So, uh, are you excited for high school next year?”

I sighed and shook my head, “After today? I don’t think I’ll be ready for anything.”

“Yeah...” He turned on his side to face me, “I’m sorry about your aunt. I know she was important to you.”

“Thanks...” I turned, “I guess I’m just kinda worried about everything. I don’t know what life is going to be like without her. And I’m worried about Stiles too.”

“I bet. I don’t know what I would do if I lost my mom.” He said. Then, he reached out and grabbed my hand, “Whenever you feel like this again, let me know. You can come over and we can do this again. Whatever you need, I’ll be there.”

I smiled, a slight blush to my cheeks that I really hoped was hidden in the dark, “Thanks, Derek.”

“Of course.” He smiled, “It’s what friends do.”

The communication with Beacon Hills was slim to none. And, ya know, that didn’t feel great. I understood that everyone was busy living their lives whether it was being a high school student or fighting supernatural beings or being a supernatural being or the sheriff in a town full of both. But unanswered texts and calls were starting to get to me.

The ones I got weren’t great either though. Stiles occasionally sent me a long email about the events that had happened since long distance calls weren’t in the phone plan.

I had learned more about the alpha pack - a blind one, a woman who could definitely use a manicure, a strong man, and twins who could morph into each other. I was almost a little happy I didn’t have to deal with that.

All the betas were missing except Isaac who had stayed behind. Even if he did get in trouble every now and then.

And then missing turned into dead. Hearing that Erica was dead really hit me hard. I barely knew the girl, a few moments and quick chats usually didn’t mean that much. But they found her locked in a closet, rotting. It was horrifying. She was a child. She was finally enjoying her life - a new life without seizures and bullying, her parents had taken her to get pictures taken; happy to see that their little girl loved herself for the first time. Now she was gone.

They found Boyd alive, thankfully. And surprisingly, they had found Derek’s sister: Cora.

Not forgetting that there were flocks of animals committing mass suicide and kids turning up murdered. It seems home is getting more and more dangerous. Not only was there an alpha pack but there was a creature called a Darach, a dark druid.

The leader of the alpha pack, Deucalion, was trying to get Derek to join his pack. He also wanted me to join as well, apparently he had been asking where I was. To join, he would have to kill the betas. Derek, who I’m sure was done being manipulated, refused. To keep him safe, Derek kicked Isaac out of the depot to live with Scott.

Speaking of dead...

Even thousands of miles away, the vision of falling three stories still hurt as much as if I was actually there. A battle between the alphas, Derek and Scott. And honestly, I wasn’t sure if Derek was alive or dead. Every little message I thought to him just echoed in my head. I had cried, tried forcing myself to work through it. But nothing really worked. I still woke up in the middle of the night, naked on the castle grounds having shifted my feelings or else I was instinctually trying to search for him. First it was anger, next it was denial, then more anger. And that was all just last night.

Hell, not even forgetting to mention the fact that the test Lachlan ran on me was a little more than just a blood panel. They checked for human chorionic gonadotropin hormone aka the pregnancy hormone. And things were just getting better and better. Because it was positive. I am pregnant. And the father may be dead.

Sending a preemptive long distance fee to Stiles’ PayPal account, I called the house phone. It didn’t have caller ID but it was something. Michael didn’t think it was a good idea, however, it was gonna be a cold day in Hell before I listened to his double agent ass. Lachlan thought I deserved closure. And I trusted him more.

“Stilinski residence.” Stiles’ voice was a little scratchy, but still loud and clear.

“Stiles, if you hang up on me I swear you will live to regret it. I still have access to your secret YouTube channel.” There was a pause on the other end, then a sigh.

“Hey (Y/N). I was wondering why I got an email from my PayPal."

"Is there a reason I've been on everyone's pay no mind list? Because it's starting to piss me off."

"Well... Derek said that we shouldn't worry about or get you stressed out."

"So not talking to me for months is supposed to help?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Uh... Ya got me there."

I groaned and started tapping my foot, "I just...." My mind seemed to go blank, my heart rate going up. That's not right. I wasn't doing anything to make it spike like this.

"I know, I know. And I'm sorry, I wish I could contact you more. But there's a lot going on here with the alpha pack and Lydia and-and Derek-"

"Shit." I wheezed, sitting down on the bed. My body felt so warm and not in the way it normally would.

"Yeah I know, it's a lot right now-" His voice was drowned out by my senses taking over. It was the familiar warmth of intimacy. But not from me. It was Derek! He was alive. But he was with someone. And that someone-

He was kissing her. Touching her. His heart racing. Her touch set his skin ablaze and nothing else mattered. Not even the wounds on his body that nearly killed him. But all that mattered was her intoxicating touch. The touch of a woman he didn’t know. But her whole being enveloped him.

I screamed loudly in anger, but behind that anger was so much pain. My chest ached and felt like it was being pulled across the world. I dropped the phone, holding my chest.

"(Y/N)? (Y/N)! What's wrong?!" My breathing was erratic and my thoughts were going wild between what had just happened and what I was thinking and what I had to do from here. I felt so helpless and alone. What could I do?

Then... There was an answer. Maybe it was the stress? Maybe it was my raging hormones? But I had my answer.

I picked the phone back up.

"(Y/N)! Talk to me, what's going on?"

I inhaled and exhaled deeply, "Derek’s alive."

"He is?"

"But not for long." I hung up.

How dare he? HOW COULD HE? AFTER EVERYTHING WE HAVE BEEN THROUGH OUR ENTIRE LIVES AND HE JUST- JUST THROWS IT ALL OUT? And for what? Who could have been more important than me? I'm his stupid mate for Christ's sake.

But if he wants to sleep around?

Fine.

He could for the next thirteen hours. Because I'm going back to Beacon Hills for the soul purpose of ripping his heart out like he did mine. And if this emotional trauma affected my child? Well, there were repercussions for that too.

Michael and Lachlan were in my room, watching me as I threw together a bag to take on the plane. Remarkably, as a member of the Lunar Circle I would get free airfare courtesy of Lachlan mostly because the guy was insanely rich and he agreed with my revenge plot, for the most part.

"Okay, let's think rationally here." Michael said, taking things out of my bag as I was putting them in, "He's a total douche bag for doing this. We all agree. But in your state, I don't think you should fly. I mean anything could happen."

"I can fly until I'm thirty-six weeks along." I said curtly, grabbing my things out of his hands and putting them back in the bag.

"Come on, think about what you're doing-"

"I have thought about it. And I'm going to kill him."

Michael looked back at Lachlan who had his arms crossed over my chest, only observing.

"A little help here, Praetor McLeod?"

Lachlan shrugged, "Seems justified to me."

"Murder? Murder seems justified to you." He asked incredulously.

"It's the werewolf way." Lachlan said simply.

"Thank you, Lachlan." I smiled.

"Anytime."

"Okay, what about this?" Michael stood in front of my path to my bag, "Murdering him seems like a great idea right now, I totally get it. But-but if you do that, it will weigh heavily on your conscience."

"The Lunar Circle has excellent insurance, including therapy." Lachlan chimed in.

I moved Michael out of the way, "Duly noted."

Michael sputtered, "And-and your baby? What about your baby? That's their dad."

"Their dad who decided to stick his penis in another woman." I raised my eyebrows at him, "That one? Yeah, what a stand up guy."

“But you love him. Don’t you think killing him-”

“Michael!” I slammed my suitcase shut, “Shut up.” I turned and faced both of them, “You’re right, okay? I do love him, which is the worst part. I hate him so much but I still love him. I dedicated my life to him and I thought he had dedicated himself to me. I was wrong.” I zipped the bag and made my way out the door, “I’ll be back at the end of the week.”

Getting on the plane didn’t take long. Relatively short lines, quick ticket, fast boarding. Like someone was looking out for me as I went to kick Derek's ass. Becoming alpha to Derek's pack was starting to sound better and better as the pain continued to radiate through my body. Eventually, I just felt numb.

The people on the plane were nice. I sat next to an older gentleman who slept for the most part so I could whisper profanities under my breath. The stewardess had been kind, making sure I had enough to drink. It seems someone had tipped them off I was pregnant, probably Michael. The guy had been a nervous wreck since he found out I was pregnant. He wouldn’t even let me train, not like he had much of a choice in what I did. But he sure knew how to annoy me out of a room. Lachlan had been supportive, talking about adding an additional room onto mine for a nursery. I told that it wasn’t necessary since I wouldn’t be staying in Scotland that long.

After the plane landed, I was met by a very tired looking Stiles. We didn’t speak much, just began the drive back home.

"So...." He swallowed, his eyes darted from me to the road ahead, "Pregnant," He chuckled nervously, "That-that's great! I'm so happy for you.” He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. He was hesitating, he wanted to say something else, “Uh...Speaking of-” I groaned loudly, another lecture.

He ignored my dramatics, “Maybe you shouldn't kill him. That's not good for the baby..."

“It wasn’t good for the baby when he decided to take our bond, step on it and rub it in the dirt.” He was silent, but not for long.

"Yeah-but you see we kinda need Derek to help with some big bads. Like Deucalion and the Darach and ya know, other stuff."

"I remember you telling me about it. I tried to do some research but Lachlan said that we didn’t have too much information on them.”

“Well that’s not too helpful.”

We made it back to the house at sunset, which was perfect timing. The cover of night would be great to conceal me in the dark. Sure, he would smell my scent but he would have no idea where I was coming from. I pulled on the handle on the door but stared at it when it didn’t budge. Still locked. I looked back at Stiles. He looked tired, a wreck.

“Would you just... See dad before you cover yourself in blood? He was really excited to hear you were coming home.” Like he always seemed to be, Stiles’ was right. I should see Uncle Noah.

“I will. I need to rest anyway. Besides, I can’t kill him on an empty stomach.” I winked.

“You terrify me.” He unlocked the doors. We got out just in time for Uncle Noah to jog down the driveway.

“There she is!” He grinned, wrapping his arms around me and hugging me tight.

“I missed you so much.” I said into his shirt, giving him a soft squeeze. He pulled away and looked over me, “Look at you.” He motioned to my stomach that looked more like I was bloated than a fetus growing inside of me, “This-this is... Mhm. Exciting!”

I chuckled, “Thanks. Very mhm.”

“Uh, you hungry?”

“Starving.”

Dinner had been extremely awkward, the conversation mostly coming back to the child growing inside of me. Lots of questions from both of them. Mostly how I hadn't called. In actuality I had called approximately twenty times a day with no answer from anyone per Derek's request. Unfortunately for him, his requests were now being put on the back burner. I excused myself to my room.

My room was kept the same, I'm certain no one had been inside besides Uncle Noah. And from the ruffled blankets, maybe Stiles. Back when we were kids, we used to sneak scary movies and had to sleep in a huddled pile because we were too scared to sleep by ourselves.

I grabbed a jacket and opened up my window, I was half way out of it when my door opened. Stiles stood in the doorway. We stared at each other for a minute.

“I may regret saying this one day because I don’t care for Derek, but don’t kill him.” He said, “Kick the living shit out of him, sure. Get in a few punches for me. But don’t kill him. We need him.” Of course, all it took was Stiles to talk me off the murder-ledge.

“I won’t kill him.” I smiled, “I’ll be home soon.”

Odds are, with the alpha pack threat Derek will have the depot protected. What he failed to remember was that the most dangerous being in the world had a key to every place in the depot. I simply walked in the front door. Almost like he was expecting me.

His scent was so strong, like the forest after it rained. It made this ball of emotion well up in my chest bringing me back to all the love and memories we had shared together. Not all the memories were life and death. They weren't all fights. Some days, Derek and I would curl up and bed and never leave, only grabbing food here and there. His smile would light up his whole face, sometimes it would even reach his green eyes and make them sparkle. When he would nap, he would lay his head on my chest and sleep, like he was finally at peace with himself and the world. That was the person I loved.

I walked through the main room at the depot, getting to the stairs. The worst part here was the pictures, us together, the pack. I want to make the depot less abandoned and more homey for the betas to have a place to go and relax. Some of the pictures had turned heads at the photo developing counter (but I had managed to convince them that it was for a theater class). The worst part was that on my way here Boyd had been killed. If only I had been here soon, if only I had been here at all. Only two of the pack remained, Isaac and Jackson who was no longer a killer lizard thanks to Lydia. Say what you will about Peter Hale but sometimes he knew what he was talking about.

If Derek knew I was here, he hadn’t tried to make a move. Smart.

After wandering a bit, I finally decided to face the music. I found him hunched over his desk in the main office room. Rain was dancing against the fluorescent lights from the street lamps down below. He hadn’t looked up at me the whole time that I walked up to him. He felt defeat and alone. He had lost everything. He was looking down at his desk, his hands laced together. He looked up slightly, more looking at my shirt than my face.

“I...” His voice was soft and quiet, something unlike the loud, booming man I was used to, “I messed up.”

“Yeah, you did.” It was silent for a moment, then he spoke again.

“Who’s with you?” He asked, his eyes scanning the room.

I narrowed my eyes at him, “No one.”

“Then why do I hear another heart-” His eyes widened. He stared directly at my stomach. I thought I almost saw his ears perk up.

“Are you...”

“I am. I’m having a baby. Emphasis on the ‘I’m’.” I really hadn’t wanted to do much talking, I really hadn’t planned on saying anything besides obscenities and screaming at him. He stood up from the desk and quickly came around, he reached his hand out towards my stomach but I smacked it away.

“You have no right to touch me. Especially when I can still smell her stench on you.” I scrunched up my nose and sneered.

“Look,” He licked his lips, “I can’t give you a good answer or an excuse-”

“Good, because I don’t want one.” I glared.

He looked at me a moment then continued, “I don’t know why I did what I did. Something just came over me. Please tell me you believe me.” He put his hand on my shoulder.

He really should have taken a lesson out of his own book. With amazing speed, I grabbed him by the throat and threw him across the room. When he landed, my features shifted and my eyes glowed red. He groaned, holding at his waist. That’s where he had been injured in the alpha fight, it had healed but it was still sore.

“I don’t want your apologies.” I growled, walking towards him, “I want you to feel what I felt. The pain and the suffering. The violation...” I chuckled darkly, “You know that I felt her hands on you? Touching the most private parts of your body that only I was supposed to feel. Do you know how disgusting I felt afterwards? I felt used and dirty and it wasn’t even my body.” I stepped on his chest with my boot to keep him down on the ground. He still wasn’t looking at me. I snarled, grabbing him by his shirt and shoving him against the concrete pillar he landed on.

“Look at me!” I roared, “You broke me into a million little pieces. You didn’t answer my calls.” I punched him.

“You kept me hidden in the dark about Erica’s death.” I hit him again.

“You wouldn’t let my family communicate with me and when they did they couldn’t even tell me everything that was going on. I was begging to hear from someone, anyone, I was all alone!” I threw him across the room.

“You blocked my number two months ago.” I stalked over to him, ignoring the tears running down my face, “I couldn’t even hear your voice on your goddamn voicemail!” I got down on my knees and grabbed his chin so that his eyes met mine.

“LOOK AT ME!” I screamed, “Look what you did to me! For months you’ve been using our bond for your own strength, strength that used used to heal and have sex with another woman!” My voice was starting to crack as all the things I had thought about were coming out, “See how much my heart broke when I felt how happy you were with someone other than me.” He was finally looking at me. The worst thing though was that his eyes were full of so much love for me, that special twinkle that Peter said only happened when he looked at me. I wasn’t angry anymore, I was devastated.

