#to I Should Just Quit Drawing Forever Because Nobody Could Ever Love Me Without Pretending | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

winslctrg · 3 years

Text

I Love You, With A Touch Of Tragedy And Quite Madly. (Mildred Ratched x Reader)

summary: a regular day at work turns out to be not so regular

a/n: this is for @sassicaismysupreme surpriseeee i was ur secret fic writer. Not important, but this is my first fic ever so i hope it is any good!

warnings: slapping, angst!

Your relationship with Mildred was a fairytale. You were all sunshine and blue skies. Though some clouds might be there with the occasional rainy day, there were rarely thunderstorms.

Mildred only added to your sunshine. She has been like some sort of rainbow hanging above your little heart island, making it a happier place. Rainbows are rare and special, and that’s also how you looked at Mildred.

It had always been happy. You were used to it like that, and you liked it that way. No complications, no anxiety, no fears, no anger. Mildred was some sort of safe haven where you just never had any problems. That's probably why the situation affected you so much.

It was one of those blue sky, happy sunny days. You opened your eyes, closed them again against the rays that fell right through your curtains. You couldn't be annoyed for long though, because your head immediately met your sleeping girlfriend's.

Your mouth fell into a soft smile upon seeing her. She always seemed to have that effect on you, no matter where you guys were. It once even happened at a funeral, and Mildred had to give u a soft warning glare. Not that that helped though, it only made you smile more. She made you smile. At home, at work, in the grocery store, on the street, at parties, anywhere at anytime. She was quite simply everything to you.

You pressed a soft kiss on her temple “Wake up darling, we’ll be late.” You whispered, before running your hand softly through her hair. The sun made her features even more gorgeous than they usually were, accentuating her sharp cheekbones and her beautiful big lips. Your hand left her hair and ran softly from the forming frown between her eyebrows all the way down to her nose before putting it on her now blushing cheeks.

“Goodmorning sunshine.” You giggled. A soft smile spread on Mildred’s face as she finally opened her eyes. Her brown eyes looked nearly gold because of the sun. You begged. Wished to stay like this forever, but the alarm went off, pulling you both out of your trances. You grinned at her before you sat up and grabbed her wrist. She positioned herself right in your arms. You let your nose slip into her beautiful reddish-brown hair, smelling her expensive shampoo.

You never got used to moments like these. They made your heart race, and you were sure it also grew 3 times bigger. “I love you” you whispered into her hair, as if making a promise to yourself that your heart would forever beat for her. “I love you too honey.” She said before yawning. “Aww are you sleepy baby?” you teased. “Did i wear you out last night?” your said, and you winked at her. Mildred glared at you, but you could see the pink tones covering her ears and cheeks. You kissed her softly, before pulling away again but resting your forehead against hers, noses touching. “We have to get ready.” You whispered. “I know.” She replied. She put her soft hands on your cheeks, as her long slender thumbs started stroking the area right beside your nose. “I love you.” You said again, just for the sake of reassuring your promise to her. She knew, because she smiled and when you looked deep into her warm brown eyes you saw that same promise. “I love you too, lets get dressed.”

You were in the car to work, both of you working at the hospital. Mildred drove, always. You did try once, but then nearly hit a car because you were too busy staring at her. You didn’t mind not driving, it meant you could stare at her without the posibillity of killing an entire family and their dog.

As you both arrived on the parking lot, you made sure your hat was on right and straightened Mildred’s too. You glanced around, saw nobody and kissed her. It always cleared your mind, kissing her. It seemed to draw out any negative feelings and fill your head with love, much like a love potion.

You both stepped out of the car and went to your respective entrances. You gave Mildred a small smile before parting.

Work went slowly, but good. You were good friends with Huck, and he made time speed up just a little faster, plus seeing Mildred at lunch really made you optimistic again.

After lunch, Mildred called you and Huck to a treatment room. There was a girl there, around your age, and she looked frightened.

“Nurse Finnigan, nurse y/l/n, this is miss Ruth Davis. She’s here because of unexplainable feelings towards women, which is simply unacceptable, don’t you guys think?” You pushed up an eyebrow and looked at Huck, who also had a confused expression on his face. “Well?” Mildred asked, a slight tinge to her tone now. Huck cleared his throat. “Yeah uh sure, unacceptable.”

You, however shook your head. “I don’t think she should be tortured simply for liking women. I don’t see a problem with it honestly.” You said as calmly as you could. You met Hucks gaze, saw his shocked eyes but also his slight grin. You averted your gaze to meet Mildreds eyes, saw a flash of panic. Panic? No, now it was definitely anger. “Nurse y/l/n thats incredibly inappropriate. I suggest you find another job if you think that way.” She said, her voice sounded a little too forced for your liking. “I’d gladly do, but um I know you don’t have a problem with it either.” You said and moved your head to look at the girl. “She doesn’t,” you told her. “I’d know-“

Before you had the time to finish your sentence, you felt a hard burning on your cheek and you stumbled tot he ground. She had hit you. Your mind was running 800 miles per second. You stared back up at her with tears threatening to come out of your eyes.

“I should’ve known it wasn’t real, right? That this was all a big game to you. That you didn’t actually care about me.” You whispered and you tried to lean on your shakey hands. “I’m sorry for believing you didn’t actually hate me, I’m sorry you had to keep your act up for so long. I just thought-“ your voice broke mid sentence. “I thought we were happy.” You blinked. Didn’t, couldn’t look at her. You opened your mouth to speak again, but instead a sob made it’s way out. You shook your head feverently and ran past her. “Don’t come after me.” You murmered as your shoulders touched. Away. Away. Away.

You didn’t know how long you had ran for, you wondered how you had even kept on going that far. Breathing was becoming, air scraping it’s way through your lungs, making them bleed. Doesn’t matter, you told yourself. It definitley wasn’t bleeding as badly as your heart

You only ever wanted to be hers. To watch the sunset with her ever night in the summer, and sit by the ocean just because you could. To give her hugs for warmth when she had underestimated the cool sting of the autumn air. To hold her hand on walks during the snow in the winter, and buy her the perfect christmas presents. To pick her some blooming daisies and lavender and violets in the spring and make a bouqet, just for her. You wanted to make her feel wanted.

You came to a halt as you realized where you had run to. Her house. Because that was home. She was. Your face crumpled and you started sobbing. You rand to the nearest wall to steady yourself, before giving up and letting yourself slide down the wall. You let your head fall in your hands and buried your shaking fingers in your hair.

“Yes, I’m scared of you! You hit me!” you screamed out, voice breaking halfway through out of frustration, anger and love. That one was hard to admit, but you knew you were mad because you loved her. Because you had spent months making a flower garden with all of your memories, and all that you knew of her, and all of your feelings, and she had just set it on fire.

“Look y/n I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do.” She said. Her voice was soft and you tried to listen for any sign of a lie. You couldn’t find any. You whipped your head up, glaring at her with such passion that even you were scared of what you were capable of. “You should’ve thought about that before you put you whole palm on my face, don’t you think?” you snarled. You saw her chin tremble, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. “You know, you always tell your patients not to be afraid, but i don’t think there’s anyone that’s more scared than you. I know you are, don’t even pretend you aren’t. I know you.” You paused for a second, took a shaky breath in, cursed at yourself internally. “You might not know it, but I do. 4 months don’t just go by, Mildred. Neither for you nor for me.”

You saw a tear slip out of her eye. “I’m so sorry y/n. I do know. I do care. I’m sorry.” She breathed, and you could practically hear your heart break. “I don’t know what to do, but I do care. I can’t-“ her sentence got broken up by a big intake of breath, before a loud sob escaped her mouth. “I was so scared.” She cried. Your eyebrow pushed up. You should've known she was afraid, should've known she never agreed to do the therapy, should’ve known you burnt your own flowers the minute you started talking. But you were confused, and you felt hurt and you reacted on that.

You didn't even think about her feelings, if you were going to be honest with yourself. You wanted to feel guilty, but deep down you knew you couldn’t blame yourself. She hurt you, she hit you and that wasn’t going to be forgotten in a heartbeat.

But you loved her. More than anything. And so you tried to pick up all of the broken pieces, yours and hers, and tried to glue all of it into one big love ball.

“I’m not gonna say that its okay, Mildred, because it’s not and you know that.” You started. You saw her eyes scarily looking up into yours. You took a deep breath in before continuing. “But this doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore.” Her eyes watered again. “It doesn’t?” You shook your head. “No it doesn’t, but you try doing that again and I won’t give you another chance.” Mildred shook her head violently. “Alright, come on, we’ll go home.”

That night before you guys went to bed, you approached her.

“Mildred,” you said as she was going to the bathroom. She turned around, her beautiful curls falling just right over her shoulders. “Yeah?” she said. You smiled. “I love you.” She hid a small blush while turning back around. “I love you too darling.” She replied. You smiled to yourself. Though this was too big of an issue to just blow over, you knew you and Mildred would work through it. Because you loved her, even if it was tragedy sometimes.

#mildred ratched #mildred ratched x reader #ratched #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader

108 notes · View notes

ryoceann · 3 years

Text

J2 Fanfic Rec List <3

In honour of all the j2 content we have recieved, and the amount of fanfiction I have read, I decided to make a rec-list nobody asked me for but EVERYONE has to read k? Capiche? Make sure to heed the warnings, and read the tags. These are some beautiful gems by very talented authors and I’ve only scratched the surface of it.

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

The Courtship Of Jensen’s Co-Star{Masterpost} by qblackheart-

Summary:- Somewhere in the time between a handshake and a hug, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki went from being reel-life brothers to real-life best friends, and complete strangers to cosmic soul mates, no rhyme or reason to it that either of them could ever see. Jared was everything Jensen was not: friendly, funny, and full of life; one in six-point-whatever billion the Earth’s population currently stood at. Life was awesome. Work was amazing. Everything was fine until Jared kissed Jensen. Everything was peachy until Jensen fell in love. With desperate times unexpectedly calling for desperate measures, Jensen called Chad Michael Murray for relationship advice – because being in love led to temporary insanity obviously – so it really didn't surprise him that he couldn’t seem to win when it came to wooing Jared. Still, Pisces must’ve been in a really good place in the night sky or something because suddenly, right smack dab in the middle of the miserable courtship of his co-star, Jensen discovered that maybe loving Jared was all he needed to do to win his heart. And luckily for Jensen, loving Jared was also the one thing he did best. ~112k~

The Play Nice Proviso{Masterpost} by qblackheart-

Summary:- When Jensen Ackles first met Jared Padalecki, it was most definitely not love at first sight. It wasn’t even like at first sight. In fact, Jensen hated him, and he had a few good reasons as to why. So what if his new co-star was oblivious to his one-sided warfare? Jensen could deal. Apart from when he couldn’t. So when it came down to picking between Padalecki and his peace of mind, the choice seemed clear. Except for the fact that The Network had his balls in a vice, leaving him stuck with Supernatural, stuck with his idiot co-star, and worst of all, stuck with a ‘Play Nice’ Proviso added to his contract. Well, he could play nice. He would play so nice that the world was going to think that he and Jared Padalecki were the bestest friends in the history of best friends. It was unfortunate then that no one had ever told Jensen what happened when an immovable object met an irresistible force; no one had ever thought to mention that there was a thin line between hate and love; and nothing, absolutely nothing, could have possibly prepared him for Playing Nice with Jared Padalecki. ~70k~

And The Rest, As They Say Is History by Raina_at-

Summary:- Struggling actor Jensen takes a job as big-shot movie star Jared Padalecki’s dogsitter. And the rest, as they say, is history. ~17k~

reinventing love ‘verse{Masterpost} by _mournthewicked-

Summary:- With high school graduation less than two weeks away, best friends Jared and Jensen find themselves scrambling to tie up a few loose ends before they’re forced into adulthood. Jared ropes Jensen into helping him get the alcohol for Sandy's graduation party, and what should be a simple night of partying ends up turning into a series of mishaps and misunderstandings that all come to head when Jensen finally tells Jared the secret he wasn't ever planning on spilling. If high school has to end, they're going out with a bang. (A J2 spin on the movie Superbad) ~200k+~

My Heart Don’t Beat The Way It Used To by Raina_at-

Summary:- Jared and Jensen have been best friends forever, and nothing’s going to ever change that, not even senior slump, or college anxieties, or even Jared getting an annoying cheerleader girlfriend. Or so Jensen thought. ~26k~

Can’t Point The Way To Your Heart by Belyste-

Summary:- AU in the vein of movies like Hitch - Jensen's an unofficial advice guru, and Jared's his latest project. Except while Jensen's supposed to be helping Jared end up with the woman of his dreams, he falls for him instead. ~33k~

Something Borrowed, Something Blue by Belyste-

Summary:- When Jared desperately needs a date for his brother's wedding, he hires an escort. Jensen's the perfect fake boyfriend, except pretty soon things get a little too real. Based on The Wedding Date. ~38k~

True Colors by muni-playground-

Summary:- Jared is a mentally challenged young man with a very special gift. Jensen is an executive with nothing in his life but work. They meet by accident and discover a connection that defies explanation. ~32k~

The Billionaire’s Reluctant Husband by house_of_lantis-

Summary:- Billionaire Jensen is a playboy and he needs a husband pronto if he wants to keep his company and his inheritance. After a chance meeting with quiet and hardworking Jared, Jensen decides that he’s found the perfect candidate. The arrogant Jensen thinks he’s got Jared in the bag, but when his new husband refuses to sleep with him and doesn’t really even seem to like him, Jensen convinces himself that he’s happy with his open marriage lifestyle. But Jensen becomes increasingly obsessed with his new husband and discovers the truth behind Jared’s dark past. ~98k~

Project Get Jared Banged{Masterpost} by soulmatecest-

Summary:- Jared's had the best stepbrother in the world in Jensen since the age of five — growing up together and more attached than usual brothers would —, only realizing that he’s in love with Jensen by the time he hits thirteen. After five more years of Jared's impossible crush, he knows his life turns and spins around his brother. Luckily for Jared, he and Jensen have always been closer than other siblings, making his feelings seem a little less hopeless. Or that is until Jensen announces he’s moving to Austin to live with his girlfriend next year, leaving Jared's perfectly built Jensen-centric world crashing to the ground. That’s when Chad and Sandy decide to convince Jared that moving on and letting go of his feelings are the only way to get through his lost love for Jensen. Yet their plan to get Jared out of his shell and over his stepbrother doesn't sit well with one person: Jensen himself, who realizes that the more Jared tries to pull away, the more he wants to get him back closer. ~120k~

Burn The Land and Boil The Sea by nyxocity-

Summary:- Eight years ago, Jared spent his entire summer on a tropical island off the coast of Mexico with Jensen. He fell head over heels for Jensen, but their lives were going separate directions at the end of the summer, and they never quite got together. Jensen left for Greenpeace and Jared went off to college—but he never truly got over Jensen. Now, in present day, Jared is a marine biologist working on a project in the gorgeous panhandle of Alaska. He’s amazed to discover the captain of the ship he’s chartered is none other than Jensen Ackles himself. Jared’s overjoyed, but Jensen is less than thrilled—he’s a changed man since that summer so long ago; withdrawn, passionless and solitary. Still something of the bond between them remains, and neither of them seem to be able to escape its pull completely. When Jared’s project leads them into danger and leaves them running and fighting for their lives, Jensen’s secrets begin to come out, drawing them back together—but can they survive long enough to figure out this thing between them? ~53k~

As This Sunset Turns to Morning{Masterpost} by _mournthewicked-

Summary:- Jensen spends his life hiding who he is from the family that would never accept him if they knew. When he’s uprooted in the middle of his senior year and suddenly becomes the new kid, his carefully placed mask begins to slip. Especially when he meets Jared – a loud, outspoken spectacle of a boy that fights for everything Jensen was taught to stand against. Jared has no problem going after what he wants, and now it’s just a matter of Jensen letting himself do the same. ~86k~

Leave My Heart Out of This by elless18- (link to the timestamps)

Summary:- AU. Jensen needs to get married in order to get his grandfather’s inheritance and open his own law firm. Jared would do anything to help his best friend. The plan is simple- pretend to date, get married, get the inheritance, get divorced. But things grow complicated when one of them starts falling for his fake boyfriend. Can they find their happily-ever-after from all the lies they’ve built around them? ~35k+~

Who Watches Over Me? by nyoxicity-

Summary:- Jensen Ackles is an ex-Navy SEAL turned civilian bodyguard with a mysterious past. Jared Padalecki is a flamboyant Hollywood star known for his action movies who's been receiving death threats. The case sounds like Jensen's idea of a nightmare, and he takes it on against his better judgment. Jared drags him to clubs and parties and award ceremonies without any care for how difficult he's making Jensen's job, and to his complete lack of surprise, they hate each other. But when hate changes into passion, it begins to reveal something deeper between them, and Jensen realizes he's in over his head. Can he still do his job and keep Jared safe? Or will he fall prey to his greatest fear and fail someone... again? ~96k~

The Billionaire’s Bidding by Raina_at-

Summary:- When idle, slacking billionaire’s son Jensen Ackles lends a helping hand to his old childhood friend, he gets a lot more than he’s bargained for. ~31k~

Hold My Whipped Cream by dimpleforyourthoughts-

Summary:- International Best Selling Author Jensen Ackles is all kinds of specific with the details of his life. He likes privacy, writing, and coffee; black, no sugar, hold the cream. He’s become a fixture at the local coffee shop, writing from his table every day for the past two years. His vices include routine, neatness, and structure. Jensen doesn’t do messes. Then there is Jared, recent post-grad basket case, who’s been coming in every day for caffeine he doesn’t need and bringing the increasing disaster in his life with him. Jared is a mess in all the ways Jensen is not and so Jensen offers to help Jared in the only way he knows how: by buying Jared a cup of coffee. ~37k~

Operation: Mistletoe by dimpleforyourthoughts-

Summary:- FBI Agent Jensen Ackles is a damn good agent, but his devil-may-care attitude, gut instinct, and sheer dumb luck have finally run out. With his job and reputation on the line, Jensen is assigned to a new partner: the overzealous and overachieving Agent Jared Padalecki. Their mission: Infiltrate a ring of drug dealers hiding out in Suburbia in the midst of the Holiday season. The only catch? They have to pretend to be head-over-heels in love with each other. ~39k~

Regaining Sense{Masterpost} by astri13-

Summary:- A vengeful crime-boss cost Jensen not only his eyesight but also a promising career with the FBI. When the man resurfaces two years later, Jensen is not thrilled to find himself taken into protective custody, even less so when the Agent in charge turns out to be Jensen's former partner and boyfriend, Jared Padalecki. Will the two men be able to overcome their differences and work together to not only stop the bad guy but also uncover the mole in their own ranks before it is too late? ~27k~

Say You’re Mine by Belyste-

Summary:- It takes his two best friends getting engaged to make Jared realize what’s missing in his own life, but once he figures it out, he’s a man on a mission: find true love or die trying. He’s not asking for much – just the perfect soul mate to spend blissful eternity with – so when a chance meeting drops Jensen into his life (and his lap), it seems like fate. But either Jensen missed that memo or fate seems to have other ideas, because nothing works out the way Jared planned. Based loosely on S1 of How I Met Your Mother, but you don't need to have seen that to know what's going on. ~56k~

Absence From Those We Love by _mournthewicked-

Summary:- Jensen Ackles led a great life. It just wasn’t the one he planned on. Now he’s newly single, stuck at a job he hates, and sharing an apartment with his lovably psychotic best friend. When he’s given the chance to go back and do it all over again, he leaps at it. Only he soon comes to realize that no matter what’s in front of him, it’s impossible to leave the past behind. Considering what he’d be giving up, he might not even want to. (17 Again - J2 Style.) ~41k~

Change The Fate’s Design by _mournthewicked-

Summary:- All Jensen has ever wanted to do is see the ocean. Unfortunately, that's kind of hard to do when your dad won't let you leave your house in the forest because of your magical powers. So, Jensen spends most of his days with no one but his pet hedgehog to keep him company. At least, until a guy named Jared stumbles along and offers to help him realize his dream. (A J2 spin on Disney's Tangled.) ~50k~

A Spotlight On These Desolate Dreams{Masterpost} by _mournthewicked-

Summary:- In high school, Jared Padalecki had it all. He was surrounded with rich, famous, beautiful friends and partied with young Hollywood's elite. As if all of that wasn't exciting enough, he used the tricks he learned from his grandfather to become an amateur sleuth with his billionaire best friend, Jensen Ackles, playing the role of trusty sidekick. But when he got in over his head and lost everything he once held dear, he knew that it was time to move on. That was ten years ago. Now he lives the lonely life of a hardboiled private investigator on the streets of Manhattan, and his fabulous past is nothing but a distant memory. That is, until a tragedy forces him to return to California and the world he left behind. Between juggling rabid paparazzi, sarcastic detectives, and a spurned ex-best friend, it's a wonder that he can possibly find the time to solve a murder that has left the city of angels reeling. ~50k~

Break Me, Shake Me, Hate Me, Take Me Over by orphan_account- (sorry, I can’t access the author’s account but the story’s link still works!)

