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volixia669 · 10 months

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Rant about Witcher S2

Feeling kinda sad seeing Witcher Gifs. Not because people are enjoying the show, please, enjoy it! I'm not here to judge your viewing habits!

But personally, I actually thought it would be a good show in S1. They missed some things here and there, and it didn't reeeeaaally feel like it was based on slavic folklore & culture, but I was hoping that now people were hooked, they'd use more of what people weren't familiar with, and get into some of the morally grey stuff as well as the much darker aspects of Witcher lore & slavic lore.

Instead they turned Baba Yaga into a generic demon.

Baba Yaga.

(Click Keep Reading for the rest of my rant because I don't want to be rude but also wow do I have so much to say about S2)

Technically only identifiable as such due to the house with chicken feet, that's how badly they fucked such an iconic piece of folklore up.

Season 2 also brought us "what if Eskel were an ass, and we killed him, then were shocked that people were upset we changed his character AND weren't upset at his passing"

In addition, it downplayed to near non-existence the roles Triss and Yen had in mentoring Ciri, it used the generic demon to kill most of the witchers thereby making the fault of the witcher's decline (checks notes) Yen, Ciri, and a generic demon instead of HUMANITY.

It tried to do the whole "dubious ethics of Witcher creation" but without Lambert's justifiable anger regarding being made a witcher as a kid, it doesn't have the same emotional weight.

Oh, oh. We also have a beautiful friendhsip between two badass women formed, then ruined due to...Interference from Deus Ex Generic Demon.

And like. They could have actually used Yen, The Elf Woman, and Nilfgardian Sorceress (sorry, blanking on names), to show how Baba Yaga ISN'T an evil witch, but rather, well, more complicated than that. How the deals Baba Yaga offers depends on both her mood, and how much respect you give to her. That the morality of what's offered & given also depends on perspective.

But nope. Generic Demon.

Which that plotline leads to blood libel.

This will likely need more explaining, so buckle up.

First up, blood libel is a variant of antisemitism where Jewish people are accused of murdering children thereby fueling pogroms aka genocide attempts. It's been around in Europe for centuries. Centuries.

The holocaust was not the first attempt to kill Jews, it was just the most well known, and most systemic.

Now, sometimes writers will make a fantasy race an analog to the Jewish people. Sometimes the intent is malicious, sometimes its positive, sometimes its neutral. Sometimes they don't intend to, they're just using tropes another writer used which is based on another writer's tropes, which is based on a metaphor/analog.

Now, I do not know all the details about how the author of the witcher books originally wrote the elves.

I DO know that how they were portrayed in the show was as a people looking for a homeland, and were part of a diaspora, with concerns about not enough "purebloods" in the new generation.

Its not at all accurate to the experiences of actual Jewish people, but it IS accurate to the perception of Jewish people many goyim have. (Also yeah, there's some Jews who are concerned about not enough pure Jewish kids, but that's like, a couple of very specific sects and even within those sects not everyone agrees on that.)

Anyways, the blood libel comes in what happens when the elven woman's baby dies. The Jewish analogs go and kill a bunch of non Jewish, I mean non Elven babies.

Fuck you Lauren Hirsch.

Fuck you for that plotline.

Even if it WERE canon, why the fuck would that plotline be deemed appropriate. Even if we pretended it wasn't blood libel, it's still a minority murdering a majority's kids, which oh right, is exactly the kind of shit fox news blabs on about.

I mean hell, the elves were enslaved. I bet there's incredibly false, racist, enraging, propaganda from the 1800s claiming freed slaves would kill children.

But they even put blood over doorways in a fucking bastardization of passover. A holiday where some sects ACTUALLY DISCUSS HOW HORRIBLE THE WHOLE KILLING BABIES THING IS. Oh, and the blood over doorways WAS ANIMAL BLOOD TO TELL THE ANGEL OF DEATH THAT A JEWISH FAMILY LIVED THERE. IT WAS WARDING. IT WASN'T A THREAT.

And instead of the elves being a faction with complicated motives stemming from racism, colonialism, and just having no where to go, they're turned into bland villains. The fuck kind of writing is this.

Oh, and before I forget, another pile of steaming shit to add to the shit pile? Vesemir giving a bunch of sex workers a date rape plant, thereby making it so they CANNOT CONSENT TO SEX, and also being okay with bringing strangers to the keep which makes zero sense.

Its disgusting, misogynistic, and seems like the scene was intended to be played for comedic effect with the mention of the plant as a sort of handwave to explain why the keep is still secret.

I have ZERO issues with sex workers, and in fact want more positive representations of sex workers. What I am not okay with is when media shows characters casually using an actual plant to drug sex workers thereby removing their agency, and it's intended to be a comedic scene.

Fuck that.

There's just...So much wrong with Season 2's writing, with the choices made, with the lack of respect for slavic culture, that I just cannot bring myself to watch the latest season.

Henry Cavill's Geralt is great! I love Anya Chalotra as Yen! I love that Joey Batey fought for Jaskier to be queer! There's so much great acting, costumes, and more.

But the writing choices.

The writing and directorial choices, as well as Hirsch's responses to criticism from fans means I just can't enjoy this season.

So I look sadly at the gifs, knowing that they're showing some great moments, but I can't enjoy them the way that I would have if S2 had been written better.

And you know what? I hope we get to hear more about what was going on behind the scenes. I want to know who wanted what. WHo shouted down what decisions. And just how, how in the world these writing decisions got finalized and aired.

#the witcher #netflix the witcher #lix rambles #this is not a positive post #i just have so many feelings because i enjoy the world and characters #only for so many bad choices to be made #i still suspect henry cavill left because of the lack of respect for the source material #sure there was the dc deal but that doesn't feel like enough to pull him away from a dream gig #unless it turned into a nightmare gig

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bad-decision-central · 1 year

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If you had to judge your muse and sentence them to a “fair” fate, what would your judgement be? Would you punish them? Reward them? How?

For Bakura

This

Ok, this is about to get long sorry.

Honestly? A second chance. I do not feel like he really had a fair shot at being anything other then what he'd become. This is especially true while he's attached to The Dark God as Yami Bakura.

Please note that I am not excusing his actions, but with that said many of the other characters (and I am including season 0/early Yu-Gi-Oh) were not declared evil despite doing similar actions. Marik was redeemed, Seto isn't seen as evil, and even Yami Yugi isn't exempt from this. In my opinion, the anime/manga (likely unintentionally) made Atem look kinda hypocritical with how it went about Bakura and Yami Marik but that's a whole different rant

What I mean is he's over here throwing chance after chance at Seto and anyone else he likes (I love Seto, this is not me shitting on him. I also love Atem) but somehow he draws the line at Bakura??? Seto was after him because he couldn't handle losing but the massacre victim is where you draw the line??? Really??? That is not a good look, either Atem is inconsistent when it comes to that for whatever reason or he's a hypocrite who makes his own rules and decides how redeemable you are based on how much he likes you.

I would like to believe it's an inconsistency, though admittedly if I wrote Atem it would not be. He would feel deep regret for a lot of his actions. Ok I'm getting off topic shit.

But basically I just feel like if Atem is not in fact a hypocrite he'd of looked into Bakura more, realized that he's being too hasty with destroying him when he was attached to a literal dark god (there is no way that didn't affect Bakura's thought patterns, a god is going to overpower a human, there is no way to tell who is causing what to happen until they're separated ok).

Long story short: A more consistent or non-hypocritical Atem would've, in my opinion, annoyed the fuck out of Bakura by trying to play hero and save him from this hole he'd dug himself. He may have even felt obligated to some extent because of his family's involvement. Bakura made his own choices, obviously, but it seems to me that for a while he thought he really was in the right. (Don't feel like going into that much because there is a lot of layers and this is long af already).

I also do want to point out however that Bakura already has a bias against Atem, every action that Atem does that Bakura perceives as negative would be highlighted whether he's consciously doing it or not. That complicates things a lot more. Also being deemed bad by people who have also committed murder? Uh, not a good look. Pot meet kettle.

ANYWAYS I can rant about this for hours but I'll cut it here an say that a fate I'd give Bakura is:

A second chance BUT he is stuck with Atem so they're forced to see more than the biases they may have. I think the Gods recognizing how complex this situation was and giving a fair shot would be great. I've actually been meaning to edit his bio to incorporate that idea more. It makes more sense, but I'm explaining it horribly here.

#[Bakura]#Yall Hear Somethin? || Asks #headcannons #headcanon #im tagging it as that idc

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demcnsinmymind · 1 year

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darker headcanon stuff about m/urder-y things post canon because that has been popping up in threads lately

especially relevant for my symbiont verse that I haven’t written in yet, but also in relation to the cult stuff I wrote about the other day, as well as my established TO/vamp verse with @sanguinelupus and co, trigger/content warning obv since it’s all about death and also mentions su/icide stuff

This post won’t have much structure but I want to ramble about this stuff for a bit so bear with me here.

Just like I always like to kick things off, here’s a throwback to canon:

Lance has killed someone in canon. And it’s one of my favorite scenes for him because it honestly came as a shock the first time I saw it. Even more so his reaction to it.

My second biggest headcanon is that it was actually him who killed Friedkin in 1948, too, or he helped making it happen at least. Just cos I think he would’ve deserved it after what that hack did to him.

Anyway, so it canon that Lance has killed, my dudes. And he’s obviously seen a whole truckload of death and blood and torture inside Collingwood. That’s pretty much canon, too. So my point is, his entire ordeal inside the place has pretty much desensitized him when it comes down to the great ole topic of death, blood and murder. Which is why in most threads, he’ll be mostly indifferent and only mildly inconvenienced by it if he happens upon it by chance and it doesn’t quite involve him per se. Sure enough, deep down, it’ll still disturb him and make him feel sick to his stomach. That’ll always be the case, because I’ve written a whole truckload of posts about why I won’t ever see him as an evil character, or even a sadistic one.

I don’t think for one second that more true to canon Lance would ever turn into a fullblown monster himself. Someone who enjoys the act of killing, torturing, or hurting people. He’s not that kind of character. And that was perfectly evident in that canon scene. No matter how much shit he’s been through and seen, no matter the fact that he’s willing to do literally anything to survive, including the act of killing someone - he still has a conscience. He feels terrible about it. He’d rather not do it if there really is a choice.

BUT.

That doesn’t mean that murder/death is off the table full stop. Post canon, he will hurt/injure or even kill someone if his life is in severe danger and he fears that there’s no way to escape a situation. He’s absolutely capable of sicking Azathoth on people and will be more than happy to let it kill if a situation calls for it.

He’s team human all the way through. He hates monsters and fucked up torturers/abusers. Yet at the same time, he’s a grey, neutral and highly complicated character with dubious morals and double standards. He won’t judge Azathoth or others for the act of killing if he deems it justified in certain situations. He won’t ever be the type of character to make big speeches about morality or humanity to other people if he happens to see them kill. Truth be told, unless it’s someone he cares about or someone gravely innocent who didn’t deserve it at all, chances are, he just won’t care.

In my symbiont verse (the alt one for many years post!canon where he’s fully embraced the link with Azzy and is entirely on its team, which has somewhat skewed his character far more towards the shady side) as well as my TO/vamp verse, he will kill people/hunters/monsters if he considers them a threat. Especially in the TO verse, he’ll kill other vamps and witches to quench Azzy’s thirst for strong supe blood and because he hates them because they’re monsters and he blames them for his death and suffering. He also killed Jerry, his producer who profited off his disappearance and the death of his team, in this verse just to get some more revenge for what was done to him, just like he did with Friedkin.

Just in general, he is filled to the brim with wrath and hurt post!canon. That obviously stems from the fact how utterly helpless he felt during canon. Both in 2003 Collingwood as well as 1948s Collingwood - he was at the complete mercy of other people with no means to fight back and defend himself. I headcanon pre!canon/early!canon Lance was anything but a physical fighter. His voice and persona as well as his mental strength was his greatest weapon. But that wasn’t enough to physically escape the place. And they made more than sure to keep him physically weak and unable to fight back until he did get out with the help of Azzy.

And that’s the point post!canon. Now that he’s out, he’s filled to the brim with that wrath and his need to channel it, just to feel in control and with agency again. And given all the extremes he faced in canon, it’s only natural that he’s reacting with extremes now, too. Meaning that he’ll kill people first if they threaten his life. Plus, let’s not forget that Azathoth is basically like an arsenal of nuclear bombs with its power. And it’s stuck inside his brain and body, flooding it with it, adding up to that rage.

What’s super interesting about the whole deal though, just like that canon scene, is the fact that he’s still conflicted by it. Deep down, he still doesn’t want to hurt people. He wants to be a better person, and the exact opposite of his abusers because what they did was so horrible. And because he feels that way about it, remorse, horrible, the whole package, he does end up feeling like a monster each time he has to hurt or kill, too. And he hates that.

I HC that he has severe survivor guilt, even though he at the same time feels like he absolutely deserved being the only survivor at the same time. Once again, another paradox. But he’ll have a lot of problems with self loathing and feeling like a monster that he doesn’t want to be.