“I came here to kill you.” I sniffled, my features shifting back to normal, “I wanted to tear your heart out. But I can’t... I can’t because I love you and I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I shouldn’t have hurt you, but I want to because of what you did.” As the anger fogged cleared, I realized that I was just as bad as he was.

“You had every right to hurt me-”

“No, I didn’t. I shouldn’t have hurt you. I’m sorry.” I looked down at my hands, “I felt so out of control. I thought I was getting better at it.”

“You were.” Derek sat up slowly, “It’s the baby. All of your emotions are going to be heightened. More than usual.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I made my way towards the exit, not caring that he was calling after me, running to catch up to me. I just left him there. Even when I got home and he tried to get into my window, I just ignored his pleading. What I did wasn’t right, I shouldn’t have hit him or punched him. I was just so angry and that anger clouded my vision.

Weren’t we a pair - one cheats and the other goes into a blind rage. Perfect.

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

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#derek hale x reader #derek hale fic #teen wolf fic #teen wolf x reader

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novantinuum · 3 years

Link

Fandom: Steven Universe

Pairing: Steven/Connie

Rating: Teen Audiences

Words: 2.6K~

Summary: In which Connie’s subconscious, innocent touch helps Steven realize just how nice the sensation of gentle fingertips gliding across the surface of one’s gem can be. (Just a bunch of teen romance fluff, + first kiss)

This is set like... a few weeks before Steven leaves Beach City. I imagine he’s been recovering from what happened in I Am My Monster for at least 6 months by this point.

His days aren’t always great- there’s a lot of ups and downs- but thankfully, today is a markedly pleasant one.

_____

His house is still for once. Impossibly so. No Diamond business, no new arrivals to Earth, no disgruntled Gems kicking down his front door. No more battles, beyond his own internal ones. Admittedly, a part of him is happy for the peace and quiet. He’s appreciative of the way all his family and friends rallied around him in support months back after... erm- after his breakdown, but every guy needs some space eventually.

‘Some space’ never has to mean alone, of course.

Steven sneaks a doe-eyed glance at the girl flopped next to him on the living room couch, her mind lost in the pages of her own fantasy world. It’s a new series, something about a human accidentally falling into the world of the fae. (It’s only been like, half an hour, and she’s almost a hundred pages in already!) A pliable smile teases his lips as he watches her eyes flicker back and forth, digesting each passage with a voracious hunger. Sighing in content, he turns his attention back to his own book, externally making as if he’s busy exploring the world of fiction to hide the sappy fact that instead he’s been thinking about her all along. Honestly? He adores quiet days like these. Even if they’re not doing anything special, it’s just nice to get to spend time alone together. It’s a comfortable together.

Connie shifts, instinctively curling closer, her free arm slung against his side. With a soft hum of content he leans into her welcomed embrace, trying his best (and— caught in her innocently bewitching presence— failing abysmally) to focus on the wandering lines of text.

Everything is peaceful.

No hard knocks, no frenzied phone calls, no family disruptions. The domestic warp hasn’t even activated once this whole lazy afternoon. In recent days, he’s pretty sure that’s a record.

At long last, his house is still... and yet in a flash, his hormone riddled teenage mind— ever foolish— is everything but.

Because Connie’s touch is tickling him.

It’s subconscious, almost imperceptible at first. At some point her free hand has roved so that it’s no longer pressed against his side, but against his midriff— which is currently exposed, his shirt bunched up at the waist from all his slouching. Teasingly, her fingertips dance upon the facets of his gem with the pinpoint expertise of a prima ballerina, encoding an endless rhythm directly into the sum of his being, the feather-light contact sending vibrations almost too faint to notice coursing through his hard light veins. But not too faint for him. Not now, not while host to this kind of silence. Not when the girl draped on the couch next to him unknowingly commands every shard of his attention with the slightest twitch of her index finger.

It’s taking all his willpower not to squirm at this ticklish contact right now. It’s so... weird when other people touch his gem. It’s certainly not something he’s used to.

(Steven promptly buries the memory of the last time someone touched it, refusing to let old terrors tarnish an otherwise pleasurable encounter. He can feel the pink threatening to rise in his cheeks, that instinctual rush of panic he’s grown so numb to over the past months rearing its ugly head. It’s so, so hard to wrestle away from its thrall sometimes, but thankfully his therapist has been teaching him ways to mitigate these sorta reactions. His eyes clamp shut as he breathes deep through his nose and focuses on the tangible, on what he knows: the plump, lumpy cushions of the couch under him, the slight scent of garlic and cumin in the air from the lunch he cooked a few hours ago, the rhythmic crashing of waves outside the house. The warmth of his best friend by his side—)

Tap, taptaptap, tap, taptaptap...

His cheeks bloom a human red as her lulling rhythm continues.

Like he said, it’s obviously subconscious. It has to be, right? It would certainly make sense. From his observations, Connie’s always been a tactile thinker. It’s part of what made her such a quick study in sword fighting. Whenever her mind is alight, those beautiful neurons firing back and forth like a firework display, her body is in motion. Sometimes it’s her foot, tapping impatiently into the dirt as she parses through memory to find the precise words to say. Or it’s like how she memorizes facts for tests easier if she’s jogging, listening to audio recordings of the test materials she made herself. And then there’s times like now, when Connie is reading. When her fingers tap and glide with an almost impish touch across the diamond gemstone in his belly’s center as her eyes— by all appearances entirely disconnected from both her hand’s motion and his reaction— skim effortlessly across the unfolding tale on her page. Her hands... oh, those hands... calloused, warm, digits lithe and curious in their movement. They’re always shifting, always tapping, always twitching to some identifiable rhythm. Is this just another example of her sway towards more kinetic-based thinking? Or... is it something else? A silent yearning that extends its roots from the heart into object reality, innocently unaware of the power of its call?

Stars, Steven thinks, mustering with all his strength to ignore his burning face, so maybe I’ve been thinking a little too much about her lately...

Eventually, it all becomes a bit too overwhelming to handle. If this continues in silence any longer, well... well, heck. He doesn’t even want to imagine what embarrassing things could happen. Mustering up all his courage, he flips his book shut and drops it on the cushion beside him.

“Um, Connie? By the way? That’s kinda ticklish,” he squeaks out, voice high and reedy.

Upon his words, she notices where her fingers are subconsciously tapping and immediately pulls her hand away, her cheeks flushing dark. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she says, quickly tossing her book aside and shifting upright on the couch. “I didn’t mean to goose ya’! I wasn’t even thinking abo—“

“No, it’s okay!” he interjects with an open hand. “I’m fine, really, I am. I- it’s not like, uh- It isn’t like a bother, and- well, it just—“

Burning up with such a ferocity that he’s about one impulsive decision away from high tailing it out of this fraught social situation and dunking his glowing pink head right into the Atlantic, he forces himself to hush before he says something super stupid and humiliating in front of his best friend in the whole world that he’ll regret and replay in his dreams forever and ever for the rest of his days.

Okay, Steven, stop running your mouth like a lovesick fool for one second and think. How can you say this in a way that doesn’t sound entirely stupid and/or weird?

Watching him closely, curiosity written across every vibrant feature, Connie inclines her head ever so slight, a subtle, wordless gesture— one only a Jam Bud could understand— for him to keep going.

The phantom sensation of her fingers tapping against crystal rushes through his nerves like the physical analogue to a bad ear worm. He reaches up to itch at the side of his neck, unable to fully stifle his nervous laughter.

“Honestly, it uh- it actually felt pretty nice?”

“What, me touching your gem?”

“Yeah,” he manages to croak out, voice cracking like it hadn’t since he was freshly fifteen.

She isn’t able to fully stifle her giggle at this, pressing her hand tight to her mouth far too late.

His heart nearly plummets at the sound of her teasing laughter, the constant thrumming of his hard light veins steadily quickening as a flood of energy pulses just below the surface. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything, he knew it was far too much after every other recent misstep he’s made in their relationship! Why couldn’t he have just kept his trap shut?

“Aw, geeze,” he says, voice thick and his every muscle ready to bolt, “this is so embarrassing—“

“No, no! I shouldn’t have laughed, it’s okay!” she jumps in, pressing her hand to his shoulder to help ground him “It’s just bodies, Steven. It’s not weird. It’s just how skin-to-skin contact works. It’s supposed to feel good, because we’re meant to be social creatures, y’know?”

He hums softly in agreement, taking the offered moment to ease himself down from brink of panic. He focuses intently on the weight of her hand, resting feather-light against him. It’s a small gesture, but a powerful one. More than anything, more than words alone could say, it’s a promise. A reaffirmation, moment by moment. I’m here. We’re here. It’s a truth even the sobering reality of shared trauma can’t hope to erase: that even when the going’s tough, they have each other.

Connie brushes a stray stand of hair behind her ear then, shifting on the couch. Perhaps out of a sum of bashfulness, her eyes drift, not quite able to meet his.

“I- it’s silly, but I guess I never considered that you could even feel sensation through your gem,” she admits.

“Really? But you’ve had a gem before. Well, shared a gem,” he corrects himself, though in the end it’s all semantics.

“Well, sure, but when we’re Stevonnie, they don’t tend to think about stuff like that, because you’re used to it, and I’ve never thought about it. It’s simply... normal for them, I guess.”

“Hahah, yeah. It’s always been that way for me,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I never crawled like a normal kid, d’ya know? Dad says I always used to move around by scooting on my butt. When I tried crawling my gem would scrape against the floor, and apparently? I hated it.”

She laughs for real this time, (with him, not at him), her voice ringing true and beautiful and clear like a bell. His heart swells with joy.

And then...

Connie’s lithe fingers reach towards his midsection, hesitantly at first, before— in careful consideration of boundaries— pausing in their voyage entirely.

Her eyes lock with his, her shy expression wholly giving up the chase on what her request will be before she ever shifts her tongue to ask in words. “Is it okay if-?”

“Always,” he says, gently leading her hand under the hem of his shirt and towards the gemstone at his core.

He can’t help his sharp inhale when he feels her fingertips dance across his facets once more. Even when he knows what’s coming, knows to expect this contact, it’s funny. Not funny in a ‘haha’ way, funny in an ‘I’m not used to this’ way. After all, he’s never exactly made a habit of touching his own gem beyond periodic cleaning, and (almost) no one else has ever had a purpose to. It’s for this reason that a small traumatized segment of his mind still can’t help but spiral in panic about the mere concept of any external being brushing against this treasure, this tangible half of his very essence. Given the nightmares he’s been through, he’d have every right to deny her touch. But with Connie... beyond everything else, allowing her in this way is the greatest show of vulnerability he knows how to give.

It’s his proof to her that in this moment, he trusts her implicitly, without question.

Gracefully, she traces her finger around the edge of his gem, lines each individual facet in turn. It’s ticklish at first, much like before, but as she grows more confident in her gentle exploration he finds himself relaxing under her touch. He feels warm, a faint buzz of content flooding his system through his hard light veins. With her, he feels safe.

“It really is beautiful, you know that?” she says, a peaceful expression settling across her features. “Your gem.”

“Nah, you’re beautiful...” he murmurs bashfully, cheeks flushing.

“So are you,” she replies in swift measure, eyes soft with endless adoration.

His fluttering heart extends its gossamer wings and soars. If it weren’t for her nestled at his side, lithe fingers running across each facet in even measure, her tactile presence tethering him like an anchor to this present reality, he’s pretty sure he’d have floated halfway to the ceiling by now.

Daringly, his gaze locks with hers. He swears his heart’s beating its own drum solo within his chest, but this time it’s not because of fear, not at all.

It’s the feeling of freedom.

His fingers loop around a stray strand of hair that’s fallen in front of her eyes. That seems to happen a lot, he’s noticed. As delicate as he can manage, he hooks it back over her ear.

“Can I...?” he whispers, his warm breath brushing against her lips.

She replies in wordless affirmation, leaning forward to close the narrow gap between them. Hooded eyes drift shut. Her hand still rests on his gem as they finally move to cross that final barrier, that fuzzy, oft indistinguishable line drawn between childhood sweethearts and could-be couple, and kiss.

Well, attempt to, anyways.

To be fair, despite his schmaltzy roots, Steven only has movies and books to pull from as an example.

Their noses bump against each other’s at first. Both giggling, they tilt their heads to compensate and then mash their lips together, reveling in every ridiculous moment of their joint inexperience. It’s definitely sloppy, and he doesn’t have a clue where he’s supposed to put his hands or how long is too long, or how he’s supposed to move his mouth against hers, or— stars, did he even remember to brush his teeth this morning?? He sure hopes so— but because it’s with Connie all of that doesn’t matter. It’s perfect in every way.

“OoooOOOoo, looks like loverboy’s finally gettin’ some!”

He and Connie startle at the interruption, pulling apart from each other with equally flushed faces to match eyes with their surprise visitor.

It’s Amethyst, leaning against the kitchen table with a downright roguish smirk, probably thinking she’s the funniest Gem that’s ever emerged. Of course, who else would it be? (Though, which entrance did she come in from? When did she sneak past them? Were they really so involved with each other that they just... failed to notice??)

“Crude,” he says, brows creased with faint annoyance.

In return, she cups her cheeks and serves him the most ridiculous, schmaltzy expression she can muster. “Sap!”

Connie stifles a laugh at her exaggerated antics, but on his side he can’t help but be salty that her interruption yanked the two of them away from the blissful throes of blossoming teenage romance.

“Oh, get outta here, you,” he chimes back, and playfully tosses one of the couch’s pillow straight towards her face. “Shoo!”

The quartz Gem catches it out of midair and grins, no stranger to tests of reflex these days. Adopting a fake posh voice, she fires back her retort. “Your wish is my command, Sir Sappington...”

Tucking the pillow under her arm, she turns on her heels and skips up and over the warp pad’s platform, stalking towards her room with a victorious air. She doesn’t even try to mask her lovingly teasing snickers as the door splits in two at her command and she crosses the barrier into the temple’s dimension warping interior. The last they hear from her before the passageway shuts is an overly triumphant ‘whoop.’ Steven can’t help but raise a scandalized brow at this. What, were the Gems hosting a betting pool about him and Connie, or something?

But thankfully, in time, the beach house grows peaceful again. They’re alone together, and together they’re content.

“Geeze, sorry about that,” he says bashfully, scratching at the nape of his neck. “You know how Amethyst is, heh heh.”

Connie smirks with loving, mischievous intent, comfortably cuddling up against his shoulder. “She’s kinda right, though...”

“About?”

“You can be pretty sappy sometimes,” she says fondly, and tilts her head so she can smooch his cheek. “Just one of the many reasons I love you.”

____

Notes:

So, given that I’ve also written a fic wherein Steven wakes up feeling a hand against his gem and has a panic attack, a word of explanation with my headcanons-

Ultimately, I imagine there’s a very stark difference between a trusted individual like Connie touching his gem when he’s fully alert and it’s just them, alone, safe... and him waking up and being groggy enough to not immediately realize who it is next to him.

In the end though, I just hope Steven would be able to reclaim a once-terrifying experience (someone else touching his gem) as something that is also able to be loving and comforting when it’s done with consent.

#su #su future #steven universe #connie maheswaran #connverse #su fanfiction #steven/connie #amethyst #my writing stuff

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redrosesartcabin · 3 years

Text

Self indulgent series: Part 2.1

Life: Part 1

(Kenji x female reader, authors perspective) (the reader is a singer) (also: Some angst in here. I dunno why, but I just love writing some angst with fluff endings xD)

“So, let me get this straight”, the interviewer said, bewildered by the story the singer and songwriter Red Rose had brought up, “you met your now husband, Kenji Kon no less, on Jurassic World as one of the kids who got stranded for five months?”