Summary:- When recklessness, alcohol and a bullet to his hip sees his police career end in disgrace, alpha Jensen Ackles resigns himself to a life spent in the dregs of a bottle, aimless and filled with regrets, watching as the bills and eviction notices pile up. That is, until he's offered a job and lodging with beta lawyer Samantha Smith, as a pseudo bouncer/admin worker. It's a far cry from his previous life, but it might just be what Jensen needs to drag himself from the dark place he's in. Not only that, but little does Jensen realise that taking on the position will bring him face to face with his biggest regret; the person he walked away from three years ago in what was the worst mistake of his life... ~70k~

Whiskey River, You’re All I Got by whisperedstory-

Summary:- Jensen's life revolves around The Whiskey Sour, the bar he inherited from his grandfather nine years ago. But with too few customers and not nearly enough profit, things are taking a turn for the worse. And then Jared Padalecki walks into Jensen's life and changes everything. ~19k~

Out Of The Silence by annie46-

Summary:- When hardened, but lonely cop, Jensen Ackles meets Jared Padalecki in his family’s diner, he doesn’t realise that his life is about to change drastically. Jared is a complete innocent, deaf, mute and unable to communicate, he needs a friend. Can Jensen be that man? ~the word count wasn’t mentioned but if i had to take a guess, I’d say something between 20k and 30k~

The Execution Of The Last Steal by soulmatecest-

Summary:- Anyone who meets Jared Padalecki would think he has the perfect life: a college degree, a normal life and an apparently perfect fiancé, Stephen Amell, the son of a Senator with a bright future. Except for one thing: it’s all based on a lie. Five years ago, he created a new identity for himself to cut all ties to his criminal past and ex-boyfriend Jensen Ackles, a world-renowned thief. But Jared can’t run forever. A threat from his past comes back looking for him and the only person who can help him is the man he thought he left behind forever, the only person Jared’s never been able to forget. Incredibly charming and just as cocky, Jensen Ackles is a thief that is too good at his job for his own good, who would do anything to protect Jared now that his life is in danger. Years have gone by, but he has never been able to forget Jared either. And perhaps now that they are forced to escape together, Jensen might be able to do what he’s best at: steal Jared’s heart one last time and win back the only person Jensen has ever loved. ~97k~

Bring Me To Life by alienat-

Summary:- Jared’s a shy young man, whose life has never been easy. His father hates him, his mother drinks her sorrows away and his husband Paul treats him like he is nothing more than a beautiful toy. When his husband has to go away on a business trip to Europe for two months, he sends Jared away to a ranch in the middle of nowhere to keep him under control. There, Jared meets people who show him what love, friendship and loyalty mean for the first time in his life. Can he escape his life and finally find some love and happiness for himself? ~81k~

Gunpoint{Series} by felisblanco-

Summary:- Jensen got his childhood stolen away from him when he was ten years old. Along with his memory, his voice and every emotion that wasn’t fear, hatred or anger. Question is, can Jared help him get any of it back? And more importantly, does Jensen really want him to?

Election Day by morganaDW(morgana07)-

Summary:- Jensen's running for President with the deck already stacked against him. He's come out as gay while serving in Congress, his Vice President is a colorful Misha & his family has disowned him over his choice of partners. But that's not the worst of it...On Election Day when he should be focused on winning Jared ends up shot after stepping in front of a killer's gun to save some school children. Election Day is important but to Jensen nothing is more important than Jared and he doesn't care who knows it or if he loses so long as he can be with him. It's Jensen who winds up surprised in the end. ~8k~

A Boy At An Open Door by poor_choices-

Summary:- Jensen Ackles' life is all sorted out, until a blast from the past shows up and makes him realize he's not as happy as he thought. ~10k~

Beautiful Disaster by nyoxicity-

Summary:- Rock Band AU. Jensen’s the lead guitarist in the number one rock band in the country. Justin’s the lead singer, and they’ve been doing this together since middle-school, been together since just after high school. As on top of the world as they are, Jensen’s starting to become disillusioned with the lifestyle and his crumbling relationship with Justin. And then he meets a new roadie on the crew named Jared who’s got a voice like an angel and a heart to match, and everything starts to change. ~96k~

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

And that’s the end of it!!! These are absolutely beautiful, gorgeous and epic fanfictions and will keep you buys for days! Hope y’all enjoy these, I’m off to read more sksksksksk. Let me know if a link doesn’t work, if you like any of these in my inbox and if y’all want a part 2! Peace and J2 5 ever!!!

#j2 #j2 fic recs #j2 recs #j2 fic rec #j2 rec list #fanfiction #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #me as a stan doing my civil duty #ENJOY IT J2 NATION #!!!

91 notes · View notes

wayhavenots · 3 years

Text

So don’t you fret for your baby sister now

I wanted to write a fluffy Mind Blind fic, but this was the only idea I could write. ...Sorry in advance!

Title taken from Sunday Shoes by Lady Lamb.

TW: Death of a major character (Nick)

Synopsis: Nick opts to be taken off of life support when it looks like he will not recover. He needs Daphne’s help to say goodbye. (Some Gray x Button but it’s really not the focus here.) (Major angst! I cried like three times while writing this.)

Word count: 1312 words

You don't have to do this if you don't want to, Button.

Daphne Wiseman flicks the zipper on her jacket. I know, she thinks back.

She knows, and she doesn't want to, but her body walks them into the hospital room anyway. It pulls up a chair next to the body of her comatose brother, who is breathing steadily through a ventilator. It sits and it looks.

Funny, how a body and a mind can be so at odds, sometimes.

Funny. Haha. Like the time her body almost killed her brother.

Correction: Like the time her body did kill her brother. Because it didn't matter that Vengeance had been brought to justice. Justice wasn't coming back.

Nick's body stopped breathing shortly after the epic takedown of Vengeance. He disappeared from her mind for the most terrifying half-hour of Daphne's life. (That included the twenty-seven minutes that her mother took her body for a test-drive. And the thirty-two it took for Nick to delete an embarrassing message that a love-sick and slightly drunk nineteen-year-old Daphne had left in Grayson Black's voicemail box.)

Guess they fixed me in the nick of time, he remarked when he came back, when he and Daphne both heard the doctor say that there had been an unexpected development.

C'mon, Body, stop kidney-ing around, he said a few days later, upon the revelation that his kidney function had decreased.

Hey, I can beat this, he said a few weeks later, in regards to the unstable rhythm of his heart. Get it, Button?

And then after some more weeks, so, so softly that Daphne almost didn't hear him over the sound of her own thoughts mixing with the doctors' words (”...brain could eventually shut down...” that's just what happens when you're trapped in my head in Rosy's classroom eh Nick “...you'll need to make a decision, or rather, he’ll need to make a decision if he wants to proceed with organ donation...” if it’s anything like your Halloween costume decisions then I think we should crowdsource this one...)---

Shit.

John and Hope drive down from Milwaukee to say goodbye. To Nick, whose body will soon stop and whose mind will go with it. And to Daphne, whose head will soon be unprotected from those who can do her harm, intentionally or not.

And that’s why they have to leave, hours before the doctors are scheduled to power down the machines. Because they couldn’t bear it if something were to happen to Daphne, too.

But she isn’t scared of what her mother could do to her. Not anymore. What could she possibly do to her that is worse than being used to kill her brother?

She doesn’t say that. She doesn’t say anything, except for the words that Nick wants her to relay---about how much he loves them, about how he couldn’t have asked for better parents, et cetera, et cetera.

Her mouth forms the words, repeating after Nick, but her mind is elsewhere. Her mind is focused on the heart monitor’s steady rhythm, the fluid dripping from an IV into her brother’s veins, a chip in the paint on the wall, the zipper of her jacket. Zip up, zip down, now you see me, now you don’t. The sound is soothing over her voice, which is shaky and unsteady---not a good representative for calm and confident Nick at all.

She barely remembers being gathered into the last ever Wiseman family hug. Or watching the door shut behind them.

How are you feeling, Button?

As if he doesn’t know.

(Maybe he doesn’t. She’s not sure, either.)

Hungry.

It’s the funniest answer she can think of, until she remembers that she will never have a meal as good as one cooked by Nick.

In the long string of goodbyes, a long list of friends and relatives and exes that Daphne never knew, the last is Gray. He bumps a chair on his way in and apologizes to it, which makes Daphne smile for a moment, without realizing it. And then he places the chair across from hers, sits down, knees almost but not quite touching hers.

His eyes are red, she notices. She wants to hug him.

Why not? I think he’d like that.

She tries to suppress the thought, but can’t: she killed his best friend.

Nobody is blaming you for that, says Nick firmly. Button, tell me you understand that this isn’t your fault.

“How are you holding up?” asks Gray softly, unaware of the conversation happening inside her head.

“Me?” she laughs, pointedly ignoring Nick’s request. She holds up a coffee cup, on the outside of which is written Resilience. Her honorary callsign, ever since she and the others brought down Vengeance, and the name the barista insisted on writing on the cup. “I’m held together by caffeine and denial.”

He grimaces, moves his hand as if to take hers, then stops.

Nick groans loudly in her head. This, he says, this is what’s going to kill me.

“And...how is...?” Gray looks between the still body in the bed, and a point in the center of Daphne’s forehead. “How does this...work, exactly?”

“Just pretend that I’m not here,” she says softly. “I’m just translating.”

And she does, her own mind floating through space as she repeats Nick’s words without thinking. Eyes on Gray’s worn shoes, then back to her zipper, and then she is absorbed with ripping up the paper coffee cup, until she can no longer read the name on the front.

“Take care of yourself,” she is saying, “and take care of---”

She stops. She has to draw a line somewhere. I’m not saying that.

It’s my dying wish, Button. Please.

“...and take care of my sister.”

Dr. Amari knocks on the door gently, and Daphne’s mind---hiding in the corners of the hospital room---comes rushing back to her. For the first time in months, she feels the weight of her body, the effort to inhale oxygen into her lungs, tears rushing to her eyes without her express permission.

No, no, no, it can’t be time yet.

“I guess it’s my turn,” she chokes out to Gray.

Without another word, his arms wrap around her small frame, wishing her good luck. Or maybe it is a final hug for Nick.

Two for the price of one, he quips, though he sounds scared. Am not, he adds to her observation.

Gray finally lets go, but he doesn’t leave. Together, they watch as the last of the devices keeping Nick’s body alive are removed. Daphne sits to take her brother’s hand in hers.

It’s okay to be scared, she thinks to him. It’s okay, Nick. You don’t have to be good magnanimous big brother right now. You can be scared.

Promise me you won’t blame yourself for this forever. His tone is positively panicked now. I can’t leave if you’re not going to be okay.

Joke’s on them both: It’s too late to change his mind, and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be okay.

I’ll try, she manages. Really, I will. You can go, Saint Nick. I’ll be okay.

The rest of his words come out in a rush, as the heart monitor shuts off, each syllable softer than the last. I’m so proud of you, Button...Give Rosy hell from me...I love you...Don’t let Gray starve...You’re gonna put us all to shame at Aeon...If you and Gray have kids, name one after their Uncle Nick...I love you, Button...

I love you, Saint Nick.

Gray gathers her in his arms again when she starts sobbing. Tears flow down his own cheeks as he holds her tight against him, the room silent except for the sound of her muffled sobs against his T-shirt.

And then she is yelling, so loudly he nearly jumps at the volume of it---

...oh God, oh God, it’s okay, it’s okay, don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave...

Gray’s heart sinks at the realization: it is her voice in his head.

But he doesn’t leave.

#mind blind #SORRY #nick wiseman #grayson black #gray x button #tw: death #mind blind spoilers #(if you haven't read the demo i guess lol)

30 notes · View notes

perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years

Text

Kingdom Collisions II

I've just finished a book and it made me cry so happily I thought I'd post a fanfic to commemorate it. Also I'm probably going to start an AWAE/AoGG account soon because I cannot fathom living my life without a space dedicated to my darling loves. Anyway that isn't relevant to the post. This is just a fun little fic I've been writing on the side to try incorporate more descriptions into my writing (I'm a known dialogue whore). I see fit to write it whenever I feel like, so updates may be far and few between, however I do hope you enjoy whatever does come out. I adore this moody ansgty side to jercy. It's been fun to explore.

Masterlist, cat-eye aquamarine

Leave me alone.

[we have known loneliness forever]

Why did I ever agree to this?

[so we do not quite know what it is like]

I never asked you to say yes!

[to want]

Fuck you.

[one another]

-lonliness is a two-sided conversation//badpoetry

Percy doesn't even look at his husband. Doesn't acknowledge his perfect hair, or blazing eyes, or how close they're sitting. He just stares directly out the car window, arms folded across his chest. The rolling hills and wild lavender dance past his vision as the car bounces along the gravel road. They are almost to their destination, to solid ground and quiet, peace. Despite the circumstances he is excited to be back at the cabin his family has owned for so many years. He relishes in the fact that he can escape somewhere that is untainted by the rest of his life. Throngs of people, and public demand, and never ending scrutiny.

He is nothing short of pissed that he has to share his safe place with someone he despises so sweetly it is honey on his tongue to talk to them. But his mother had insisted if they were to act like a married couple they would have to go on a honeymoon and he had only agreed if he could choose the place. She wanted to send them to some private beach in Spain where they could pretend to be alone, oblivious to the paparazzi that were sure to follow, and the people who wanted to meet not one but two crown princes. It was his final stance that if he were being forced to spend time with his husband, it would at least be where he could enjoy it.

"Prince," A crackling voice says through the speakers.

Percy clicks a button on the arm rest, "Yes Mr James?"

"The security team has secured the area, would you like us to drop the bags off before you head inside or after?"

"Whenever suits you Mr James, I'm going for a walk."

Jason who had since then, fallen asleep, jolts awake as they go over a particularly bumpy area.

"And your husband Prince?"

"Ask him yourself, I'm sure he has much to say on the matter." Percy huffs, turning away.

"Prince Grace,"

Jason glares at Percy unimpressed with his dismissal and his rudeness towards the driver.

"Yes James sir?"

"Would you like your bags dropped off before or after you enter the area?"

"Before please, I feel it will help me settle in much easier if everything is already there."

Percy wants to scoff, who talks like that? This pretentious, stuck-up, goodie two-shoes is who. He wants to stick his tongue out, settle their rivalry like five year olds battling to see who can scowl for longer. Mostly, desperately he just wants to get out of this damn car. His leg bounces in time with the bumps, and his hands fidget in his lap. For all his princely training nobody ever managed to get him to sit perfectly still. His mother had finally given up and started carrying drawing pads and pencils wherever she went.

"Can you stop moving!" Jason growls.

"If it bothers you so much get out and walk." He spits back.

An eye roll is the reply but by then the car finally rumbles to a stop and a security detail is opening their doors.

"Princes,"

"Thank you Madison, Arlo." He manages to grit before he stomps off down the path and disappears into the woods.

"Where are you going?" He hears his husband yell. He doesn't bother to reply, someone will tell the Prince.

He kicks at the dark soil and pulls breath after breath into his lungs. He needs to calm down. Just then his ears catch the soft bubbling of a stream and he heads in the direction of the noise. The woods are quiet and cool. A soft breeze flutters between velvety leaves and needled pines, stirring the undergrowth. He wants to become one with the trees, become a branch that sways in greeting and grows friends, and feels the wind wrapping around it every evening. He just wants to stop being human for a little while.

And then the stream is underneath him, soaking his fancy shoes and fine thread socks. He laughs, tugs them off and sits down in the middle of the cold, flowing water. He can feel it run into him like ice in his veins. He dips a finger in, then another, his whole hand and shudders at the smooth caress. It has been so long since he just got to be. Here in this little stream, pants soaking, hands turning blue he has never felt so faraway, out of his body. The world narrows to his fingertips, to the bead of water running down his ankle and joining its family once more. His brain is far and long forgotten, simply taking up space in his skull. He decides right then and there that if he ever comes back to this world he'll come back as a rock in the stream. To live in this beautiful, ever-moving world, where the cold is a kiss and you can never meet the same drop of water twice seems a good life indeed.

Just then he hears a rustle behind him. In an instant he’s on his feet, pulling a dagger from his suit jacket, a white-knuckled grip on the hilt.

"Whoever you are come out right now. I am not in the mood."

"Relax," A deep smooth voice says, "It's just me."

"Oh," He pulls his lips up in half disappointment, half relief it wasn't danger. "What do you want?"

"Mr James wants to know if you want five or ten of the guards here for the remainder of the time here."

"I want zero." He frowned, "I just want to be left in peace for the next few days."

"Well it's not an option so choose." Practical, always so practical.