And here’s another paradox: his biggest fear is death and he fought incredibly hard for his life, but in my TO verse, he isn’t beyond killing himself either when he’s at his worst, but only because he knows that he’ll come back and it’s more like an extreme over the top powernap that zaps him out for a few hours when everything gets a little too much. That has become his way of dealing with the survivor guilt and that constant awful ‘I feel like a monster’ nagging, plus, it always hurts Azzy, too, which is a nice bonus and added advantage, a way to put it in its place and dominate it for a change.

So yeah, long talk for the basic idea: guy whose biggest fear is death sure is mingling a lot with it post!canon cos all the trauma

#text post #headcanons #hc : psyche #hc : paranormal #death tw #murder tw #suicide mention tw

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night-will-fall · 3 years

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ok i have a quick rant on the Darkling/Darklina/Shadow and Bone trilogy i have to get out. i genuinely feel she let down his character, alina’s character, and in general the whole arc of the narrative.

**i want to clarify first that I am not anti Leigh. i’ve tagged that per someone’s request, but the truth is i simply feel that anybody who decides to put a story out there in the world, or any kind of writing, will be subject to criticism. that’s part of writing, it’s part of art, and it’s just part of creation and the real world, no matter your intentions or motivations for your piece. just like this post—it should be subject to criticism, too. that’s how discussion happens and people learn. it’s not an attack on the original writer because the writer is not their work. i love Leigh and her choice to put her stories out in the world, even if i disagree with some of the choices she made. it’s only because of her that we get to have these conversations about our favorite characters in the first place. (I also don’t think it’s fair to her and all the work she put into SEVEN novels to reduce the decisions she made about her characters and plots to ‘coping’ — just my two cents. I’m sure her trauma influenced her work, it’s hard to imagine otherwise. but I doubt she or anyone else would vouch for people refusing to critique their work because of something she went through that does not define her.)**

the problem i have with Leigh’s writing of the Darkling is that after Shadow & Bone, it was so forced. she wrote him doing all of these implausibly horrible things after the fans started to like him to force it down our throats that he was the irredeemable villain. and yet when he was first introduced, i was so hopeful that this character called ‘the Darkling’, a shadow summoner and master of darkness, wouldn’t fall into the predictably, disappointingly easy trope of evil as darkness and good as light. so when she did exactly that, it felt like a betrayal of the character after he had already begun to take on a life and heart of his own. we connected to him. and she did her very best to sever that connection in favor of an emotionally manipulative boy who did almost nothing to help alina grow. Mal actually hindered and harmed her growth, constantly guilting her for having wants, desires, and feelings of her own that didn’t revolve around him, whereas the Darkling never wanted her to be anything but herself. he, like her, was capable of seeing the bigger picture, whereas Mal was an absurdly selfish and bizarre character that cared about none of that (and didn’t even “want” alina until she was famous and desired ?!! like come on). i sincerely can’t believe he was intended to be the love interest we connected with and rooted for.

and i know she likely had personal reasons for characterizing Aleksander the way she did, possibly attempting to embody anecdotal experiences with a specific person who did her harm in her own life, but with this character it felt unnatural and forced. she basically ignored of all of his character’s potential as a complex, nuanced human tortured by watching generations of his people’s pain, trauma, exploitation, murder, etc. (even if it was true that he had eroded morally/emotionally because of the mervost and centuries of standing witness to these atrocities), ironically dismissing his potential to grow in a story that was supposed to be all about growth (another narrative failure i won’t get into here). not to mention that his mission’s intent wasn’t even inherently evil (morally grey at worst, which is so much more compelling than pure evil anyway, which makes it extra disappointing that she bungled this), and by the end of the series all of his completely valid points just went unaddressed and people continued to suffer for it. his attempts to solve that problem were simplistically reduced and deemed as plain ‘evil’, with very few people recognizing the deep empathy and collective pain that drove his actions—something that alina actually did understand.

i feel bad for him. that’s why i like him and that’s why i like Darklina. he deserved better, and so did alina. their chemistry was so eloquently written (and portrayed in the show) and i truly believe they could’ve helped each other grow. but we never got a chance to see or explore that because of how Bardugo’s personal feelings obscured the natural direction of her characters’ development, ultimately doing a serious disservice to her narrative (she does this a few times — prioritizes certain plotlines and actions that she wants to include even if they don’t align with the natural progression of the story). she tries to make us believe certain things and feel certain ways about her characters and plot points in opposition of the simple truth that they just don’t fit. alina’s character essentially ends up right where she started with only a few slight differences, one of them being the loss of power, which was something that made her uniquely, intrinsically her, and was cruelly ripped away in a nonsensical punishment for what? daring to trust? daring to break away from the insecure hold Mal had over her, and constantly used against her? daring to grow and learn? daring to delve deeper into her own power as a Grisha? daring to connect with the Darkling and the nobility of his motives? it was all around just a sad and disappointing direction to take a story that had so much potential to be powerful and different.

[not to mention all of the beautiful balance in the light/shadow trope, the star-crossed lovers torn apart by situational and ideological conflict, the novelty of their powers and their mirroring inabilities to “fit in” or find others like them, like. come ON, that could have been so great. ugh. just to abandon it all for dusty, insecure Malware. pls.]

ok end rant. thank you if you read my heated word vomit.

#rant #shadow and bone #sab #darklina #the darkling #alina starkov #the darkling x alina #the darkling x alina starkov #thats why i spend so much time writing him emotionally in my own fics #and i try to give alina more agency and more room to grow #because theyre just OWED that #in my opinion #ok im done #anti Mal #anti Malina #anti Leigh Bardugo

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quarantined-with-bucky · 4 years

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Dichotomy

Bucky x Reader

Words: ~ 3,500

Summary: Bucky’s in the poetry feels. And his own feels.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse

Dedication: I’ve had a couple readers express their interest in mythology and the like, either in reblogs, replies, or private messages, so this is dedicated to them (you know who you are) Thanks! :)

A/N: This was taken from my mythology cultivation (I mentioned it in Poetry (this is kinda a part II to that?)), so I have no author credits to the poem :( please let me know if anyone does! This one is also more of Bucky’s view on his relationship with the reader. Sorry it took me so long to write, I wasn’t sure where to take this for a while!

...

You were a myth.

You had to be. Bucky was convinced.

You were beautiful. But he would never mistake your beauty for stupidity – not for naivety, vulnerability, or even weakness.

And They Said Aphrodite Was Soft: Smear your lips in blood, dust your eyelids with stars. Hang rubies around your neck, wear a nude leather dress. Kiss him hard, make him groan. Rip him apart, muscle from bone. Breath in, breath out. Begin step one.

Such a beautiful creature could never be so cruel. He saw the way you moved so gracefully on the battlefield and the way just a single touch from you could melt the heart of any man. You had no tolerance for the men that talked down to you and, sure, you were an exquisite creature, but your prowess that lied beneath the surface – that could tear any unassuming man limb from limb – was what drew him to you.

You were resilient. Despite what anyone may think, you were one of the strongest on the team.

I have wondered what it was like for Aphrodite. For Hera, Medusa, Artemis, Athena. For them to be worshiped, feared, sung of and powerful. What did it feel like to fall into myth and legend? To be remembered mostly for the men they loved, or the ones who fought for them when they didn’t need it, didn’t ask. To be pushed into the corner of the bar, to only be talked about when someone else decided, and to watch their daughters, their children of the earth, fall to the same fate.

Despite your effort to write your own story, to be the best damn Avenger you could be, there would always be hurtles in your way, whether that be the media shoving you into the shadows of Captain America and Iron Man, your inherent lack of any sort of super-ability, or you almost too innocent-looking appearance: how could you hold your own when you look like you can’t even open a jar by yourself? It was the same for those before you, women being washed away in history as lab assistants or had their valor just plain stolen from them. It couldn’t be you and you wouldn’t let it.

You were hurt. Years of physical pain, emotional torment, and past abuse took its toll on you. After all, you were only human.

Dearest Medusa I am so sorry no one told you that the Gods could be so cruel. You had beauty so unlike the rest. Your mother deemed it a blessing. A blessing that would one day deal your curse. Dearest Medusa I am so sorry that no one told you the love of a god is as good as the hatred from a god. Dearest Medusa I am so sorry that he pillaged your body in the temple of goddess meant to shelter you. Dearest Medusa I am so sorry that Athena in all of her wisdom turned blind eye to your pain. Dearest Medusa I am so sorry that no one ever told you the gods could be so cruel.

You’d known what it’s like to have been cast away in your time of need. Your strength somehow came around to backfire on you. You’d been so strong your whole life, there’s no way you could be upset – especially about something so small. You’d been discredited to your own feelings. When you cried out for help, you never received, instead met with neglect and following misfortune. And that’s what built you, but that’s also what broke you.

It was only through poetry that Bucky realized there were two sides to your story – every story, he’d supposed.

And goddamn, there were two sides to his story.

He’d wondered if one day, such myths will be written about him. Would he be seen as the monster: a harsh, unforgiving, unrelenting man – whose true tragedy is unbeknownst to most? Only after years of examination and internal debate could change anyone’s perspective on him.

But he knew they’d be writing about you someday. Hell, it seems like they already had been. The most celestial being in the universe and he just happens to be lucky enough to share a bed with you. He’s the one who knows your backstory, knows your own tragedy, knows the strength that its built. It’s almost like he’s been studying you – and he would if he could. He applies every beautiful book or poem he’s read to you: to your grace, your poise, your struggles.

You meant more to him than words could describe; not the likes of Homer, Shakespeare, Edgar Allen Poe, nor even Jane Austen could even capture half your complexity. He didn’t think there were so many layers to life. There was only one way he could see himself: damaged. But from the day he met you, you’d proven quite the opposite. He had depth, substance, an intricacy that only you could unravel. You’d welcomed him into your open arms, taking him under your wing as you showed him the ropes of the twenty-first century. That’s how it started, anyway. You’d shown him the internet, the DVR, how his phone works, plastic Tupperware. The world had become quite a different place, but it wasn’t just the material objects that shifted either.

People seemed to be a bit more complex than Bucky remembered – and he didn’t know whether it was a twenty-first century thing or if he just hadn’t been around people in such a long time. It took a lot of questions, a lot of research, and a lot of late-night discussions before Bucky finally grasped the concept you’d been trying to instill in him. And one night it just made so much sense. It was in everything you read – every novel and poem – everything you wrote, and everything you’d been teaching him.

Bucky’s night of clarity consisted of a nightmare, two giant mugs filled to the brim with hot chocolate, and some frighteningly serious pillowtalk. “You don’t have to let your past define you, Bucky,” you whispered, before taking a sip of your drink. Bucky’s head rested on your chest, the two of you laying in bed, wide awake after having been woken up by Bucky screaming in the middle of the night. Your hand ran through his hair, strands stuck together and tangled up, tacky with sweat. His eyes were shut, his focus being the vibrations of your chest as you spoke. “You aren’t what they made you.”

You’d seen the side of him that nobody else saw; the soft side of him. It was the half of him that the media would never portray, that his closest peers – his housemates, his team members – would never see, the part that even he forgot existed.

Hell, it was hard for him to remember how to be kind – how to be vulnerable. It took years of physical torture and mental torment for Hydra to beat it out of him. The majority of his life, he’d gone without physical affection, a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on, any kind of touch that didn’t result in a bloody nose.

That wasn’t the only issue. He had to overcome his own bravado. It took him years of solitude and half-assed coping mechanisms for Bucky to come to terms with it himself. Even after jumping over the first hurdle of undoing Hydra’s psychological damage, he had to rewrite his own programming. He never confided in anyone in the Avengers; not the therapist and psychologist Tony brought in, not Clint – a college familiar with being a victim of mind-control, not Natasha – someone who had understood similar hardships, not even Steve – his childhood best friend. He’d come from a time where you would simply grin and bear it.

Sounds cliché, sure, but he couldn’t help it. It was hard not to act this way when even those closest to him – those who shared similar trauma – acted in the same manner. He’d never seen Clint bring it up. Natasha never spoke of her past, or let it affect her work or well-being – in fact, she made jokes about it. And Steve? Forget it. He was one of those who used his past as motivation and to share to kids for “life lessons” (Bucky could gag just thinking about it). Anyway, where did that leave Bucky? With no options but to suck it up and not let it bother him.

When you started spending multiple nights in a row with him, he knew you’d get him to confess about his past, his feelings. Bucky hated feelings. In the thirties, the only feeling he liked was to have a woman wrapped around his finger. He supposed that’s all he had to worry about, back then, anyway.

Now, he was the one wrapped around his finger. So much so, in fact, that he let you twirl his hair around in your hand, stroke his stubble with the backs of your knuckles, and press your cold feet against his legs while the two of you were sleeping (supposed to be sleeping, at least). “Remember what I told you?” You murmured, pulling him out of his thoughts. He opened his eyes to meet yours peering down over him, as you now sat propped on one elbow to lean your head over his. “About it being okay for you to be upset?”

He rolled his eyes and then quickly shot you a soft apology. Don’t dismiss your emotions, it was what you’d told him numerous times before. He wasn’t supposed to be acting like nothing was bothering him; he promised you that he’d tell you anything on his mind. It was easy when the only thing that was on his mind was you naked in his mind. This was way harder, he mentally groaned.

It was hard for him to come to terms with his past. With all of the terrible things he’d done? There was no way he’d ever be able to accept it, to forget about it, forgive himself for it. There are two sides to every story, you’d reminded him once.

Bucky’s two sides: assassin, murderer, beast; victim, vulnerable, manipulated.