“That’s correct”, she said. She had answered that very question a million times, but she couldn’t fault them for it: It was an unbelievable story (though she started to wonder how not everyone was aware by now that she was one of the teens back than).

“It was in December of 2015. I was thirteen years old and exited to be one of the first teens to visit Camp Cretaceous. I have to admit, I wasn’t and still am not, maybe even less than before, the biggest fan of dinosaurs. I’m not particularly interested in facts about them, but I definitely was interested in seeing some Dino action! So when I won first place at the talent show of my school-“

“Unsurprisingly”, the interviewer interluded at which the audience gave a collective chuckle.

“-I was still very excited about going to Jurassic World. My parents never wanted to go and in retrospect I can understand why. But you know: I was a naïve thirteen-year-old and didn’t think much about the consequences of the past. What happened at Jurassic Park you know? I was convinced Jurassic World was different and all worked out. Boy was I wrong! We all know it now! But at least I can say that I got, besides trauma, lifelong friends and my amazing husband out of it”

“That definitely can’t be disputed”, the interviewer agreed. Red Rose found him quite pleasant. Although he was a chatterbox, he was still very respectful and didn’t poke too much into the Jurassic World story: Although she was, for the most part, over the trauma, it was still a work in progress and it’s not a time she always remembers fondly. On most days she remembers the good moments she had with her newfound friends there, but sometimes she could feel the adrenaline rush through her as she thought of dinosaurs trying to eat her and her fellow campers. She saw flashes of sharp teeth and could feel hot, stinking breath and hear growls drawing shivers down her spine. Red Rose liked to focus on the human part of the experience, so she preferred being able to tell the tale of Jurassic World the way she wanted without being asked too much…

“So, Kon helped you reach fame if I remember correctly?”, he asked.

“Definitely! Though, I mean: I was able to do most of what I’m doing. Teaching myself how to use certain programs. I taught myself how to sing and I’ve always written my own stuff…But I certainly wasn’t good at marketing myself or making myself grow.

Kenji and I became boyfriend and girlfriend when I was sixteen and he was eighteen. That same year we went on vacations for three weeks in the Caribbean’s. And “, she let out a laugh. The camera closed up on her and caught a smile and a glance that looked so touched by love anyone could feel how much she adored her spouse, “I remember how we went on the private part of the beach Kenjis father had purchased. I sat down on a hammock and a guitar and just started improvising and singing. Little did I know my boyfriend -gosh that sounds weird to say now- was filming me. He put it up on Instagram, and he already had quite a following back then, so it gained quite some attention. Though not necessarily because it was a nice scenery or any of that: But because people genuinely liked how I sing and the melody I had come up with. And well… it got wild from there. People soon requested I make my own Instagram page for making music.

A year later I was asked if I would like to produce some music and well… then my career started”

“That’s honestly such a cool and sweet story. Though how about an even sweeter reunion? Please welcome: Kenji Kon”

Red Rose got up from her seat with a wild jump, not as the eccentric, elegant yet kind of crazy minded artist, but as y/n Kon. As the wife who hadn’t seen her husband in person for a month because of the production of yet another movie starring him as the protagonist.

The crowd clapped in awe of him, as fans. She wanted to clap because her heart was clapping too. Her heart was dancing a tango inside of chest as though she was seeing her middle school crush in the hallway. His dark eyes, ridden with depth met her y/e.c. ones and all they could read in each other’s eyes was happiness and love.

This happened within miliseconds, but it passed by in slow motion for her, so she perceived herself running towards him with calm. For the rest of the world however she was perceived as looking like a golden retriever who had missed his owner whilst they were at work and were ready to play.

It was adorable. It was downright touching how the couple met each other halfway and gave each other a long, passionate yet gentle kiss (so that it wouldn’t be too inappropriate for life TV).

“Not to be giddy, but you really are a couple to die for”, the interviewer said. The audience half chuckled half yelled in agreement. She felt her cheeks blush in a deep dark shade of red and heard her husband chuckle in embarrassment. She looked down to her and whispered “Hello love”

Kenji had, unsurprisingly, had found joy in being actor. Being dramatic and showing his face on camera all the time? Perfect!

And he honest to god was a great actor. Though it did get annoying from time to time that he was casted as either the pretty faced villain or the charming, perfect love interest. Sometimes he was even both.

Y/n didn’t like to admit it, but she was quite jealous at the beginning when she saw him kiss other men and women on screen. It took a big fight for her to admit that.

She wasn’t proud of that fight at all. She had been, without wanting to, been very critical of her then fiancé (it was about six months before they got married). She would call him several times a day when he was on set of a particularly spicy rom com and observe his socials every couple of minutes. Y/n remembers her friends teasing her about it in the beginning and then eventually scold her. “Don’t you trust him?”, they had asked and she had answered, “I do….”, and they knew she was telling the truth, yet there was more behind it.

Kenji soon caught up and noticed her strange clinginess.

“What is up with you, Y/N? You know I have work to do! You can’t call me that often on set!”, he had yelled when the topic came up. He had been visiting for the weekend before he would go back on set.

“Why not? Can a girl not talk to her fiancé?”, she had asked with a sharp undertone

“Of course, you can darling. But twenty times a day is simply too much!”, he argued, yet he tried keeping his tone softer.

“I don’t call that often”, she pouted

“Oh YES you do!”, he put his phone out and showed her the times she had called just the other day. She counted about thirty, “I was nice with that number!”

“And? So what? You can just put your phone on silent”

“Yes, of course I can. This isn’t about solving the notification issue it’s about solving your trust issues towards me. Why don’t you trust me?”, as he asked the question his anger had subsided and genuine hurt showed in his eyes in his voice, “you monitor me like I’m an inmate”

“I…”, she was only able to say, her throat suddenly seemed dry, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I…”, she couldn’t find the right words to explain it. It hurt too much to admit. She thought she had been over that thought pattern a long time ago, but it had returned to her.

“What? What have I done to deserve this?”, he asked, “Why are you even with me, if who I am disturbs you so much?”

And that… that sentence had hurt her more than that ugly thing inside of her she hadn’t wanted to face.

“You fool!”, she screamed in fury as the sentence he had uttered stung, her eyes filling with endless tears, “How could you ever think you disturb me? You are the most beautiful, wonderful human being I know, inside and out. And on top of that you are incredibly kindhearted. And that’s why I’m like this… I don’t want to lose you. And it’s not that I don’t trust you: I highly doubt you’d ever cheat on anyone. You are too kind for that. But I fear… I feared when you are together with all these good-looking actors you might not find me enough anymore. I know it’s stupid, but you see: The past haunted me again. When I was called fat. When I was called not-good-enough. When I read social media comments saying you’re out of my league and I don’t deserve you. Ugly words that ate me up inside when I was a child and young teen. I thought I was past that but I…I…”, now the tears were too many and her words died with hiccups. She felt his form surround her in a hug that felt so warm and yet sharp as knifes. She loved his touch but felt guilty for not opening up about this sooner. She had never wanted to be like this, but alas she had been too much of a coward to burden him or herself with this.

“Love”, he whispered after comforting her for a couple of minutes, “Look at me”

She lifted her head. Her eyes were red and puffy, her lips were dark pink, and tears had run streaks across her cheeks. It broke Kenji to have hurt her so deeply, yet he also knew that it wasn’t his fault. It was however his responsibility, to clear this up once and for all.

“Love listen”, he started, “I completely understand your jealousy. But we’ve been together for almost ten years and in all that time, I’ve never encountered a woman more incredible, deeply fascinating and intrinsically beautiful as you. No acted kiss could bring me away from you, no sexy actor could keep my mind from ever wishing for more than to be by your side. I’ve been by your side for almost six years: What should change now?

The monster from your past is, as already stated: Past. Their words were untrue. These people were in pain themselves when they caused you pain. You were a target to unleash the inner turmoil of others. It’s no excuse but it is the explanation. Those who feel they must hurt others are those who seek the most attention and power because they’d be devoid of having a self. I should know: I used to be similar to that. And I had my phase of jealousy as well, you know?”

“Really?”, y/n managed to ask

“Oh yes! I was in rage every time I heard you talk about any of your guy friends back in high school. Difference is I could hide it better because we were apart a lot of the time. I feared you would find someone who had more of a personality than me. I was no longer sure looks would cut it”

“Gosh love”, she answered, her voice love drunken, “you burst of personality. You aren’t just a pretty boy or well… pretty man. You have so much spirit and energy to give to the world. You are the definition of happiness and sunshine. And on top of that you are an incredibly talented man with so much to show. You wield the human mind and emotions so well you can convert yourself to be something other than yourself convincingly-”

“See?”, he asked, “and just like you love me like that and see all that good I sometimes don’t recognize, I see it in you… I always love you”

“I love you too. I’m sorry”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m so happy we had this talk. It was much needed”

“Yeah”, she hummed as her lips almost touched his and within seconds the couple found themselves passionately kissing

Ever since then they hadn’t had any of these kinds of self-worth problems. They’d say I love you on a daily basis and gave each other compliments whenever they could.

One thing the fans found especially cute was that, without fail, Red Rose would comment on each of Kenji’s selfies and comment “hey gorgeous, you single?” and he’d answer every single time, “Sure Sugar. Meet me at seven on your favorite street-corner”

One time they took a picture of each other on a nice-looking street corner. Kenji had called the picture “finally found the street corner. Been waiting to meet this lady for a while, apparently her name is ‘your wife’, which is peculiar but otherwise she seems nice”.

The picture even went viral and became one of the all-time favorite celebrity pictures of 2026.

After the talk-show they flew back in his helicopter.

They were in New York city and y/n looked at the city landscape with a fascinated gaze as she observed the flickering lights of the big apple.

Kenji looked at her with eyes shining almost as bright. He loved her love for everything new she sees. He had noticed that the first time she had seen the watering hole. He wasn’t really interested in her that way yet. He was fifteen and she thirteen, that makes quite a difference at this age. But still he couldn’t but smile as she looked at the dinosaurs with big eyes. And he loved that she hadn’t lost that spark, even as she got older, even as they came together and grew and changed together.

Y/n noticed his gaze and shifted hers to look at him.

‘What a beautiful man. I’ve missed him so’ she thought to herself.

“I missed you”, he said as though he had read her mind just now. Maybe he had. They had been together for so long they were often able to read each other’s subtle shifts in expression. Quite a beautiful thing.

“I missed you too”, she simply answered, “did you plan this talk show surprise?”

“Yes and no”, he admitted, “I was meeting up with Donavan O’Connor, the director of the ‘Elaine, the one?’ series. When calling Donavan, he told me had been to talking to Ray (the interviewer) and he was casually pointing out the funny coincidence you were meeting up for and mention the funny coincidence, that you’d have an interview with him that same day I come to the city and well… needless to say I called Ray and arranged things... I just had to. Couldn’t miss the opportunity to surprise my beautiful wife”

She smiled at that. A shy and flattered smile that reminded Kenji of when they were teens.

They landed on the roof of a nice-looking hotel. They had decided to stay the night here in New York before travelling back to Ireland… yes: Yes Ireland.

Most celebrities lived in L.A., but Kenji and y/n had preferred living a bit apart in an old mansion near the coast of south Ireland, close to the northern border. Although Kenji was a people person, he didn’t like the dishonesty and lying in the industry and wanted to get away from that with his wife who thought the same.

Besides: It was a beautiful country.

As they entered the room, they felt peace and happiness as well as a certain kind of tension arise.

Needless to say, there was another kind of reuinion going on that night...

(Sorry about that short ending, I had to heavily edit that ‘cause it originally was a... well... non Pg scene xD)

#kenji camp cretaceous #kenji x reader #kenji kon #kenji kon x reader #camp cretaceous #camp cretaceous fanfiction #jw cc #jurassic world camp cretaceous #self indulgent #self indulgent af

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bippityboppitybibuck · 3 years

Text

Scarred Bark, Broken Heart

15x18 coda/alternate ending of sorts || WC 2580, also read on AO3 here

MCD, depressed Dean, (Tree!Cas ???), brief mention of suicidal tendencies, open but hopeful ending, part one of a two part series, Canon divergence

Dean doesn't know what made him decide on the tree. They didn’t have a body to burn, not this time. They didn’t have a six-foot hole to dig and he felt odd putting a marker over unmarred earth. So when he stumbled upon a tree in the woods surrounding the bunker, one with a beehive tucked nine feet up he didn’t even realize he had popped out his pocket knife and started carving until the first three letters were written in the wet bark.

His throat burned as he worked. The same knife sliced skin wide so that protection could be painted onto a door that was never going to hold. Cas was always ready to bleed for him, always ready to do whatever he needed to keep him safe.

Tears threatened to ruin his work by blocking his field of view but each time he tilted his head to the sky and tried to breathe through it.

The squared-off letters seem to mock him once he finishes, if Cas’d been here the letters would have been beautiful, a burst of power and it could have been script etched into the wood. Instead, it's his blocky ugly writing.

Something hideous rears its head in his chest, and staring at the letters, staring at the name. He always deserved more than Dean could give him, than this world could give him. He deserves more than a scar in some bark in a forest hardly anyone treks into. He deserves more than to die without knowing—to die thinking he wasn’t loved.

Dean doesn't look to the sky as his eyes fill again. Sam always said he needed to let himself feel. That ignoring your trauma isn't the same as dealing with it. But he worries that if he gives into it fully he’ll never resurface. Drowned in his own mind with the pain and regret, the fear and the sadness that washes in like the tide when his guard drops.

So he doesn’t let himself sink, he treads as best he can, hearing Bobby’s gruff voice in his head just like when he was a kid, ‘keep your ears above water son, that’s the only way to make sure you stay alive out there’, it’s like Bobby knew exactly why he needed that information. Like he knew it wasn't about swimming.

He’s not sure how long he spends looking at the carving, or when the wind picks up and shakes shivers through his body. He’s not sure when the tears dry and the wracking sobs take over.

Cas looked at peace when it came for him, and it ruins him to know that. To know that loving him brought him to the one moment of true happiness. Loving a worthless, broken, fucked up killer—no. No, Cas said he wasn’t a killer, he wasn’t a monster or a tool to be used and thrown aside, and yet he killed another hadn’t he? Killed him by doing nothing at all because that's what happens, that’s his legacy, people get close to him and they get killed. They always get killed.

Dean’s not sure when he heads inside again, or how he finds himself at the tree almost every day, week in and week out.

For the longest time he can do nothing but look, words that fight to break free, stay trapped behind the years of burying what he always felt, stay tapped behind the last dam he has standing in his soul the soul Cas saved—a good lot that did. He knows the dam won’t hold forever and all he can do is imagine the damage when it does finally break.

He doesn't always go alone either. Sam takes trips to the tree by himself sometimes but mostly he goes when Dean does. Jack trails after him every once in a while too but they usually let him go alone.

The first snow of the season begins to fall as he stands at the tree, the beehive long since gone dormant, its occupants burrowing in for their months-long sleep. And God how Dean envies their ability to escape reality for longer than it takes to sleep off a hangover.

It’s early for the first snow, weeks too soon but the world has been colder since—well since.