"Leave five here, there's three other cabins about half a mile out on either side of ours that should be enough space. Everyone else can go home."

"Of course, I'll leave you to it then." Jason nods, stands there awkwardly for a moment longer and then disappears into the greenery once more.

Percy doesn't know what to do, doesn't know whether he should scream or cry or laugh.

He hadn't let himself think too hard about the events of the last few weeks. He had shoved every feeling but contempt and general dislike deep deep down into his cage and threw the key into the deepest parts of his ocean of thoughts. He wasn't sure he had the strength to unpack everything that had happened. When his mother had came to him all those weeks ago a heartbroken look in her eyes he knew whatever had happened would be nothing short of a disaster. Within the week he was promised to Crown Prince Jason Grace of Caelum and had been shoved into endless, meetings in which wedding arrangements and economic agreements had to be made.

He didn't even meet the Prince till the night before they were to be wed but by then Percy had despised the whole ordeal so intensely he hadn't any happiness or hope left in him to be kind to the Prince. And even if he did gave some it would have vanished completely upon their introduction. Jason looked at him with such calculating authority he had reminded Percy of an old tutor who thought children should be seen and not heard, and learn whatever was given to them without question. Jason had been stiff, and unyielding, and looked just as unhappy or even unhappier to be meeting him. At dinner Jason only spoke when spoken too, he didn't fidget even once, and worst of all he somehow still managed to charm his mother in about five seconds. One dimpled smile, and a cute story about his first time riding a horse and Queen Sally Jackson had accepted him as one of their own. Percy on the other hand was ignored the entire dinner, and on the walk in the gardens, at the insistence of his advisor, they hardly said two words to each other. Whether it was because Jason was lost in his own world or letting his displeasure for the whole ordeal simmer and burn into their company as Percy was he would never know. Either way the walk ended with a gruff, formal goodbye before they headed to their rooms.

Percy shuts out the politics of the arrangement and how his life has turned into this unrecognizable hurricane of chaos. He cups some of water in his hands and drops it over his curls. Letting it drip down his temples and catch on his collarbones. The coolness soothes him, as water has always done. Finally when his blood is no longer boiling with hidden anger he steps out of the stream, picking up his discarded shoes and socks and sinks into the earth with each step.

The cabin has a soft orange glow in the windows, and the many cars that escorted them have disappeared. He throws his belongings by the door, shucks his pants off and steps inside. The interior is just as he remembers it. Where the castle was dripping with opulence and royalty, the cabin was simple and stripped to the bare essentials. He had always loved the place. Even when he was little and his mom would whisk him away for a secret weekend. She would pack hoards of cookies and ice-cream and light the fire immediately. They would sit on the soft, fleece rug, her with a book and him with his sketchpad, sipping cocoa and spooning ice cream straight from the tub. Then he didn't have to be the prince one day inheriting the crown and she didn't have to be the Queen dealing with every problem under the sun. They hadn't been back in a good few years and he misses everything about the space. He is silently grateful that Jason has lit the fire. Something familiar to hold onto.

"You're back." The Golden Prince says.

"Astute observation." He rolls his eyes but the blonde doesn't look up from whatever he's doing.

Percy walks into the space, shrugging his suit jacket off and unbuttoning his wrinkled white shirt. He hears a sharp inhale and glances up to see a red cheeked Jason staring at him.

"Why aren't you wearing any pants?"

"Oh," He laughs softly, "Yea they were wet so I took them off before I came in."

He sputters and blushes, glancing down and then peaking back up again.

"You alright there Prince?"

Jason clears his throat, and Percy watches that golden Adam's apple bob. His skin prickles with heat and he knows its time to go.

"I'm going to shower. I'll give you a tour afterwards if you want."

"That would be great."

With a nod in which they both avoid eye contact and general pleasantry he disappears into one of the three rooms of the cabin.

His shower is scorching, water pummeling against tired muscles. His mother always says a good shower and steaming cup of tea can fix more problems than a board of professionals. So far she hasn't been wrong.

"Hey," He walks back into the lounge sometime later, looking down as he ties the string on his pants, "You ready?"

The house is dead quiet, save for the crackle of the fire and the soft wind that whispers in the grooves of the floor.

"Jason?" He frowns, moving to stand in front of him.

The Prince is fast asleep, head lolling forward, book still clasped in his hands. Percy takes in his husband for the first time. Unobstructed by either of their waking emotions, or the general hustling that had shrouded their lives. Jason, he grudgingly admits, is beautiful. His hair looks soft and golden, and when it catches the light of the fire he's sure it's made from sunshine itself. And his skin is such a startling contrast to Percy's rich brown colour. The Prince's body, now folded into an awkward bent angle as he lay across the velvet-cushioned chair, is lithe and graceful. Corded with muscle but somehow still smooth in a way only an uptight Prince with a personal trainer may ever achieve. At least, he thinks sordidly, if I'm forced to marry someone he is as darling as Jason.

The blonde stirs softly, hand twitching, before he settles back into his position. As awkward and unhappy the two are with each other Percy can't leave him here. He's sure the Prince will bend into a chair himself if he slept like that all night long. So he gently taps his husband's shoulder, waking him almost immediately. Jason has never been a particularly heavy sleeper, and it is worse when he finds himself in a place he doesn't know. He blinks up at the world, blue eyes bright. They reminds Percy of the cat-eye aquamarine, the gemstone sat at the base of every crown ever made for his kingdom. He wonders what it says that the colour of his husband's eyes are also the colour he most associates with home. Just as quickly he expels those thoughts, content to bask in his clear dispassion and irritation for as long as this should last.

Jason scrubs a hand over his face, "Sorry you wanted to take me on a tour?"

"No, no there's time for that tomorrow. Why don't you head up to bed."

"Oh, okay. Goodnight then,"

"Goodnight Prince," He says stiffly.

"Sleep easy."

A nod in return and they both retire to their rooms, content to put the last week far behind them. Bury it under dreams, and hopes, and the promise of a tomorrow where nothing has tarnished it yet.

Percy left his window open, watched the tree outside it sway gently. Maybe tomorrow he would climb it and become acquainted with the birds in the nest.

He falls asleep, finally, to the chirp of crickets and the soft rustle of whispering leaves.

48 notes · View notes

girlbossgaslightguillermo · 4 years

Text

this love lasts so long

(A modern Catradora childhood romance AU)

Adora is cleaning through her old things when she sees the drawings. She doesn’t remember the girl’s face very clearly, but she remembers the feeling of warmth that came with childhood innocence and first love. Catra, she knows. She’d almost forgotten about the girl with the defiant eyes that masked just a little bit of fear. But now as she cleans through her old belongings, cardboard boxes that were never unboxed ten years ago when they had shifted to this city that had been so new to her, she sees the drawings. She’d thought that they had been lost to her forever, but they’re there, a little dusty, and the colours are smudged, but they’re there.

The first one is one of the earlier ones, done in messy crayon and Adora can almost recall the day Catra drew it.

“Catra!” Adora calls, her voice a little unsure. She stumbles around, looking for her friend. “Catra, where are you?” A twig breaks under her foot, and she almost jumps at the sound. She knows Catra is safe, and that Catra can take care of herself, but she worries anyway. She’s always worried about Catra. “Catra, I miss you,” she finally whines, hoping that it will draw her best friend out of whatever new hiding place she’d found.

“Hey, Adora,” comes a voice from above and Adora yelps. Catra quickly jumps from the branch she had been crouching on and Adora tries not to worry. She knows, rationally, that Catra is agile and quick, that she lands lightly on her feet and will not sprain her ankle.

“Adora, do you want to see the drawing I made?” Catra asks and Adora loves her friend in this moment. Catra is so excited, so energetic, and she makes Adora laugh and what more can a seven year old ask for in a friend?

“You know I do,” she replies excitedly as Catra opens her hand to show a piece of paper that’s been folded too many times.

“Look, that’s the tree next to the creek, the old one that you hate! And that’s me, up in a branch teasing you. And that’s you, asking me to come down,” Catra points out. Adora thinks this is the best drawing she’s ever seen. There are squiggly dark lines to show the waves in the water, and at this age, neither of them realise that creeks don’t have waves. The drawing is crude, but the colouring is neat and Adora likes how green everything is, even though in real life, the woods are more brown and yellow.

“Catra, I love it! You’re so good at drawing and colouring,” she says and notices the way her best friend blushes at the compliment, probably ready to dismiss it. Adora likes making Catra blush like this, she thinks it makes Catra happy.

“Yeah, well you can keep it. I don’t think Mom will be very happy about the drawing anyway.” And Adora wonders why Catra’s mother would be sad about a drawing, but she does not say anything. She thanks Catra and beams at her and Catra beams back and that is that.

Adora turns the sheet of paper to see the writing on the back, written in ink in her own shaky handwriting.

Picture me in the trees,

I hit my peak at seven feet.

She remembers now, that she had never been agile, or at least not as agile as Catra used to be. She remembers how she could never climb past seven feet, even as Catra scaled the taller trees with barely a scratch to show for it.

The second picture is a little better. Adora thinks they were eight or nine when this happened.

“Hey, Catra. Do you think we should build a swing on that large, scary tree by the creek?” Adora asks, as she and Catra are sitting near the ixora bushes.

Catra pauses in her flower-crown making. “Yeah! Do you have a tyre we can use? We’ll also need some rope. Do you think you can get some?”

“Yeah, I think we can find some and then we’ll make a big swing and we’ll fly into the sky!” Adora exclaims, waving her hands about in a flying motion and Catra laughs in joy. Adora loves these moments of happiness and she returns to stringing daisies, satisfied now that she’s made Catra laugh again.

They’d never ended up making that swing, not after they realised that they’d need an adult to help out and Catra had been too afraid to ask Shadow Weaver, while Adora didn’t want to bother her new foster parents. After all, she’d only been with them for one and a half years and they could always change their mind about her and she didn’t want to go back to her foster home. But the next day, Catra had shoved a drawing, this drawing, into Adora’s hands. The difference between this one and the older drawing is stark. This one is done with pencil, each line carefully sketched, with much more detail than the previous drawing which had outlines drawn in crayon. Everything is coloured in with colour pencils, and even though Catra and Adora aren’t in this one, Adora remembers how excited she’d been to see the drawing because of how easily she could picture the two of them swinging near the creek. There’s writing on the back of this one too:

I was high, in the sky,

With Etheria under me.

The third drawing is of a tea party in Catra’s house. The drawing is happy enough, but it breaks Adora’s heart, because this was the first time she’d been to Catra’s house.

Catra and Adora are playing at high society, with Catra wrapped up in a thin scarf that she wears like an overflowing skirt. She holds out a teacup, her pinky out, and pretends to sip at her tea. Adora giggles. Eleven years old and the world seems so bright to them.

“Lady Adora of Etheria,” Catra says.

“Lady Catra of the Horde,” Adora replies.

“Hey, how come I’m from the Horde?” Catra asks, with a confused frown, putting down her teacup.

“Well, we can’t be from the same place, can we? There can’t be two ladies in the same city.”

Adora puts down her cup too, eager to talk about the formalities of being a Lady in this fantasy world they’ve created.

“No, I think that’s princesses. Besides, Etheria isn’t a city, dummy. It’s a country. We can both be ladies from Etheria.” Catra says, rolling her eyes at her friend’s naivete.

“We can’t both be princesses of the same place?”

“Well, maybe if we’re married, we can be!”

“Then I change my mind. I want to be princess Adora of Etheria. You can be my wife! Then we’re both princesses.” Catra lights up at this perfect solution to their predicament, but before she can confirm that she loves this idea, there’s the sound of a key turning in a lock and suddenly, Catra shrinks.

“Quick, it’s my Mom,” she says, hurriedly taking off the scarf she had draped around her shorts. She bites her lips, as though bracing for something and Adora can’t quite understand why Catra seems so scared. Adora has never met Catra’s mother, but she has always pictured the woman as someone nice to have raised her best friend.

“Catra, who is this?” comes a biting voice. Catra’s mom sounds cold, almost, but Adora holds her cool and smiles at her anyway.

“Hi, Mrs. Catra! My name’s Adora. I’m Catra’s best friend.” Catra’s mother gives her a sharp look, almost glaring for a second before schooling her expression into one of neutrality and then finally breaking out into a smile.

“Adora, you can call me Shadow Weaver. It’s a pleasure to meet you, dear. I’m so sorry about Catra, she can be quite a nuisance. I’ll tell her not to bother you anymore.” Adora doesn’t think of Catra as a nuisance- why would Shadow Weaver imply that? But she knows when she isn’t wanted so she smiles an uncertain smile at a now gloomy Catra and pretends like she doesn’t hear Shadow Weaver yelling through the door, the words muffled.

At 26, Adora understands this better. She can’t remember any of the details, but she knows now what Catra was going through. She turns the page and sure enough, there’s writing on the back:

I’ve been meaning to tell you,

I think your house might be haunted,

Your mom is always mad,

And that must be why.

Back then, things seemed so much simpler, but equally horrifying. As an adult, Adora knows what was happening was child abuse. As a child, she just hated seeing her friend unhappy and knew that Shadow Weaver made Catra more unhappy than anything else.

The last drawing brings a smile to her face, though. It’s divided into two parts, and is done quite well. The first one depicts them as pirates, and has been outlined in ballpoint pen, so the ink still stands. Each stroke is confident, and Catra has become quite the artist at the age of thirteen. The second one shows them in a foreign setting and is bursting with colour. Neither Catra nor Adora had known what India looked like when Adora suggested they run away there, but they knew it was a place far, far away from Catra’s home and they thought it was a place where they could be happy.

“I wish you lived with me, Catra. Maybe things wouldn’t be that bad, then.” Adora states, sitting behind her friend on the grass. There they are, at the tender age of thirteen, the threshold of childhood and a life that is neither childhood nor adulthood.

“I wish I lived with you too, Adora,” Catra says sullenly, plucking at the grass in front of her. Adora sticks her tongue out as she gathers more strands of Catra’s hair. There they are, at the precipice of so-called womanhood, both of them so unaware of the years that will follow, years of high school and crushes, of studying for college instead of playing around, years that they will spend without each other, milestones that they will not achieve together.

“If things were up to me, we would be pirates! We’d sail the high seas, just you and me and nobody else. I think it would be fun.”

“Well, if it were up to me, we’d run away. Maybe we’ll go somewhere far away, like India.”

“What’s India like?” Adora asks.

“I don’t know,” Catra replies. “Away, I suppose.”

“I think it’d be hot. Well, your braids are done! The right one is a little thicker, but I just learned how to make fishtail braids, so they’re not perfect. But, uh, you look very pretty,” Adora says as Catra turns to face her.

Catra reaches to the back of her head, feeling the rough pattern of her braids with her hand. “I think they’re lovely, Adora. Thank you,” she says, smiling warmly. And Adora knows that this is more than just her liking Catra as a friend. They’ve known each other for six years, and Adora loves Catra.

It happens quick, and isn’t even a real kiss, just two mouths against each other, but Adora thinks, ‘soft’, and Adora thinks, ‘yes’, and Adora thinks, ‘more’. Catra pulls away, but she’s smiling, almost shy.

“I love you,” Adora says.

“You’re such an idiot. But I love you too. I guess, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” And Adora smiles giddily at Catra. She wonders whether this makes them girlfriends. She wonders if two girls can even be girlfriends. She thinks that she wants Catra to be her girlfriend. She knows that she loves Catra in a way that can’t be put into words, the kind that she reads about in folklore.

The next day, Catra hands Adora a drawing and they kiss again. Adora thinks that they’re getting the hang of this kissing thing. It’s less awkward, now. That is the last time they see each other.

Adora doesn’t even realise she’s crying until she sees the tear stain on the page. A few days after the kiss, her foster parents had found out that they wouldn’t be able to keep her, especially now that they were expecting a child. Things had worked out in the end, with Angela and Micah adopting her almost immediately, but she never got to say goodbye. She’d sent letters to Catra, later, and none of them had been returned. She’d forgotten all about the girl she’d loved as a child, but now that she thinks of Catra again, it feels like everything happened just yesterday.

She doesn’t know how long she spends looking at the drawings, and she doesn’t remember when she sat down, but Glimmer finds her curled in on herself. Adora is grateful to her adoptive sister for not asking any questions and simply sitting next to her until Adora can tell her what she wants. Glimmer holds Adora as she cries and lets out her feelings, feelings she thought she’d gained closure over a decade ago.

“Glimmer?”

“Yes, Adora?”

“Do you think you can help me find someone? It’s an old friend from The Horde.”

“Of course, Adora. I’ll ask Bow or Entrapta to get on it.”

Adora smiles shakily and gets up, picking up the pages with her. She keeps them on her new desk, and the last one reads:

Your braids like a pattern,

Love you to the moon and Saturn

Passed down like folk songs

The love lasts so long.

#catradora #spop catra #spop adora #she ra and the princesses of power #spop #catradora fic #shadow weaver #seven #Taylor swift #because this is based on seven #I mean #seven was peak sapphic energy #so of course I wrote a fic based on it #and made it catradora

10 notes · View notes

mediocre--writing · 4 years

Text

Prompts

If you want to request from these prompts just pick a character and however many prompts you want (ex: A14 would be Angst #14, etc.), along with anything else you would like in the one shot/story (like a summary or something idk).

Thank you for finding my blog (and hopefully liked/enjoyed them)!

Disclaimer: I got these prompts from other Tumblr posts and Pinterest, but I forgot to copy who I got them from, so if you find some that are yours, just tell me and I’ll give you credit :)

ANGST

“I can’t do anything right.”

“Please don’t cry.”

“Why are you awake right now?”

“Why are you lying to me?”

“Wake up! Please wake up.”

“Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole.”

“Don’t you ever do that again!”

“Is that blood?” “…..No?”

“Please don’t lie to me again, I can’t take it.”

“Do you even still love me?”

“Nobody’s seen you in days.”

“Why are you awake?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Can you shut up for once in your life?”

“Holding everything in doesn’t help, you know.”

“Are you hurt?” “No.” “Then why are there bruises all over your face?”

“If you don’t hug me right now I think I might fall apart.”

“Leave! Me! Alone!”

“I think we should break up.”

“You aren’t who I thought you were.”

“I don’t even know who you are anymore!”

“Why can’t you look at me?”

“What’s wrong?”

“You want to be with him/her/them, don’t you?”

“You promised you’d change!”

“Am I not enough for you?”

“What is so wrong with me?”

“I’m sick of trying.”

“I don’t want to be just friends.”

“I can’t trust you anymore.”

“I can’t even look at you.”

“Your problem isn’t me, your problem is __” (Fill in the blank)

“I’m always wrong, aren’t I?”

“You said this time it’d be different.”

“Please give me a chance.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“I wish I’d never laid eyes on you.”

“I don’t love you anymore.”

“We can’t keep this up forever.”

“You make me feel so small.”