He couldn’t even come to terms with that. He wasn’t manipulated. Manipulation carries the connotation that he still had control. Bucky wasn’t manipulated into doing any of the things he did – into committing those atrocities. Nobody used their cunning wit and skills to get him to willingly commit such crimes; Bucky wasn’t convinced by someone to go against his free will and better judgement. No, that right was stolen from him – his free will.

He didn’t even have an adjective to describe himself.

But he had others who could describe him on his behalf.

Name one hero who was happy. Was Heracles, remembered in the stars, satisfied with his life? Risen to glory and fame, but at what cost? The memory of his wife and child’s blood on his hands, their cries etched in his head. Ask Daedalus, whose cleverness was no match for his love for Icarus, if he was happy to escape confinement. To soar amongst the heavens only to watch his son plummet to his death, perished by his own creation. And Achilles, what of him, was he happy? The boy with the golden feet and lion-heart, who upheld battle for a decade, to watch his beloved slain? To live out the end of his days grieving, yearning for death, was he truly happy? Once again, I must ask: Name one hero who was happy.

It validated his thoughts, at lease. No matter how much people could grow to love him, how accepted he’d be into society, how much he’d be celebrated, he’d still never forget – never be happy, haunted forever by his past barbarity, the lives he took, his loved ones gone. His own life and power ripped away from him, missing from his life for so long that he didn’t know how to live anymore.

He’d found you, at least. You gave him some semblance of his life and freedom back. But he couldn’t help but think, deep down, so low that he’d never be able to muster up the words to say it aloud, that one day you’d be taken away from him. He didn’t know if it would be on the battlefield or if it would be karma finally coming around – but he was scared.

But, despite you being totally oblivious to Bucky’s deepest thoughts (although, you were fairly intuitive. He assumed you’d already known this was his greatest fear), you’d taught him that it was okay to be scared. It was okay to be scared, vulnerable, and hurting. That must have been more accepted these days. While Bucky was never able to marry back in his original time, he wasn’t even sure if this was something husband and wife talked about. He’d remembered hearing stories of his war-buddies back in the trenches. They wrote home to their wives, telling them everything was okay, nobody was hurting, all was as well as could be a – when the opposite couldn’t be truer. It was his job to make sure everything was okay in the home, and part of that required staying strong; being the immovable force that held the family steady. And he looked up to those men more than anything. Fighting a goddamn war, writing their wives in a matter that wouldn’t make them worry.

Now that wasn’t necessary. Women had embraced their strength and independence. He was relieved, to be honest, he knew he’d never compare to his own father – not after everything he’d endured. But maybe twenty-first century life was where he belonged, anyway. So that he could have you next to him. Outspoken, rowdy, cutthroat, bold, passionate you.

You understood Bucky’s hesitation to open up to you. It took him a long time to get acclimated to his new environment, to people, to having emotions – let alone expressing them. That was okay with you. You had nothing but time. You’d tried early on to express to him the fact that his past is what gave him his strength today. He’s been through so much during the past one hundred years of his life that it would be easy for him to just quit, throw in the towel of life, give up and spend the rest of his days spending his days in Wakanda raising goats. But every day, he found the strength to get up, return to the clutches of Hydra and fight them one by one with the promise of the world one day being free from their grasp.

That resonated with him a bit. To come to terms with his struggles because they made him who he is. Not necessarily in a bad way: in the way that he could realize how much he overcame in his long life. He was a survivor.

“Yes,” he whispered, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm.

He wasn’t sure how you were able to resonate with him on such a level. It was probably the way you talked to him. You treated him like a human. Not that the others didn’t necessarily, but they just treated him differently – like they were afraid of him. Like anything they said might trigger him, they cowered in fear when he walked into a room, they avoided him at all costs. But you, you treated him like he was fragile – like if you held him, he’d crack.

He smiled at the thought, holding back a laugh. That’s the exact same way he held you.

Like you were made of porcelain. And that mutual consideration just drew him to you in awe. There was something so inherently soft about you. You were so genuinely kind to everyone, always lending a helping hand, putting everyone else’s needs above yours. He hadn’t known somebody like that for a long time; since he was a young kid in Brooklyn.

No Mortal Words Describe Her: Mortal, on the ground, drenched in sweat and tears: Are you a dream? Are you a nightmare? Aphrodite, baring her teeth, drenched in blood and ash: I am everything in between.

You were a dichotomy. He didn’t understand it. He met you on the battlefield, killing Hydra agents. Your hair was pulled up tight, eyes wide but eyebrows narrowed. You threw your punches with such force; you were kicking men through walls and windows. You’d looked as if you were born and bred to kill – which, in all truth, you were. You’d accepted that fact and you held your head high. He was intimidated by you, and he loved that fact that everyone else was, too. And you were proud of it. There was nothing you cared about in those moments more than making the scum of the earth pay for the atrocities they had committed, for all the years they had Bucky Barnes locked up.

But then it was him laying on your bedroom floor, reading poetry you had scribbled on scraps of paper, littered around the room; some laid out neatly beside you, others crumpled up and tossed in the corner. Bucky liked those ones best – the ones you’d discarded in a frantic, haphazard manner, too busy to even aim for the garbage can. He’d felt that those were the ones that described you best: they were raw, real, undeniable; they came from the deepest depths of your mind, the part that took you hours of searching to even skim the surface. It was the truest form of yourself, and Bucky was lucky enough to have been granted permission to read.

All Antigone wanted was to bury her dead. How many times do women hang themselves in the shadow of their fathers’ sins? I am no exception, I flinch at comparisons, the easiest way to unmake me is to throw his name over me like an old mantle of anger and hate: I’ve worked too hard to be broken down by a story I had no hand in, braced my arms against flood and falling sky and sometimes I get so tired. But I am more than my father’s venom tongue. I am my grandmother’s eyes, my grandfather’s bleeding heart, I am the daughter of women stronger than any Greek playwright could forgive.

Just as it did for Bucky, it took you time to open up. To delve into your past was a process in and of its own. It was when he found this poem crinkled beside your bookshelf that he finally asked about it. This one felt a little too personal to just ignore. He recrumpled the piece of paper and tossed it towards you, landing in your lap. Unfolding it, you skim the words, tossing it beside you once finished, continuing your current work. “Do you want to talk about it?” Bucky asked, breaking the silence that surrounded the two of you.

At first, you’d said no and simply continued writing. How were you supposed to tell him the stories of your so-called family? The pains you’d suffered as a child. You’d continued on your poem about Achilles: the strong, brave, invincible, soldier; the broken, touch starved, damaged man. You huffed to yourself and threw your pen down. What kind of girlfriend would you be to make Bucky relive his own terror without at least reciprocating – especially when you knew it took so much for him to let you in in the first place.

It was a long night after that, setting up the timeline of your life. And everyone had their own right to deal with their past in their own way; each memory hurts in its own particular way, and it is up to you with how to deal with it. But your past is what makes you, and that’s what you’d told Bucky days before. It doesn’t define you, but it gives you something to fight for, something to live for.

It took years of explaining it to him for you to finally find it true for yourself.

…

But he was pulled back into the present once your hands pulled apart an exceptionally tight knot from his hair. He brought his eyes back to meet yours, your face illuminated by the now rising sun shining behind the white shades. Your eyes were half lidded, face completely relaxed, gazing down at Bucky with a sleepy lust. You’d been sitting in silence for hours. It was fine, you had nothing else to do. It was better that Bucky worked it out on his own anyway; you knew how he could get lost in his own thoughts.

All you’d hoped was that he wasn’t beating himself up about it anymore.

“Hey, doll,” he murmured, grabbing your hand in his, turning up to lean against the headboard next to you. And, god, the way you looked at him could make his heart stop; nothing but admiration and affection in those eyes. Your eyebrows were slightly raised, corners of your mouth pulling up slightly.

“Hey, Buck.” You fully smiled at him, offering him a soft, sleepy grin.

“I love you.”

You slid down on the bed, this time resting your head on his chest, wrapping your arms around his large torso, snuggling up into him as the sun rose behind you. “I love you, too.”

#Daedalus giving me Steve vibes in this poem tbh #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #fanfiction #captain america #angst #poetry #bucky x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky fic #bucky fanfic

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longsightmyth · 4 years

Text

Aaaaaaaaaand here’s what I’ve got so far for the current readthrough of ToD for fragments etc. Sharp eyes will note that it has taken me over a year and I still haven’t finished the reread. It’s just very bad, okay? Cut for dash mercy.

June 21, 2018 – page 4

0.61% "Apparently the problem with Adarlan conquering everything was not the conquering, but the fact that they had an evil dictator in charge.

I mean, in fairness, the evil dictator probably didn't HELP, but in the kind of person who considers conquering a symptom of BEING an evil dictator, so?"

June 21, 2018 – page 15

2.27% ""That Sartaq was here... they had to have known, then. Well in advance. That she and Chaol were coming."

That reads like I hit the space bar on my iPhone a couple too many times but I swear to you that is exactly how it's written in the book. I have changed NOTHING."

June 21, 2018 – page 16

2.42% "I'm also still confused about why the captain of the royal guard was sent as an ambassador instead of staying to administer the royal guard."

June 27, 2018 – page 19

2.88% "There are so many fragments, y'all. So many."

June 27, 2018 – page 27

4.09% "For once the angst feels earned here (we know that Nesryn cares and works for the wellbeing of Rifthold and her family and we've seen it). Do I wish there were fewer Drama Fragments? Yes. Still, I'm glad we got this bit from Nesryn's PoV and for once it wasn't All About Celaena OR A Boy."

June 28, 2018 – page 30

4.55% ""My Tumelun. The words told enough about the prince's closeness with his sister."

First of all, OBVIOUSLY. Second, there really is a way to say this as if Chaol is thinking it and not as if you are explaining to the reader. For instance:

"My Tumelun. They had been close, then."

BOOM."

June 28, 2018 – page 30

4.55% "I've harped on this before, and while it's permissible for Kashin in his grief and/or naïveté to have blind spots ("no one within our lands would be stupid enough [to murder Tumelun]") Chaol has no such excuse and neither does the narrative."

June 28, 2018 – page 31

4.7% ""...Aelin had hard lines that she did not cross. Killing or harming children was one of them."

Let me refer you to that time in Heir of Fire where she threatened to burn an entire city's population alive and we were from her PoV so we know she meant it and she SAID IT WITH A SMILE."

June 28, 2018 – page 31

4.7% "Also that time she threatened to burn up the population of Rifthold."

June 28, 2018 – page 31

4.7% "Oh yeah also that manor house she said she'd kill the entire population of if even a tiny word got out about her presence or previous presence there. That place had kids too. I'm pretty sure we saw and/or heard them playing in the yard."

June 28, 2018 – page 31

4.7% "Just because she hasn't threatened or hurt a SPECIFIC CHILD for SPECIFIC REASONS does not mean that she doesn't harm or (in fairness threaten to) murder children. That's just three examples off the top of my head."

June 28, 2018 – page 33

5.0% ""Had not even considered that the shadow of Morath might have already stretched this far."

Chaol, per Queen of Shadows the Valg, whose stated intentions are to destroy the world and rule the ruins, have been out and plotting since BEFORE YOU WERE BORN. You're an idiot if you didn't consider them using over twenty years of time to, oh, WORK TOWARDS DESTROYING THE WHOLE WORLD AND RULING THE RUINS."

June 28, 2018 – page 33

5.0% "Then again the series never considered that before this point either so maybe I should cut Chaol some slack?"

June 28, 2018 – page 35

5.3% "This reads like a dude wrote it, and not a dude who thinks women are actual people."

July 9, 2018 – page 37

5.61% ""Until an unknown healer's daughter from Fenharrow [who had only been training for two years] was approached by healers old and young, who had trained their entire lives, for her advice and assistance."

Look."

July 9, 2018 – page 37

5.61% "If this was portrayed as 'they needed somebody with a hella lot of magic and guided her through things' that would be one thing, but are you telling me this chick is in her second year at the magical equivalent of medical school and all of the surgeons are coming to her for surgery advice?"

July 9, 2018 – page 37

5.61% "I think I commented on this last time but still:

"There were two such vials on the desk now, clear orbs atop silver feet fashioned after ibis legs. Being purified by the endless sunshine within the tower."

You'd think I made a mistake typing with my phone, right? Hit the space bar twice maybe and added an accidental period?

I did not. That's a direct quote from the book."

July 9, 2018 – page 44

6.67% "Are Renia and Hassar married or not, please make up your mind, book. Here Renia is referred to as Hassar's lover but I think later on it says wife without any marriage happening in between so like."

July 24, 2018 – page 53

8.03% ""Chaol had barely slept.

Partially due to the unrelenting heat, partially due to the fact that they were in a tentative ally's fraught household, full of potential spies and unknown dangers- perhaps even from Morath itself - and partially due to what had befallen Rifthold and all he held dear.

And partially due to the meeting that he was now minutes away from having.""

July 24, 2018 – page 53

8.03% "This is what happens when you rush books, don't listen to your editor, and use second drafts at best."

July 24, 2018 – page 53

8.03% ""Chaol barely slept that night. It could have been the unrelenting heat, it could have been the spies and unknown dangers of the house - or of Morath. It could have been the news of Rifthold, and the lack of news that followed. It could have been all of it.