It’s been a while since he last talked while he visited, the dam broke finally or rather the levels grew too high on one side and it began to leak. Still, back then he hadn’t said much of anything.

He tries to talk now, he tries to do the same as what he did at his father's grave all those years ago trapped in a djinn dream, trapped in a world that seemed so perfect until he peeled back its layers. Kinda just like the one he actually lived in.

“Ca-s,” his voice breaks before he manages to speak the single syllable. No one is around to notice though, no matter how much he wishes he was speaking to a person instead of an unfeeling unrelenting piece of wood. Still though, it's easier to talk when no one is there to hear it, he doesn't have to hold as much back.

“Cas, I-,” Dean lets out a rough hum as he collects himself. This speech is going to be different. He can feel it, the emotions within him seem to grow choppy, spilling over the dam wall more and more and he just knows that whatever happens, he won’t be returning to the bunker whole.

“I keep thinking, y’know, back to that night you walked into that barn in Illinois, you told me that good things do happen, and I mean it’s not like I expected you to, but you didn’t believe me when I told you that nothing good happens to me. I don’t know if in the time from then to no—I don’t know if you ever figured out that I was right or not but I think that the one good thing that happened to me was the worst thing to happen to me too.” Dean stares at his name, willing it to actually be him. The cold bites at his fingers and his nose. His toes grow cold in his boots but he doesn’t move to leave he barely even feels it anyways.

“When Chuck told us that you were the one who never listened,” he chokes out a broken laugh, “it honestly made perfect sense, you did always say that it was our story, that we were the thing that was real in a world of manufactured realities. And when he said it I swear it was like I was standing in that ratty kitchen, minutes before Lucifer rose, minutes before you di—died for the first time. And I thought as Chuck went on and on how maybe I wasn’t dreaming it up, maybe it wasn't Chuck’s doing, and I was going to try to talk to you about it, after a shit ton of booze mind you.” He’s quiet for a long time, the snow begins to blanket the space around him and he thinks about how he’ll never get to brush snow off of the lapel of Cas’ stupid trench coat.

Just the thought starts a domino effect, his mind rushing through everything he wanted and everything he’ll never get now and it’s so overwhelming it sends him to his knees. Of course, because he clearly will never be able to catch a break all it does is remind him of the last time they were in purgatory together, the fear and heartbreak that shook him to his core, the devastation of Cas brushing off what he wanted to say because fuck it was so much more than his prayer.

“You beat me to it though, and then—well we both know what happened next.” His fingers are ice when they wipe the tears from his eyes. They jolt him, a shock to his system.

“You never gave me a chance to respond, didn’t even give me a damn moment to process any of it. And you’re a selfish son of a bitch for that because that wasn’t fair, that wasn’t—. I needed you to stay, I needed you to hear it too. I won’t ever be able to stay mad at you because I never have been, not for any of the shit you pulled in the past. But that? That was a new low.” He sniffles from the cold or from his tears he doesn't know but he does it all the same.

“Y’know if you were here right now you’d tell me to go inside because humans catch colds so easily and you don’t know how fucking much I need to hear that now Cas.” His heart plummets in his chest again. He feels sick all over again so he clenches his jaw to keep from heading too far down that road.

“I remember the first time you got sick, god you were a nightmare the entire time and I dealt with Sam getting sick every year since I was old enough to open kids cold medicine,” Dean laughs thickly, tears lodged in his throat. The strain of holding it all back shreds at the muscle and it screams with every breath he manages to shake into his lungs.

“I remember everything Cas, all of it, every fight, every drink, every goddamn time we looked at each other. And yet I can’t recall a fucking thing because I thought I had more time. After everything we’d gone through, I still thought we would have more time. It's all broken and jumbled and set to static and I can’t handle it because it's crystal clear and as muddy as anything because I thought I’d be able to make more, replace what got muddled. I thought you had more time.”

He shuffles around and presses his back against the trunk of the tree. His ass is uncomfortable as hell what with the roots and the wet cold earth below him but his knees appreciate the switch.

“I’m having a hard time this time because a part of me thinks just like it did after the whole leviathan fiasco. I swear you’re going to come back, that this is all a mix-up, that if I wait just a little longer, hold on a little longer, put my gun down just one more night that you’ll be back. But it’s been weeks Cas and nothing’s changed. I wake up and I go to sleep in a world that doesn’t have you in it and I was always okay before because you were just there even if I didn’t have you like I wanted I still got to see you, watch you, lo—be with you. But now it’s all empty, and no matter how ironically appropriate that is given the dumbass move you made a year and a half ago, I’m hanging on by a thread man. And Sam doesn't know how to help, even with all his dead girlfriends as experience to draw from.” He’s quiet for a long time, chewing on his lip, flexing his fingers together as he just sits.

“He says I need to stop making jokes to cover it all up but that's all I know how to do. I mean you can’t mourn your mom if you have a baby brother to take care of so you joke. You can’t talk about what the internet says is PTSD because there are monsters to hunt and people to save so you joke. You can’t let yourself be vulnerable because that means death so you joke. You can't tell your best friend what you need to so you joke. You hide behind something safe because no one wants you to show what's really there.” Dean's mind is a mess right now, jumping from one point to another, skipping ahead and falling behind. He has so much he wants to say and it’s like he’s trying to say it all at once.

He can almost hear Cas’ voice admonishing him for thinking that he didn't have a support system, that he didn't have people who loved him and wanted him to be okay and it strips him raw. Because it’s only been a few months, how could he already be forgetting his voice, or which way he tilted his head when he didn’t understand some random human action, which foot he started with when he stood up from a chair, if he liked smooth or crunchy peanut butter better even if it was all molecules to him, what his arms felt like wrapped around him, how he sighed when Dean was being an idiot, what his smiles looked like as he sat at their kitchen table talking with Jack.

How was he already forgetting all of the little things that made him fall for the fallen angel, heaven's most loved, heaven's most corrupted.

His chest is cracked so wide every part of him falls inside, his very soul falls into the pit, tumbles down and down and down because there are a million things that he and Cas will never get to do but there are a billion things Cas will never do again.

Sure Cas’ll never learn to dance but he’ll never smile again. He’ll never have the chance to memorize the words to the songs Dean showed him but he’ll never feel the sun on his skin again. Or laugh or cry or sleep in late. He’s never going to make another milk run, be it a monster hunt or an actual milk run. He’ll never watch another bee documentary or hug his son again.

Cas lived hundreds of millions of years and yet there was so much he left unfinished, he’s been around for eons and yet he still died too soon.

It takes him a moment to remember that even if Cas had been around since the Cambrian explosion in reality he’d only experienced humanity for eleven years. And all of it was spent fighting, shouldn't he get a fucking chance to just live for a fucking second. Let himself relax, shake the weight off his shoulders, just be finally?

Dean turns and looks from his position at Cas' name, the angle is atrocious so he can barely see the etchings.

There are a billion things he’ll never do again, a million things he’ll never get to experience. And for someone who's given all that Cas has given to this world, that just won’t do.

“You told me love drove me, you said that I fought for everything because of love, that I taught you how to and fuck Cas I don’t know how that's possible. But I’ve fought for nearly forty years because of love and there's no way in hell I am stopping that now. I’m going to fight for you, I’ll fight Chuck for you, I’ll fight against the anger that still lives inside me and dammit I’ll fight to get you back because no fucking way am I losing you forever after that speech. If love drives me Cas then you, you…” Dean takes a deep breath. “Happiness is in just saying it, but I can’t tell a piece of wood, so I’ll wait until you are back, because I will get you back. I don’t care what it takes. You need to hear it, you deserve to hear it. You deserve to know.”

I’m working on a rewritten ending for Supernatural that is set after this little alt ending to 15x18 because the actual ending... left a lot to be desired. Turns out spite was in fact enough to get me writing again! So that’s good right??

#supernatural #destiel #my writing #15x18 coda

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izukult · 4 years

Text

this is the end {chapter two}

summary / things couldn’t get worse than this. but, they did. the chapter in which everything in your life goes wrong.

warnings / cult, kidnap, actual foRCED cannibalism (if that’s too much it’s under the first break and ends after the second break!), stalking, death, angst, angst, angST, not much peter this chapter, swearing. idk bad stuff man. i use the word silence a million times just call it motif. didn’t proof read.

word count / 2015

notes / wow this is hard to write. PLEASE read my disclaimer. sorry there’s not much peter. this is filler. coolio. this will be like the last chapter that only focuses on what they’re doing to u, i promise this will get momentum

disclaimer / please don’t support or romanticize the abuse in this fic! this is something i’m simply writing to help me deal with trauma and/or my mental health to try to give it a positive spin. i apologize if it is dark, i needed an outlet. :))

the white cotton stuck to your skin with the water, leaving your breath to moisturize the air as you gasped. you lifted your chained hands as far as you could, trying to brush the hair that clung to your face. you looked at the cracked porcelain of the lonely bathtub, nausea going to your throat as you saw how your blood mixed in with the ice and the water. your cough was scratchy, burning your throat further as you leaned over, gagging, water spilling up.

“son of a bitch.” you let your head fall towards your chest as tears formed in your eyes again; the sob that left your throat stung almost as bad as the cold. you knew you could get out of this. you weren’t chained to the tub, and they weren’t holding a gun to your head if you dared to move an inch. they wanted you to move, to see if you really could fight the way your personality said you could after what you’d endured. you wanted to lift yourself, heave your body up and make your fragile knees bend, but you didn’t know how to do that without making them shatter. you didn’t know how to breathe without your ribs piercing your lungs. they were killing you and every day you felt your soul disconnecting from your body.

the metal of the handcuffs on your wrists clanged against the tub as you tried to push yourself up. ice pressed against a gash on your stomach (that you didn’t know you had) through the fabric of your dress, evoking a short scream from you. your body racked with sobs that hurt you so much more and you grit your teeth as you continued to try to get up. your body sunk down, trauma holding your bones back.

“god dammit,” the words came out like a desperate prayer and you slammed your hands into the side of the vat. “god fucking dammit!” you were sobbing harder, your cuts pruning along with your skin, but your energy to fight had completely vanished. you knew you’d be in there until someone came for you, and you knew when they grabbed you out it would be a whole lot worse; so you might as well try to enjoy getting clean.

—————

your eyes widened, head shaking rapidly. you jerked your body against the hands holding you, tears welling through your disgust. “no, no, no.” your body thrashed as your eyes stayed trained on the plate in front of you. “no.” it was simple, white ceramic with a silver fork and knife on each of its sides. the white was splotched with red- blood. you gagged slightly, the smell reaching your nose. “fucking no!” you twisted yourself, almost moving out of their grasp. you desperately attempted to stumble away, not caring what kind of beating you would face, but they pushed you forward.

“you have to become accustomed to it,” one of them started as they moved to shove you into the chair. “the queen should have no limits, no weakness.” once you were sat, they were clamping your shoulders. you pressed against the wood of the chair enough to try to tip it, but they simply brought you back up.

“please,” the word was croaked- choppy and sickly and raw. “don’t make me do this, i’ll be good. i promise i’ll be good.” you didn’t typically beg them, and you felt as if any integrity you held was gone. but you’d also never had what you could only assume was a human kidney (you remember peter telling you the shapes of organs one time while you studied for biology, which caused you to tell him he sounded like a serial killer.) in front of you on a fucking plate.

there was silence around you. typically, you would’ve begged for silence. a moment without their heavy breathing or the sound of your pain, but now it was just eerie. they watched you and waited and when you refused to move for the cutlery, they did it themselves. and, for some reason beyond them, you didn’t seem to enjoy it nearly as much as you did when your mother would feed you as a baby.

—————

his fingers traced your arm, nails forming a temporary tattoo.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1

he was vile to you. they all were. your temples ached as he pierced your skin with what could only be described as his claws.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5

“i missed you, pretty girl.” a scowl found its way on your face at the name they’d all become accustomed to calling you- although it was a name only peter should call you. and, quite frankly, his praises of longing for you go unnoticed at the fact you can’t remember which one he is.

you have about thirteen comebacks to each of his phrases of want, but you’d learned that silence was the biggest killer to them.

your eyes filled with tears (like they always did) when his hands slid under your top, which didn’t cover much to begin with.

“but now it’s just you and me,” the animation of his voice was scratchy to you and you wanted nothing more than to rip the voice box out of his mask.

you continued to count in your head, eyesight trained on the wall in front of you rather than the situation presented in front of you.

your eyelids started to hang heavy. you were tired. of all of this. you were tired of pretending you were okay.

maybe if you fell asleep, this would go quicker. maybe, if you slept well enough, you wouldn’t even remember he was here.

—————

you watched as they set up the camera, feet burning against the cold cement. since that day of exhaustion, the feeling had been perpetual. you wanted to care about how you looked if you knew the world was going to see you (or was that another lie?), but it was the least of your concerns.

‘how did the phrase go? if peter couldn’t handle you at your ugly state during your kidnap, he didn’t deserve you at your best. something like that,’ you thought as they moved you to the middle mark for the perfect angle.

you were certain the recording was trivial. some dumb black market snuff film type shit that honestly no one would end up watching, but more time in front of the camera meant less alone time with them. peter had sworn that you deserved stardom, so maybe this was it.

your eyes darted from the man in front of you to the one who pressed the button on the camera (a riveting job, honestly) and then forward, to the lens.

you didn’t pay much attention as they droned on about you until your loves name got mentioned. your head snapped quickly, eyes widened and gaze afraid.

“and, peter parker, this ones for you.” his head tilted towards you and you became fascinated with the way the inside of your bottom lip tasted.

you shook your head slightly hoping peter would understand you desperately meant this wasn’t about him. you didn’t speak up though. silence was key.

he continued to talk about you, about your glory, and your hands, and your lips, and the way your face felt when they’d hold onto you.

that’s when you realized the smell. you hoped it hadn’t shown on your face, but it probably had. poker had never been your strong suit. and then you were scanning the room again and they could tell and you knew that they wanted this and that they wanted you to know something was up and they wanted to record you finding out and your stomach started to fucking churn.

a sob left your throat as a light you didn’t know existed shined behind you. there had been a curtain between you and the wall that had now been moved and you saw it. the reminiscence of a series of girls who looked somewhat like you.

“oh my, god.” it was a quiet prayer for a being you couldn’t say you believed in as you stared at the heads with hair just like yours, eyes a shade so close to your own. “oh my fucking god.” you were louder this time, your knees wobbling as you struggled to keep your balance.

you couldn’t see their faces but you imagined the men around you were smiling. you didn’t recognize the tears falling until they hit the ground but you ignored it, disgust covering your features as you turned from the girls to the man who had been talking.

“what the fuck have you done?” your voice was raw. you were furious, you were sick, you were sorry. sorry for the people who’d never be able to go home.

“don’t worry, sweetheart, they didn’t come close to you.” you lifted your chained hands to your mouth, retching out a sob.

“you’re- you’re all monsters.” you felt vacant. you felt empty. you felt useless. they had died because of you. they had died because they looked like you.

“oh my god.” you repeated yourself, sobs wracking your body as you were recorded by the long forgotten camera.

“oh, sweetheart, no reason to cry.” he moved towards you, placing a hand on your head, tangling his fingers through your hair. and, you realized, this was the first time you’d truly wanted to kill someone.

you continued to cry, not following the urge to do any harm to him as you stood in your spot.

“did we go too far?” your mind screamed yes. yes you’re evil and you’re bad and i hate you all. yes you went too fucking far. but you stayed unspeaking.