“Don’t leave me like this!”

“Don’t ever call me again.”

“Talk to me, please.”

“Don’t push me away.”

“This is your son/daughter.”

“I think I need a break from you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I can’t promise you anything.”

“It’s better this way.”

“The baby… it’s yours.”

“After all this time, and you still can’t look me in the eye?”

“I can only blame myself.”

“I was only pretending.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“This is all because of you!”

“I don’t feel the same way.”

“Just go!”

“Please stay.”

“What don’t you telling me?”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know.”

“Don’t tell me to keep calm!”

“I’m keeping the baby, with or without you.”

“I need to be alone.”

“Stop calling me.”

“I can’t remember why I ever loved you.”

“Don’t apologize; I know you don’t mean it.”

“I can’t believe what you’ve done.”

“I don’t need you, I’m fine on my own.”

“All I wanted was a happy ending.”

“Mistakes are easily made at the moment. Apologies are not.”

“I don’t want to feel this way anymore.”

“My emotions have been turbulent for so long, I’m not sure how to react.”

“My heart tells me to kiss you, my head tells me to walk away.”

“I don’t want material belongings! I want my heart back!”

“Until you can return the time I wasted on you, I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Grief is natural they say. So is death. I don’t want either.”

“You can’t look pretty and dangerous at the same time. Not yet.”

“Kill everything dear to you and then you will know how it feels.”

“I don’t hold people close. It makes it easier for them to hurt you.”

“Don’t touch me. Your skin is poisonous.”

“Why won’t he/she/they call?”

“I’m dreading her/his/their call, I’m not ready.”

“I don’t like this, it feels weird.”

“Kill my feelings, kill my soul. Kill everything I am.”

“Don’t call me, I don’t want any contact with you.”

“Please don’t talk to me, I’m dealing with some stuff.”

“It’s not working out. We’re not working out.”

“Hey, I’m leaving for good. I’ll…see you around.”

“How could you do this to me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Not this time!”

“I never want to see you again.”

“Wanna bet?”

“I know you and this isn’t you.”

“You betrayed my trust.”

“Get out!”

“Maybe I’m better off alone.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I’ll die without you.”

“I never loved you.”

FLUFF

“Go with me?” “As long as you hold my hand.”

“Is there a reason you’re blushing like that?”

“Have you seen my hoodie?” “Nooo.” “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”

“Have you always been this beautiful?”

“OH, you’re jealous!”

“Can we stay like this forever?”

“Please just kiss me already.”

“I think you might be my soulmate.”

“Sleepover? Please?”

“Are we on a date right now?”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

“He’s so pretty I think I’m gonna faint.”

“Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?”

“Am I your lock screen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“I missed you so much.”

“Do you think the moon is jealous of how pretty you are?”

“I’m here for you.”

“I wish we could live together already.”

“Quit stealing all the pillows!”

“You want a bite?”

“Give me a second and I’ll show you.”

“You’ll play this game with me, won’t you?”

“What should we name him/her?”

“Have you ever played in the rain?”

“Is it hot in here or is that just you?”

“Why are your feet so cold?”

“Ride the Ferris wheel with me?”

“There’s room for two/three!”

“Stop that, I’m ticklish!”

“Put your finger here while I go get the tape.”

“Here’s my number!”

“You want chocolate or vanilla?”

“Your hands are so warm!

“Are you sure you’re not tired? Because you’ve been running through my mind all day.”

“You’re sweeter than candy.”

“You smell really nice.”

“Your hair’s so soft…”

“You’re my new pillow.”

“Can I rub your back?”

“If nothing lasts forever, will you be my nothing?”

“I think I love you.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Hold my hand.”

“It’s not morning yet.”

“Stay for a little longer…”

“Of course I’m happy! How far along are you?”

“You’re so beautiful.”

“I’ll always be here for you.”

“You are my love.”

“You were right here all along.”

“Do you want my coat? It’s really cold out here.”

“You don’t need keys to drive me crazy.”

“Do you want to get dinner sometime?”

“Call me whenever… no really.”

“You’ve got flour on your cheek.”

“Sorry… your hair was in your face… thought I should move it so I could see you better.”

“You don’t have to leave so soon.”

“You could put your feet in my lap, you know.”

“I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“We’re pregnant!”

“Are you science? Because I’ve got my ion you.”

“We could try cuddling.”

“Stop being so cute.”

“Are you okay?”

“Our relationship is the most important thing in my life.”

“You can sleep, I’ll keep you safe.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

“I want to eat yogurt with you.”

“Can we make a cake? I like cake.”

“I like your rainbow shoes.”

Please hold me. It’s been a day.”

“I’ve never felt such love.”

“The moon is high tonight, it frames you well.”

“I want to dance through an army of fireflies with you.”

“Stars pale in comparison to you.”

“My heart hurts when I see you and I find myself drunk on the pain.”

“I would give up everything for the chance to see your laugh again.”

“Monster Inc. was onto something, your smile and laughter run my entire world.”

“I dedicate this nail to you when I paint them.”

“All I want is to sleep by your side.”

“Cover me in badges of your love.”

“I’ve never enjoyed anything more than a hug from you.”

“You look yummy.”

“My hand was made to fit into yours. That’s all there is to it.”

“I didn’t get soaked wet through walking to your house for you to say no to pizza. I have been too. I know you’re sad, so let me in.”

“This might sound so creepy but I want your skin. It’s so pretty.”

“You just dropped love into my heart and that’s all I needed.”

“We only have one room left for the night…”

“We can make this work, I know we can.”

“I love you so much that it physically hurts.”

“God, I’m never leaving your side again.”

“you’re an idiot, but you’re cute.”

“I’m asking you on a date, idiot.”

“Listen, I really don’t like you, but you have kittens, so I’m going to be over a lot.”

"Would you STOP coming in through the WINDOWS, it scares the hell out of me every TIME!“

"Listen, we have very thin walls and I heard you crying in the shower, are you okay?”

"I was very good friends with the guy that lived here before you and basically I was over here a lot and… well, old habits die hard, can I stay?“

"If you set the alarm off in the middle of the night ONE MORE TIME I SWEAR I WI- wait why were you even cooking at 3 am?”

“Hey, I locked myself out can I use your phone?” “You locked yourself out too?”

MISCELLANEOUS

“All I do is drink coffee and say bad words.”

“Quit touching me, your feet are cold!”

“I think I just ripped my pants.”

“Sharing is caring, now give me the hoodie!”

“Can I pet your dog?” “Do I know you?”

“Did you seriously just get your foot stuck in a toilet?” “Maybe.”

“If I die, I’m haunting you first.”

“But I’ve never told you that before.”

“Stop being grumpy, it’s lame.”

“So, uh, I locked the keys in the car.”

“Is the cat in a onesie?” “Uh, no?

“Can we please stop running? I think I’m dying.”

“You come here often?” “Well, I work here. So I think I’d have to say ‘yes’.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be working?”

“Give me attention.”

“YOU SAID TO BE HONEST STOP HITTING ME!”

“Okay, so maybe I didn’t see that coming.”

“I’m too sober for this.” “You don’t even drink.” “Maybe I should start.

“At least you’ll die doing what you love; Walking into danger.”

“Here are some cookies and some very bad news!”

“I have forgotten everything I’ve ever learned.”

“Let me keep that promise.”

“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious.”

“Why am I always the funniest when no one is around to hear it?”

“Can you stay still for the next 20 minutes? No, I’m not drawing you.”

“Oh no, I feel bad- SYKE, no I don’t.”

“Next problem… we might die.”

“Wow, that was a great comeback.”

“Who is running this thing?!”

“You are aware that the walls aren’t people, right?”

“Hey, go fill up your human needs.”

“Yeah, keep making jokes. That’ll win the war.”

“Yeah, I can see how hiding behind a rock is a much better strategy.”

“I think… everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves.”

“I can’t help that I’m curious.”

“I know you. You’re a terrible person. But as the judge here, I will look at you in the unbiased way you don’t deserve.”

“The mountains are calling and I must skedaddle.

“Who says ‘nincompoop’?!”

“Things fascinate me. Why wouldn’t they, when you stop to give them thought?”

“Are you always so easily convinced?”

“Look, it’s difficult for me to isolate what I hate about you the most because there is so much to hate.”

“That’s an order. Obey.”

“Look, I don’t want to swear but; What. The frick!”

“As the most amazing person in the room, I’ll gladly accept that.”

“Now power down, sass robot.”

“The art of not being an idiot is extremely challenging for me.”

“That’s troubling.”

“Tell your story. Become words, become ideas… you never know what or who it’ll affect.”

“Can I climb on your shoulders?” “Why?” “To get a better view.”

“Stop trying to take pictures and enjoy yourself.”

“Listen! They are playing our song!”

“OH MY GOD THEY LOOKED IN MY DIRECTION THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE.” “You need to calm down.”

“Jesus, are you crying?”

“Just get them out of the car before you kill them.”

“I’m not going to drop down from the balcony!”

“Someday somebody’s going to mistake your snoring as a helicopter.”

“You couldn’t have bothered with a little heads up?”

“Call the stupid prick and tell her what’s happening.”

“Oh me? I’m just in my pajamas, making sure that nobody bleeds out in the hallway.”

“You are looking less confident every minute.”

“I am admittedly bored, but I barely can do anything about it now can I?”

“Oh God, it’s you.. would it be weird if I asked where your sister is?”

“How would you describe the moment with one word?” “Naked. Very, very naked.”

“I’ve never seen you in my life and you just threw up on my shoes, who do you think you - oh gosh, you’re now unconscious.”

“You’re talking to me but I can’t hear you over the sound of my sniffling nose.”

“You look so pretty while you’re coughing your lungs out.”

“I feel really dizzy and hot - and oh - oh when did I end up on the floor?”

“We thought you just had a common cold, why is the doctor saying what you have is terminal?”

“Hold on, we’re coming.”

“I won’t let you fall.”

“Hey, it’s me, it’s just me.”

“Oh god… what did they do to you?”

“Can you stay awake for me?”

“Who gave you permission to fall asleep?”

“I’m going to make that sick bastard suffer for what he did to you.”

“Don’t look” / “Look at me”

“Here, you might need something to bite on…”

“I thought I’d never get to see you again.”

“I know you can’t talk, but I just want you to know that I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not leaving you here!”

“Hold my hand.”

“You’re so cold…” / “You’re burning up”

“I know it hurts, I’m sorry.”

“I’ve got you.”

“Please be okay.”

“I’m sorry I failed you, I should’ve been there.”

“Just keep pressure on it.”

“Please don’t leave me, I can’t do this without you.”

“I just need more time.”

“Wish me luck.”

“I just don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Ok, I have a fear of balloons.”

“Change is not good for me.”

“I have to stay awake.”

“Hold on, what did you wish for?”

“If we can just get passed this last door.”

“I can never trust someone who thinks puppies, are evil masterminds trying to take over the world.”

“That’s my name, too.”

”Walk with me?” “Sure. Not like I have a broken leg or anything..”

”Do you like her?” “No! She just makes me realize how much anger issues I actually have”

#5sos #marvel #harry potter #x reader #one shot #oneshot #imagine

6 notes · View notes

the-quiet-winds · 5 years

Text

I’ll Never Say Enough because it was Not Said to You (part two)

i know it’s not fluff, sorry. but i had to post this because honestly? it’s one of my faves that @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts and i have written and i feel all of you should read it too. i promise fluff in part three. i do.

[part one]

[Part 2: Burn the Pieces, Watch them Turn to Dust]

katherine dreads rehearsals the next day. since they were about to start a new leg of the tour, the musical director and choreographer decided they needed a day to edit anything that needed changing, and they just so happened to choose that day. katherine spends so long procrastinating on leaving that she ends up running late, but she’d take a telling off from the director over having to hang around before the rehearsal with jane. she even pauses before entering the room, despite her lateness, not wanting to see the expression on jane’s face. guilt twists in katherine’s stomach but she pushes it down; it’s better this way, she tells herself.

jane would be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t worried about katherine. she never responded to a single of jane’s texts, and she was never late to rehearsal. relief charges her system when katherine walks in, but katherine isn’t katherine. her shoulders are tense, her eyes shameful, and she will not even glance in jane’s direction. jane knows it’s selfish to be upset, but somewhere deep down she is. she misses her girl.

the atmosphere of the group was noticeably different with katherine like this. it was so pronounced that even cleves was a little concerned, leaning over during a pause in the rehearsal.

“hey, do you know what’s up with howard?” she asks jane. “she’s acting weird.”

jane looks over to katherine, who’s currently drawn in on herself, not looking at anybody or anything except her hands, playing with the sleeves of her hoodie. it reminds jane so much of when they first met, before she’d started to draw the happy, smart, wonderful girl out of her shell of fear and anxiousness. jane’s heart breaks just seeing it.

“i think she’s just tired,” jane whispers, trying to keep emotion from her voice. cleves seems unconvinced, but relents on the issue. jane is dying to go over and pull katherine into her arms and not let go until she gets to the source of the issue, but she doesn’t want to scare katherine off more.

later in the morning they reach lunch break, and katherine’s stomach rumbles lowly. she realizes her stupidity for not bringing lunch as she sits down in the corner, curling her knees up and closing her eyes. something rustles nearby, and a turkey sandwich, katherine’s favorite, appears next to her, complete with a bag of chips, an apple, and a water bottle. the sandwich has a sticky note on it. “you can talk to me anytime, kat.” it’s not signed, save for a tiny ink blot that could be considered a heart if katherine squinted, but she knows exactly who it’s from.

katherine wants nothing more than to accept the offering, even to run over to jane and apologise and let jane hold her in her warm arms, but she can’t allow herself to. she can’t keep accepting jane’s help like this. even as kat’s stomach growls and her heart aches, she turns away from the food. it’s perhaps the water she longs for most; she’d already finished hers and was beginning to feel slightly light-headed, but this was her problem and nobody else’s. she couldn’t keep taking from jane.

jane watches with a distinct sadness as katherine turns away the food. it was such a jarring and sudden shift in attitude that jane had whiplash.

later, much later in the afternoon, they are dancing again and jane can see katherine slow down. she wobbled slightly. then she drops like a leaf. with speed to baffle the other queens, jane catches katherine as she falls to the floor, then lowers them both gently down.

“kat? katherine?” her voice is crisp and clear. “can you hear me?”

there’s a moment of nothing before katherine’s eyelids flutter. she looks up at jane, confusion and slight fear on her face. “what-” she starts, trying to lift her torso, but jane gently presses against her shoulders to keep her laying down.

“i think you fainted, sweetheart,” she says, the term of endearment slipping out automatically.

jane adjusts her hold to delicately cradle katherine’s head. “can you grab me water?” she asks parr, who tosses her a bottle. “drink up, love,” she says, offering the water to katherine.

“i’m okay,” katherine protests weakly, but jane doesn’t let up.

“come on, love,” she urges, gently but firmly. “you need something to drink.”

katherine’s too tired to fight and she eventually lets jane give her the water. the pounding in her head alleviates slightly but she can’t find the strength to get up just yet, and as much as she hates herself she allows herself to rest her head against jane’s lap.

“i think we should call it a day, ladies,” the choreographer says. “we’re in good shape.” she gave cleves and boleyn a few final notes and then everyone reluctantly leaves, katherine and jane still on the floor.

katherine had closed her eyes again; some part of her thought that maybe she could get away with not having the inevitable conversation if she pretended she was asleep. jane seems to have other plans, however, and she strokes katherine’s hair gently.

“kat,” she says softly. “kat, i know you’re awake, sweetheart. have you eaten anything today at all?”

katherine didn’t move. she really didn’t want to have this conversation. unconsciously, she shook her head. laying there with jane’s hand in her hair feels so right, but that selfish feeling bubbles up again. katherine struggles to sit, then stand, wobbling on her feet for a moment. “we should be heading home,” she says quietly, yet decisively.

“katherine,” jane says, a hint of exasperation creeping into her tone. “i can’t let you get the bus by yourself when you’re like this. what if you faint again?” her tone is still gentle, but the firmness in her voice makes her sound like a mother scolding her child. for a strange moment katherine almost feels happy about that; it was born from caring, from jane wanting to make sure kat was okay, but then a combination of embarrassed guilt and defiance bubbles in her stomach.

“you can’t stop me from doing anything,” she glares. then, in a moment of defensiveness, “you’re not my mum.”

something inside of jane breaks at those words. she knows she isn’t katherine’s mum. ‘i wish i were that lucky,’ a voice in her head whispers. a dark bitterness slips into her tone. “fine,” jane hisses. “you don’t want to talk, we won’t.” she breaks for the door with long strides. “i won’t be here forever, you know.” then she leaves without another word.

katherine stares after her, the tears welling in her eyes before she even realises. she wipes them away angrily, although who she’s angry at she isn’t quite sure. as she picks up her bag to leave she notices that jane had left katherine’s lunch untouched at the edge of the room. her stomach aches when she sees it; all she’d had to eat in almost two days was the instant noodles from yesterday. it would be so easy to pick up the food and take it with her, but a stubbornness she didn’t know she possessed overtakes her and katherine tosses the food into the rubbish bin, storming out of the rehearsal room. she’d just have to wait until she got home. she didn’t need jane’s pity. and she was only crying because her stomach hurt, no other reason. it definitely wasn’t that the harsh, bitter tone jane spoke to her in made her want to curl up in a ball and cry for the rest of her life, or to chase her down and apologise for being a stubborn defiant brat.

jane huffs angrily to herself as she makes her way down to her car. if katherine didn’t want her anymore, fine. it’s not like she would miss her at all (a complete and total lie that was, she knew.) jane wipes at her own eyes as everything blurred behind tears. her gut and soul aches at the hurt she feels at knowing she may never see katherine’s warm smile or childlike wonder in her eyes ever again.

when jane gets behind the wheel she takes a moment to pull herself together, wiping the tears desperately. she pauses when she sees katherine walk past, coat pulled tightly around her in an attempt to block out the cold late afternoon air. katherine is visibly shivering, and jane has to stop herself from getting out and bringing katherine out of the cold, offering her a lift home. if katherine didn’t want her there was nothing she could do about that, she reminds herself

katherine sees jane’s car go past without hesitation. she wants, somewhere deep down, to flag her down and ask to get into the car, to be brought back to the bright and warm house where a warm meal and songs and laughter would be waiting. but no. she won’t put herself on jane anymore, especially not after what happened today.