Part of it was definitely the anxiety over the meeting that had yet to begin."

**jazz hands**"

July 24, 2018 – page 54

8.18% ""They'd asked him about the butchering of the slaves in Calaculla and Endovier at dinner.

Or the oily one, Arghun, did. Had the prince been among Chaol's new recruits to the royal guard, he would have easily gotten him to fall in line thanks to a few well-timed shows of skill and sheer dominance. But here, he had no authority to bring the conniving, haughty prince to heel.

Not even when Arghun wanted to know...""

July 24, 2018 – page 54

8.18% ""...why the former King of Adarlan had deemed it necessary to enslave his people. And then put them down like animals. Why the man had not looked to the southern continent for education on the horrors of the stain of slavery - and avoided instituting it.

Chaol had to offer curt answers on the verge of being impolite. Sartaq, the only one of them beyond Kashin whom Chaol was inclined to like, had finally tired..."

July 24, 2018 – page 54

8.18% ""...of his older brother's questioning and steered the conversation away."

Holy mackerel is there a lot to unpack there, but first of all: Arghun for president, y'all.

Second, king is improperly capitalized there. Have fun with that.

Third, why is Arghun the oily conniving one for being like 'yo why the hell did y'all keep slaves?'"

July 24, 2018 – page 54

8.18% "Fourth, it might be poor diplomacy on a technical level, but honestly Arghun and the SC contingent have all the power here. They don't have to worry about being polite, because what are Chaol and Nesryn going to do, leave? (they probably wish they would)"

July 24, 2018 – page 54

8.18% "Fifth, Chaol, suck it up. You participated in and helped to continue a regime that not only practiced slavery but encouraged it. I have no sympathy for your hurt feelings about being called on it. Aren't you supposed to be anti-slavery? Shouldn't you be going 'look man it sucked and was wrong. I know that. You know that. The new king has ended the practice even if he apparently hasn't considered reparations.'"

July 24, 2018 – page 54

8.18% "But no, Arghun is the one in the wrong here apparently?"

July 25, 2018 – page 57

8.64% "I'd forgotten Yrene's 'honey-colored' hands."

July 25, 2018 – page 66

10.0% "Still unsure why a medical professional won't just say the word penis."

July 25, 2018 – page 70

10.61% "Okay I got one mention of male healers existing. Apparently it's almost exclusively a female gift. Why? Who knows. Not the book.

Nothing mentioned about any cultural stuff surrounding it either."

July 25, 2018 – page 71

10.76% "I'm starting to wonder if the author just hasn't realized how self-aggrandizing things sound when written in third person limited or first person?"

August 26, 2018 – page 82

12.42%

August 27, 2018 – page 86

13.03% "Sure of course it's a weakness to care where the only other member of your diplomatic envoy is and if she's gone missing. Of course. It's obviously not just common sense or competence. Why are the 'politics' in these books such nonsense."

August 27, 2018 – page 87

13.18% "Other people have commented on this, but if everyone here is human why does the book keep calling everyone males and females."

August 27, 2018 – page 88

13.33% ""See how he trips over himself," Arghun muttered over Duva, her husband, and Chaol to say to Sartaq.

That makes it look like Arghun is a married woman talking over her husband, when I know that Arghun is an unmarried man. You have to specify in this case. Or you could, you know. Name your characters."

August 27, 2018 – page 89

13.48% ""Kashin shut his mouth, ever the trained soldier.

And somehow Chaol knew-that fast-that Kashin was not being considered for the throne."

First of all, SOMEHOW? You detail why in the next sentence."

August 27, 2018 – page 89

13.48% ""...he seemed decent, though. A better alternative than the sneering, aloof Arghun, or the wolflike Hasar."

Interesting how being wolflike is positive when it's men but negative when it's women.

Also, Arghun for president. He's the spymaster dude who talks to the viziers. Obviously my vote goes to Arghun."

August 27, 2018 – page 91

13.79% "I hate how Chaol lecturing Nesryn about coming in late morphs into him patronizing her about how they're fighting to make Adarlan safer for her specifically.

Listen, dickface. She's the one who apparently had ROCKS thrown at her in Adarlan. Let her enjoy walking around safely.

Also I hate that he's lecturing her about coming in late."

August 27, 2018 – page 97

14.7% "So. I appreciate that Yrene tries in this one instance to be considerate of Chaol's wants/needs, re: his disability. I appreciate MUCH LESS that it is here specifically in an attempt to contrast Yrene and Nesryn. I wouldn't even be super mad about that except that Yrene is only considerate of Chaol and his wants/needs, re: his disability when Nesryn is around to be contrasted against."

August 27, 2018 – page 97

14.7% "It only counts as a character trait if it's consistent, and it isn't. Instead it's used as a way to shame Nesryn, when Yrene does the same and worse to Chaol multiple times but is excused because 'she means well.'"

August 27, 2018 – page 99

15.0% "This is SO STUPID she is a healer DOING HER JOB why does it MATTER if she goes into his bedroom?"

August 27, 2018 – page 103

15.61% "This is a tiny thing in the grand scheme but "pure as sea-foam" made me laugh because I live in Florida and there is a lot of sea-foam. Almost none of it is 'pure'."

August 27, 2018 – page 109

16.52% "I don't care how many times it shows up. I am going to mark The Hand of the King/ The Hand of Adarlan with a red tab labeled ASoIaF EVERY TIME."

September 27, 2018 – page 113

17.12% ""You must enter where you fear to tread."

Uh-huh."

September 27, 2018 – page 115

17.42% "So while I like the idea of this scene with Yrene and the other healer, the fact remains that it has taken more than 100 pages to show us something that is ostensibly a fundamental part of Yrene's character, and from what I remember we have precious few other scenes of it later."

September 27, 2018 – page 115

17.42% "The trait? That Yrene has a drive to help people."

September 27, 2018 – page 117

17.73% ""How many meals had he himself been positioned by the doors, or out in the courtyard, monitoring his king? How many times had he laid into his men for slouching, for chattering amongst themselves, and reassigned them to lesser watches?""

September 27, 2018 – page 117

17.73% "Okay first of all, as THE (singular, only) captain of the royal guard your place is the organizing, hiring, and inspecting of the Royal guard, not the actual guarding except for special occasions, at which point you would be with the king as the visible face of the king's protection."

September 27, 2018 – page 117

17.73% "SECOND. You have never 'laid into' guards for chatting or slouching. You have in fact completely forgiven them for ABANDONING THEIR POSTS WITHOUT NOTICE because somebody else said it was fine. Your response? "Okay just don't do it again.""

September 27, 2018 – page 117

17.73% "I repeat, they abandoned their posts because a general from a conquered land told them it was fine, leaving their king completely open to attack, and you told them 'okay just don't do it again'"

September 27, 2018 – page 117

17.73% "Am I harping on this? ABSOLUTELY. Chaol's inner turmoil loses all emotional punch because he and the narrative are LYING to us. Instead of pulling my heartstrings, it just makes me angry.

This is also why Maas is the queen of the retcon, by the way."

September 27, 2018 – page 117

17.73% ""No sign - none - of any wicked force, whether dispatched from Morath or elsewhere. No sign beyond those white banners to honor their fallen princess."

I had no idea the wicked forces had a fallen princess, single separate two-sentence paragraph.

Also, it should be 'the white banners'"

September 27, 2018 – page 117

17.73% ""There was no sign of wickedness, from Morath or elsewhere - no sign but the white banners that honored the fallen princess."

It's not HARD, book."

November 30, 2018 – page 121

18.33% ""A summer storm galloped in off the sea just before midnight."

This one might be petty and I freely admit it, but that's kind of a funky way to put that."

February 11, 2019 – page 121

18.33% "I'm back!

I'd forgotten how awful the em dashes were. Like, I remembered they were BAD, I'd just forgotten HOW bad."

February 11, 2019 – page 123

18.64% "Picturing Kat's face in the section with Yrene and the 10,000+ year old document being touched with bare hands is what keeps me going y'all"

February 11, 2019 – page 127

19.24% "For someone ostensibly skeptical, Yrene sure does take every illustration in the book literally instead of even considering the possibility of metaphors or, like. Science."

February 11, 2019 – page 129

19.55% "The irony of Yrene being better at situational awareness and planning what around her could be improvised weaponry than Celaena, who ostensibly taught her these things, is not lost on me.

It's lost on the book though."

February 11, 2019 – page 132

20.0% "Why does everyone in these books have a capitalized Heir"

February 11, 2019 – page 132

20.0% "Also, the Heir Librarian as a title sounds stupid (no that's literally the title, not even Heir to the Librarian or anything)"

February 11, 2019 – page 132

20.0% "All it would take was a week observing the library to know it never closes and Bob's your uncle the 'closing toll' of the library bell jig is up.

I'm just saying."

May 4, 2019 – page 144

21.82%

July 22, 2019 – page 145

21.97% ""Either your lack on consciousness during that initial healing kept you from feeling this sort of pain, or perhaps whatever this is had not... settled."

Or Sarah Janet needed More Drama."

July 22, 2019 – page 146

22.12% "I forgot that apparently the valg magic and therefore Chaol's injury persists because it's feeding on his self hate or whatever.

See kids, all you have to do is be happy and believe in yourself and your disability will go away."

July 22, 2019 – page 146

22.12% ""It was all he could do not to shrink from that frank gaze."

Why not her frank gaze? Like, it's not grammatically incorrect - the sentence before says she's staring at him, it's referring to a gaze mentioned before - but I don't think it's strong writing."

July 22, 2019 – page 146

22.12% "Have Yrene own her frank gaze or have Chaol associate it with her directly instead of disconnecting it. "It was all he could do not to flinch from her frank gaze."

YMMV I guess."

July 22, 2019 – page 147

22.27% ""Yrene's face was an unreadable mask that would have given Dorian a run for his money."

Maybe it's my own failing, but Dorian has never been described as expressionless or unreadable in my memory, or at least not enough to stick out."

July 22, 2019 – page 148

22.42% ""Since [Nesryn's] hair fell only to her shoulders, he had difficulty braiding it back"

French braids are a thing, even if I'd object to them being called French braids in these books."

July 22, 2019 – page 150

22.73% ""A land claimed by a conquering nation, yet loved and nurtured."

Not you too, Nesryn."

July 22, 2019 – page 154

23.33% ""There is beauty in my father's lands," the prince went on while Kadara ripped into that monstrous carcass, "but there is much lurking beneath the surface, too."

Sigh.

"There is beauty in my father's lands," the prince went on while Kadara feasted on the monster, "but much lurks beneath the surface, too.""

July 23, 2019 – page 161

24.39% "Love how Yrene explicitly says "add lots of honey" but is then judgy because Kadja added too much honey."

July 25, 2019 – page 162

24.55% "There's this thing we have where we consider the endurance of pain a virtue, somehow. Even if you agree with that, bad people can still have virtues.

Yrene starts rethinking Chaol's morality because he 'did not break' over the pain when her magic was trying to heal him.

Tldr: pain endurance is not the sole province of good people, and enduring pain doesn't make you good"

July 25, 2019 – page 164

24.85% "Why ARE the valg only trying to kill Yrene if she has the same healing gift as other healers?"

July 25, 2019 – page 164

24.85% "Okay also my disability is not Chaol's disability etc etc but the narrative is poo-pooing on Nesryn and Kadja for helping him into bed when he's so tired he can barley talk, because Yrene would have made him do it himself.

Like, honestly? That makes Yrene sound an awful lot like somebody who would go 'you're out of spoons? Do it anyway'"

July 25, 2019 – page 166

25.15% "Look y'all much as I dislike Yrene on a personal level she isn't WRONG for clearly having 'personal reservations' about Chaol's 'former role in the empire'.

He not only benefitted from but actively worked to keep the aforementioned empire in power. He got FRUSTRATED when the king wouldn't let him guard the king effectively. He wasn't even just some dude off in the hinterlands: HE WAS THE CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD."

November 4, 2019 – page 176

26.67% "In all seriousness what is Sarah Janet Maas' beef with the word 'the'?"

November 4, 2019 – page 176

26.67% "WHITE

FUCKING

HORSES"

November 4, 2019 – page 178

26.97% "How does Yrene have a good seat and yet bounce everywhere and keep grabbing the saddle horn"

November 4, 2019 – page 184

27.88% "Oh yeah. This part."

November 4, 2019 – page 184

27.88% ""The skin was leathery - as warm as her smile."

The one time you use 'the' it's in a place that detaches the reader from a living breathing human's human-ness? HER skin, book. HER skin."

November 4, 2019 – page 186

28.18% "The page (well, this and the one before) that made me hate Yrene."

November 17, 2019 – page 187

28.33% ""She means well, my Yrene."

That doesn't matter when she literally asked a disabled man to help her with something and when he got there PROCEEDED TO LECTURE AN ENTIRE YARD ON HIS DISABILITY WITHOUT HIS PERMISSION, WHEN HE LITERALLY PHYSICALLY COULD NOT LEAVE.

And to the best of my recollection she never apologizes."

November 17, 2019 – page 187

28.33% ""Her instinct is to teach other people" How lovely maybe she could do that without LITERALLY HOLDING A DISABLED MAN THERE AGAINST HIS WILL.