“what do you want, pretty girl?” your eye twitched. you felt it. you felt the physical change in you. you turned your head, eyes meeting the eyes of his mask and you smiled faintly.

“do you really want to know?” your voice was sweet, sickly, and he moved his hand from your hair to your shoulder.

“of course.” your smiled turned to a scowl as you raised your hands to place them atop his own, fingers digging into his hands.

“i want to rip the skin from your fucking hands so you never had the fucking luxury of touching me or those girls.” you moved your hands to his throat, but none of the other men moved to his rescue.

“and then?” you simultaneously leaned into him and brought his head to you, where your nose was against the nose of his mask. “then, i want to blow my brains against the fucking wall.” even though your words came through gritted teeth, each of them were over enunciated.

you shoved him away by his neck, continuing to stand tall as you did so. “and, unfortunately for me, i plan to get what i want.”

your gaze finally found the camera lens again and you let out a small breath of realization. your hands were shaking. you knew there were the girls behind you, and the man you’d been threatening was gasping for breath now. maybe you looked like the monster.

you looked down at your hands, teeth slightly chattering, and you could only imagine how peter felt. he probably hated you. this was your fault. this was your fucking fault. all of it.

your mouth parted slightly and you gulped. “i-” nothing else came out and you bit your lip again, shutting your eyes as tight as you could.

you wanted to sob. to fall apart. to break. but, you had just made a commitment to your captors. you were going to give them hell, and then find your way there. you just hoped peter would understand.

the camera turned off and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

unbeknownst to you, peter was sat at the tv with wide, glossy eyes, praying you’d get out of there as soon as possible. just not in the way you planned.

tag list: @greenteavee @jacksnoodlez99 @sarahalkhalifaa @lilsxtan @honeymarvel @awaywithtime @5secondsofpeterparker

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you #spiderman angst #peter parker angst #mcu #marvel #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland angst #peter parker fluff #peter parker x you #marvel cinematic universe #this is SO DARK IM SORRY #TBH I WOULDVE DROPPED THIS IF THERE WERENT REQUESTS #COPING WEIRD #THANKS

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janiedean · 4 years

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Honestly, I would like to hear you rant about Brienne's s5 storyline and her killing Stannis. It felt weird to me that in the book there's this whole thing with Lady Stoneheart wanting revenge and using Brienne as a tool to to try and get it tho she probably won't get it, and then in the show it's Brienne still seeking revenge for Renly and actually getting it. Like there's a "revenge isn't actually a good thing" theme that got lost along the way.

... lmao.

well okay this is not for renly fans so just so you know, you’re warned.

now.

I don’t have.... like, anything specific against renly nor I think he’s a Bad Person which is why in modern aus I just let him be his best version, but.. canon renly Is An Asshole when it concerns his brother, his niece and brienne and that’s A Thing because like sorry but skipping succession ‘because no one likes you but they like me’ is not a good reason to do anything, ‘my niece is so ugly ew grayscale’ is just bottom level of being... let’s just say vapid, and it’s canon that the reason he keeps brienne around is not that he cares about her, it’s because he knows she’s good at what she does and doesn’t want nothing in return and actually would die for him, which........

considering that brienne would have died for renly because he was nice to her once and danced with her which is like bare minimum for decent human being, sorry if I side-eye this narrative that renly believed in her etc because sorry guys renly in asoiaf canon didn’t give a single fuck about that;

specifically, when it comes to brienne renly is that one crush you get at some point that you’re in love with the idea of, not with the person they actually are, and as someone wise said on some post once, brienne thought she would die for him and didn’t and didn’t know she could die for jaime but she immediately knew when she had the choice, so I think that just seals it, but ahead with that...

affc is also about brienne getting over renly because she was in love with the idea of renly, not with renly himself, never mind that renly wasn’t in love with her anyway and could have never been. like, all of her affc povs are about that. she thinks about him less and less, she superimposes jaime on him like ffs when she’s naked in the bath she has to MAKE HERSELF THINK ABOUT RENLY, at some point she dreams of renly’s death except it’s jaime in his place, then jaime puts renly’s cloak on her shoulders and at the end of it when she has that dream which is sort of very similar to jaime’s in asos where he sees people he thinks he disappointed and she sees renly and cat.... well. it’s because she thinks she disappointed them, or that she failed them, but she’s plain not in love with him (or his idea of) anymore;

now, she also swore to cat she’d kill stannis in revenge for him... and she’s never so much as thought about it. ffs there is ONE single instance of brienne thinking about stannis in affc. THIS ONE:He shrugged. "Sometimes. At tourneys, from afar. Once at Baelor's Sept. The gold cloaks shoved us aside so he could pass. Another time I was playing near the Mud Gate when he come back from a hunt. He was so drunk he almost rode me down. A big fat sot, he was, but a better king than these sons of his."They are not his sons. Stannis told it true, that day he met with Renly. Joffrey and Tommen were never Robert's sons. This boy, though . . . "Listen to me," Brienne began. Then she heard Dog barking, loud and frantic. "Someone is coming."IT’S WHEN SHE RECOGNIZES THAT GENDRY IS ROBERT’S SON AND THAT STANNIS WAS RIGHT WHEN HE SAID TOMMEN AND MYRCELLA WEREN’T HIS. that’s it. that’s all brienne has to think about stannis in affc. she doesn’t think about killing him once.guess why? because meanwhile she’s found better things to think about and she doesn’t feel the need to avenge renly as much as she feels the need to fulfill her vow to catelyn and jaime and she’s fucking over renly and she has realizes at least subconsciously that guess what she didn’t want to die for him;

the entire point was that she is over her crush on a guy who might have been decent to her though it was the bare minimum anyone should have shown her but who didn’t give two shits about her personally and that she thought she could and would die for, and sorry if being willing to die for someone because he danced with you isn’t healthy as much as people don’t want to accept the fact that brienne has Issues with the capital I;

therefore, the moment the show dragged her north FOR RENLY and OMG I HAVE TO KILL STANNIS FOR RENLY before getting her stuck watching a tower for a season for that crap joke of a winterfell storyline and don’t get me started on how they made brienne’s sl secondary to sansa for three seasons when surely her point in her narrative is not that ita) ignored that brienne had a character arc that included getting over renlyb) elevated renly to sainthood (forget saint tyrion) because it implied that yes he was that nice dancing with her so yes he deserves her avenging his death when sorry but what the fucking fuck he just paid her the bare minimum it didn’t mean she should have joined his army for it or that she should avenge him for having being a decent person oncec) made it look like renly actually gave a shit about her for real when lmao nod) trashed lady stoneheart when as you said they lost the REVENGE IS A BAD IDEA theme and all that she brought with bc stoneheart is fundamental for both jaime and brienne as characters but hey let’s just stick brienne serving other people without a personal storyline and let’s not let jaime have his arc because what the fuck amritee) missed all of the themes in her affc arc because where was meribald? where was the anti-war message? where was the fact that brienne is a vulnerable person with doubts? we saw none of that shit except oMG SHE KILLED STANNIS BADASSSSS. yeah, no. character assassination my old friend here we are;

now, specifically re stannis: what angers me on a molecular level in that choice, not counting the fact that never in my life I ever want to see character #1 I relate to in a series (and period) kill character #2 I relate to in that same series without any goddamned reason to do that but that’s personal is that....... since brienne doesn’t give a fuck about avenging renly anymore in the book it’s very likely that if she and stannis meet again they might actually like talk about things and now I’mma give you the other hot take of the year....

... which is that I would like it if people saw that actually if brienne were to get along with one baratheon brother, she and stannis would have a lot more chances to hit off than she and renly ever could have because sorry but:a) they’re both introverts with huge issues communicating with others who also have been treated like shit for their entire lives based on people judging them before they opened their mouthb) as much as brienne isn’t THAT hard on it she has a sense of justice that he’d definitely appreciatec) if we assume that a guy with a daughter with grayscale whom renly also referred to as ‘that ugly daughter of his’ who is considered disfigured by everyone who still treats her like his only heir and doesn’t gaf about her looks would give two shits about brienne’s looks and not about her skills instead then we assume wrong nvm that stannis has a hand who used to be an illiterate commoner and melisandre used to be a slave like.... come on he’d definitely treat her with respect and not just because he needs herd) reverse, if she saw how he is with his daughter thaaat might remind her of her father not having forced her to marry eventually and agreeing to let her join renly/learn swordfighting instead I mean... come one) never mind that as stated before both of them are way more similar when it comes to take your vows seriously than notlike........... okay but with these premises if they meet when they need all the men they can spare to fight the white walkers I’d presume they will actually talk about renly’s death and get an understanding, not that she’ll take out a sword and impale him there especially if it’s post lady stoneheart which is the point in her sl where she 100% understands you can’t follow all of your vows and you will have to choose at some point (btw she chose jaime already over stoneheart and we all know it bye)...

which means that having her kill him in the show after a thing they made happen from 0 to 180 just to make him look irredeemable, for renly when brienne doesn’t gaf in the books anymore and reinforcing this - excuse me - bullshit narrative of saint renly who was the ideal king and never did anything wrong except trying to pass over stannis who was ahead of him in the line and further creating drama in that damned war because his brother didn’t happen to be immediately likable (nvm that I have issues with the fact that renly doesn’t even seem to remember having been at storm’s end during the siege which means that stannis made sure he actually had to eat while everyone else was starting to consider cannibalism but hey who cares that my brother almost died and never let me starve with the entirety of the castle I’ll now go and stab him in the back because NAAAH WHY SHOULD I SUPPORT HIM? sorry but what the fucking fuck) while stannis was an asshole who eventually got what he deserved because he wasn’t fun amrite will never not irk me to a molecular level because that wasn’t brienne’s storyline anymore and it hasn’t been since asos, the renly vs stannis situation is way more complicated than renly was nice and stannis was an asshole, stannis is nowhere near the piece of cardboard dnd think he is and the fact that both characters didn’t move on from their renly-related trauma but that it went down in the cheapest most ooc way ever should have woken people up about how dnd couldn’t be trusted for shit with these books if the WF adaptation of the adwd storyline hadn’t showed that already.

tldr: it was ooc and an insult to both characters and also can we stop with the saint renly narrative, thanks.

#ch: brienne of tarth #ch: stannis baratheon #anti-renly baratheon #janie writes meta #1 #2 #3 #4 #anti renly baratheon #HOPEFULLY I TAGGED CORRECTLY #dnd hate tag #got negativity #Anonymous #ask post

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knifehecker · 5 years

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undertale day [long post]

it’s the 15th!! happy 4th birthday undertale!!! normally i try to do a little art or something but this year i decided to do something a little different. there’s a lot of content that’s become core tenets of my experience with the fandom -- changed the way i thought about the characters, how i engage with the fandom, opened my eyes to new ways of writing -- and i thought it’d be neat to compile some of those into one post to share with other people. so without further ado!!!

40-minute Deltarune Piano Medley - FaceImplosion [MUSIC]

ok, i know this is deltarune and not undertale, but this medley incorporates songs from both games so i’m gonna say it counts. and honestly, i could say a LOT about this piece!! i’ve watched and listened to a lot of ut/dr medleys, and this has to be the most lovingly crafted of its type that i’ve ever seen. Ever. a lot of care has been put into the order and combination of the songs (some funny, some sad, some mindblowing, ALL amazing) and the art is so good that every time i listen i find myself watching along. there’s a lot of easter eggs, especially for the attentive listener/watcher, and this medley deserves far more than the 6k views it’s gotten so far.

Undertale Album Project - Various Artists [MUSIC]

Songs From Mt Ebott is a collaborative album project that contains dozens of tracks from a score of different artists. i have a lot of favorite tracks from this album, not to mention the individual track art created for each, and if you’ve never heard of this project before, i really recommend giving it a listen! (FaceImplosion also did a piano track for this album, by the way, which i’m linking separately because it’s one of my aforementioned favorites.)

Chara - tigerblossom [MUSIC]

im not gonna lie. this was my favorite piece of fan music for a long time. it’s a medley mashing a few different songs together, short and sweet, but it comes together in such an incredibly heartfelt way at the end that whenever i end up listening to it i find myself wishing the track was about five minutes longer. they also have an underfell version of your best friend that i recommend giving a listen!

Photographs - FuriousPoplar [FIC]

in terms of “post-paci everyone lives au”s, there’s been a lot of ground covered by a lot of different people, and after a while the concept feels almost a bit...same-y? but this fic covers a sorely-needed conversation between an alive chara and asriel in a way that i’ve never seen approached by anyone else before. it’s cathartic, it’s extremely well written, and it doesn’t shy away from the ugly sides of trauma and recovery, which is so greatly appreciated. it also hit me...REALLY hard, which i think is a testament to how amazing this piece is.

Turn Back - foxsgloves [FIC]

i read this one pretty early on in my time in this fandom, and it’s continued to influence me long after. the premise: frisk keeps loading over the brief time asriel has his body in the epilogue, and simply spends time with him as they both prepare to move on towards the end. it’s sad. it’s cute. it’s amazing. it’s something i go back to reread sometimes late at night when i want to reread something friendly and familiar and a little sad. and its been one of my favorites ever since i read it.

You Wear Your Grief Like a Badge - Draikinator [FIC SERIES]

how do you even TALK about ywyglb? do i talk about nate’s impeccable voice in their writing? how true to character they are with the kids? how they set the scene of a post-pacifist world still shaking with the echoes of the past? the series starts with flowey taking frisk’s soul captive while chara and sans form an uneasy alliance in order to get them back, and then spirals into a tense, sweet, funny, awful, heartbreaking experience that reshaped how i viewed the boundaries of my own writing. draikinator’s writing has been and continues to be a huge inspiration to me, and i heartily recommend giving any of their stuff a try.

A Numbered List of Things That Aren't as Badass as They Sound (ex. Monsters, Suicide, Burning in Hell) - rosyy [FIC]

a brief glimpse into chara and asriel just before It Happens, While It Happens, When It Happens. the prose here is the sort of flowery delirious feverdream you’d expect from a kid dying of buttercup poisoning, and i love it to bits. i also want to mention a dr who crossover by the same author, because it has kris as the doctor and frisk as the stray they adopt, and its also the perfect antidote to the angst the first fic provides.

Risen Up (or, Of Fallen Children and Mountain Kin) - paradoxpangolin [FIC]

oh jeezums, how do i even start with this one? post-paci, frisk comes to the conclusion that the best way to ease the tensions between human and monsterkind is to put on a musical about their time in the underground!!!!.....except this leads to its own host of complications, and things get a bit Messy. this fic hasn’t updated in a bit, but it contains so much in its 140k of already published writing that i feel the need to urge you to read it anyway. i’m really partial to autistic frisks, and this fic has what’s got to be my favorite portrayal of that in ... probably the entire fandom? honestly, most (if not all) of the characters in this fic are autist, and it’s just. very good. i love.

you’re like a mirror, reflecting me - batterytriplicate [FIC]

a daemon au exploring what frisk and chara’s journeys might have been like with the extra distinction between monster dust and daemon dust. i completely forgot about this fic until i was trawling through my ao3 history for this post, and i’m really really glad i found it again. i think i was in the middle of trying to figure out this exact au when i first found this fic, and it did everything i was thinking of (and more) so much better that i felt more than content leaving it at that. so if you like his dark materials and want to see a fantastic little daemon au, give this a shot!

soulless-pacifist - vsemily [ASK BLOG]

soulless-pacifist..... if you’ve never heard of this askblog, you’re in for a treat. i wasn’t with it from the very beginning, but i started reading towards the middle of its main story arc and stuck with it to the end, and suffice it to say, it has to be my favorite fandom askblog to date, purely for how well its written, how well its drawn, and how it’s one of the....only askblogs i’ve ever seen come not only to a FULL conclusion, but to a satisfying one! the mun also worked with a programmer to create a fangame for its final arc, which is so above and beyond that im still kind of in disbelief. in short: this askblog followed frisk and their passenger after the events of a soulless pacifist route, and continues on with them as they grow together and find their place with a whole host of twist and turns in store. also, memes.