———————————————————————————————————–

tag list: @percabeth15 @kats-seymour @qualquercoisa945 @jane-fucking-seymour @a-slightly-cracked-egg @justqueentingz @annabanana2401 @wolfies-chew-toy @broad-way-13@tvandmusicals @lailaliquorice @aimieallenatkinson @sweet-child-why03 @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands @funky-lesbians @thinkaboutitmaybe @hansholbeingoesaroundzeworld @anaamess @beeskneeshuh @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @sixcago @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger@aimieallenatkinson @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16

#six the musical #six musical #jane seymour #katherine howard #julie and jess write #i'll never say enough because it was not said to you

67 notes · View notes

thecloserkin · 5 years

Text

fic rec: Are You Mine? and I Want Some More by PoetHrotsvitha

fandom: Assassin’s Creed: Syndicate

pairing: Evie Frye/Jacob Frye

word count: 54k and 50k respectively (one is a direct sequel to the other)

Is it canon: yes

Is it explicit: this is the most explicit material i have thus far reviewed on this blog

Is it endgame: yesssss

Is it shippable: yes

One thing you guys should know about me is I don’t read a great deal of smut. I don’t actively avoid it either, and I for sure consume more smut in the context of fanfic than in professional published fiction because I feel the following quote in my bones: “It wasn’t that friendship needed to be sexualized, it was that erotica needed to be … friendship-ized.” So when I stumbled on this fic that is 80% smut stretched over the thinnest pretext of plot, based on source material I have zero familiarity with, what did I do but fall headlong for this pairing and this story. Bless you, anon who brought Fryecest to my attention, and praise the Lord for modern AUs where knowledge of canon is not mandatory.

Jacob and Evie Frye are twins born into an Assassin family and raised by their exacting taskmaster of a father to take down the Templars. There’s no Templars or Assassins in this modern AU of course, just Evie’s looming A-Levels and their absent academic of a father. Evie’s still the golden child, of course—she’ll follow in their father’s footsteps and get her Ph.D. Jacob is the problem child. He’s already fallen in with the Wrong Crowd, he’s impulsive, he drinks and gambles and mostly solves problems with his fists. His relationship with their dad is hella strained. And because this is supposed to be PWP the author wastes no time in ratcheting the sexual tension up to 11 by having Jacob pick Evie up from her posh school on his MOTORCYCLE, each of them pretending not to be so turned on they could have combusted from desire by the end of the ride. Cool cool cool.

Their relationship begins barreling in a dom/sub direction almost from the word go. Evie is one thousand percent the take-charge, Type-A personality, so the idea is that she needs to relinquish that control in the bedroom, and Jacob is the only one she trusts to dominate her. Because they’re twins and they balance each other out adfkdfkdfjdkfd. The scene in the beginning where Jacob tells her not to button up her blouse while she’s making breakfast, and she actually listens to him instead of ignoring or insulting him, holy shit that was hot. It starts so small but eventually he’s got her wearing a wireless vibrator to class and begging for her “punishment” when she takes it out without his permission because it was too distracting.

I imagine this is what the 50 Shades of Grey phenomenon was about. I haven’t read 50 Shades of Grey myself, but I’ve interacted with people who rave about it and clearly got something out of those books, bad as they were. I’m not trying to compare the quality of this story to 50 Shades of Grey—it’s lightyears superior to that dreck—just that when I finished this fic I had the dazed realization that this was why people read smut.

There’s a throwaway line in Jacob’s internal monologue where he muses “they seem to be going about this backwards,” because he’s buying flowers for her the day after fingering her to a screaming orgasm, and yes I am 100% here for this trope. Ffs he sits with her in the library to keep her company while she studies! He waits for her/escorts her to her one hundred and one extracurricular activities! He’s a really immature 17-year-old and he’d never dream of doing this for anyone else, but when it comes to Evie he becomes suddenly sweet and thoughtful and solicitous. He’s constantly pausing in the middle of sex to ask for her enthusiastic & affirmative consent and reminding her to use the safe word. At the same time he’s madly jealous when anyone else shows a flicker of interest in her and he regularly makes her admit he “owns” her during their role-play. They are each other’s firsts which for some reason is really important to me in these kinds of they’re-teenagers-exploring-their-sexuality setups. This is Evie hitting up the lingerie boutique in preparation for their FIRST WEEKEND GETAWAY:

“I’m going away for the weekend with my-” Evie almost stumbled on the word, “-boyfriend.” What a strange concept.

I AM TRASH FOR THIS INCEST TROPE i love the way she stumbles over that word. Bc that’s not the box that Jacob occupies for her, is it? He’s much more than that. I love the way she alternates between begging him to put it in her cunt and calling him a prat and a shitheel; just because he’s the love of her life doesn’t make him stop being her insufferable little brother. You know what else I’m trash for? ALL the sneaking around tropes. One time while sexting with him in a storage closet at school she’s busted by one of the teachers and only barely has time to lock her phone before he confiscates it.

So the first fic ends with their dad finding the sexts and nudes on Evie’s phone, disowning them both, and Evie choosing to go to University of Edinburgh because their dad knows too many people at Oxbridge. The twins get a flat together and it’s happily ever after. Except no! In the sequel it’s ten years later and Evie and Jacob have returned to the house they grew up in to say goodbye to their dying father, and they’re ESTRANGED OH NO WHAT HAPPENED. Evie has a four-year-old in tow. We find out in fairly short order that the kid is Jacob’s, but Jacob doesn’t find out the truth until we’ve sent him through the angst wringer. The fic is about how they grieve and reconcile and how Jacob learns to parent, and this one is actually like 60% plot and I think I like it even better than the first one. This author’s note really spoke to me:

I’ve read a fair number of sibling incest modern AU fics in a few different fandoms and they all tend to end at “and then they ran away from their families and lived happily ever after/epilogue of sexy fun times possibly with the introduction of hey they've had a kid!”. And I mean I love that, don't get me wrong. But I guess I’m also weirdly preoccupied with the part about what comes after that, because it always seemed far too dreadfully simple an outcome. Normal relationships are rarely that easy, so why would these be? Then again I'm probably putting too much thought into a porn fic, LOL.

DEAR @poethrotsvitha, THIS IS A SIGNED PETITION TO PLEASE NEVER STOP OVERTHINKING THE PLOT OF YOUR PORN FICS. Like, nobody starts fucking their brother unless they really mean it, because the risk of the relationship going pear-shaped and the two of you still being stuck in each other’s orbit because there’s no “breaking up” with family? That’s a big risk. And also why incest pairings feel so high-stakes and I am trash for them, obvs. One of the reasons the dom/sub dynamic is so integral to their relationship was because Evie had a tendency to dictate to Jacob what he “can and can’t do,” and he understandably chafed against it sometimes. It’s what led to their breakup five years ago. And so him taking charge in the bedroom is a kind of counterbalance, and there’s a scene in this fic where she lets him role-play a noncon situation as a way to partly soothe his jealousy.

To a large extent it’s their son who brings about their reconciliation, but their son is also a hyperactive little git who throws a monkey wrench in their sex life, so now instead of hiding their relationship from their dad they’re tiptoeing around a four-year-old. And the big character development that happens on Jacob’s part is him recognizing that Thomas is Evie’s #1 priority now, and there comes a moment where he has to make a difficult decision to prioritize the two of them in his own life, too (by quitting his job and ending a toxic relationship). The other thing I really liked was how Jacob thinks ruefully he could have gone a another round if he were ten years younger, which he’s not, but Evie seems satisfied and that’s what matters. The recognition that he’s not a teenager anymore, and doesn’t have the stamina of one, but he’s also more mature and this time he’ll be able to give Evie what she needs? Oh, my heart. Like I said I loved them being each other’s firsts as teenagers but this, this second chance they’ve got as adults, this is beautiful.

Ok so this is Evie begging Jacob to fuck her in a closet in the middle of their dad’s funeral service??!:

“Please, I just need to forget. Just for a little bit- I need to forget, please-” Oh, God, this was a terrible idea. A terrible idea that she would die before she stopped- she felt like an addict after years of sobriety, pushed by stress and grief to needing that all-consuming high that she'd never quite been able to forget. Her fingers worked at his belt, pulling it open, unbuttoning his trousers to draw the heel of her palm along where he was already hard. “Evie,” he rasped, shuddering against her touch. “Shh,” she said, tucking his pants down enough to pull his cock free, giving it a few firm strokes. “Shh.” If they talked, it would be too real. It had to be rushed and frantic, to feel like it was just the once, to ease the ache in her chest.

And this is after they finish (“if only it could have lasted forever”):

Silently, she turned to let him zip up her dress … There was a warmth against the back of her neck as she felt him draw her hair aside and press a kiss to the sensitive skin, hesitant and uncertain. "Thank you," she breathed into the darkness, listening to the click of his belt as it slid back into place. He just sighed, leaning his forehead against her shoulder, saying a million things without speaking a word.

LEANING HIS FOREHEAD FOR A MILLISECOND AGAINST HER SHOULDER OMFG I AM DECEASED

Ok so to return an earlier point: When you want a canon incest happy ending in a modern setting (as opposed to if you’re both Targaryens) the most popular option is run away and live as an unrelated couple, which necessitates cutting ties with everyone you’ve ever known. This may be more or less difficult depending on the quantity and quality of those ties; unless this is Flowers in the Attic and you’ve literally been locked in the attic for years there’s bound to be people you care about other than your sibling so this is a monumental ask. The Fryes choose option B, “living openly as siblings and keeping the incest on the dl”. This option is not without risk, of course, since exposure is always a possibility, and Evie has to put up with the other moms at Thomas’s preschool eyeing Jacob like a piece of meat. Still, it means Thomas gets to bake cookies with his grandmother, who would not have let Evie and Jacob back in her life if they flaunted the truth. I mean, it’s not that she doesn’t know her kids are fucking, it’s just that a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy allows everyone’s relationships to remain intact:

She seemed to be struggling to get the words out. “Is Thomas…” There were a few ways that this question could go, as far as Jacob could see, and he didn’t particularly want to deal with any of them. He leaned against the counter, palms rigid against the cold surface. “I’m really tired, Mother.” “I know. I just…” There was a terrible pause. “Are— are you and Evie…” Still facing the toaster, Jacob closed his eyes. He couldn’t muster a lot of fake outrage, but he planned to deny everything anyway. He didn’t care about how plausible it was. It was easier for everyone that way, especially Mother. Before he could open his mouth, though, Mother’s chair scraped back. “Actually, never mind. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Every Wednesday Evie (who’s moved back in with her mom) leaves Thomas with his grandma and goes to “book club” which is really date night at Jacob’s. And the two of them get right up to their old tricks:

When he gave her just the slightest nudge upwards with his hips, she finally let a broken whisper rasp out. “I can't- I want- please-” Jacob clicked his tongue. “You know what I want you to say.” She twisted her neck around again, and he could see that her eyes were now glassy with longing. “Huh?” ��It's simple— just ‘My greedy cunt belongs to my brother’. “ “I will not."

The process of turning that initial “no” into a “yes” is scorchingly hot so there you go, I love these two, I love this fic, I have definitely seen the light and I'm ready to embrace smut.

#fic rec #jacob x evie #evie x jacob #fryecest #jacob frye #evie frye #poethrotsvitha

42 notes · View notes

sashawiremarryme · 6 years

Text

Til Death (or Capture by the Outer Rim Military) do us Part

@jupeterweek prompt 6 - wedding

“I don't get why we have to go to this thing anyway,” Juno grumbled as Peter tried to gel back an uncooperative lock of hair.

“Because one of the few people on this who isn't actively trying to kill you is getting married,” he gave up and let it curl slightly in the middle of his forehead, “and we already responded to the invitation.” He walked over to Juno and kissed him on the forehead. “We can't back out now.”

That was something Juno had never quite gotten used, the constant displays of tenderness, the casual affection that seemed to come so naturally from Peter. He hadn't experienced anything like it in a long time. Not since Diamond… he pushed that thought away. Why dwell in the past, obsessing over a relationship that hadn't existed for over fifteen years, when he had Peter. Peter Nureyev, it had taken Juno a while before he got used to how Peter Nureyev displayed affection. Eventually, he had learned to differentiate between Peter and Rex Glass and Duke Rose. That kiss was all Peter.

“Can't we just say I got shot or something, Alessandra probably doesn't even want me there.”

“Probably,” Peter cheerfully admitted, “but I spent so long deciding on an outfit, it would be a shame to not show it off.” Peter grabbed his jacket from where it was hanging on the back of a chair. He looked beautiful, of course he did, he was wearing a burgundy suit with a black shirt underneath. His jacket was embroidered with roses, made of a golden thread. He looked far nicer than Juno did in his figure-hugging, scarlet, knee-length dress.

The two of them arrived at the wedding inconspicuously. Peter wanted to make an entrance but Juno had managed to talk him out of it—by threatening to not go to the wedding at all if he did. Peter relented and they managed to slip into the crowd without drawing attention to themselves. They quickly realised that they didn't have anyone to talk to. Most of the PIs that were there recognised Juno and immediately walked in the opposite direction. The rest of the crowd was a mixture of military and family, not exactly the easiest people to strike up a conversation with. They ended up off to the side of the room, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

“This is beautiful, isn’t it?” Peter said, it took Juno a moment to work out what he said, he’d been too distracting wondering if there was an open bar.

“What, the room?” He asked, wondering what Peter was talking about.

“No,” he laughed, “frankly, if the person who designed this building calls themself a designer then there must be something seriously wrong with this world.” He looked over and saw that Juno was still confused. “I was talking about the wedding, there’s something beautiful about the concept of a ceremony where you agree to remain with a person until death.”

“Until death or until the money runs out.” Juno had seen too many marriages ending in disaster over the course of his career to believe that they meant anything. “Just because two people say that they’ll love each other forever doesn’t mean they will, even if they were being sincere.”

“So you’ve never considered getting married?” Peter asked innocently.

“I nearly did, once,” an image of Diamond appeared in his mind, he ignored it.

“Oh,” Peter raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely surprised, “should I be jealous?”

“No,” Juno muttered under his breath, “like I said, just because people believe they’ll love each other for the rest of their lives, doesn’t mean they will.”

“So you’d—” Peter was cut off by the sound of the crowd taking their seats, Juno and Peter quickly followed. Juno didn’t get a chance to ask Peter what he was going to say before a commotion was heard. Suddenly the doors to the room opened and he caught a glimpse of a couple in the doorway. Alessandra Strong, in a floor-length strapless cream gown that flared out at her waist and showed off her impressive arm muscles, and her fiancée, wearing a white suit that had been tailored to accommodate her missing arm and leg so that there were no dangling tubes of fabric. Her wheelchair was decorated with roses. They didn’t stop and allow people to admire them. Alessandra briskly pushed her financée down the aisle like a woman on a mission.

The ceremony was equally fast. Evidently, the couple had decided that they’d spent enough time apart that the idea of waiting another moment before they were married was unthinkable. Juno watched as Alessandra leaned over to kiss her wife. He couldn’t help but feel happy for her.

Soon after that, the crowd moved into the reception area. Once again, Juno stood off to the side, Peter had gotten bored and was making small talk with the other guests.

“Kind of surprised to see you, Steel.” Juno jumped as Alessandra appeared behind him. “I assumed you were going to back out last minute, claim that you’d been shot or something like that.”

“I’m hurt Alessandra, why would you think I would do something like that?” Juno replied.

“Where’s your plus one?” Alessandra pretended to look around the room. “Or couldn’t you find someone willing to put up with you for more than an hour?” That comment genuinely hurt, not that Juno was going to tell her that.

“Where’s your wife?” He snapped back. “Did she run out on you already?”

“Why you—” She hissed back at him before she was interrupted.

“Ah, Alessandra Strong I presume,” Juno and Alessandra turned around to see Peter with Alessandra’s wife, “I’ve heard so much about you.” Juno breathed a sigh of relief and shot Peter a quick smile, thanking him for saving him from Alessandra’s wrath.

“Ali, you’ll actually like this one, he’s surprisingly charming,” Alessandra’s wife gestured at Peter, before she stopped herself, slightly embarrassed, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name.”

“No need to apologise, it’s my fault for not providing it,” he held his hand out to shake her hand, “it’s Peter.” Juno coughed into his drink, shocked that Peter would just give out his name like that, a name he once claimed was very nearly his only weakness.

“Everything okay, Steel?” Alessandra asked, confused.

“I’m fine.” Juno muttered quickly, trying to cover his reaction.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Peter interjected, “despite his claims to the contrary, Juno never could hold his liquor.” Juno glared at him.

“You two know each other?” Alessandra said as she realised who Peter was to Juno.

“I should hope so,” Peter laughed and wrapped his arm around Juno’s waist, “I’m here as his guest, after all.” A brief silence followed as Alessandra’s eyes met Juno’s and a question was passed between them. She was asking if this was the person he was waiting for when they first met, all those months ago. Juno nodded his head slightly.

“In that case,” Alessandra’s wife broke the silence, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She held out her hand to Juno, “I’m Kiri.” She smiled.

“Juno.” He introduced himself.

Juno liked Kiri Strong, unlike Alessandra, she was willing to match him joke-for-joke with a speed that rivalled Peter’s responses. They had met after Alessandra was in an accident during the war. They had become good friends while Kiri was helping her recover from breaking nearly every bone in her body, only to be separated when the unit Kiri was in was captured by the Outer Rim. Several years (and a bomb blast that left Kiri with a few missing limbs and a damaged spinal cord) later, the couple were reunited, and they decided that life was too short to continue how they were before Kiri’s capture. So within a year of their reunion, they were walking down the aisle. Juno really did have to admire their efficiency. Peter hung onto every word of their story, reacting at all the right times. Juno didn’t really care for the details of their love story, but one look from Alessandra was enough to convince to listen to what Kiri had to say.

Eventually, the newlyweds were dragged away. With nobody left to talk to, Peter finally let Juno leave. Juno didn’t say anything on the drive home, he waited until they closed the door to his apartment before he finally asked, “why did you tell him your real name?” Peter paused, midway through taking his jacket off.

“Because they’re our friends,” he explained, slowly, as though this should have been obvious, “why wouldn’t I tell them?”

“I don’t know,” Juno scoffed, “maybe because you’re a wanted thief and she’s a PI. What if she finds out who you are?”

“I doubt she’s going to investigate me, Juno.” he raised an eyebrow, “unless we give them a reason to…” he trailed off. When Juno didn’t respond, his bemused expression turned to confusion. “Is everything okay… are you still upset that I made you go to your friend’s wedding?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He began to take his dress off.

“Then we’re definitely going to talk about it.” Peter sat down on the bed. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he tried to keep his voice level, “I just don’t like weddings.” Peter didn’t say anything more a moment, he looked deep in thought.

“Is this about…” he paused to consider his words, “... the person you nearly married?” Juno refused to meet his eyes. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.” Juno whispered. Peter seemed to understand the gravity of what he was asking because he stopped asking about Juno’s former fiancée.

“Would you ever…” Peter paused and looked him in the eyes, “would you ever consider getting married again?” He managed to force out.

“I don’t know,” he collapsed on the bed next to Peter, “it doesn’t really matter, does it? It’s not like you can get married anyway.” He heard Peter take a deep breath.