"But Myth, she didn't mean to! She just wasn't thinking"

LITERALLY MY POINT"

November 17, 2019 – page 187

28.33% ""But Myth, the author didn't mean to make it like that" Maybe if she'd bothered ASKING a single disabled person instead of watching some youtube videos she might have LEARNED."

November 17, 2019 – page 190

28.79% "And look. I applaud people learning how to defend themselves and teaching others. HOWEVER. Chaol has only taught soldiers, and aside from that the idea that one or two sessions allows you to master several self-defense techniques is unlikely at best. It takes time, it takes repetition, and it takes someone who had more than one morning's instruction herself.

Just saying."

January 4, 2020 – Shelved as: assassin-rolls-do-it-better

May 30, 2020 – page 191

28.94% "It’s hard to tell with this author what distance we are in the narration. Feyre and Yrene both make snide little comments about people not caring or not doing something (in Yrene’s case, Chaol not smiling at her after her despicable behavior, in Feyre’s case Nesta not getting her a gift). I begin to suspect we aren’t supposed to see this as the character commenting on the event but the narration."

May 30, 2020 – page 191

28.94% "UNFORTUNATELY the books are written in close POV’s, Feyre’s in first and Yrene’s and Chaol’s in third. The result is that whatever the narration says is coming from the character.

This is a long way to say that Yrene continues to be terrible."

May 30, 2020 – page 193

29.24% "I don’t have enough orange tabs for this"

May 30, 2020 – page 194

29.39% "Yrene says here “[until that moment] she hadn’t felt like a barnyard animal” and I am not an expert but that seems like a Bad Thing to have about one of the only black women you haven’t killed off, Book."

May 30, 2020 – page 195

29.55% "“Did I do something to you today?”

*squints*"

May 30, 2020 – page 196

29.7% "I’m not going to pretend that Nesryn’s reaction here is perfect, but the book is trying to pretend it’s terrible and it’s not? She’s excited that Chaol can ride, she talks to Chaol directly about it, and immediately accepts that he can and says excitedly that maybe they can go see her family together. The initial disbelief might be disconcerting for some people, but she does several things Yrene does not."

May 30, 2020 – page 196

29.7% "As I said, she speaks directly to Chaol about his abilities (something Yrene doesn’t do), asks if he wants to do something together (permission is something for OTHER PEOPLE to Yrene, apparently, at least in regards to revealing someone’s medical information and literally moving people without their permission) and is immediately EXCITED that he can do something Chaol has specifically said he missed."

May 30, 2020 – page 196

29.7% "For the record these are all low bars to clear, but for all the book tries to contrast Yrene and Nesryn’s reactions to Chaol’s disability and how he works with and around it in Yrene’s favor, NESRYN IS THE ONLY ONE WHO CLEARS THE BARS.

But I’m supposed to be upset that she’s surprised that Chaol rode when he hasn’t been able to lately? Through a city that he’s never been to before? Without telling her?"

May 30, 2020 – page 196

29.7% "Not only are these two the only members of an embassy, they are romantically involved. OF COURSE SHE’S SURPRISED ALL OF THIS HAPPENED WITHOUT HER KNOWING ABOUT IT."

May 30, 2020 – page 198

30.0% "At least she apologizes FINALLY but also says that it’s because so few people come in with his injury that she wanted to show her students.

So then you ASK, Yrene, what is this bullshit?"

May 30, 2020 – page 199

30.15% "“She hadn’t considered - his feelings. That he might have them.”

Excuse me, what?"

May 30, 2020 – page 199

30.15% "Yrene is worried that if she leaves the ‘rift’ between her and Chaol will never be repaired because “Healers and their patients required trust. A bond.”

It’s too bad you have repeatedly fucked that up with unprofessional, unthinking, and downright cruel behavior then isn’t it, Yrene?"

May 30, 2020 – page 199

30.15% "I’m sure some people reading this statuses will think I’m being too harsh, but let me explain: Yrene is a healer who has dealt with this kind of injury before. That’s why she was textually assigned to Chaol. Yrene is not a family member who knows nothing of medicine or patient treatment and is feeling her way through learning how to respectfully assist someone with a disability."

May 30, 2020 – page 199

30.15% "Yrene is a PROFESSIONAL, she keeps telling us. She is The Best. She has dealt with this before.

There is literally no excuse for accidentally doing this. Had Yrene been a new healer tossed into this because she just happens to have magical power enough for it and was still a student, I would buy that she maybe hadn’t had the experience to think about it. If she was portrayed as a consummate professional who..."

May 30, 2020 – page 199

30.15% "...did not care about her patients’ feelings so long as she healed their bodies, I would buy it.

She isn’t. The book keeps trying to tell me she is The Best because of temperament and skill and power, but it fails to realize that doing so puts Yrene in a terrible light because all of those things mean she should KNOW BETTER."

#myth rags on throne of glass #myth reads tower of dawn

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angrylizardjacket · 4 years

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Yaaasss!!! Jelous Ben was si cuteee and we love a supportive mother, her mom is fantastic and a savage. I hace a question, how did you come up with reader's character in x-men?? I legit googled it as I thought it was a real character, so welk done.

i love her mum so fuckin much, dude, she’s supportive but can still be embarrassing at times. i wrote her, not like my actual mum, but like my dad now that i think about it. dude literally told me over the phone that he’d physically fight people for shittalking me (not just in general, there’s more context, but the point still stands). idk i think it’s disingenuous to not let parental characters have certain flaws, like they’re allowed to be overprotective and spiteful, as well as caring and supportive. i love her too.

oH SHIT DUDE LEMME TALK ABT MY GIRL CASSIDY TEMPLE I LOVE HER SO FUCKING MUCH AND I”VE PUT SO MUCH THOUGHT INTO HER THAT THIS WILL HAVE A READ MORE

so cassidy’s powers are actually based off of an xmen oc i’ve already written 70k about, Aoibheal Cassidy, younger sister of Banshee, Sean Cassidy, and Cassidy Temple’s name is a reference to her, since originally I was going to essentially have Y/N playing Aoibheal (because it’s my fic and i can include an homage to my xmen oc as a treat). the powers themselves are based loosely on Multiple Man from X-Men: The Last Stand, except Cassidy’s clones can’t live a life of their own like his can. In the xmen fic, aoibheal starts off with having unlimited clones, and they can explode because i thought it was neat tbh.

From the original fic, Molotov Heart, chapter 3, rubatosis:

[Context; humans experimenting on mutants between X-Men First Class and X-Men Days Of Future Past have caught Sean and Aoibheal and they experiment on them even though Aoibheal’s powers have not manifested (she is approximately 13) and they kill her brother in front of her]:

Stunned into silence, she can feel something white-hot building inside of her, all the rage and fear and pain becoming almost tangible.

She mutates.

Copies of Aoibheal, clones, appear around them, filling up the space between the now screaming and bewildered 'doctors'. Aoibheal herself doesn't seem to notice the clones, bawling her eyes out, an action the clones themselves are mirroring, and she thinks of nothing but freedom and escape, focusing on the white-hot feeling inside of her until it overwhelmed her. With the force of a bunker-buster bomb, the clones began to combust, began to explode, first a few, and then all at once. Killing the human personel who had kept her hostage, the blast reduced the warehouse to mere cinders, freed Aoibheal and left her clothing in tatters, but she was alive damn it.

The reason Cassidy has a limited number is because i needed a way to have her powered up as a horseman, like a distinct power up, rather than just something unseen like heightened reflexes and strength.

I would like to point out also, that it’s not stated, but Cassidy’s explosions (NOT AOIBHEAL’s) are never to do with heat, they’re always about force. the explosions themselves are never hot, never have anything to do with fire or anything like that, she builds up force inside of the clones, and lets it tear her apart from the inside out as a wave that destroys the things it comes into contact with.

The scream was originally hereditary, like Banshee, it developed as her secondary mutation.

From the Marvel Wiki:

The Secondary Mutation (or "Second Mutation") is a phenomenon in which an existing mutant undergoes another mutation, gaining additional powers, such as healing, or a change in appearance.

Secondary mutation is noted as the appearance of new powers, or an increase in existing powers.

It was stated by Beast that the secondary mutations usually occurred in the twenties of the subjects, and generally appeared in time of great stress.

From the original fic, chapter 8, nodus tollens:

The appearance of the secondary mutation:

The world falls apart in a blur of movement. The gun goes off just after Raven jumps and makes a break for the window, the bullet curves as she crashes through the glass, following her on the way down. Tackling Erik earns Hank a mean right hook to the jaw, but Aoibheal’s there, looking at Trask like a dear in the headlights, memories whipping through her head like a hurricane - the sick fuck looks pleased to see her – her mouth falls open and she screams. She and the clone scream in tandem, their voices supersonic as the surrounding people clutched their ears for dear life; struggling to keep a hold of the feeling in her chest that caused her to explode, the clone detonates like a firework, scorching the wallpaper while Trask is stumbling to the door. There’s blood leaking from his ears but Aoibheal can’t move, can only scream and relive the memory of her brother’s murder over and over again.

Hank discussing it:

"I've never seen a secondary mutation so vastly different!" No longer blue or furry, [Hank’s] smile is excited as he looks over at her. Sharing the cockpit feels almost familiar by now, with Aoibheal curled up in the passenger seat nursing a glass of water. "It makes sense though, your original mutation – the explosions – would be an extension of your temperature immunity, but your secondary mutation is hereditary."

Cassidy’s scream, however, unlike Banshee’s, only effects things with ears, not inanimate objects like glass. Of course she could learn the right pitch to get glass to shatter like an opera singer, but generally speaking, her scream only effects things that can hear.

OKAY LETS TALK ABT THE STUFF I FABRICATED FOR THE FIC

oh GOD I WANT TO TALK ABOUT HER RELATIONSHIP WITH MAGNETO

not as in romantic, as in he is literally her character’s main inspiration in the films. i’m literally making a fake trailer right now that’s intercut with moments from his DOFP speech that was broadcast to the whole of america.

i love dofp (possibly to my detriment) but i always thought it was weird that no-one was ever like.... magneto has a point. BECAUSE HE HAS A POINT. he’s speaking directly to disenfranchised and SCARED mutants across the nation, and yet everyone’s heralding Mystique as the new face of mutant kind. YES she made a point, but like.... did no-one vibe with magneto when he promised the destruction of mankind? i would. anyways.

so i thought it would be interesting for this character, Cassidy, to have this hero-worship of Magneto, taking his words to heart like scripture, ultimately making her a foil for Phoenix, Xavier’s protege.

it’s why i specifically included this:

“You should be,” you hissed, putting your all into the words as you spoke them, and you hear Ben inhale sharply beside you, “we shall inherit the Earth.”

“What follows is a struggle as Cassidy and the figure – revealed to be her clone – proceed to kill the man. When they’re finished, and the man’s dead on the ground, Cassidy straightens her outfit, and we hear –“ as the director reads, Michael begins to slowly clap, “a slow clap, and it’s revealed that Apocalypse, as well as Storm, Angel, and Magneto, had all witnessed the event.”

“We are the future, we are the ones who shall inherit the Earth,” Michael reads as he stops clapping.

“Magneto,” you breathe reverentially, and when you look to him, you and Michael share a sharp smile.

which is a direct quote from magneto’s speech in Days of Future Past:

You built these weapons to destroy us. Why? Because you are afraid of our gifts. Because we are different. Humanity has always feared that which is different. Well, I'm here to tell you, to tell the world, you're right to fear us. We are the future. We are the ones who will inherit this earth, and anyone who stands in our way will suffer the same fate as these men you see before you. Today was meant to be a display of your power. Instead I give you a glimpse of the devastation my race can unleash upon yours. Let this be a warning to the world. And to my mutant brothers and sisters out there, I say this; no more hiding, no more suffering. You have lived in the shadows in shame and fear for too long. Come out, join me. Fight together in the brotherhood of our kind. A new tomorrow, that starts today.

which ALSO is what turns her into the next big villain for the franchise, because she sees Magneto, the man she kind of thinks of like a god, turn on and help kill Apocalypse, the man who claimed to be an actual god, and side with the people who, ultimately, don’t want to destroy the human race like she does, and also killed the man she loved. she takes Magneto’s ideologies and turns them up to 11. he fucks off to create a mutant paradise away from prying eyes and is happy, she won’t be happy until all humans are punished.

it’s why, in the beginning, she and raven can’t still work together, because raven wants to rescue mutants, but not at the expense of unnecessary human lives, and cassidy sees all humans as complicit in the torture, and therefore deserving of punishment.

she has deemed herself judge, jury, and executioner of human kind, and they have all been found guilty.

i’m so excited to see if i get around to writing some of the next film because i really want to explore the dichotomy of Xavier’s ‘no-one is ever really gone/there’s always hope’ and magneto’s ‘you were right to be afraid of us, we are the ones who shall inherit the earth’. Everyone has given up on Cassidy in one way or another, whether it be by betrayal or death, and so when she finds this symbiote who literally becomes a part of her, makes her stronger, and is happy to kill people with little regard for who they are, she’ll take it.