Shine your light with me, chase all the dark away - FancifulRivers [FIC]

this au follows frisk and chara after the events of the game. unlike most post-paci runs, though, chara has their own body back, while they and frisk are hiding back in mt ebott after the monsters have left to avoid the complications of being runaways and also.... incredible guilt and trauma. things don’t really work out like that, though, and i really recommend this read. fancifulrivers has also been an incredibly prolific writer who’s uploaded a lot of really good ut fics, so this is a great starting point to jump off of for their other stuff!

repercussions - proximally [FIC]

this fic... i think this one fic is the one that’s impacted me the most during my early days of this fandom. it’s short, and sad, and is a twist on the soulless pacifist ending that i was left thinking about literally for months after i first read it. instead of saying any more and risking spoiling it, i’ll just leave the author’s desc: “You made a mistake, and you pay for it with your life. “

The Great Boondoggle - Masu_Trout [FIC]

the premise of this fic is pretty simple. post paci, frisk is walking home. they come across a Bad Guy. hijinks ensue. but what sets apart this fic from others for me is the way frisk is written here. when this fic was published in early 2016, most frisks i came across were the...sweet harmless woobies that were pretty typical from the fandom. this is one of the first frisks i came across that was kind of mean, and a little cold, and had very obviously had a long upward climb to being the sort of person who chose mercy instead of fight. this portrayal is a lot more common nowadays, which i’m super grateful for, but since this is one of the first fics i came across that really nailed this portrayal, i felt i should leave this here. i also recommend their pokemon/ut au, which is toriel and frisk centric and i also love to bits.

and....well, i was gonna say “that’s it”, but i honestly had to cut quite a few things from this list to keep it from stretching the dash too much. there’s been a lot of incredible content created by this fandom over the years, and this is by no means a comprehensive list of my favorites. but these are some of the ones that impacted me in a really special way, and if you were kind enough to check them out and maybe even liked them, please consider leaving a kind comment for the creator! if you’re the author of one of these pieces reading this right now: thank you so much! im looking forward to finding even more favorites in this year and the next.

#undertale #deltarune #fic rec #longpost #long post #techinically its NOT the 15gh for me yet but theres like. an hour left #and i cant wait to post this anymore SO!!!!#idk theres a lot of stuff this fandom has produced thats been pretty. terrible #but there's just as much if not more stuff people have created thats changed the way i thought #about other people and myself and the way i interact with the world and all that #etc etc etc #anyway. im gay

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immawritethat · 5 years

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Missed Connections

(Somewhat connected to this piece I half-wrote last year and have been thinking about since) Anyhow, this the workshop draft of a short story I wrote for class, and I just think it’s v neat and wanted to share!

----

Dolores Lopez spent much of her free time inside museums, but today she was here with a purpose. The building was much younger than many of its contents—an oblong Art Deco styled building, trimmed with golds and chevron and all those other lovely elegant things. The atrium stretched to the full height of the building, dwarfing all patrons as if to say “You are inferior in the grand scheme of history; there may be no one to tell your tale lest ye gain the wealth and notoriety seen here!”

Or perhaps Dolores was simply projecting.

The first time she’d visited this particular museum was in the second grade, back when she wore her dark brown hair in two simple plaits—well, until two of the boys in class decided a few months later it was a stroke of comic genius to cut one off with a pair of scissors during class—back when her complexion still held a rich, golden undertone to it instead of a sickly yellow tinge, and back before she had to squint through thick, round glasses that later had her teased for looking far too much like an owl. It was so long ago she couldn’t remember exactly what they had been there to study—maybe something about the Native Americans or Columbus or vaqueros, but that wasn’t what made an impact.

She remembered, once they had been given time to look about the museum freely, taking one glance at an old World War II nurse’s uniform from the travelling exhibit and bursting into tears. A grief she had never been introduced to flooded forth, having seen no death in her lifetime, and pulled her underneath its tide. Something had been sitting inside her, buried deep underneath everything she knew of herself. The chaperone overseeing her had ended up taking her outside to calm down, asking what had happened. She had never quite been able to explain it, and lied that her stomach hurt when pressed for an answer.

As she aged, Dolores noticed more and more of her life out of the ordinary.

There were the vivid dreams, showing flashes of lives both mundane and horrific. They varied in topic, but often continued on at some point or another, as though a new episode had finally aired. Sometimes there were flickering shadows of a cobblestone hearth, and other times the sparking battlefields on the edge of the Euphrates. The most common ones brought Dolores into a living room decorated with floral wallpaper, a gramophone playing a song she later discovered was Vera Lynn’s “We’ll Meet Again.” In some dreams, she sat with another girl, a few years older, playing with rag dolls whose threads unraveled and only just remained stitched together so they wouldn’t have to hear the wailing of an upset child. In others, they were older, seated beside the radio, listening to whatever the statesman had to say on the state of drought and war and the economy.

Sometimes she sat alone, patching up old skirts and trousers, with little more than the hum of the wind to bring her company.

Only now was she beginning to understand what those dreams meant.

“Dolly Lopez?” The silvery voice came from behind Dolores, along with a gentle tap on the shoulder, pulling her focus back to the present. She turned, and an aged tension lifted from her body. Remington Siegel stood half a foot taller than her, dressed in a rather interesting combination of neon prints which stood out even more against his dark skin, looking nothing like the person that she had missed, but feeling every bit the same.

Dolores swiped the tears from her face, clearing her throat to compose herself. “You kept me waiting,” she said.

“I never meant to.” Remy put his arms across her shoulders, pulling her into an awkward side-hug. “Should we sit somewhere? Or is there an exhibit you’re fond of?” He paused for a moment, face screwed up with thought. “You weren’t the one with a stamp collection, were you?”

Dolores scrunched her nose. “I don’t remember much, but I definitely don’t remember that.”

Remy only shrugged. “Another lifetime, then. It’s tough to keep them all separated, you know.”

Dolores’s gaze fell down to the messenger bag hanging from his shoulder, stuffed with loose, crumpled papers on the verge of falling out. The weight of the binder in her arms seemed to double.

“Maybe the café?” He suggested, in hopes of breaking the silence. “It was a long flight from Newcastle, and I haven’t eaten much since—too busy trying to get a hold of myself.”

“Of course! Sorry, I got lost in my own head.” Dolores stepped to the side, gesturing forward. “Honestly, I’m just still a bit shocked you’re really here—five months of Twitter DMs and now? Bam! You’re just…here.”

“Well, that’s one of the many plusses of being the only grandchild of wealthy grandparents—they’re willing to spoil me at the drop of a hat. Well, that and I have spent far more time doing this.” He gestured his bag forward. “Maybe I’m not half as organized, but I’ve got it mostly-kinda-sorta figured out. Seeing me in action should help you out a lot.”

Dolores nodded, offering a soft mm-hm, but her eyes were clouded and far off. He hadn’t brought it up. She knew they had talked about it plenty through their messages, but it felt strange to not mention it. Wrong, even. But this was the third time he’d done this—he’d even approached her about it all. Maybe there was some taboo about it she was unaware of.

Maybe it didn’t mean as much to him.

She listened to Remy ramble on about his research methods preferred databases through the halls, around the line of the café, and even for the first few minutes seated at the table. She asked questions from time to time, but ones which were only half engaged—Oh really? How long did that take? How did you come up with that? She spent far more time shouting in her own head to get over her worries and ask something with more meaning.

“You’re dying to ask something.” It was a statement, rather than a question, delivered between a mouthful of muffin and a sip of tea. “The hesitant look in your eyes—go on, don’t be shy. I didn’t come all the way out here to buy five dollar muffins and be half-listened to.”

Dolores averted her gaze, focusing on the instead on a photo of an aged Victorian doctor, apparently one of Remy’s most notable memories, who looked up at her with a stern warning to mind her words carefully. She wiggled the straw in her tea aimlessly. “No, no, I’m alright!” She forced out a laugh, the way she had practiced on plenty of bad dates throughout plenty of lifetimes. “I’m just a little—”

“Look, Dolly—If you tell me you’re star-struck again, I’ll just have to ask you what’s wrong and that’s never a fun conversation.”

Dolores took in a short breath and sighed, deflating in her chair. “I was just…hoping maybe we could talk a little more about…” She pressed her lips together, failing to hold back her true thoughts. “Us? What we were, what we went through. I mean, God, it’s hard enough to find someone who remembers at all, let alone someone you shared that history with! Let’s talk about the fact that you were Betty and I was Judith and that we’re only seeing each other again now nearly eighty-goddamned-years later in two totally different bodies and from two totally different places!”

Ceramic clinked against the table. Dolores pulled her fist back towards her chest, face flushed from her outburst. She hadn’t meant to get that worked up, hadn’t meant to hit the table.

Remy leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs, and drew out a sigh. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, frowned, and then fixed his gaze back on Dolores. “You know that fun little saying War is hell? It’s not too far off.”

Dolores scooted her chair closer to the table, so that her belly pressed against the cool laminate. She hunched forward, so that he wouldn’t have to speak any louder than was required between the two of them.

“I try not to remember being Betty. I know you remember a lot of the good things, but you were the little sister. It was my job to make things seem fun and happy for you, even when Dad lost his job during the Depression and when the neighbors started getting shipped off left and right when the war started.” Remy paused. He suddenly found the particular soda stains on the floor particularly interesting, and focused his gaze there. “I know I signed up to be an Army Nurse because I was exhausted playing nanny for you. You were thirteen, I figured you’d be fine if I was gone for a bit. I could see the world, and meet some boys.”

He let out a whistle, low and long, like the groan of a dropped bomb. “Boy, oh boy did I meet plenty. You see things you couldn’t imagine happen to a human body treating a warzone. They kept me with diseases, mostly, not trauma.”

Dolores nodded. She knew how the story ended—Betty had contracted TB, died before the war even ended, and left her sister—had left her—without so much as a final goodbye.

Remy shrugged his shoulders, and returned to his previous position. “I’d love to say I remembered the good things, Dolly, but I’ve got all the ugly. Well, mostly.” He pulled an envelope from his bag, yellowed with time and creased with deep wrinkles. “I barely remember writing it, but I guess it was never posted. It was found in a box with some other nurse’s stuff, some old friend of mine—er, Betty’s—who’d passed, apparently.”

Dolores’s hands shook. It was so worn it had become soft, and the half-finished address was hardly legible at this point. “And it was definitely from…?”

Remy nodded. “It’s yours. Sorry it took so long to get here. But, hey, look at it this way: we got to say hello again instead of goodbye.”

Dolores’s lips quirked up into a smile. She left the envelope closed, and placed it inside her binder for later. She’d waited for it this long, anyway. “Hello is much nicer than goodbye, isn’t it?”

#my writing #original writing #speculative fiction #modern fantasy writing #tw death #tw disease #tw war mention

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irageneveart · 5 years

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there are so many things a 16 years old person should be doing beside throwing hate, BUT HERE YOU ARE BEING A BRAT

@bfmyers I really can't take this anymore, are you really that full of hypocrisy to scream TOXIC left and right while you yourself use your free time to only spread hate? I don’t usually do this and I try to stay away from useless discourse but you're just kicking on my nerves way too much

under the cut cause boy I have a lot to say. (really, it’s long. I needed to point out everything)

I'm going to kindly tell you to fuck off artists' backs.

you have 0 fucking knowledge of what you're talking about yet you're making callouts and worse, people agree! the same people who supported the artists before by reblogging and liking their art are now shitting on them and "ihh no more reblogs from them" only because you write a lengthy shit in which not only that you threaten a human being, you don't even know how to argue. a link to a picture and screaming "toxic" ISN'T A GODDAMN ARGUMENT

people of this community, PLEASE use your fucking brains and don't bow your head to what every nameless kid has to say. you don't have to believe me either, just use your fucking brain and heart and do the decision making yourself

Now, you did a callout post on @dbd-omija pointing out how toxic they are!!! omg gasp animal death? abuse?? HOW IS THAT pOsSIbLe

where have you been until now because this is a horror community:

in the TCM universe inbreeding is mentioned multiple times

in the Halloween movies Michael kills two dogs and eats one of them

omija clearly stated they went with the 1978-2018 timeline BUT NO YOU KEPT SCREAMING BECAUSE HOW DARE THEY SAY SOMETHING AGAINST YOU

on that matter: in the halloween movies Michael's cult makes him rape his niece, in another movie Laurie, before jumping to what it seemed her death, kisses Michael's mask lips. GASP, when will you sue the directors?

after he escaped, Max literally slaughtered every living creature in that farm. put the DBD devs on your "I need to sue them cause I have something to say against this horror game!!!" list

If there’s something I can agree with you on, it’s about tags. Yes, these are triggers, yes tagging is important, but let’s not forget that being in this community IS about being surrounded by triggers. out of courtesy sure, we should tag our stuff accordingly, but to go all out to say “omija, if you’re reading this, i’m going to pee in your mouth.” HOW. IS. THIS. ACCEPTED?! HOW

HOW THE FUCK PEOPLE WHO REBLOGGED THAT CALLOUT THOUGHT YES THIS IS GOOD?!!?!

now you said that Omija's making all of these seem cute and that’s the real problem. this is where you are sooo wrong and let me explain:

a round head doesn't instantly make everything cute. there are many many details that the human eye perceives as cute, things that artists go to when they want their art to be seen as cute. from the color chosen to the way their eyes and mouths are drawn, to the very line work they’re using. yes, shapes count too, but this is not the case and we should get out of our tiny box and see the big picture. Their comics are not meant to be cute, actually much respect to them for being brave enough to approach well known subjects that are not explored. But that’s it. If YOU see it as cute then it’s your problem really. Art and fiction is prone to interpretation

If anything, how much cute stuff we have in the community should be the anomaly, not that someone draws anxious Bubba

omija's Amanda and Bubba art is problematic! someone asks why, you: because is toxic!!!

really? I actually think that, given their individual personalities, omija portraits the ship’s dynamic really well. Amanda is not dealing well with her feelings and with humans and Bubba has problems understanding things in general. they are two deranged people finding a way to cope and to accept another human presence nearby. "Amanda is picking on a disabled person how can you say it's well!!!!" let me remind you that his entire family is picking on his disabilities and the fact that he loves but also FEARS his family is a big theme in Leatherface's story and personality

Also, another argument of yours was about “the power play” and how that’s problematic. I’m...honestly surprised you even thought of this argument because the entire slasher fandom, the movies, everything slasher related IS BASED ON POWER PLAY. Have you read what they wrote for Laurie/Michael to say the ship is based on power play and it’s wrong? No, me neither, cause I don’t care, but you seem to care enough to vomit about it. Go read some things and tell me how problematic the writing is, you need to call out writers too after all

Btw, surprise! I don't ship neither of the mentioned ships, but I can use my brain enough to see what omija does is actually well made and well thought, sick, weird in some instances, but well thought. kudos to you artist. I can also see those who ship Laurie and Michael are still nice people

But just like you and many others I have my own morals (do you now? Exposing yourself like that to NSFW content while so many people are scared for their life because of people like you? hmmmm) and I can’t really stand explicit pedophilia. I’ve read so many books or seen so many movies where it was mentioned, it’s a trigger factor, it’s taboo, therefore is normal to be used in darker works. It all depends on the circumstances and the way it is presented, cause it’s a piece of fiction. Nobody attacked George R. R. Martin for the controversial things he had written in his books right? I wonder why

Because, another surprise, fiction is different than reality and only this argument alone should be enough, but some monkey brains out there will come to scream at me how fiction affects reality. Someone who writes a murder mystery isn’t actually killing people when they put pen to paper. People who play shooter games do not wish to shoot people in real life. Someone who writes about rape will not welcome the rapist in their arms nor do they wish to rape someone. So on, it’s simple, again, we just need to use our brains.