“Perhaps not officially, but I can still agree to spend the rest of my life with someone, because I love them.” Juno sat up on the bed slightly and looked at Peter, he was looking down at his legs, refusing to look at Juno.

“Would you ever do that?” When Juno spoke, Peter looked over at him. “Do you want to?”

“If I met the right person.” He reached over and grabbed Juno’s hand. Juno leaned over towards him.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He whispered in Peter’s ear.

“Til death do us part?” Peter’s eyes lit up and he gave Juno the most tender smile he could imagine.

“Til death, or capture by the Outer Rim military, do us part.” He joked. Then they shared their first kiss as a married couple.

#the penumbra podcast #tpp #jupeter #juno steel #peter nureyev #jupeter week #penumbra podcast #fanfic

29 notes · View notes

inkskinned · 7 years

Text

when i was seven the sea-witch cursed me.

she cursed my great-grandfather, actually, who had spat on the hands of the ocean and disrespected the beating heart of the earth - for what else are waves but a pulse - who was silly and violent and who tried to rip from the water what was hers by rights. we were wealthy, before that, a family of merchants. my mother says in her youth she recalls white horses, the gleam of candles, early mornings with bread baked fresh by a horde of servants.

he didn’t ask permission to cross her. that’s what my mother tells me while she spoons porridge with no flavor into the wood of my bowl. he had no faith in superstition, rode with boats that were more decoration than strength, the folly of a man who was cruel and vain and proud of his own gold teeth. the sky had been blue, so regardless of what the village witch said, he would sail that day. and when his boat sank; their lives turned blue like the sky that day.

my mother says she thinks the curse on the men of our family, even if they come in when they marry, is that they will forever be violent, too foolish to see the storm on the horizon. she whispers this to me on the eve of my seventh birthday, while father is his own storm, thundering around the house, looking for her. later, when i am cleaning the cut by her cheek, she tells me the curse is on the women to forever be unhappy, to wane until they are shadows, to walk into the deep like a sinking ship.

we don’t burn candles often, they are too expensive. she tells me this in the silk of a dark room. the moon kisses her hair.

in three days, my mother will walk into the ocean, and my father will be my own problem. the curse will pass onto me.

my father does not believe in superstition, no curse to conquer him. when he is gone, and i am heartbroken, i go to the village witch. i ask her to teach me about magic, and other things, and about how the ocean can be coaxed, and how to save my father’s soul.

and my hands rot too, keeping a house by myself with things i barely knew. i learn the art of a good scrubbing, keep my mind full of white horses while i endlessly clean, dream of candles in dark while i make the bread that he will not allow me to eat. he keeps me from the ocean, from visiting the place that took my mom, from following in her footsteps where the water makes women undone.

i am sixteen when i see her in the water of a bowl. she scares me so completely that i drop it, and my father comes in with his hands, and the curse, and i almost forget all about it. it isn’t until after that i realize she is beautiful, and young, which surprises me.

i think about it every evening. her face becomes distorted to me. i can no longer remember the exact shape of it, only the impression of beauty.

i turn seventeen and wait for the high moon. i pin safety to my vest in little witch herbs and runes. i put naked toes on the sand and slip closer, closer, to the avenue of my family’s doom. i find a little private beach, small and surrounded by rocks, hidden from my father in the event he ever thought to come looking. at high tide, it is barely the span of my body. at low, it feels empty.

the witch of the land has given me what i need to call in the witch of the sea, but i do not use it. it feels wrong, somehow, standing here in the wind and the quiet pulse of the world. i put down the incense and sage and i sit just close enough it feels wild, dangerous - but not close enough to get caught up in thrill.

when nothing happens, i go home and i make bread that i will not eat.

for months i do this. i climb down to my beach. i learn to do it when the moon is half, and then when the moon is empty. i learn to do it so well that sometimes i go to sleep in my own bed and wake up by the water. i take to sleeping with warding runes to keep me from being pulled in the rip out to the waiting hands of a hungry sea-witch.

i don’t know when i start talking. more often i sing, because singing in my house is not allowed, and something about the way the rocks echo my voice feels comforting. the older i get, the more i can pretend i hear my mother’s voice, answering me, harmonizing gently. i sing songs about sadness and lullabies about curses. when i have exhausted every song i know, i write new ones about fathers who have never learned how to be kind, about the house i work in but do not love, about mothers who left, and about a sea witch.

i see her sometimes. in a puddle, in the drop of rain, in the strangest places. i never expect it, although i always hope. i am never able to see her for more than the length of a wave, breaking, and each time, it does something new to my heart.

at eighteen i am too much of my father’s burden. he tries to unload me onto other men. the land witch helps me with this. i rub hemlock, burn wolfsbane. we arrange so these men have other women to marry. the news of my curse is bad enough to scare most away. my father is not happy.

after a particularly savage night, i wonder how bad it could be. i could marry some boy from the village who didn’t quite bother me. i suppose they’re not ugly. timothy had always been gentle to me. i think about a life, and how i am cursed to be unhappy. my father would finally be proud of me.

i walk to the beach and i tell the waves about him and how i could convince myself it was love if i just never wanted from him. how i could be okay, if not content, how i could be free, how i already had learned life down on knees.

but i go home and i write a rune of warding. and the years pass and i find reasons each suitor is wanting. and the sea witch i see, sometimes, peeking out at me, staying long each time in the water, looking, watching. i see her in mirrors when my father storms against me. it is bad because he mistakes the cause of my smiling. it is better when she is there the next morning.

and i go to the ocean. when i am too sad to speak, it seems like the ocean is whispering for me. i picture my mother’s voice and tell myself i am happy. i am seven again and we are sewing. i am seven again and the curse has not been given to me. i am seven and she came home after she walked to the sea.

i grow silly, brave, unthinking. i leave behind the herbs and i wade deep. i teach myself the art of swimming. i am bad at it, at first, but something about it feels good to me. like the ocean wants to buoy me. in the day i think of it, guilty. what if there was a rip tide, and the water took me? who would care for my father if i stepped off the beach into a long drop? wasn’t i clever enough to know that the ocean is uncaring?

it is not this that does it. i go out after a rain and i slip on the rocks and suddenly i am in water above my head but without the moon i cannot see the up of it. i kick and i thrash and the water surrounds me. the tide pulls on my body and in the cold i feel my body grow weary. water spills into me. it punches through my body, up my nose and into my lungs and some part of me knows this is what mother felt before she was gone.

i kick ground by accident, reorient, drag myself heaving and spitting into the air. i lie there for a long time, half in and half out of death, enjoying the sensation of breathing and of life.

when i look up, i think i see her, watching me, her brows knit with something like worry. but we make eye contact and my heart leaps and then she is gone and i am left alone with nothing but the dawn breaking.

my father is furious when there is no bread. he finds my hair wet, and the salt of the ocean still smelling on me. and that is it. that day he goes out and pays someone to agree to marry me.

this feels right to me, i think. i’m twenty-one, three times seven, a perfect number for a curse to fully come down on me. i will be wed in three weeks.

the land witch comes to visit me. she looks like she’s sorry for me. she gives me a spell and tells me to put it under my pillow; i’ll dream of love and it will soothe me. instead i dream of the seawitch, and how wonderful she is, and the sight of her, out on the water, worried.

even though it is risky, i go down to the beach. i do not bother with protective spells, i have already seen that the water can kill me. fear alone keeps me from wandering. i sit on the beach and in the sand i draw runes for understanding and i make the small magicks i’ve spent years learning and i close my eyes and i ask the ocean “why do you do this to me.”

i fall asleep. i dream that the sea witch talks to me. i dream she is my age, that she is the great-granddaughter of the first to curse my family. i dream she has spent years watching, learning, finding the truth of me. that she just needs to get the courage to come and speak, that she has fallen in love with my singing, that she knows no curse but the one in her heart that brings her back to a human, to a creature of air and not water, to a mistake in the making.

in the dawn i know it is a dream and no more. i make bread. i pour water out before it can make mirrors. i do not look. i do not like the ache that has filled me, as if i’ve been looking for an answer and the answer only leads to longing.

the man i meet - my husband-to-be - is delighted by the house i keep. he believes a woman should keep in her place, and her place should be clean. he hears from neighbors that sometimes i sneak out to the land witch’s house. laughter barks out of him. not going to allow that behavior, not me. he does not believe in curses. he will pack me up and move me from the ocean to somewhere in the mountains, where i know nobody. and i will, he promises, learn to keep my place, and that place clean.

i tell myself i could love him. he is not ugly. he says i’m pretty enough after whiskey. my father mentions i used to sing. i refuse to perform for these men so instead i make them cookies. they laugh and talk about me, even when i am in the room, as if they cannot even see. they shake hands and talk about how useless a woman is for much else than breeding. it’s very funny. the man meets my eyes and promises he’ll put a baby in me. i look down and pretend the thrill i feel is excitement, not fear brewing in me.

the land witch comes by a week before my wedding. she is smaller these days, aging. her apprentice and i get along wonderfully. the two women stand before me, holding something.

a small box, so tiny and lovely. “break the curse,” the witch whispers, “learn to be happy.”

i smuggle the box, take it everywhere with me. it is days before i have a moment to slip away, to open it by the sea. i take a candle with me, even though my father will notice and be angry.

by the light of fire i read the spell they have left me inside, and then i am so full of gratitude i cannot stop crying.

it must be a full moon, so i must wait. in the meantime, i walk home, and i bake.

i do not see the seawitch, even though i look for her. maybe i have wounded her, getting married. my father asks why i keep smiling. i tell him it is because i am finally with a man. he grunts and says to stop looking so silly.

the man kisses me. i let him. we are married on a night with a full moon, and i poison him and my father in the bread i did not eat. i think of how these men were cursed so they could not see a storm coming. i watch them as they lie there, dying, and then i put all of the things i own into a basket for the land witch. i leave it there with a song i wrote for her, a spell i know will make her happy, will stop the aging of her joints, will give her the kind of relief she gave me.

i go down to the water. i find myself running, even though i am in no hurry. i know the way so well it is like i wake up there, panting. i ask permission first. i lay out the contents of the box, i organize and practice and when the needle and pain comes, i am ready for it. i am used to pain at night. i breathe into it and walk naked into waters that swallowed my mother.

i chew bitter herbs. i swallow fire. i feel myself drown as i change from land witch to sea witch.

when it is done, i open my eyes in the deep of a moonlit ocean. and i see her.

this time she does not flicker. this time when i reach for her, she is there, and she is pushing my hair out of my eyes, and we are kissing with the ocean rejoicing around us, and i am laughing, and i hear her voice as clear as bell inside me.

and we live like this, a whole world between us where white horses are the size of pinky fingers and swim with their thin snouts, where i need no candles because i was raised lightless, where we have no servants but the water takes care of us. i show her the magic of land and she unfolds the magic of water. together we are unstoppable. when i come up to the air to sing little girls a promise that they can survive the madness, she sings with me, and we make a beautiful harmony.

#spilled ink #prose #i dress for the sea witch that cursed me

10K notes · View notes

eurello · 4 years

Text

Media Diet, Week of April 19th

I am forever working on improving the quality of the deluge of culture I am taking in at all times. Lately, I’ve been especially rigorous about this, as I keep realizing exactly how much valuable time I am wasting slurping up really dumb stuff. In an attempt at accountability (and to make myself ashamed to spend too much time on anything purely dumb), I am going to try logging and posting about the culture I consume. I will analyze what attracts me to the trashier things, and attempt to train myself, little by little, day by day, into better habits.

Sunday, April 19th:

As I was getting ready and making breakfast, I listened to podcasts as usual — the end of Oh No, Ross & Carrie, and the beginning of Baby Geniuses. I enjoy both of these podcasts a lot, and I think they are good things to listen to, although this particular episode of ONRC went on for too long. I have gone through phases of listening to a lot of political podcasts, but I have recently admitted to myself that I’m not that interested in politics, and that is perfectly fine. I think it’s important for a citizen to remain up to date and aware of what is going on, but I have this sort of weird feeling that smart people are obsessed with politics? And I don’t know why I feel that way. There’s nothing especially noble or intelligent about political governance; quite the opposite most of the time. Politicians are often venal, and even if when they aren’t, the more time you spend paying attention to the largely broken processes they attempt to navigate and massage every day, the worse it probably is for your own sense of hope, and certainly for your own creativity. So I’ve let myself off the hook on this one, and now I mostly listen to humor podcasts and weird fictional things.

As I drank my breakfast (smoothie/coffee) and procrastinated at doing something more worthwhile, I spent probably two hours on Twitter, Instagram, and various websites. This is becoming a big problem for me. On Twitter, I follow mostly comedy writers, liberals, feminists, black Twitter, and weird Twitter (and intersections of all of the above), and some local political organizations. I tweeted a lot this morning, as well. On Instagram, I follow a lot of the same people I do on Twitter, plus a TON of visual artists. I am not a visual artist, but because Instagram is a visual medium, it’s nice to follow artists, and I sometimes find it inspiring — if not to create art myself, at least maybe to make my house look nicer (although I never do). I also follow some old school fashion and lifestyle bloggers who I’ve been following for like ten years, and although I do not find that kind of blogging interesting at all anymore, I am interested in these particular people, and invested in their lives at this point. I also embarrassingly have been paying a good bit of attention lately to a certain terrible influencer, who I won’t name because I don’t want to draw the wrong kind of attention here, but you probably know who she is. She is entirely boring, but people are interested in her for a variety of reasons, and they all have complicated explanations for why. I think it’s that she’s sort of the purest example of the sort of woman (blond, thin, pretty, performatively aspirational yet empty enough to be completely non-threatening to anyone) that middle-class Americans have always been culturally encouraged to admire and, if they are women, to emulate, and yet, it’s so apparent that there is no there there. I imagine most people who follow her are thinking, “I can’t believe I thought I needed to be this in high school!” For me personally, there’s something else to it, and after thinking about it so that I could write it down here, I think it is that I spend a lot of time mildly regretting that I had not been more intentional about pursuing my creative dreams in my 20s (I was sort of dabbling in comedy and performance and writing; I had some talent but little intelligence), but at the same time, when I look back over my work and writings from that time, I am horrified by how stupid I was without realizing it (and not just stupid for my age, because I was surrounded by far more intelligent and creative people who have gone on to do amazing things, and there are many preternaturally wise and hilarious babies who are creating right now). Had I had a bigger platform at the time, I fear I would have looked a lot like a less successful this girl. So, it’s a sort of cautionary tale that really just serves to make me feel better about having avoided exposure I’d now regret (albeit through laziness rather than foresight). And also, being able to realize this now is a reminder that I am at least smarter now than I used to be, so I have been growing in some way, even if it feels like I’ve just been atrophying intellectually and creatively ever since I got a real job. I think now that I’ve written this down, I’m ready to let go of paying attention to her. Also, though, I just feel bad for her, and I want to see what happens to her and if she ends up ok or not. Which possibly sounds nobler than it is — am I really just rubbernecking at an accident? I don’t think I wish her harm. Anyway, in non-shame scrolling, two of my favorite comics on Twitter and Instagram right now are Eva Victor and Alyssa Lamparis. They are both brilliantly hilarious.

The first few chapters of “Joshua”, while working on one of my blog posts about the Old Testament.

A chapter of The High Growth Handbook, for work, which I’m finding more interesting than most business books.

Moral Clarity by Susan Neiman, which I’m not really enjoying. This isn’t necessarily why I’m not enjoying it, but I gave some thought while reading this about why I find the left’s current backlash against “identity politics” to be disingenuous. I mean, other than the fact that it is only white people (and mostly white men) who argue that identity politics are a pointless distraction from real social change. And it’s that nobody — no matter how naive — thinks that we are going to transform all human systems overnight. Abrupt revolutions rarely happen in established societies, and even when they do, they never stick; no matter how you come about it, lasting social change always takes forever. So, eschewing identity politics as a mere distraction implies that those who unfairly have less power and influence under the current system should just be content with their marginalization until we have a new system altogether. And that those who are over-represented in the current system shouldn’t be criticized or made to lose anything in the interests of equity and social justice until we have a new system altogether. That this is the same old self-serving bullshit from a different direction seems so obvious to me, I don’t understand why so many smart people are buying into it. There is no getting around our historical legacy of racial oppression! There’s just no scenario in which white people are not going to have to deal with that first, before we can successfully build systems that are more just and more fair! You have to address both things at the same time, and no, just focusing on economic class is not going to cut it — especially not when so many people pretend that they don’t understand that poverty results from lack of access and limited options, and has little to do with whether you have much money at any given time (in reality, they understand this very well). And I can’t take any leader seriously (no matter how far left) who does not get that, and/or who won’t force their followers to acknowledge it.

“Where outrage itself is exhausted, even despair is impossible. The resulting inertia is not the result of an ideology, postmodern or otherwise. But anyone who wants to oppose it must oppose an ideology that makes inertia the most rational response.”

Finished Baby Geniuses and started listening to Get Rich Nick as I prepared for my run, and as I showered after my run. Nick V is a good pal of mine from Chicago — we came up through iO at the same time and were on a Harold team together for like a year. He’s hilarious and I enjoy his podcast, but I suspect I partly find it so funny because it’s just very…Nick.

I listen to the same Spotify playlist on every run. I made it for running and it’s all exactly what you’d expect someone like me would listen to while running.

I watched an episode of season 2 of “Big Little Lies” while I ate dinner. I thought the first season (while it had its faults) was perfectly cast and pretty impressively honest in how it dealt with domestic violence and rape. I wasn’t interested enough to seek out season 2, but I recently noticed HBO is streaming some shows for free right now on Amazon Prime (which I have finally, finally canceled because #morals but still have through August), so I started watching it, and I still love the cast. I will watch Laura Dern in absolutely anything, and it’s really fun to watch Reese Witherspoon play what I imagine is basically herself.

Listened to more Get Rich Nick while I cleaned up the kitchen and got ready for bed.

Finished the night off with The Collected Stories of Eudora Welty — she’s one of my faves and I’ve read two of these four collections multiple times, but right now am on The Wide Net which is new to me. Read the titular “The Wide Net” and really enjoyed it and then “A Still Moment,” which was boring but made me want to get my computer out and google Audubon. Then fell asleep reading this weird old novel I’m slowly working through called The Man Who Loved Children.

“‘She’s a lot smarter than her cousins in Beulah,’ said Virgil. ‘And especially Edna Earle, that never did get to be what you’d call a heavy thinker. Edna Earle could sit and ponder all day on how the little tail of the ‘C’ got through the ‘L’ in a Coca-Cola sign.’”