EDIT: here’s the first 26 seconds of the fake trailer (Y/N here is played by Jurnee Smollett, aka Black Canary from Birds of Prey)

youtube

ANGEL & RIOT

i wanted y/n to kiss ben hardy that’s literally it.

actually no that’s not it 100%, i think it’s super amusing in a kind of bleak way that he got fridged for her, like his death, both in the “””comics””” (as in the comic universe for the fics) and in the film, causes her to seek out a force that would help bring him back to life. in the “””comics””” she originally seeks out a mutant, but when the mutant who can bring people back refuses to help her, she’s told of experiments at The Life Foundation, who are working on engineering the next step in human evolution, and she’s thinking that they’re experimenting on mutants again, like trask, and goes in guns blazing, but instead finds symbiotes. she bonds with a symbiote, thus becoming Riot Control, and the symbiote initially promises her all these things, including being able to find a way to ressurect angel, but eventually (in the “””comics”””) the power he gives her overtakes her need to ressurect her love, and riot ends up using her to try and build a ship to bring more symbiotes to take over earth.

IN THE FILM

okay OKAY okay OKAY so she’s looking for a way to ressurect angel at first, but riot’s in her ear while he’s seeing all her memories, and is convincing her to get revenge on the people who are responsible for his death (nightcrawler, jean, and Magneto specifically) so its not that the xmen are just in the plot by happenstance there’s like actual beef, love it.

I also love that Cassidy’s powers are handicapped when she’s got Riot, since her scream would injure or even possibly kill him. Yes i specifically paired her with a symbiote for that reason, which is also the reason why her clone explosions aren’t heat based.

but anyway, can i spoil the ending? i wanna spoil the ending;

so there’s this big showdown between riot control and the xmen, and jean confronts cassidy, trying to talk her down like ‘what would angel think if he saw you? What you’ve become?’ and Cassidy’s furious, thinking that jean’s trying to guilt her, like, angel would be so ashamed

“Keep his name out of your fucking mouth, you have no idea what he’d think-”

“He’d be terrified of you.” And it’s so fucking like, cruel and cold coming from Jean.

“Shut up.”

“You have become a monster; you have maimed your idol-” [we cut to a shot of magneto looking all fucked up and bloody, watching with anger in his eyes] “and you have left Angel for dead. If you’d really cared about him, you would have already gotten him back. Instead, you come for revenge against the people who could have helped you -”

or something like that, and riot control has a whole breakdown, lashing out, snarling that no-one could help her, and when they tried, they ended up dead (angel, apocalypse) and she starts losing control, and her voice starts to distort in and out of riot’s, making it clear he’s taking control of her completely.

there’s this big, final fight, which culminates with jean grabbing cassidy’s face and trying to burn riot out of her.

“No-one is beyond help.” And Jean’s like, got tears in her eyes, desperate to save this girl who’s caused so much pain, but who sees herself as so wretched and beyond help, and we see the symbiote burning away and screaming, but also the physical signs of cassidy’s mutation as like, peeling away in embers, like the black scales around her eyes, and the way her whole eyes are seen as black is now clearing away, and she takes both of Jean’s hands and forces her to keep holding on, to keep looking in her natural fucking eyes for the first and last time as she burns out too.

“You can’t save everyone.” and then Cassidy’s just ash in the wind.

also this ending, in a meta-sense, makes sense, because after this Disney buys Fox and there’s no more this-universe X-Men films, so they had to do a self-contained story, there couldn’t be things left super unresolved.

OR maybe she’s fine, maybe she gets saved and riot burns out of her (spoilers, he fucks off and doesn’t die, hence, Venom (2018); it takes him about 20 years to recuperate) i haven’t decided.

#the angry lizard speaks #hyniels #dreashappyworld

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13eyond13 · 5 years

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thoughts about the “everyone goes to Mu” part of the manga

Something I find very interesting about Light’s plan to become God of the New World in the manga is that he STILL decided to try to change the world even though he also objectively knew from the first time he met Ryuk that there was no underlying cosmological order to the universe which ultimately deemed that human morality and “right” and “wrong” actually mattered. This is something that is only present in the manga version of the story, and to me it was one of the most interesting aspects of everything to mull over. After Light’s first experiments with the Death Note turned out to be legitimate and he had to come to terms with the fact that he was now definitely a murderer, he had a huge panic attack about it and tortured himself with guilt over the lives he took. Then he switched gears completely, and firmly decided that this notebook he picked up was both the exciting challenge he wanted to relieve his boredom and also the perfect way to fix the frustrating injustices he saw in the world all at once. Light decided he was going to create a utopia where crime is completely eliminated and only good people (based on his own personal standards) who don’t harm others exist, and thus Kira was born. Light began killing off as many criminals as he could in his spare time immediately, and made sure to do it with heart attacks so that people would know someone was out there trying to punish the wicked and make an example out of them for everyone else. He formed his plan and wrote hundreds of names in the Death Note before Ryuk ever showed up to explain to him what everything was actually all about.

In the first chapter of the manga, Ryuk shows up for the first time a couple of weeks after Light started acting as Kira and then explains to Light the main consequences for a person using the Death Note. Ryuk explains that the Death Note users experience a lot of personal torment, and that “nobody who uses the Death Note will ever be able to go to Heaven or Hell.” They will instead go to Mu, which is nothingness, or nonexistence. He then leaves it at that, and Light seemingly accepts this idea and then moves on to talking about other things with him.

I think it’s safe to say that most people would take Ryuk’s words to mean that Heaven and Hell really DO exist, and that Mu is a place specifically meant for only people who use Death Notes to end up in, or something along those lines. And we as the audience are also left to assume that Light took it to mean this as well, because that is the only part of their conversation we see. The very existence of Heaven and Hell implies that all humans are judged for their morality at the end of their lives and that there is a definite incentive to be either good people or else suffer the consequences in the afterlife, so believing in Heaven and Hell’s existence means you believe in an objective morality that humans will one day be held accountable for their actions by. HOWEVER, at the very end of the manga, we are shown that there was more to this conversation with Ryuk than we initially saw. Light actually took Ryuk’s words to mean that Heaven and Hell don’t exist at all, and he expressed this assumption out loud, and then Ryuk confirmed that he was correct:

Light therefore automatically knew that human morality in this specific universe was entirely subjective, and completely up to humans to decide for themselves. The fact that everyone will end up in Mu no matter what could easily have made Light feel like it was foolish and entirely hopeless to try to change the world, because there is no eternal consequence for any of it, no matter how cruel or kind you are to one another while alive. He would also now realize that him being a murderer didn’t really mean he was objectively an evil person for becoming a murderer at all, because either way he would be going to Mu when he died no matter what. He could’ve felt both disappointed and relieved by the news when you look at it like that. The way that Light DID take it is that he went right on with his plan to become God anyway, and to attempt to shift the world to become free of crime and evil and populated only by good and well-meaning people exactly as he personally saw fit. The next part of their conversation we see is Light elaborating on his methods and ideas for his Kira plan:

Light’s ideals about good and evil didn’t change in the slightest based on knowing that objective morality actually doesn’t exist in his world at all. He still fully believed that he would be able to create a perfectly just world by killing off everyone he deemed too corrupt to exist. He still saw himself as selling his soul and a martyr for doing what he did, as well, even though he knew that it was only his own subjective standards for morality that he was basing this on. He speaks about this with the Task Force later in the story, where he says that he thinks Kira knows that what he is doing is wrong, but that he thinks it’s necessary in order to make the world a better place. It’s very interesting to think about how ridiculously idealistic and optimistic and ambitious he remained about his whole plan despite also knowing that everyone will go to Mu in the end no matter what. It seems Light was still being spurred on by a blend of his egotistical arrogance and superiority complex, his desire for a challenge, and a continued sincere passion for making the world a better place for everyone else, even in the face of a very nihilistic universe where nothing matters in the end. And to me that’s one of the most interesting things about his character and the entire premise of the series itself.

#death note #light yagami #ryuk #meta #long post #p

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the-hilda-librarians-wife · 4 years

Text

The Mistakes We Made - Chapter Eleven

Summary: When her high school girlfriend comes back to town after two years with a baby and a terrible story she won’t tell, the Librarian has to deal with the feelings she had worked so hard to keep at bay.

Notes: This was the chapter I wrote with the nice anons cheering me on! Thank you, nice anons! Also, trigger warning for descriptions of violence and early stage emotional abuse.

Read it on ao3: (chpt1) (chpt2) (chpt3) (chpt4) (chpt5) (chpt6) (chpt7) (chpt8) (chpt9) (chpt10) (chpt11)

Torrin had been silent all day long. He had woken up quite content, but as soon as Johanna talked to him about her plans to visit her parents, his face had become unsmiling and remained this way all through the small trip to Trolberg and their visit, and that’s how he still was when they were driving back to their cabin. It had been making Johanna uneasy, but she had thought maybe the best to do was to wait until his bad mood went away. However, since it was showing no signs of doing so, she finally gathered the courage to ask him about it when they were going home.

“Is everything okay, love? You’re looking sad.”

Torrin sighed. He had driven on their way into town, but since he’d had a few beers at her parents’ house, he had allowed Johanna to drive for the trip back. He wiggled himself in the passenger seat, sitting straighter. “I’m just… sad you prefer them over me, you know?”

Johanna stared straight ahead, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” He began, dragging a hand though his face. “You spend a lot of time at Ericsonberg with your friends during the week, and I don’t begrudge you that. But I had thought we would have the weekends to ourselves. We are a married couple now, we should spend the most time as possible in each other’s company!”

Johanna felt a small pull at her heart. Had she truly upset him? “But we were together.” She argued softly.

“You know what I mean. Alone time.” He turned to look out of the window, facing away from her.

“I get it, but… you did go out to see your friends two weeks ago. It’s important to keep contact with the people we love.”

He turned his face to her, and with the corner of her eye she could see that he looked somewhat angry. “Yes, but that was when you were busy with college stuff and couldn’t give me attention anyway. Isn’t the point of being married beginning a new life together?”

Johanna’s expression softened as she tried to see his point. “Torrin… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t.” He sighed, sitting back against his seat. “It’s just that you’re my whole world, you know? It’s painful that I’m not yours.”

Johanna’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He had changed because of her, he had changed for her, and she loved him so much for it. She couldn’t have him feeling unappreciated. “But you are!”, She insisted, moving one hand to grab his, which felt way to warm and tense at the touch.

“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it, Jo. I don’t need you to pity me.”

“I do mean it!” She protested, practically begging for him to believe her. “What do you want me to do to prove it?”

he looked at her from beneath his untamed hair. “Just… try to show a bit more of commitment to us, okay?”

Johanna squeezed his hand, infinitely glad to have him in a good mood again. She couldn’t stand to see him upset. “Okay.”

_#_#_#_

Ridiculous, Maven thought. This is all ridiculous.

She looked around the place. It was a party house that the City Hall had rented for this event, excessively decorated with orange and black colours. Few were the surfaces that didn’t have a fake pumpkin laying upon it, or at least a plastic skeleton of an animal that didn’t even have bones in the first place. How did they even manage to get a spider that wrong? And if that wasn’t enough, she still had to deal with the awful Halloween music blasting from the speakers. She was really not in the mood for ‘monster mash’.

But at least it wasn’t a costume party, Maven guessed. Given the Mayor’s taste for drama, that had probably been in the realm of possibility.

From her side, Mr. Kavindi cleared his throat (he probably had also been astounded by the eyesore that this whole party was) and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes in accusation. He was the reason she was in this hell, he had dragged her into this.

“Come, Maven.” He said, ignoring her murderous glare. “Let’s find ourselves a table. Maybe on the outside.”

Liar. Traitor. He thinks a table away from these goddamned red lights is going to help? Well, maybe it will. But still, traitor, she mused as she allowed herself to be guided through the tables and the other guests. This had all been his idea. It had began quite innocently, with him saying that he had figured the perfect way for them to advertise their Halloween event for children at the library.

The mayor had made a sort of tradition out of Halloween parties. Of course, he usually only invited the people he deemed important, but with the elections coming this year, he had decided to invite some public workers as well. When Mr. Kavindi revealed that his plan involved attending such a party, Maven had been ready to take the Nope train straight to Screw-This-Crapville, but then he’d pulled puppy eyes on her, and she was now almost certain she knew why it was her college’s dean had done him a favour. The man was a master in the art of persuasion!

When they were finally outside again, Maven felt like she had been set free from a jail, and she filled her lungs with the cool night air. The older librarian dropped his hand from her lower back, where he had been gently guiding her, and pulled himself a chair in one of the two tables that had been set on the outside.

“Is your wife coming?” Maven asked, looking around. It was supposed to be a back garden to the building, but truly it was just a lawn. She supposed that it was like that in order for it to be possible to put up tents and stages in there, but she still thought it looked hideous. Lawns were such an aristocratic France thing. It would have looked much more appealing if they had planted native flowers.

“Maven.” He called, snapping her out of her musings. “I know this look. Stop judging the place, we’re guests. It’s impolite.”

Maven huffed and marched to the table beside him, sitting with her right elbow on the table and her chin on her hand. “No, she’s not.” He answered.

Maven scrunched her nose, her eyes being drawn to the sky above her. At least the stars looked as beautiful as always. The moon had been full just a few days before, now it was heading to waning. Mrs. Kavindi was one lucky woman.

“Now we wait? Because I’m certainly not going to even try to mingle.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “You know, the reason we arrived earlier was precisely to try to mingle. Convince them that we are planning nice things at the library, you know?”

Not even taking her eyes from the sky, Maven chuckled. “Trust me, no one is going to come if I’m the one who tries to convince them.”