If you have bullying-related or a family related or any thing related trauma and you see a Michael/Laurie fic or Quentin/Freddy or whatever other ships or subjects you have seen around, and decide to click on it, and then you have a negative reaction, that fiction is not harming you. Your unresolved trauma is harming you. Your decision to read something when you know it triggers you is harming you. The past actions of yourself and those who inflicted harm upon you are harming you. All of those things – your trauma, your real-life bullies, your actions – are real, and have the ability to harm you. (the italic bits are from @dracfics who said it better than I ever could put in words. Thank you)

next on your "who am I going to shit on today" is @renlvbon

not gonna lie, for the omija callout I read everything searching to see whenever you are right or not. I don’t personally know either of the artists but I could read enough to see you’re just a self entitled person with something to say regarding everything. for ren's callout I simply skipped after I saw your argument.

you're not doing gods' work by opening people's' eyes that they can or should portray the characters the way they are, disabled and gross. no, you're just picking on someone's art style

Can we stop this toxic nonsense???

don't get me wrong, I agree that we shouldn't make them supermodels and we shouldn't erase what they are, fucking ugly and gross killers, but saying people who don't draw them a certain way are cowards or calling them out or whatever else shit is TOXIC and ANNOYING. We all change them more or less, we have to because none of us are the original creators! We’re just thirsty people making them to be what we want and what we imagine because they’re fucking fiction

I’ve seen people agreeing with you saying the artist should consider real people with disabilities or on the heavier side (“like me” they pointed out). I’m so sorry if this comes out as rude but if you search or need validation in a horror community that’s not a good thing at all! Body positivity and a healthy approach to disabilities should. not. be. searched. in. a. horror. community or any community on tumblr for that matter. You want some positivity on that? In a real case scenario with them we all would die, no matter how you look like

Going back to the artists, some people don't have experience/ are insecure/ are uncomfortable drawing body hair or fat bodies or whatever. That doesn’t make them fatphobic or whatever shit I saw you writing in your tags.

Drawing a black character less than the color YOU think is good? Have you ever tried to color skin? There are so many ways to do it, there are so so many colors you combine and you play around with + lighting and shading that alters everything. and yeah maybe some people pick a different color, a lighter one, or a more yellow one than they should for asiatic people, or whatever. but these tones are NOT easy to get well (you can always put a brown color down and to call it a day, but maybe people won’t want that. They don’t want to be disrespectful, exactly cause there are predators like you that don’t know how to help, only how to fucking scream). Or maybe they simply don’t know how. Every artist has their own range of comfort zone, be it about subject - composition - colors - etc. I don’t do well with neon colors for example, it happens. Hell even the screen you’re using alters the colors

How about giving actual tips, support and explanations instead of rude call outs? And don’t come at me with the “color picker” shit cause color picker from a real life photo is hell and if you don’t know some color theory your art is going to look dull and lifeless regardless

The only time I can agree that whitewashing is wrong is when white-supremacy, nazi and other ugly shits like these are coming into the topic. But it’s not the case here

some young artists don't have the skill to draw certain body shapes, or body hair, or even a non-anime face. some others think putting a scar on the character’s face make them 'uglier' and ‘scarier’ and for them that's enough AND THAT'S ALRIGHT

drawing something that's supposed to be ugly but still having anatomy and proportions and a functionable mouth or eyes placement or whatever ISN'T EASY. ofc, you can go all out if that's what you want, but personally I want things to still be working because at the end of the day every single one of them is human. I'm not drawing dark fantasy in this fandom, I'm drawing slashers

NO ONE IS DRAWING FOR YOU. NO ONE IS USING THEIR SKILL TO MAKE YOU FEEL GOOD. art and writing, especially when is made in the free time of the creator, is made FOR THEMSELVES. If there are people enjoying it? Yay, that’s a win, but no one expects everybody on this planet to like what they’re doing. We’re getting back to that golden rule, DON’T LIKE: MOVE THE FUCK ON/ BLOCK AND LIVE YOUR LIFE. EASY. no one uses these unnecessary callouts for anything, if you have something to say do so kindly, if you can’t, just vent to your friends

So now let’s wrap it up cause IDK how many of you even make it through this point

can we fucking stop making young artists and writers cowards for drawing or writing how they can and however they fucking want? Please and thank you

this shit going on with "the best artist/writer for x y z character" or "conventionally drawing ugly Bubba uwu" will just destroy the confidence of whoever wants to keep drawing or writing or joining the fandom. There’s no competition who draws Bubba the ugliest nor who writes Michael the best. if you can do things a certain way, do it, and let the rest draw and write whatever they can WITHOUT FEARING THEY'RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH.

now I'm waiting for your very "well" argumented reply but I hope you'll understand that what you're doing is TOXIC and you should stop or at least change your way to address things. You’re talking to other human beings, not a void when you can throw any random thought you have in the morning. I don't care about you to be honest, but there are so many people out there following your words mindlessly and the creators are suffering and it's not fair.

don't forget to tell me to go kill myself. have a nice day

#ira talks #bfmyers callout #vent and triggers #this shit needs to stop #long post #my opinion #i won't put this in the main tags cause that's really useless #so I don't really know how to tag lol

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regular-lord-reckoner · 4 years

Text

i hate that i’ve felt this way, but i’ve been...really angry today.

i was blessedly disconnected enough that it didn’t really hit me all of what happened with my neighbor over the past few days, but today it just kind of crashed down on me and it’s just been really hard to get through the day without having a complete and utter meltdown (although by the end of my shift i was just sitting there working on referrals while crying because i had too much work to do to have a proper sob).

it’s just been hard because i’ve been trying to hold myself together for so long now and am trying to be in the mindset of focusing on getting better, getting a handle on my mental health, healing, etc. but like...how am i supposed to do that when i’m always on edge now?

how am i supposed to do that when i’m always waiting to hear the next gun shot or the next explosion? how can i find peace if i’m always looking over my shoulder or jumping at every noise i hear because i’m afraid it’s this dude about to escalate shit?

and moreover i just feel like...why? why the fuck is this happening? why do i have to keep reliving this?

like yeah, i get it, gunshots are going to be part of life (especially in this hellhole of a country). i get that living out in the country makes that possibility even more likely. i’ve heard it in movies, tv shows and music. i know that it’s ultimately my responsibility to handle my trauma and i don’t expect the rest of the world to just...stop what it’s doing because of me, i get that.

but i feel like........i don’t need that right next to my fucking house??? especially because that’s where said trauma took place?????? feel like i don’t need to hear the sound that sets me off only amplified by 1,000 with whatever explosive it is that he keeps setting off?? idk.

i just feel like it’d be a lot easier for me to get a handle on everything if i didn’t have to deal with this and i know there are courses of action we can take to try to combat this, but honestly i don’t have much faith in them because ultimately the law’s on his side on this one.

unless he really escalate this shit or starts shooting more so at night we’re not really going to be able to do anything.

i don’t want to be in some ugly, drawn out thing between us and this dude trying to see who ~wins.

i just want peace. that’s it. i just want to be able to be in my own fucking house and just...be at peace and i feel like it’s not outrageous of me to not want this dude to be doing what he’s doing.

that being said, i wrote a letter. i don’t know if i’ll end up putting it in their mailbox, i’ll obviously have to wait until at least tomorrow just to make sure it doesn’t accidentally get picked up by the mail carrier, but i feel like it’s worth a shot.

i just explained what the situation was in case for whatever reason at this point he isn’t aware. i asked him to please just stop doing this shit so close to our house. i don’t care if he keeps doing it, just...not right up next to our house.

i even apologized for my own behavior, for the things i said (if he could even hear them, i’m not sure) because i know i shouldn’t have sank to that level and let my anger get the best of me.

i’d say it face to face, but i’m honestly afraid i’d just end up getting angry or crying and i don’t want that, i’m sure he doesn’t either.

i’m hoping this is just...a situation where he thinks we’re his cranky neighbors who are trying to control his behavior and that’s why he’s reacting this way, but that if i explain what’s really going on maybe it’ll appeal to whatever sense of human decency i hope he has and he’ll get the message.

and from there, provided he reads it, i’ll at least know that i tried. i tried to explain, i tried to ask nicely, i didn’t just add fuel to the fire and if from there he decides to continue or to get worse then...well...we’ll figure out where to go from there.

i really don’t want to be bogged down with so much anger and upset. i know it’s not good for me, i know it’s only making things harder for me and i know i shouldn’t be letting someone else have this much power over my mental state, but these past few days have just been hard in general and then this happened and now i just feel....defeated.

i feel like what’s the point? i feel like ever since i made the decision to actually get better that i’ve been tested A LOT to see if my resolve was true and i’d managed to come out on top every time and still be hopeful, to still be optimistic and kept my eye on the prize but after yesterday i just keep thinking, “what’s the point? what’s the fucking point?”

if it wasn’t enough for me to have gone through the initial event and to live with everything that came after that, but being dragged back to that moment in time over and over and over again and in such a violent way... i honestly feel like i’m in hell and like nothing’s ever going to get better.

i’m trying not to feel that way and not to go to that hopeless place where i just give my depression exactly what it wants which is what i’ve been doing for the past ten years and just...give up, but BOY HOWDY is it hard to not be tempted after this shit and i wish i was stronger than this, i wish this wasn’t impacting me as much as it is, but in a lot of ways i feel like i’ve only just barely been hanging on by a thread and every time this happens that thread gets more and more frayed.

i dunno. i guess i’ll decide tomorrow if i’m going to send it or not. i’m not sure if he’s even there now because i haven’t heard any shooting today, so he might have gone back to wherever he actually lives and will be back this weekend, in which case the letter will end up going to his aunt or grandmother (i’m still not sure who she is to him) but maybe if she reads it she can talk to him and ask him to stop. i feel like he’d respect her more than he would me, so maybe that’d be for the best.

i dunno. i hate to be such a downer and i wish i had something good to share, especially right after christmas but i just don’t have it in me.

it’s been bad enough that this year especially has been such dogshit and i know it’s probably due to getting older and just how shit is in the world in general right now, but this year especially i haven’t felt any christmas joy whatsoever and like...yeah, big deal who cares, but...i care.

i always loved christmas time because it felt like such a special, peaceful time. people tend to be a little kinder, you get to pick out gifts for people you love that you can’t wait to see their faces when they open them, i love seeing all the lights and hearing christmas music like...i love all that shit.

and yet this year i didn’t put up my tree, i haven’t done any of my usual decorations, i feel like i dropped the ball shopping for people, and i just...haven’t cared. it’s just been something to get through.

and yet...i thought, y’know at least i have the day off. at least i’m at home and i can just relax and do whatever i want and just have a nice day.

and i couldn’t...even...have...that.

i already didn’t get to have the halloween i wanted (which losing joy in that one the past few years has especially hurt), but i just wanted this one fucking day and i couldn’t even have that.

idk. regardless of what i decide to do, i’m going to try my best to just...stop reacting to what he does. i said as much in the letter, but if his motivation for doing this is to get some kind of reaction then like...fine. you’re not getting it. that’s going to be incredibly hard for me, but i’ll suck it up and i’ll do it because i don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

i guess maybe i just needed a day to be angry and upset about this and by tomorrow i’ll try my best to get back into a better mindset and get back on track.

i did get some better headphones for christmas that block out sound a lot more than the ones i’ve been using so if nothing else i guess i can just start jamming those in my ears and turning up some music if he keeps this up and hopefully once i start back with therapy i’ll learn some tricks and tools to help keep myself calm.

i know my life could obviously be a lot worse so i’m not trying to sound ungrateful or just complain endlessly, but at the same time i just feel like this is a wholly unnecessary situation that 100% does not need to be happening and isn’t fair to any of us and i’d very much like for it to stop, whatever that will take.

i’m hoping it doesn’t get to this point, but i’m not at all above calling in some favors. i could have a group of dudes roll up to his front door and drag him out of his house to beat the shit out of him if i wanted and as much as there’s a part of me that would LOVE to see that......i’m trying to be better than that. i guess we’ll see how this goes if i end up sending the letter.

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midnight-circus · 5 years

Text

another bullshit meme

from sidebloggable

answered for logan and lucius bc i dont talk about my big dumb idiot enough

and im actually gonna answer for their original Fable timeline bc ive been feelin nostalgic recently

Their physical weak spots

Logan - depends on his age and/or stress-levels. He has a fair amount of upper body strength from swinging twin swords around all the fucking time, but it wouldn’t be ridiculously hard to overpower him if you could disarm and get hold of him - however, he’s fast, agile and extremely skilled, and it’s getting hold of him in the first place that’s the issue. In the middle of his reign, on the other hand, his body condition takes a dramatic dive - he’s pretty severely underweight and loses a lot of his muscle tone, and it really wouldn’t take much at all to best him.

Lucius - Lucius is a big, heavy mercenary who fights with a broadsword, so it’s hard to get the best of him in a one-to-one melee fight. However, he’s missing his left eye and is deaf in his left ear - subsequently if you use a little bit of stealth and come at him hard and fast from the left, you’ve got a pretty good chance of getting the jump on him. He’s also into middle-age and despite having decent reactions, a younger man of the same build as him might just pip him to the post.

Their emotional/moral weak spots

Logan - oh god lmao. Logan’s a mess, but his primary emotional weak spot is his siblings - be they his original two (hey queenie and dorian) or Morgan. I think he feels a bond that’s closer to paternal than fraternal, and I think the only way he can really justify to himself the pain he puts them through is telling himself he’s doing it for them. ok honestly, he will do fucking anything for them. at the climax of the revolution, the primary thought running through his head is how fucking proud he is. be nice if he said it out loud every once a while - hell, itd be nice if he’d just asked for some fuckin help before causing the literal death of hundreds of people - but yknow. thats just going one step too far i guess

Lucius - he’s a bleeding heart. when Morgan and his little band of rebels rock up in the Dweller village, Lucius is already there running supplies up and down the mountain to them; he watches way too many kids starve to death, and joins up with the rebels in order to lead them through Mourningwood. then he gets a crush on morgan’s little bitch face and just like. never leaves lmao. He’s easily blinded by injustice and gets worked up really quickly when he sees wrong being done - it can lead him to act recklessly or thoughtlessly at times.

Scars or painful spots

Logan - asides from the obvious scars across his lips (fencing wounds when he was a boy), he took some nasty damage from the Crawler during the three days he was trapped in the Auroran cave - he’s got a network of scars on his back that look a little like lashmarks. they hurt when they’re touched and he Does Not talk about them. he’s also got a few other scars here and there on his arms and chest from miscellaneous scraps and scuffles, and he has a deep puncture scar on his abdomen from an assassination attempt, but the less said about those the better.