Monday, April 20th:

Instagram on the toilet, Get Rich Nick while I performed my ablutions and made coffee, and Instagram stories and Feedly for a bit while I drank it. I spend less time on this today, the awareness of accountability is already working! About Instagram stories — I usually ignore them altogether but every so often I go through phases of watching them. I find them mostly very boring, but because I mostly follow creatives on Instagram, there’s something inspiring about starting my day by watching a bunch of creative people all around the world making things. At least starting a day off this way (which today fortunately is); starting a work day this way makes me feel an intense despair. I also follow a few farmers, and it’s fun to see their daily lives. And also just a bunch of people who live in gorgeous places around the world. And ok, yeah, a couple of hate follows, which for me are people who I just find so unbelievably grating and irritating in every way that I can’t stop watching them — I just can’t believe they exist and yet aren’t entirely consumed with self-loathing. And I think for me it’s like, I find them so utterly obnoxious in every way, but they still all have lots of people in their lives who truly love them, and that’s affirming to me personally, because I often feel like I couldn’t ask anyone to tolerate me for very long unless/until I’ve attained perfection in every sphere, so it’s a nice reminder to me that that’s not really how people operate. In Feedly, I follow 3 Quarks Daily and The Morning News, some political digests, a number of old school bloggers I’ve been following forever (mostly funny ones), a handful of newsletters (mostly by people who used to be bloggers), and some sustainability bloggers to guilt me into making better choices. I probably spend about 90 minutes on all of this? Which is too much time!

More “Joshua.”

I poke around online and find and follow a handful more artists from around the world on Instagram and/or Twitter. These aren’t really very interesting ones, and so I’ll probably unfollow them soon, but they’re a bunch of diverse young people, and lately I feel out of touch with what young people are doing. One funny thing about young people is they have so much energy and so many interests, so all of them are doing like ten really shitty things — they’re making crappy art, they’re writing nonsense, they’re performing dopey shows, AND they’re in a shitty band. And then they get older and they realize that it takes an incredible amount of time and effort and research and angst to do even one thing semi-well, and at that point, they either disappear or focus. Anyway, I mostly stick to Twitter for these — I only follow artists on Instagram whose work I find genuinely appealing; Twitter is more for people I’m interested in hearing more about how they perceive the world, but am not necessarily interested in what they’re making. Also, for Twitter, I use TweetDeck and make lists, so it’s a lot easier to follow and unfollow groups of people than it is on Instagram. Like I’ll make a list of “possibly interesting” and watch it for awhile, and then I might move two people on it to a more permanent list and then just delete the whole list.

Listen to The Read while I make a smoothie.

Two short stories from an old issue of Salt Hill, both terrible.

A chapter of High Growth Handbook, and two of Moral Clarity.

Listened to The Read and Scam Goddess while gearing up for run, walking back from run showering, cooking dinner, and cleaning up the kitchen. Usual playlist on run.

Spent some lost time on Twitter and Instagram while crouching on the floor and shivering in my sweaty running clothes, and then again after dinner while sitting on the couch. I’m starting to realize that I look at social media when what my brain really wants to be doing is just….sitting and staring and not taking in anything.

Three Welty stories, “Asphodel” (enjoyable), “The Winds” (in which Welty is starting to find the voice she will master in The Golden Apples), and “The Purple Hat” (eh). Interrupted, I am embarrassed to admit, by looking at Twitter and my email and also reading some articles about Welty.

The Man Who Loved Children

Tuesday, April 21st:

There are two things I want to stop doing, and I did both today. First, after my alarm went off, I spent 90 minutes hitting the snooze button and also pursuing Twitter and Instagram in bed. My entire goal is to reserve as much time for myself in the evenings as possible, for doing what I want to be doing. And I waste a lot of that limited time in procrastinating what I don’t want to be doing. And this is the first place it happens — lounging in bed staring at my phone instead of getting up and going to work.

Finished Scam Goddess and started The High Low while I got ready, made coffee and my smoothie.

After work, I did the second thing I want to stop doing — I spent 90 minutes sitting on the couch looking at Twitter, Instagram, Reddit, and rubbernecking at a long train wreck thread on NextDoor (people are wilding out at this point), procrastinating getting my running kit on and going out for my exercise. All together, this is THREE HOURS of wasted time that could go toward my evenings, where I get to do the stuff I want to do! I’m robbing myself of this valuable time.

I walked for most of my run because I was sore from some exercises I did, and I finished The High Low. When I got home, I listened to Office Ladies, which is not a very good podcast, but it’s just mindlessly comforting to listen to and I like thinking about The Office, which is mindlessly comforting to watch, as I took a shower, made dinner, and cleaned up the kitchen.

The Man Who Loved Children

Wednesday, April 22nd:

Well, I still hit the snooze for an hour but I DIDN’T browse Twitter before I got out of bed. Listened to Lady to Lady while I got ready and made a smoothie and coffee.

Couple of breaks during my workday, during which times I looked at Twitter, Reddit, and Instagram.

I worked later than usual and it was rainy out, so I didn’t go out for exercise, but I still spent TWO HOURS on the couch mindlessly scrolling (Twitter, Instagram, NextDoor train wreck). So, all told, I still wasted three hours on garbage today.

Listened to Lady to Lady and Your Favorite Band Sucks while I made dinner, ate it, cleaned up after it, and got ready for bed. Your Favorite Band Sucks takes down a lot of bands I genuinely like, and I truly do enjoy hearing people rip apart things that I enjoy for some reason (cultural masochism). This episode, though, is on Billy Joel, which I feel is low-hanging fruit, although it reminds me of when this guy I had a massive crush on in high school got super into Billy Joel (I know) and so I spent a few months listening to him and trying to convince myself I also thought he was brilliant. Listening to this podcast makes me realize how much time I spent trying to convince myself that I liked bands that guys I had a thing for worshipped. I don’t really listen to music very much (note absence of it from this entire week) since podcasts became a thing -- I just always vastly prefer narrative if I have a choice. Either music is too distracting from the thing I’m trying to do, or I have enough bandwidth to listen to a podcast while I’m doing the thing, which I prefer. There’s just very rarely any place in my day where music makes sense. You will never find me getting stoned or drunk and just sitting and listening to music -- I can’t fathom how people do that. Whenever I’ve tried it, I’ve just gotten so angry that I took away the mental capacity to read and am wasting all that excellent reading time just sitting there. I guess I don’t really like turning my brain off. Some people spend all their time trying to turn their brain off, but that actually causes stress in my case; fun for me is more taking a ton of adderall to really get it jumping. I don’t mean to imply by that that I’m smart or I use my brain for anything worthwhile, I really, really don’t. I just like the feeling of being alert and I like thinking my dumb thoughts and following along with narratives of whatever kind.

The Man Who Loved Children

Thursday, April 23rd:

Success! I hit snooze for 20 minutes only and then I got to work!

Listened to a new podcast by a comic I like while I got ready, and I won’t say which one, because it wasn’t very good, and I don’t want to slam the first episode (I’m sure it will get better).

Very brief Instagram/Twitter/Feedly breaks a couple times throughout the day.

Success again! After work, I only looked at Twitter for 20 minutes before heading out for my run. Usual playlist on run. On my walk back, I recorded an Instagram story.

Listened to old episodes of Sawbones and By the Book (both of which I’m trying to decide if I like or not) and You’re Wrong About while getting ready for run, showering, cooking dinner, cleaning up the kitchen, getting ready for bed. This episode of You’re Wrong About was about Marie Antoinette and was really fun, although I have a hard time with this podcast, because the voice of the woman who hosts it kind of traumatizes me. I do not like criticizing women’s voices and she can’t help her voice or how it affects me, but she has this sort of sarcastic, flat, patronizing tone that makes her sound like a cool girl of the intellectual cast of cool girls who thinks you are the stupidest little try-hard femme ever to be brought before her, and it gives me some unpleasant flashbacks to certain incidents in college. But I like the podcast overall (and her probably!) and so I just try to get over it.

Read “Livvie” by Eudora Welty, and then finished The Man Who Loved Children.

Friday, April 24th:

Hit snooze for a full hour, but then got up. Listened to another first episode of a new podcast by another comic I like that also was not very good while I got ready, etc. and also a bit later in the car as I made a grocery store run.

Couple very short Twitter/Feedly breaks throughout the day.

Usual music playlist on run. I’ve got a podcast playlist of weird fictional stuff that I’m mostly listening to old episodes of from the beginning and many are new to me and I’m trying to decide if I liked them. Today, during the usual periods of podcast listening, I went through episodes of Welcome to Night Vale and The Lost Cat Podcast, both of which I am enjoying, although I have trouble paying attention to Welcome to Night Vale and always realize after I finish an episode that I didn’t really hear any of it.

Watched 1.25 episodes of Big Little Lies while I ate takeout and spotted my friend Mike playing the marriage counselor in one of them! Having a background in performance makes for very weird TV and movie experiences now, because I’ll pretty often see someone I know well in something. Often, it’s a really happy surprise like this one, but sometimes it’s a really unpleasant one, like when you’re sitting around with your family and you see a guy who dumped you pretty brutally playing the dopey, amiable dad in a commercial and get plunged into despair and self-hatred in the midst of a bunch of oblivious people in your aunt’s living room and start to feel like you are living in a surreal world no one else is actually a part of and also like your personality is fragmenting in what is possibly a psychotic way.

Started The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane. I’m really happy to be done with The Man Who Loved Children and on to a new book, and this one looks to be an easy, possibly dumb page-turner, which is well-timed.

Saturday, April 25th:

Snoozed for 40 minutes. Listened to Tanis while coffee etc. Bit of Instagram and Feedly.

While I cleaned the house and deep cleaned my office, I listened to The Bright Sessions, Within the Wires, The Box Podcast, Tracks, and Rabbits.

While I got ready for run, walked back from run, made dinner, cleaned up kitchen, put the laundry away, and got ready for bed, listened to Father Dagon, The Amelia Project, Glasgow Ghost Stories, Middle: Below, The Last Movie, The Van, Video Palace, Blackwood, Dreamboy, Caledonian Gothic, and The London Necropolis Railway. I went through a ton of podcasts today (but also these fiction ones are quite short).

Started to read “At the Landing” by Welty, but I fell asleep super early. I usually save fiction for a couple hours in bed before I go to sleep, because fiction is my favorite thing in the world, but I am so tired by the time I lie down that I often can’t really enjoy it, and fight to stay awake while I try to read and then just fall asleep. So I might need to rethink this timing.

Overall, I think this has been a successful first week of doing this! On Saturday, I had a day off, and I spent basically zero time procrastinating with garbage media! I can really see how my consumption of dumb stuff went down through the week.

#media diet

0 notes

beekeepercain · 7 years

Photo

Trans prompts?

Heya, internet.

She stops for a moment right there, after waiting more than an hour with the tab open without managing to put down a single word onto it. She’s not sure how to proceed - damn, she’s rarely been sure about anything. But asking for help when she’s already so unsure and afraid of hearing a confirmation for her worst fears? No.

Sam’s gone - he’ll be back in no more than another hour, and Dean doesn’t have forever.

My name’s Dean. Deanna, really, but I go by Dean. And... that’s kind of the problem, really. That I’m asking about. See, I’m a tomboy.

Her palms are sweating but her fingers are cold. She’s not sure why - it’s just the internet. Nobody’s opinions matter on the internet - right? So why’s she even looking?

I love comfy clothes. Flannels, guy jeans, slip-on shoes. No make-up, short hair, easy life. Confession: I don’t even shave my legs. I probably sound like a lumberjack and the truth is, I kinda am; I live a rough life. Out of a car, mostly. Get my living out of gambling, bars are more work than fun, although, let’s face it, when they’re not work they’re still a lot of fun. I shoot guns on a daily basis, and trust me, it’s not for sport. So - you get it by now, right? I don’t live surrounded by glam and glitter.

She takes another break, drinks a long gulp of her coffee and leans back. It’s a pretty day, but she’s just not feeling it. This has been gnawing at her ever since... well, since she was a kid, really. She’s just never felt like pretty was who she was. She tried it on for a while, back when she was haunted by these same doubts, but she grew tired of it soon enough. Gave up on it, really, after realising how much trouble it was and how little it did to make her feel comfortable. Quite the opposite; pretty tends to be just another word for tortured.

But tomboys are normal, you say. You don’t have to be a princess to be a lady, right? Well, yeah. Except, look, I was born a boy. Yeah, that’s right; I’m a - eurgh. Hate that word. But yeah, I’ve got the dangly bits.

More coffee. Dean looks up for a moment, stares at the dust particles dancing in the sunlight, and yep: once this is done, posted and hopefully forgotten about, she might just go outside. Get some air.

Grab a beer.

So. All I want is to be comfortable, do my job right, be the kind of a girl that feels good to me. And I’m not some kind of a shaggy beast, either, no offense to people who like themselves that way - I shave my face, I trim my downstairs. People don’t take a second look when I pass by, and if they do, that usually means they wanna make a move. But sometimes, you know, I doubt myself. I see all the other girls like me taking their looks so seriously, and then there’s... there’s me, Miss No-Effort-Whatsoever. I know it’s stupid. I know - look, I like girls, and I guess I’m a bit butch. But it haunts me. What if I’m not good enough to be a girl?

Is that stupid? She draws a breath and it catches in her throat.

What if I don’t deserve to be a girl?

Before she can continue from there, the breath she held back escapes as a panicked gasp when a key turns in the motel room door’s lock. Without thinking, she slams the laptop’s screen down and jumps up from the chair, backs away from it as quickly as she can and lands on her bed just in time to see Sam enter the room with a book in tow. She gives him a flash of a smile, collects herself up from the bed again and wipes her sweaty palms to her flannel’s sides.

“Back already?” she asks him as she walks towards him... and past him, straight for the door.

“Huh?” Sam asks, turning around as she moves past.

“Gonna go grab us a couple beers for tonight now that I’ve got the car,” Dean tells him.

“Uh - alright.”

All she needs is some air to shed the thoughts, forum posts be damned. But sunlight doesn’t cast the shadows from her mind, and neither does the over-enthusiastic AC in the grocery store. She comes back feeling, if possible, more defeated than ever, and lingers in front of the motel room, hesitant to go back in. Hesitant to pretend everything’s fine in front of Sammy, who really, really doesn’t need to deal with more of her bullshit. Sam’s done enough; he put up with this whole girl thing from the time he wasn’t more than a school kid, and it was Sam who helped her get the medication she needed to really feel comfortable with herself. Now, what he really doesn’t need is to know that all she achieved after all that work was just another load of self-doubt. Yeah, maybe she’s happy with herself now. Maybe it feels good to stand in front of a mirror and look at her body and how the fabric concealing her skin bends just right around her chest and her smooth waist and her ever so slightly rounded hips. Maybe she’s happy in her skin. So why doesn’t it translate to her behaving more like a woman? Being more feminine, instead of just becoming more like a man? Before she grew the - well, they’re not tits, exactly. They’re more like just small bumps where her chest used to be flat, but she’s happy with them, happy about them, even if she’d never sell a skin mag. But before them, she at least tried. She used to put on some make-up, shave her legs, wear clothes that made her waist appear more prominent, even cared enough to use some skin-care products that made her appear a little softer. And then she got the capital E in her system and it all just... stopped. She could as well just have stayed a man. Right?

Dejected, she pushes open the door, and walks directly into something solid. She lets out a little hiccup as Sam’s arms wrap around her and she’s suddenly being squished, the tall guy’s chin resting on her shoulder for a moment before he backs up and pulls her indoors.

“Sit,” Sam tells her, grabbing the bag of beer she’s carrying.

And she does, not because she chooses to cooperate but rather because Sam’s guiding her down and into a chair before she can really register what’s happening to her. So she sits there, staring at her brother with an offended look, until she realises the laptop’s open and - shit - he’s seen the post. It was right there, open on the screen just waiting for someone to lift it back up. Of course he read it; probably thought it was case-related, until it was way, way too late to stop.

She swallows.

“Dean.”

She can’t make a sound, so she looks away. The bag of beer lands on the table and she charges her hand in, grabs a bottle, twists the cap open. Drinks.

“Dean,” Sam repeats, grabbing her wrist and planting the bottle back on the table, “Listen.”

“What?”

“I know that wasn’t meant for me.”

Dean closes her eyes.

“I know I shouldn’t have read, and I’m sorry, but I thought -”

“Yeah, I don’t blame you.”

“Right. So... I just wanted to tell you that - that no matter how you dress, no matter how you act, no matter how little effort you put into grooming, you’re still you, Dean. And I know you. I’ve known you since you were a little kid and you’ve always been a girl, Dean. It’s not about how you go out there. I know our lives are rough and I don’t have the energy to put into anything extra, either. But I see you every day, I see how you smile when you look in the mirror, I saw you change when you started taking the hormones, I saw how much happier you became. How much more comfortable you are now. I saw it, Dean. You think you don’t deserve to be happy because you don’t shave your legs, when you never go out without a pair of jeans anyway? Who cares? How does that have anything to do with who you are? Dean, you’re my sister. You’ve always been my big sister, and I just - I wouldn’t have you any other way. It wouldn’t be you, putting time and energy into fashion and looks. You’re more about who you are than what you look like. And that’s fine. You’re still pretty as you are. It’s not like you need any extra effort to look beautiful. So - I don’t - why do you think that makes you less of a woman?”

Dean shivers. “I just... feel like I should... care more, now that I have the chance. That I should be - I don’t know. I should be enjoying this.”

“And you say that you aren’t?”

They exchange a quick look, but Dean feels it burn her from within, so she stops looking fast enough. She shakes her head.

“No. I - I love the way I look.”

“And you love the clothes you wear.”

“Don’t you think that after all the effort we went through, I should at least try to look like a girl?”

“Jesus, Dean. You are a girl, you don’t have to try and pull on a girl costume. You don’t have to play a role. Just being you is good enough.”

A shiver crosses through Dean’s spine, makes her hair stand up. She dares to raise her gaze back to Sam and feels him battling with her without words - and she knows she’s losing.

For the first time that she can remember, losing feels good.

“You think I’m doing enough?”

“You are enough. What you do doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

She swallows. Then, stiffly, she nods. “Delete the post,” she tells him quietly, “I guess - I shouldn’t be asking strangers, anyway.”

Sam nods too. He turns towards the laptop and clicks away, then looks back at her and nods again. “Done. Dean - do you want to talk about it?”

Dean shakes her head. “No. I think - I think this is enough. I know it’s stupid, you know I do, I wrote it down there. I’m a butch girl. That’s all there is to it. I just...”

“Needed someone to tell you that that’s alright.”

“... yeah, I guess.”

Sam’s smile is crooked when he lets go of her wrist.

“So, you... feel better, right?” he asks her, and Dean chuckles.

She drinks another gulp out of her bottle, this one less panicked and a lot smaller than the previous mouthful she took, and nods again. “I feel dumb. But better. Yeah.”

“Good. Just, Dean, next time you need someone to tell you who you are, ask someone who knows. Ask me. I can remind you.”

“Thanks.”

Sam reaches for the bag of beer and pulls out a bottle. Dean’s grip around her own grows firmer for a moment before she finally shudders and gasps for air, rushing to speak before Sam reacts.