Looking at his young colleague, he sighed. Such a good woman, he would never be able to understand why everyone seemed so scared of her. In the end, he couldn’t deny that she was probably right.

“Don’t worry, then. I’ll handle a little talking. You can wait here until the time comes.”

_#_#_#_

And wait she did. Mr. Kavindi left and returned to the table a few times, going inside to check if there were any approachable people that had arrived to whom he could talk to about their project. The other table next to theirs remained unoccupied, and the only people who Maven talked to besides the librarian were the waiters who walked by with trays of expensive looking finger food.

Finally, eight thirty arrived. Both of them were called inside by a man who was also wearing the same uniform as the waiters, but was holding no tray. Probably an organizer. They were led among the crowd into the center room of the mansion, where they were told to climb the first few steps of a big, ivory staircase that split into two some steps above.

Maven wasn’t one to feel nervous about public speaking, but the crow gathered there was making her feel sweaty and dizzy. Before her, she could barely spot one friendly face. There were a few people who looked at them with interest and smiled, sure; it would be impossible for the whole town to be brainless. But the great majority of the guests were people she knew saw her as less than human, either because didn’t agree with what she was or because they just gave that treatment to anyone who wasn’t as important as them.

She shouldn’t have looked directly into the crowd in front of her. She should have just let them be individual blurs of disinterested faces, waiting for her to go away, but she did look. Just as the music was lowered and the organizer raised his voice to call for silence and attention, she looked into the crowd.

The first people she unfortunately recognized was a couple, although you wouldn’t be able to tell they were together if you didn’t know them. They had their eyes narrowed to her in anger, and she quickly looked away. Johanna’s parents. Why were they here? Sure, Kate was a doctor, so maybe she had come as a public worker?

Or maybe they had come because they were the in-laws of the mayor’s son.

That… made sense.

She continued scanning the crowd, and didn’t notice that Mr. Kavindi had began speaking. He introduced them as the library staff and listed a few of their programs, briefly explaining them. She knew that he was saying his speech, and that she should be paying attention, but his words barely registered in the back of her mind. She ought to be paying attention, but she really couldn’t. Not when she spotted an angry frown in the crowd, staring directly at her, his blue hair for once combed into something respectable.

Her blood froze at seeing him, even though she knew he would be there. It took a humiliating few seconds for Maven to realize Mr. Kavindi had stopped speaking and was looking at her.

She sucked in breath when she noticed every eye on the room was locked on her. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, and she had to clean her throat before she began speaking. She had practiced her speech many times, with Johanna and Hilda as her encouraging audience, and the words had been flowing smoothly by the time she considered herself ready. It was a little different now. She wouldn’t go as far as to say it was a disaster, but her speech didn’t come out as easily, she sometimes needed to stop and think about what came next, and her body felt full of tense energy. She hoped she wasn’t fidgeting too much.

When she finished what she had to say, inviting them for the Halloween event and asking them to bring their children, Mr. Kavindi wrapped it up for her, and when he had finished there were a few weak, odd claps of hands. The crowd quickly dispersed, and Maven stepped down with the librarian, making their way back outside. However, barely after they had taken two steps away, a tall man, with dark skin and kind eyes clasped Mr. Kavindi’s shoulders, making him turn towards him. He smiled when he recognized the man, and the two of them began talking.

Maven was sure that, if she stayed by his side, Mr. Kavindi would introduce her and include her in the conversation, and that’s the reason why she didn’t stay. She wasn’t in the mood for talking.

So she continued walking straight on, ready to grab her purse and go away, and she was nearly at the door to the back garden when she heard masculine voices talking.

“Are you kidding me? She really did that?” One of them asked, sounding moved.

There was a beat of silence before an answer. “Yes. It was weird behavior from her part, I never expected it from her. She always wanted to keep the baby a secret, at least until one of us had a stable job, you know? And now she’s using her against me. I really don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

Maven stopped straight on her tracks, her heart at her throat. Her fists closed as she recognized that voice, and she slowly turned to the circle of people nearby. Amidst them, she recognized some of her old high school classmates, Johanna’s mother (and how come, Maven wondered, she was just standing around and listening someone say these things about her daughter?), and of course, at the heart of the conversation, Torrin.

At this point in her life, Maven supposed she had already learned to stay out of trouble, to ignore the voices of people who only wanted to get others down and to continue on her own path with her chin up. But it wasn’t her they were insulting, it was Johanna. And, at this point in her life, she had already understood that her mind didn’t really use logic when it came to her.

The music wasn’t as loud as it had been before; they probably hadn’t turned it all the way up after their speech, so the group that hadn’t even noticed her before could clearly hear her when she spoke.

“Weird behavior? Really?” She said, firmly and with a sharp edge to her words. Those in the circle who had their backs to her turned to look at who had spoken, and those who hadn’t fixed their eyes on her. Johanna’s mother’s face soured even further. “That’s how you’re getting them to believe in something so wild that anyone can see that it did not happen?!”

Torrin’s face began to melt into a scowl, but he schooled it into a look of annoyed disinterest before anyone could notice it. “What was that, Miss… Amarylis, isn’t it?”

“You’re telling a lie, and you know it!” She snapped, ignoring her mistaken name. “How could you betray Johanna like that? She trusted you!”

All he did was raise an eyebrow, along with a corner of his mouth. “If I’m lying, then what is the truth?”

The question was like a bucket of cold water, putting out some of her impulsive anger. She was hit by the realization that she did not, in fact, know the truth. But hell, she knew enough. “I don’t know.” She admitted. “But I know who Johanna is, and I know who you are, and I know you’re lying!”

Distracted by the situation as she was, she nearly jumped out of her skin when a gentle had touched her shoulder.

“Maven.” Mr. Kavindi whispered near her. “It’s not worth it. Whatever you do, they will twist it against you.”

And it was true. But instead of listening to him, she shouted. “I don’t give two fucks about what this idiot says about me, but I’ll be damned if I don’t stop him from doing this to Anna!”

Every person in the group was now frowning at her, no doubt thinking her mad. Torrin looked around them, a smile on his face showing that he liked what he saw; no one was going to stand up for her.

“Maven.” He called, taking a step towards her, and she shuddered at his use of her first name. “I know we never got on very well, but let me talk to you. You’re clearly being precocious, so let me tell you my side of the story.”

“I don’t want to listen to anything you have to say.” Maven said, even though she knew she would have to. There was no escaping, not in front of these people.

“Mr. Librarian, I believe my father wanted to talk to you.” He said once he had gotten closer. Mr. Kavindi raised an eyebrow, but took a step back and began looking for the mayor anyway. Once her colleague had released his gentle hold on her, Torrin put a hand on her back and tried to lead her outside. She walked a step in front of him, so as not to be touched.

She opened the doors and slipped outside, realizing with a start that she was alone with him once the doors closed behind him. But there was nothing she could do now.

“Now.” He said diplomatically. “I don’t know what Johanna told you, but you have to believe me when I say that she was lying.”

Maven squared her shoulders. “I don’t have to do anything!”

Torrin exhaled, the friendly façade falling down with his breath. He looked around, his mouths set on a thin line. “Then take this as a warning.”

She barely saw his fist coming, she only felt it colliding painfully with the side of her face, making her teeth clatter and her skull throb. She fell heavily upon the table behind her, glasses smashing under her weight and cutting her back. Then her body was pulled to the ground by gravity, where she lay hurt and confused.

Torrin was walking towards her again, probably to get her to leave by one of the exits that didn’t require coming back into the mansion, when the door opened again, and two people came in. As Mr. Kavindi saw her and ran to help, Torrin didn’t look worried at all. The other librarian was only just more creditable in the eyes of the town than she was. He could easily claim they were both lying, or had drunk too much and confused him with some other person at the party. But when he turned back to the door and saw the second person, which stood by it open mouthed and looked at Maven in horror, then she could see true fear in his eyes.

Standing at the edge of the garden with a slack jaw and unbelieving eyes, the last thing Maven saw before she felt a deep sleep claim her, was Johanna’s mother.

_#_#_#_

She truly didn’t know what she’d do without Mr. Kavindi, and what she would have done if he hadn’t been smart enough to stay close and watch Torrin go outside with her, following them when he heard the sound of her body hitting the table. She didn’t know what happened immediately after Kate had appeared; she had fainted for what apparently had been a few minutes, from what he had told her, but she imagined he had run. There was no way for him to lie himself out of this one, not when Kate had seen it with her own eyes.

When she came back to herself, she was being carried through the poorly lit streets of her neighborhood, one arm across the librarian’s shoulders, his arm holding her waist, and another arm being supported by Johanna’s mother. When they noticed her blinking awake, they stopped to check on her again. She had some cuts in her back, and bruises on her head from the punch. The scratches she got from the fall completed the image.

There had been nothing they could do to help her in the middle of the pavement, of course, so they just kept on walking her home. It was a very silent walk, not only because Maven lacked the energy to talk, but because they all knew there was an outsider in their trio. Ironically, it was said outsider who broke the silence.

“Are you going to tell this to the police?” Kate asked, and even though Maven pretended not to notice it, she sounded worried for him.

She chuckled darkly, but stopped it as it made her head and back hurt more intensity. “No, I think I’ve had enough of being called a liar for today.”

After that, they were in silence until they arrived at Maven’s house (and thank the universe she’d once asked Mr. Kavindi over for tea and he still remembered the way, because Maven wasn’t in the right mind for giving directions at the moment.)

Mr. Kavindi knocked when they arrived, not wanting to make Maven look for the key in her current state. Kate looked surprised at that, not knowing that the young woman lived with anyone, so she was startled out of her mind when her own daughter answered.

When Johanna opened the door, she stared slack jawed at her mother, but then the librarian cleared his throat, calling for her attention. Then she noticed Maven, and gasped loudly.

“What happened?!” She opened the door wider and stepped out of the way. Maven let her left arm fall from Kate’s shoulder, and let her colleague half carry her inside, to one of the sofas in the small living room. Johanna’s eyes followed them, horrified, but the shock kept her rooted in place.

“She’s telling the truth.” Her mother told her, clearly confused by the words coming out of her mouth. Johanna looked at her, at how her face contorted as if she’d tasted something sour, fighting a battle inside herself.

She didn’t stay. She only uttered her daughter a ‘good night’ before she disappeared again, leaving Johanna finally able to move. She rushed to her friend’s side; the librarian was kneeling beside her on the floor, examining her back where she’d lifted her shirt. Johanna gasped once again as she saw the thin stream of blood running down the cuts there.

“Maven!” She got closer, her hands fluttering uselessly around as she tried to make sense of the situation.

“I’m fine, Anna, don’t worry.” Maven said, at the same time Mr Kavindi asked her if she knew how to clean and bandage these wounds. She nodded, determination coming to her eyes as she ran away toward her room, coming back as quick as lightning with what looked like a first aid kit.

Maven heard her spray something, and soon she put a wet piece of cotton on one of her cuts. Maven gasped and shifted away from it. It stung.

“Let her do this, Maven.” Mr. Kavindi said. “Or you might develop an infection.”

She clenched her jaw and took a deep breath, willing her body to be still as Johanna continued to apply the wet cotton and make soothing sounds. She felt a bit like a dog for it, but the sweet nonsense she was whispered did make her feel calmer.

“I’ll get her some water.” Kavindi said, getting up. It took him some time to find his way around the kitchen, but eventually he returned with a glass of water, which she emptied in big swallows, feeling it return some of her strength.

“What happened?” Johanna asked again, using a dry cotton to finish cleaning her wounds. She hadn’t found any pieces of glass in them: the librarian had taken the shards away when Maven was still unconscious, and held the blood flow with napkins from their table.

“She was hit.” He answered calmly, sitting on the arm of the couch.

“By who?!”

Maven gave a small chuckle at her surprise. “Take a wild guess.”

Johanna lowered her hand, her brow furrowing. She wasn’t sure she wanted to understand.

Mr. Kavindi cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows at Maven when she looked at him. He knew she got snappish when she was tired. He didn’t want her to say anything she would regret, and she seemed to get the message.

“It was Torrin.” She said with a sigh.

A deep silence followed Johanna’s “oh” of surprise, until the librarian got up and said he didn’t think there was anything else he could do for her for now, but asked her to call him if she needed anything, and then left the two of them alone.

“Maybe I should take a bath?” Maven said. “That should make me feel a little better.”

Johanna swallowed and nodded. “Yes, do that. Did you eat well at the party?”

Maven gestured negatively with her head.

“I’ll fix you some dinner, then. And then I’ll take a look at those scratches.”

_#_#_#_

Willa was the last of the group to go away. Other four students had just left, two of them climbing into a car who belonged to a third, and the other had his car for himself. They had come for a study session, in order to try and help each other with the approaching finals. They were already starting their engines when Willa finished putting her stuff away in her backpack and hugged Johanna.

“If you need help.” She whispered into her ear. “Call me. Or any of us. We can keep him away.”

Johanna hugged back, but frowned into her classmate’s ginger hair. Willa had made it clear, ever since she met Torrin for the first time, two meetings before, that she didn’t trust him. She’d voiced her concerns to Johanna before, but she’d always waved her off. Her worry seemed to build up, though, and not dissipate like she had thought it would the more she talked to him. And the thought of calling someone to keep her own husband away from her was laughable. They loved each other! He wouldn’t ever hurt her, of that she was sure.