Lucius - lmao Lucius is literally missing half his face to scar-tissue. he was attacked by a dog as a boy and it left him heavily messed-up. he’s also a merc, as i said, so he’s got a lot of miscellaneous old wounds but nothing quite as obvious as the ones his face.

Best places to kiss on their body

Logan - oh, the neck, bitch. he’s also kind of a slut for being kissed on the insides of his wrists; anywhere vulnerable, basically. if you could kill him there, kiss him there. freak-ass bitch.

Lucius - dude just likes a nice traditional french kiss man nothing crazy. but also definitely give him a blowjob. i know this question said kissing but lets be real thats kind of a kiss.

Guilty pleasures

Logan - he reads really terrible novels. like…really terrible. he pretends he’s reading something highbrow and intellectual but its actually a shitty romance recovered with something suitably acceptable and nobody can know

Lucius - he doesnt have any ‘guilty’ pleasures tbh, he just enjoys stuff unashamedly. he’s too thick to feel guilty

Their vices (physical or emotional)

Logan - lets be real, he’s probably done, like. an impressive amount of coke. i guess the terrible sleeping and eating habits are probably also a vice but like. it’s mainly the coke

Lucius - he smokes like a fuckin chimney

Their tickle spots

Logan - not only does he not have any, but you would also die for trying. Elrick disagrees.

Lucius - his ribs, but he is uncontrollably violent when he’s tickled so its a real good way to get a broken nose. he doesn’t mean to do it, he just spasms.

Bad memories/experiences

Logan - lmao. I’ll skip the most obvious (the 3-Day Auroran Extravaganza) because i think that goes without saying - it left him with crippling PTSD and damaged his mind heavily and insidiously. he was already pretty traumatised by his childhood and i think being forced into so many responsibilities so young also messed him up a little. it’s more like….rather one one or two specific experiences, its more just a general feeling of Bad that has stuck with him throughout his life. It was worsened by his later experiences, and essentially primed him for failure.

Lucius - yknow i was thinking about how to word the answer to this question and i realised that i accidentally made Lucius into Batman. His family farm was attacked and burnt to the ground by bandits when he was about 12; his parents and siblings were killed, and he only escaped by hiding in the coal-cellar. Later, he joined up with the mercenaries to try and track down the group that targeted them. fuck hes batman. i didnt mean to batman

Humiliating memories

Logan - oh man his father was a pro at humiliation. mistakes or oversights werent just punished, they were fuckin learned from, and he figured the best way to do this was humiliation - generally through public displays of What You Did Wrong and repeated recitations of the mistake in front of the people whose opinions Logan valued. It was kind of the catalyst for his inferiority complex and intense desire to succeed without input from others.

Lucius - again, Lucius doesn’t really experience embarrassment - he’s kind of too laid-back for it. yes, it was embarrassing the one time he fell over carrying two milk buckets and threw them all over himself in front of the handsome boy from the next farm over and the guy started laughing at him but like. you live and learn and the dude turned out to have a really ugly laugh anyway so who cares

Fears/phobias

Logan - he’s always had claustrophobia, but after the Auroran Experience this intensifies to a whole new level, and he also develops crippling nyctophobia. part of this is due to his hallucinatory psychosis - he sees things pretty much constantly, but it worsens in low lighting - but it’s also due to the fact that there may very well be actual Things in the dark and he struggles to tell reality from hallucination

Lucius - dogs. fuckin dogs. he hates dogs theyre literally so scary even the small ones bc the small ones move so quick and you never know when theyre gonna come at you

Bad or petty habits

Logan - oh, he’s just a petty bitch. he’s also outwardly arrogant, even if his internal feelings don’t match up to that. drily sarcastic, too, tho a person only really sees that when they get past the walls he throws up - Elrick is very familiar with it.

Lucius - he’s constantly standing to the right-hand side of people and then he wonders why he cant hear them properly

Grudges and vendettas

Logan - he’d hold a grudge against his father if he wasnt dead. he also holds a pretty heavy grudge against Theresa for not just fucking telling him.

Lucius - at first, only against the bandits that killed his family, but once he deals with them hes kind of at a loss as to where to go next. fortunately Logan starts starving people shortly afterwards, so if nothing else it gives him a kickstart into the rest of his life. Subsequently, Lucius will hold a vendetta against Logan for the rest of his life, even after he has been in a relationship with Morgan for years - he will never forgive him for the shit he put the common people through, and he doesnt really give a shit about the ~pressures~ Logan was under at the time. fuckin excuses, man.

Ingrained habits/forces of habit

Logan - his terrible sleeping/eating patterns. even before trauma and night-terrors made it almost impossible for him to sleep peacefully, he didn’t get more than 5 or 6 hours a night, if that.

Lucius - if something is smaller than him, he’ll protect it. he’ll also protect things bigger than him, if given half the chance. hes basically a golden retriever in human form, which is ironic considering his feelings about dogs.

What it takes to make them cry

Logan - would rather die than cry, quite literally.

Lucius - his heart is softer than butter, he’ll cry at anything. he’ll cry at an injured pigeon on the street.

Dark secrets/’skeletons in the closet’

Logan - never, ever, ever talks about what happened in Aurora. The details die with him.

Lucius - he doesn’t really have any - he’s not ashamed of much in his life, and he’s never done anything terrible enough to render it a skeleton.

People they’ve hurt or indirectly killed, and how it affected them

Logan - L M A O. yes, it affected him terribly, but tbqh however much its affected him kind of plays second fiddle to how much his actions affected other people.

Lucius - has killed a lot of people who deserved it during his mercenary years, and justifies it to himself by being absolutely certain that they did deserve it. sometimes he doubts this, though, and that doubt plays a big part in his eventually getting out of the game entirely

People who’ve influenced them greatly

Logan - Walter, tho he’ll never admit it in a million years and he still definitely kneecapped him right at the start of the game so idk what that says about him

Lucius - Morgan. it’s real gay, i know, but there it is.

#logan1 #lucius1

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foreverthirty1 · 6 years

Text

I have a confession to make. I feel empathy for Brett Kavanaugh.

Three years ago, I did something bad. I’m not going to go into the details of it on my social media, but I did something really wrong, and bad. I was deeply mourning a loss that very few people can understand or even begin to fathom in their own lives. I was in a very dark, deep, unforgiving place. I was really bad off. And I did something bad, and it was a betrayal of my values and it was a betrayal of people who really cared about me.

And I denied it like crazy. The shame was heavy and the feelings of victimization I felt over being caught were strong as hell. I belittled and raged against the (rightful) accuser. I was, honestly, frankly, a real monster. I was angry; I felt wrongfully attacked. I’d never intended to hurt anyone else, and I made it so that in my head that was enough, that was sufficient justification to make me right (and wronged). I was horrible. And I denied it all.And with every denial, every public lie I told, I got a little more incapable of the truth. The truth became less and less attainable with every step I took away from it. I felt my very livelihood was threatened- my relationship, my friendships, even yeah, my reputation- everything about what I held dear and sacred was in the crosshairs. I told myself I was fighting for all that, and that I’d come back around and reconcile everything eventually. And it’s unsustainable. And it will break you as a human being. You either have to eventually be honest, or you have to commit yourself to just being a liar, living a life that becomes in many ways itself one big lie.

And so to some degree I empathize with Brett Kavanaugh. What he did was not understandable, nor driven by grief or depression. What he did should carry legal consequences. I don’t forgive him; he hasn’t asked for forgiveness. And my intention is not to defend him. He hurt and traumatized people. Our stories are different. But I empathize. I don’t think he was ever in a mindset of wanting or trying to hurt anyone; I think it was clearly a byproduct that he failed to consider in the moment. That does not make the damage any lesser; the intentions don’t matter when you’re the one being hurt. But I do think he was entirely fixated on impressing other males at any and all costs, full stop. And I think it can’t be said enough: we need to address this kind of toxic masculinity. It can be changed. It can, to a large extent, be fixed moving forward in this country. But we need to change. Brett Kavanaugh was not just allowed to hurt other people; he was allowed to internalize the belief that what he did was harmless, and that his current behavior is correct and justified under his particular set of circumstances.

When Dr. Ford stated in her testimony that what she is most unable to forget is “their uproarious laughter,” I think every female and some men in this country heard her on a level that most men don’t understand. I think every one of our hearts broke simultaneously in that moment. I know mine did. You know my first thought? I thought back to a girl we in high school had all seemingly, collectively decided was the class slut. I thought of how we all, to various degrees ranging from active targeting to the complicity of our silence, victimized her. How we altered her adolescent experience and undoubtedly shaped her life in an indelibly negative, harmful way. I wondered where she is and what she is doing. I wondered if she was watching Dr. Ford’s testimony. I felt a connection to her in that moment. I’ve thought about her ever since. I’ve gone over and over in my head what it would look or sound like to reach out to her and apologize for my silence and by default, complicity in her torment. I don’t know if she’d forgive me, or any of us. I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. I never felt like I was wronging her, but I was a bystander to it. I joined in the laughter. I bet some of you did too.We allow the boys and men to do this to females, and in different but surely equally harmful way to other boys, and we go along with it. We sit by silently while others are tormented because we so fear the torment turning on us.

I don’t think Brett Kavanaugh is actually a dangerous predator with unchangeable ways. Every horrifying story about him, all so credible, so believable, some of them so obviously true, is about his desperate and seemingly endless pursuit of male approval at the expense of innocent female bystanders. (I guarantee you, whether we end up hearing from them or not, that there are men out there who were also victimized by Brett Kavanaugh’s bullying). It is always in the presence of his male peers, and it is always punctuated by the same thing: laughter. And the stories, probably so innocuous and unmemorable in his mind, are horrifying because we are finally publicly hearing and seeing them through the eyes of the females on the other side of them. And we need to talk about that. We NEED to talk about that.

We’ve all joined in the laughter, in some way, to some extent. Let’s admit that. Let’s acknowledge when and where we’ve been in the wrong. This country is overdue for a reckoning and I think that starts with us.This is not an attempt to defend Brett Kavanaugh. His temperament and (lack of) grace under pressure have been revealed and they are ugly. His bizarre invocation of the Clintons in his hearing revealed him for what he is: a partisan hack who never intended to demonstrate any semblance of unbiased or open-minded jurisprudence on the highest court in the nation. He is wholly unqualified and were he not, his blatant and seemingly never ending stream of lies over the last few weeks would be enough to disqualify him. He is the poster boy for toxic masculinity and he has left in the wake of his life so far far too much hurt, and pain, and trauma to be seated on the Supreme Court of the United States.

But I don’t think he’s unforgivable as a human being.

Again, I am not defending Brett Kavanaugh. I’m just begging the question: when will we really, truly talk about this? And I think the answer is, when the Brett Kavanaughs are willing to drop the act and live up to their truths. And I think that starts with us. I think that starts with everyone being able to admit that they’ve been wrong, sometimes even egregiously wrong, and that most of us have things in our past that we never really reconciled, and doing so feels too daunting. I think it starts with us.

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laughingmagi · 2 years

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John, mental health, trauma, and the dreamlike quality of his surreal life —

I know, a strange combination of subjects, but I’ll promise we’ll make it work. Straight away, I’m not going to attempt to pathologize John for a variety of reason. For one, I’m not a trained psychologist. Mind you, I find psychology and sociology fascinating, but honestly, I think this constant attribution of distinct mental illnesses on characters for relatively arbitrary reasons kind of tired. That’s not to say I have an issue of people portraying characters having mental illnesses, we always need realistic and sympathetic representation, but that’s a vast difference between that and saying for instance, x character is a narcissist because they care about what they look like.

Anyway.

In John’s case, I think he’s very difficult to psychoanalyze him because sure you could say he’s got a mile wide paranoia streak, but does he though? He has many enemies, many of them regularly sight unseen because they’re demons or a god or some such thing. If he’s on the paranoid side it’s for good reason, hardly out of delusion. You could say he’s anti-social of misanthropic because he’s usually portrayed as alone or expresses some cynical feeling about humanity on a whole. For one, I don’t think he’s cynical in a...literal sense, for lack of better way to put it. It’s that thing about nuance (I swear I’m going to get the word tattooed across my bloody forehead). His cynicism isn’t inherently ugly. He’s tired, he’s seen a lot, he was repeatedly traumatized from a young age. Some people just aren’t equipped with the support necessary to come out of the situations John has gone through with a cardinally optimistic point of view. In the more preternatural sense of things, I’m not sure any amount of therapy or social structure could heal those wounds in totality. Secondly, part of the reason he’s so frequently alone isn’t because he dislikes people. I can not stress the fact that John has a very dangerous lifestyle. A common theme throughout Hellblazer is John losing friends due to death and fall outs due to the hazard of being close to him. There’s even a lengthy stretch of time that Chas cuts him off.

I also can’t ignore class and politics. Regardless of when you want to put his time line, either adjusted or classique, John grew up (or was already an adult) during a time in England that politics began to lean further to the right. Think of Thatcher’s tenure as PM being similar to Reagan’s as president. Both fundamentally changed politics in their mutual countries, which was then crystallized in various ways by their predecessors. John is very much left leaning, and you can understand how it could be frustrating to watch the country, hell, a good portion of the world fall to a more centre-right perspective if not further. Tends to make someone angry, and sometimes that bitterness doesn’t exactly engender a rosy view of your fellow man. That doesn’t stop him from trying to help, but let’s just say I don’t think he’s always doing it with a song in his heart and a twinkle in his eye, nor should he be denigrated for not doing so.

That’s not to say I think John is of sound mind. I think the only thing that could be solidly cited without simplified or broadly drawn assumptions is that John suffers from PTSD. I suppose it could be most accurately linked to the Newcastle Incident, but John had already experienced quite a few traumatic experiences before that, so I’d be more likely to say that Newcastle exacerbated the problem. Most of his struggles with his mental health can be readily connected to having PTSD from his occasion to re-experience certain events to his self-destructive behaviour to his nightmares to his pessimistic attitudes toward himself.

Now I’m gonna briefly touch on well...John’s life is really weird. Hellblazer is a very strange comic. While it contributed to the birth of urban fantasy (I believe John is the blueprint for the occult detective trope present in many urban fantasy stories. Evvvvveryyyyybody stole from John from aesthetic to swagger), it doesn’t really have a whole lot of it in common with it until much later when it began to establish it more clearly. Especially in the early storylines, particularly the ones written by Jamie Delano. Those comics had much more in common with Neil Gaiman and a sprinkle of Terry Pratchett (who I suppose could be said also contributed to the urban fantasy genre but I digress). There’s a dreamlike quality to these comics. The art is trippy, like deeply hallucinogenic. Obviously, even if you want to call the magic and fantastical situations John finds himself as elaborate metaphors to systems of power, we’re talking about a comic book. A fictional story if you will. So yeah I’m saying these batshit things happened to him, and it definitely affects how he views reality. As I type this I can’t help but to feel resentful toward the high strangeness that has infected some communities. Flat Earthers, QAnon, Pizzagate, media propoganda of all sorts, and the proliferation of echo chambers. So when I say John doesn’t see reality the same way as others, it’s not because i believe he’s a conspiracy theorist or what have you. He believes that reality is soft, malleable, that it’s not something that’s fixed the way the average person might. John has seen the world around him become surreal, encountered entities that are fantastical, not a part of understood reality.

#meta #cut for length not content

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