“No, Sam, listen. Thank you. For - for putting up with me. All these years. With - with all of this, too. For doing so much for me. For - fuck - for being such a stand-up little brother to a mess of a sister.”

“Well,” Sam chuckles, sparing her the look she knows he wants to give her, “You’re the best sister I’ve got, so - you’re welcome.”

He brings his beer against Dean’s, pops it open and drinks it with her, and as she watches him, she feels more at ease than she’s done in months.

Yeah. Maybe she should worry less and concentrate on how good life finally is instead.

#trans!Dean #SPN #Supernatural #Dean Winchester #prompts #fanfiction

36 notes · View notes

noctomania · 7 years

Text

Expression (please excuse the novel length)

I remember back in elementary school when my school district voted on whether to turn my school to uniform policy. It was a public school and i had never felt so attacked before then or felt such a strong opinion about something personally. Mind you, i was maybe...10-12 yrs old (if that). This was a time when my self expression was about to take off and bloom. Suddenly though it was halted by uniform policy. I had heard both sides of it and valid points existed on both sides but i still feel it was wrong to enact because i am an advocate for open self expression (i mean without encroaching on other's rights so like my self expression couldn't be to sit on stranger's laps without invitation for example), mostly because that is how i connect best with people. I can't easily just strike up convo with strangers (trust me i have tried). Back then, it was usually a snarky message on my shirt that would draw people in to talk ("good morning is an oxymoron" or any emily strange stuff for example) I've always relished in (and grateful for) having autonomy over my appearance, it's one of the most rewarding things to be able to almost turn yourself inside out and tell the world "see? Do you see me now?" Whereas uniforms...they felt like a prison, like the erasure of my individuality. It also made everyone else seem so 2-D. Schools sometimes had trouble with students showing up in tshirts advertising alcohol or with inappropriate language on them, which is where I think the uniform idea came through most strongly. The economic hardship was left to the families though. Luckily i was allowed to wear pants and not forced into a skirt. I highly doubt guys would have been allowed to wear skirts though, but i never experienced any situations of that at my particular school. I wasn't social enough though to be sure it never happened. Something similar did occur in my high school years later though but instead of a skirt it was my friend and he would wear makeup but was repeatedly sent to detention for it because it was "distracting" I remember also in high school when i was going to be getting my senior picture which I didn't want in the first place. The senior photos were binary traditional and you had to wear this funny neck garment according to your, or what they assumed to be your, gender. This was all before i knew trans and i just knew i preferred the tux one to the one that looked like a dress. The photographer refused unless i got permission from the journalism teacher and I think the only reason she allowed me was because i was a "good quiet" student. But she was sure to let me know she felt it was highly inappropriate. I remember when i got a free leatherman jacket from being in my high school book club (i am The Coolest™) and we got to choose what name we wanted embroidered on the back. I'm proud to say i have my current name, andy, on it because even though the book club leader/librarian did try to push back on my request and tried to sway me into putting my birth name on it, i was insistent. I still have it and still wear it and otherwise i may not have even taken it. (It was free so turning it down wouldn't have been a big deal to me though I woulda been bummed to not get one even though they kinda forced me to take one anyway? It's complicated and thats all besides the point) See I'm someone who craves expression. I bottle up enough shit. Some things i wanna wear on my sleeves. Or my face. Or my hair. My gender expression has been pretty strong since day one. Not to say I wouldn't or have never gone more feminine in my appearance, it's just to say that i have not been the type to adopt an appearance based on what someone else says i am or should be. I don't feel the need to be absolutely masculine 100% i dont fear that which is feminine or androgynous. And i still remain critical of the unnecessary binary that is forced in societies. The products "for men💪/for women🌼" the bullshit of women just cannot be as strong as men the bullshit that women are inherently emotional moreso then men the absurd concept that to be a woman means to have a pussy and tits and to be a man you needa have a package (because clearly you just lose your identity when you get breast or ovarian or testicular cancer). "SO DUH ABOLISH GENDER SO MEN AND WOMEN CAN BE TREATED THE SAME" To turn a blind eye to the differences and intricacies along the gender SPECTRUM (or any innate identity spectrum) is to pretend we don't all have our own distinctive experiences and issues and is in fact a rejection of them. My gender is expressed how i see fit. Perhaps it is quite masculine and yes i did in fact get some surgery but no surgery is going to turn me cis, no hormones will remove all the experience i had as a AFAB for 20yrs no surgery is going to change my interests. I didn't seek hrt or surgery because of anyone else or to spite anyone or to attack anything, i did it to achieve a sense of Self I had never experienced before due to the limitations of my physical expression. I did it because i know how my mind perceives my body and it's never fit right until now. Like ive been a mismatched set of Tupperware that's finally been organized properly. My lid fits, i am a complete set on my own now, as opposed to trying to fit the mold of other's lids. I didn't change to be someone else, i changed my appearance to match who I Am. FORCED gender roles/expression is detrimental, not because of the gender, but because it's forced; because it's someone exerting (or trying to) inappropriate control where they have no right. Are cisfem who choose to take on the ultimate 50s nuclear family housewife life/look any less valid than a cisfem who refuses to fit any gendered life/looks? Or should both be seen as equal and valid in their accession of and right to their autonomy to identify themselves and express themselves how they see fit without any external criticism/dictation as to what is "right" or "appropriate" based on antiquated and/or irrational factors/ideologies? The point of identity is nobody can tell you what/who you are. Perhaps they could guess, but that doesn't mean they are right or that they have authority over your identities. it's not a problem that gender exists. It's a problem that is has been monopolized and mutated and mythologized by people (yes of all varieties bc ideologies know no bounds) trying to dictate other's lives. It's a problem that it has been used as a tool to oppress rather than express. I've met just as many misogynistic women as i have men or even trans and non-binary folk. Everyone has the ability to be oppressive of someone else. When you have been oppressed, or fear being oppressed, you might take on an oppressive role yourself as a form of offense before you ever have to face bein on the defense, if you aren't critical of or moderate yourself. Though the effort may come from a place of self-preservation, it can still cause unnecessary harm and even be counterproductive, if not hypocritical. If we approach the problem for what it is (insertion of opinion where it is unwarranted and unnecessary) instead of attacking it's symptoms (gender expression), we will get to the real resolution with less inner-community squabbling. Don't pretend like you can tell someone who they are. You can argue your point without doing this. Don't pretend you are the ultimate source of knowledge for what you are fighting for. If it were all up to you there wouldn't be a movement, just you. Terfs and radfems may believe i should not have transitioned. Perhaps they feel I could have easily just continued to be a "tomboy", as i was frequently referred to as, and just bind my chest for the rest of my life and never feel a real connection with my Self. I would have remained in a state of self loathing and not only forever feeling less than i was meant to be (not because of my female form but because I wasn't able to be my Self) but forever having to face people identifying me incorrectly and always feeling that disconnect in communication when someone rejects or denies your identity. While being trans does still make me (only slightly due to passing standards and me being white) a target for hate crimes, before resolving my identity i was more likely to take my own life on top of still being a target for harassment due to being untraditional in my expression. Me being me, I've never had an issue with bein an untraditional person (very little about me is traditional), but when you have an inner war going on and you know you can do something good about it, I would never sway someone away from resolving that. Honestly i felt more a distance from feminism before transitioning because i never felt right if i tried to "proudly proclaim" bein a woman/womyn. i felt like a fraud which ultimately made me question if i was a feminist at all. Like I didn't not like women, and i was/am a proud feminist, i just didn't feel as if i was a woman and felt more like i was lying when the words came out which did to an extent feel like a form of betrayal to women and it wasn't til much later i understood it wasn't. I tried various forms of gender expression as a female but even in the best case scenarios it didn't sit right. Not knowing who you are foundationally makes it hard to know how you feel about others or how to accept others. Empathy and compassion require a certain level of knowing yourself so you can identify with another on our human level. If you're at fault with yourself it can be hard enough to love yourself much less anyone else. I feel trans-exclusionary feminists are stuck in that same stage i was stuck in when i was resolving my gender identity. But removing the issue from the context of gender kind of helps. Its not the identity itself that i hate, it's being forced into an identity i am not, never have been, and never will be. Imagine being forced to be a different person. How people identify you is all wrong and any time you try to assert your identity it is rejected. It's not an identity you can change (like a religion or a political leaning that may or may not change), but it's something not readily apparent, or is obstructed by the predisposition people may have about you based on what they see you as. You can call a bear a silly man who needs a shave and wears a fur coat but that's not going to change the fact that the bear is a bear, not going to change the bear's needs or instincts (reference from The Bear That Wasn't) I guess my point overall is: distinctive identity titles are born out of necessity, because thise identities exist. Identities also present the opportunity for us to recognize one another's differences and to learn how we connect and where we lack understanding of one another. Identities allow us short hand how to express ourselves verbally, yanno when interpretive dance is out of the question or inapplicable. Expression of identity is integral to feeling a sense of Self, to be able to trust yourself, and to be able to trust others. Identity should never be erased whether it be gender, sexual orientation, race, ability etc. Before I understood my gender identity i was compensating my lack of masculine appearance with overly-masculine attitude instead, which inevitably lent itself to toxic masculinity. I would catch myself acting that way sometimes and earnestly didn't know what was wrong with me. Now i know i was insecure. Now, I'm much more neutral and comfortable in my attitude since I'm not feeling the need to compensate for my appearance with my attitude. My transition was good for me and those around me. It allowed me to be a little less concerned with my issues and more concerned with the issues of a wider community. So I know this is long and I'm sorry. I don't expect anyone to have read this and i doubt that anyone who disagrees with me read it thoroughly (3 times top to bottom) as they should (to avoid making themselves look impulsive and irrational or cherry picking) before asserting their opinion, but here it is now and it's not goin anywhere. Thank god it's my weekend coming up... (Please if you respond do so respectfully. If you only wish to spit at me, do so in a direct message and leave the notes on this open for respectful conversation/debate, thank you kindly!)

#terf #feminism #gender #transgender #ideologies #identity #autonomy #self #perspective #community #radfems

3 notes · View notes

survivorbouvetisland · 7 years

Text

Episode #3: “Find out next time on total drama suck my ass” - Andrew

Bodhi

I'm pretending to have been told to vote for Kelsey, but in reality I knew exactly who was leaving, and I just wanted to see what happened. So I called out my old tribe in the swapped tribe chat and Kelsey is explaining what happened to me while I call Trixie and Nehemiah snakes. I quite like those two and I kinda regret calling them out for something they didn't do like that, but it's FUN.

QuilLynn

So im on albatross now and I couldn't be happier! so far everyone seems nice, i've only talked really to shea and roxy but i really like both of them so far. The only person i'm with from skua is austin, but he can go tbh if he needs too, noah fence I just don't really have a relationship with him and im here to win and make some drama!

I tried to get a higher score on this reward challenge than i think the other team will get altogether. I hope it will establish me as a threat and serious player in this game. I'm trying to integrate with Shea, Roxy and Ali, because I know old albatross is going to stick together, I'm hoping i'll be able to work with them but I trust nobody 100% in this game. I told Shea that if I get an idol clue i'd share it with him, that's half true. If i get an Idol clue and find myself in the same situation as i was in at Skua then I'll get his advice with the idol, but if i find that bitch its mine!

stop spelling my name wrong @hosts it quillynn (two n's like how you all seem to have two 21st chromosomes) im going to POP OFF..... im jk love you guys <3, but it is two n's

Roxy's opinions are wrong sorry. Also @my tribe thanks for the all work in the challenge. I really feel like i'm going to be dragging this team through these challenges. At least trixie did something at this point she's the only one i wouldn't be okay with voting out.

I feel like with me on this team there is no way we lose a music video challenege, even though pretty much everyone seems to not want to be involved in it. I wanted to take editing too, but i let trixie take it because she said to me she was really good and i didn't want to come off as a total control freak, although i'm sure i still will... I will probably still help with the editing tbh. I just want to win!

I tried confiding in shea that I had an idol clue in hopes that he'd be able to give me some info about old albatross and also build trust, but i don't think it really worked. I like shea, but don't trust him. He didn't give me much and said roxy was the best in the scavanger hunt. When I went to roxy and asked her about the same challenege she said she was too busy to do basically any of it. To be fair I don't believe her either, but i might need to talk to one more person before I really can find out which one is lying and who has the first clue for the albatross idol

There is a crack starting to present itself within the old albatross tribe. Shea and roxy clearly don't get along. I believe i could convince roxy to vote shea out if i needed too, i just would need to solidify the rest of the votes which might be hard since i haven't talked much to the other non-albatross members. I also like shea and would want him to stay over roxy but realistically it would be harder to get his vote and I have a gut feeling that we should take him out asap if we get the opportunity.

We won, DUH. Skua's was shit ours was great, the judges were clearly on crack for lowballing our scores.

Trixie, Nehe, Austin, and myself might make an "outsiders" alliance amongst our tribe. Based on performance in the the last immunity challenge I'm contemplating throwing the next in order to get shea out. If we have our alliance plus maybe the vote of roxy or ali we'll be able to do it.

Jacob

Hey look, new tribes! I'm glad to see Bodhi! <3 And now I can get to know some more new people. I'm pretty excited overall, but I guess only time will tell how this turns out in the end.

Welp. That challenge was a bust. At least Regan is asking us to vote her out so we don't have to worry about the vote. I keep forgetting we have to do confessionals through this thing instead of just dropping them in the Host Chat.

Trixie

RIP dana. She had so much to live for. I can't believe she smacked her head and now she's dead. She deserved it for putting me in this tribe. JK everyone is very lovely and I'm trying to snuff out the problematics from the ppl I can trust.

This. Girl. Is. The. Nastiest. Skank. Bitch. I. Have. Ever. Met. Do. Not. Trust. Her. She. Is. A. Fugly. Slut. #[email protected] JK!!! <3

I'M LIVING FOR THIS FIGHT. BUY PRAYING ON ITUNES.

I just finished the music video, I hope everybody likes it!

I'm sorry but can I just fucking say I spent like 2 hours editing that 5 minute music video and not even a single 10/10 by the judges. Get fucked! I know we won but Skua's was less than a minute long and some bitch judges have the audacity to give us lower scores than them. Yikes @ these judges, learn how to judge

I'm thinkin aboot making an alliance with Quillynn and Nehe. Quillynn is up for this and said that maybe we can add Austin to make an alliance of 4 that way we can have half the votes on our team. I'm worried Albatross will just try to pick us off since we're the leftovers of Skua & Adelie

Andrew

Will Jacob ever agree with anything? Find out next time on total drama suck my ass

Regan

MY TRIBE IS FULL OF ANNOYING FUCKS. I hate this tribe swap no one wants to agree on any song we pick which are all bops by the way. 80s songs in general are bops!!!!!

I didnt think it was possible to hate the tribe this much..... its not a music video if youre using like audio clips from random shit thats just a video idk i dont find it creative i hate rupauls drag race so fucking much. im sorry our tribe is full of weirdos but like????

Nicholas

no offense but why is my entire tribe inbred

Zack

I hope my tribe does well with those music video. I will be in a car for thirteen hours and cannot do lip sync without having to do a long explanation as to why I'm doing it.

Kelsey

Oh my...SO much has happened since the last week lovers, let me catch you all up. So first, tribal. It was quite clear that Trixie and Bodhi were on opposing sides than Ragan and Cole. Trixie really did feel it was best to eliminate Cole from the competition, but Ragan had her doubts as did I. I feel as if Bodhi is not the best...communicator. Cole wasn't either, but he was better. But regardless, I draw up a plan that says that Ragan, Cole, Nehe(who was in the center of all of it) and I vote out Bodhi, therefore keeping Cole around. We all agreed on it and I thought it was sickening...until we get to the vote and myself and Cole are the only ones to vote for Bodhi. Ragan chickened out at the last moment and Nehe said he wanted to force a tie. L U D I C R O U S. Did they HONESTLY think that it would work if it tied? Oh, whatever. Trixie's happy, everyone assumes Ragan was the second vote, I'm still the sweet girl of the tribe. Whatever. And then we tribe swap...oh WHATEVER. I'm going to miss my romance island...especially now that we have to leave it FOREVER. Ragan and Bodhi both end up on the same tribe as me and, while it's nice to have the familiar faces, those two will probably not end up working together. Bodhi has a nice boiling rage for Trixie and Ragan and Ragan herself...is...so much more assertive on this tribe than she was last time. All these new people are also a bit scary to me...I don't think many of them particularly see themselves working with me and I know that's going to be deepened ever more after this challenge. All I can do is hope that I can make people like me like Gwen Stefani and slay...I know I'm not going to participate in this challenge. I have a fake name, I don't feel like revealing anything about myself...and it's tragic. I have to choose between a silly fear and a necessary challenge and I already know I'm picking fear. Not to mention there is a supposed music guru on the other side...I am just preparing myself for the worst. Oh, how I miss the Isles of Romance...no matter how messy it was...

And THAT'S all there is to it~! Can you pay my telephone billz? -Kelsey V Mikaelson

Well...that challenge was a thing. I expected it to be a particularly tough challenge...I did NOT expect to be left with doing the brunt of the work. I never expect editing to be so dificult...but my submission was made and honestly? I'm proud of it. I feel like it's sickening, not because of quality, but because I made it in three hours, odds against and I feel like it's wonderful. It may not be a music video but gosh...I'm proud. If I go home this week, I feel like I made something I can take with me and that's incredible. I do hope I don't leave...some of the reactions to the performance were less the incredible...but my name is Kelsey Mikaelson, darling. A lover's quarrel is nothing more than a love bite to me~! I wish myself the best...for strategy, I know, on my end, these people aren't as welcoming to a romantic such as myself. All I can do is...Pray. *rolls eyes* IT DIDNT EVEN HAVE ALL OF THE TRIBEMATES UGH X'D And THAT'S all there is to it~! Wish me luck, hen-pen-pals~! Yours truly, Kelsey V Mikaelson

Ali

IM LEGIT IN AN AlLIANCE WITH EVERYONE HELP ME!

Austin

OK so I still have zero social game. Apparently I was the last to be picked and that's pretty funny. I'm on a tribe with Nehe and Ali SO I formed an alliance with them and that was literally the first thing I said to them. They know I'm on vacation so I can't really talk much, but Ali seemed to be very into it. I've known Zack just as long as I've known Isaiah/Jay so he's 100% going to be a number for me considering this is his first ORG. I've literally fallen into a position of power without even trying. I told Ali/Nehe that Bodhi and I are a part of a secret twist called "Secret Lovers" and if we make merge then we can decide if we want to give immunity to two other players during round 1 merge. IVE LITERALLY SECURED SAFETY OFF OF BULLSHIT AND BODHI DOESNT EVEN KNOW!! Tbh just get me to merge with Jay, Zack, and Bodhi and I can guarantee final 3....Lmao I haven't even spoken to anyone

#yousuckatthisgame

0 notes