She drew back and gave Willa a smile. “I know you could, but I don’t need you to. I don’t want you to. Trust me, it’s fine.”

Willa nodded and said her goodbyes, walking out of the cabin and climbing into her motorcycle, which she had parked near Johanna’s car (it had been a wedding gift from her parents!). She gave one last look to the bucolic house before driving away, lifting a cloud of dirt as she went.

Johanna closed the door, not bothering to lock it; there was no danger to be found around their home. She turned around, heading for the coffee table at the center of the living room, where her text and notebooks were still scattered, but stopped when she realized Torrin was watching her from the door frame that led into the kitchen. He looked displeased, and she had no idea why. It unsettled her to no end.

“Hey!” She chirped, wondering that maybe if she sounded cheerful enough his bad mood would go away. “I hadn’t seen you there.”

“I don’t like them.” He stated firmly, walking towards her at the same time she went in his direction.

“Why not?” As soon as they were close enough, Johanna raised her hands to his arms, rubbing soothing circles through his shirt.

“They don’t trust me. They don’t think I’m good enough for you.”

Johanna tried to break through the tense atmosphere with a chuckle. “They just don’t know you. If they spend a little more time with you, they’ll begin to see what a wonderful person you are. It took me some time as well, remember?”

He didn’t become any less tense with her words. Instead, he stared at her with an impenetrable gaze. “Johanna, they will try to get between us. We can’t have that.”

Johanna looked down, gazing not at his eyes but at his chest. She thought she knew what to do to please him, but… she didn’t really want to do it. She was getting along smoothly with these people, she’d go as far as considering them friends. However, the last time she’d ignored her loved ones when they disapproved of a friend, she’d ended up hurt. Used.

When she looked up into his face again, she could see that he was trying to tell her as much. That she didn’t really know when someone could be trusted or not, but he did, and he was telling her that those friends didn’t mean well.

Gods, how she hated this feeling of not being able to trust her judgment, to trust herself. But he had a point.

“I… guess I can ask some other classmates to study with me.” She said reluctantly, and he finally, finally smiled.

“Thank you, baby. It makes me feel happy, you know? That you’re putting as much effort into our marriage as I am.”

Johanna mustered a smile for him as well, even though she didn’t really like the idea of walking away from relationships that were going well. But he had proven himself to be a better judge of character than she was. They would probably turn out to be jerks in the end, anyway.

“Of course, Torrin.” She said as he closed her into an embrace. “Anything for us.”

_#_#_#_

When Maven walked down the stairs, she looked and felt more put together. Her dirty clothes had been replaced by a cozy pajama, and the scent of soup lured her into the kitchen. She had expected to have to tell the whole story of how she got hurt, word by word, and she had been right.

Although Maven felt a little flustered about having to say that it had happened because she’d been defending her (it sounded like the exact type of thing people said to gain other’s sympathy), she told the whole story like had been requested of her. Johanna was perfectly silent during her account, only her facial expressions giving away her feelings. In the end, the asked.

“My mother…?”

“I don’t know why she showed up, but she looked extremely startled. I think she followed us in order to defend Torrin.”

They stared at each other, and then Maven realized what she’d said: that Kate would defend Torrin rather than her own daughter.

“I’m sorry!” She said. “I didn’t mean to imply-“

“It’s okay.” Johanna cut her off gently. “I… I think you’re probably right.”

There was more silence. Their bowls were already empty, so they simply sat at the table, doing nothing and saying nothing. Johanna was staring at her hands with a thoughtful expression.

“I’m sorry.” She said, finally. “I’m just trying to make sense of things. I think I’m… finally beginning to understand.”

Maven blinked. “Understand what?”

Johanna didn’t look at her for a few more breaths, and then stared directly into her eyes. And oh, how they had changed in a matter of seconds. There was a new light to them, a clear recognition, like something had snapped inside her. Like she was the carefree and bold Anna again.

“You weren’t lying, were you? That day in Ericsonberg, when you told me he had tried to hurt you.”

Maven sucked in breath, secretly hurt by the question but trying not to show it. “Why the fuck would I lie?”

Johanna just looked into her eyes for heartbeats, and Maven realized there was fire burning behind them. She nodded.

“You like stories, right?”

Maven’s lips fell open. Of course she liked stories, she was a librarian for crying out loud. But she couldn’t see how this had anything to do with their current situation.

“I do.”

Johanna took a deep, fortifying breath, raising her head to the ceiling and rolling her shoulders back before looking at her again.

“Good. Because it’s past time I told you a few.”

#fic: tmwm #hilda librarian #hilda librarian fanfic #hilda's mum #hilda johanna #sketchbook ship #sketchbook ship hilda #hilda johanna fanfic

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fluorescentpipedream · 4 years

Text

Been learning some things about Dayton the last few days

It’s a little long so I don’t want to clog up anyone’s feeds

Details:

Age: 43

Family:

Parents - Abigail and Ethan Foster. Sibling: Charlotte,Lottie (25)

His parents are still alive though they don’t really acknowledge him much.

His little sister, Lottie, comes to visit him sometimes. She makes jewelry out of recycled materials and gave her brother an earring she made of a broken beer bottle, repurposed as a diamond. He wears it on the right side, though when asked why he only has one, he says “she knows I’ll lose the other one, so this way it’s more special”

He has said he’s a little jealous of his younger sister because “she gets to be normal, and our parents hate that there’s nothing of hers that can capitalize on. Her jewelry business is a fun thing to put her through college, they can’t steal her fortunes and lie to her that it’s in her best interest. I’m envious of her because of her normalcy. How stupid is that?”

Relationships:

Dayton was married when he had his seizure, his husband divorced him shortly after the incident, not being willing to take care of him.

He’s had a few girlfriends but he seems to prefer the company of men

About:

Dayton is highly dependent on drugs and/or alcohol to get by on the outside world because he just can’t seem to function without them when he’s trying to live on his own. He’s lived at the Center in the French Quarter off and on for 4 years, before that taking a stint in jail for public urination and intoxication. He also spit on the arresting officer. Writing about the incident later by saying “he finds it odd that Mardi Gras is legal public drunkenness for the amusement of all but only a few days after, in the stench of Bourbon Street’s parties where trickles of human depravity are being washed from the street, suddenly it’s deplorable and must be cleansed from sight. Though they might have gone easier on me if I hadn’t spit in the cop’s face. Oh well.”

Dayton’s initial slip into this strange state was after a seizure caused by his excessive drinking. The world was easier to handle if he was drunk or high all the time, he didn’t feel like he had to be as smart as he is, when he was riding a drug high. He collapsed at a Mensa event when he was 32, and during the grand mal seizure caused brain damage and for his IQ to slip from the 200s and down into a more average number. He still seems to be very intelligent, though he doesn’t really draw attention to it anymore. After his husband left him, he had apparently only shrugged, taking his ring off and handed it to his little sister, telling her “unconditional love is a joke”

The relationship with his parents finally came to light as well, and he outright told the first social worker when they had suggested he could recover in his parent’s care that they wouldn’t actually care for him anymore. Their free ride now had strings attached and he doubted that they could stand to care for him, since he was pushed to always provide for himself, since he was “smart enough”

He has the potential to live on his own, he just doesn’t have much of a drive to do so. When he’s left on his own he gets distracted and forgets to do even the most basic tasks. He means he forgets to eat, sleep, etc. At the Center, “I’m safe from myself”

Personality:

Self-loathing and tends to put himself down a lot

Suicidal although Lottie seems to be the only reason he won’t go through with killing himself, he loves her too much to leave her with that stigma of “genius brother takes his own life following years of drug and alcohol abuse

A very dark and, at times, unsettling sense of humor. It makes people uncomfortable and his general disinterest in people’s reactions make it worse

“Former” sex addict...he puts it in quotes. As long as he’s not drinking or using drugs he tends to abstain from dangerous sexual liaisons but once he’s under the influence it’s whatever, with whoever and however they choose. “I’m surprised I’m not infected yet”

He’s been with both men and woman and has no preference towards either. “It would be nice to have someone love me...I’m not in a position where I could be the one providing care to another, sadly dealing with me may be a full time job and not one most people are equipped for. I won’t “get better” over time, and crave companionship sometimes even over the obsessive desire to fade from this world”

Interests:

Serial killers. He absently makes profiles for those he reads about or watches reports on TV. He frequents websites that have details on true crime and likes to try to figure out cold cases, for fun. He’s actually figured out several, calling in anonymous tips to hotlines.

-Seriously- considering typing up his profile for the serial killer in San Francisco (Paul) and sending it to Theo deWinter, the agent on the case. He’d learned about the case online and after reading what he could find about the murders and the way the bodies are discovered, he really does want to help. He is concerned they wouldn’t take much consideration in the profile though because of his current mental state. It might hurt his credibility. Still, he says “better not eat anything you buy from Rascal Butcher shop on Main”

Piano, originally it was something he was forced into learning but now that he’s older he enjoys it quite a bit more. He sometimes sits in the grand entrance of the Center and plays on nice days

Writing. Kind of like a cross between Dean Koontz and Stephen King with some Lovecraft like monsters in there. He posts some of his shorter pieces on his blog

Has a tumblr blog called A Damaged Beautiful Mind. Most of the time he answers questions but a few years ago he wrote a rather long post about the inability for criminals, drug addicts and generally anyone who has been arrested to vote in national elections explains a lot about how the entire system is set up so only the elite are allowed to partake (excerpt at the end)

He loves watching psychological thrillers, horror movies and true crime documentaries

He used to want to be a federal profiler and even has degrees in forensic psychology and criminal law

Connections:

Arthur Powell sometimes invites him over for dinner in his room at the center.

He told Arthur he really liked his sister, Frankie once, promising it was “nothing creepy” he just thought she had a beautiful soul and her amazing talent was going to take her places. Arthur has her make him a mirror glaze birthday cake this year that was too beautiful to eat (he did though, only when Lottie came to spend the day with him and she cut into it after taking a picture of it with his phone.)

One of the orderlies brings him coffee and beignets on Saturdays and they talk. Dayton generally believes they’re just checking up on him to make sure he’s had a shower or eaten something recently.

Doctor Snow is his therapist, though lately he feels like he has to search for things to discuss with her. She’s expecting her first child, so the visits are brief and involves how he’s feeling, if he’s still having suicidal thoughts...etc.

He used to be a bit of a lech, being Mike Tomlin’s first foray into gay sex, pinning him to a wall at the Mensa event, the same night as his seizure.

Excerpt from his latest blog entry about election and voting rights, or rather the lack thereof

Any system which segregates the unmentionables and undesirables from the view of the rest only perpetuates the degeneration we’ve been seeing as a whole in this nation. It’s “progress” that the United States lived in a seemingly “Golden Age” under Barack Obama, but if one were to pull back the veil they need only skim the surface to realize, that was a moment of lapse, before the true waves of deceit, corruption and greed rushed back in again.

The years that Obama served in the White House only appear now as the receding of water before the inevitable tsunami. As a nation, we will always boil back down to the nagging truth of George Orwell in Animal Farm; “all animals are created equal, but some are more equal than others” Those that are detestable, or deemed unworthy by social standards, like any number of the “criminals” locked away for crimes enumeration, have been stripped of their ability to stand up for their beliefs.

Their voices are silenced, because by daring to stand against the societal norm, to lash out at the Thomas Moore, Utopian falsehood of America, they proclaimed loudly that the world is not only unfair, but stacked against us from the moment we take our first breaths. Were the US to return rights to the seemingly uneducated, drains on society, they would see real change. But that, in the essence of the truly corrupt leading the imbecilic masses, will never be the case. These commanding forces, like Nero the pig, would rather lead the masses into decisions that have been made for them all the while claiming that it is the people who lead themselves to this. And he can fix it all.

#character #details #skeet ulrich

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dearlazerbunny · 5 years

Text

Lie to Me (Ch. 3 of ?)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 1700

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug for their awesomeness.

Requested Tags: @deraniel @iamverity @yasnooshka24 @themusingsofmany @dark-night-sky-99 @wegingerangelica

You really have no idea what to expect. A message popped up in your inbox telling you to be in a certain room at a certain time. That’s it. Nothing about who you were meeting or why they wanted you there. But you know better than to ask questions about things SHIELD has deemed to be on a need-to-know basis. So you gather your notebooks and straighten your uniform, and take a deep breath before opening the large double doors in front of you.

That breath is immediately knocked out of you when you catch sight of the other occupants of the room. They’re a little hard to miss. Tony Stark has certainly been on the news enough for you to recognize immediately, though he looks more haggard and hungover than on his usual press tours. The bright red curls of Black Widow are iconic by now, as is the shield leaned up against Captain Roger’s chair. He drums his fingers on it thoughtfully. Judging by the arrowhead flitting through a brunet man’s fingers, you’d guess him to be the archer Hawkeye. And of course, the Norse god Thor sits with his mythical hammer Mjolnir by his side, also looking lost in thought. Oh, Christ. What have you gotten yourself into?

There’s a rather inconspicuous chair situated in the corner of the room, away from the conference table where all the superheroes- Avengers- are seated, so you settle into that, trying to take up as little room as possible. You also try not to hyperventilate. For some reason, being in the same room one-on-one with a god who has decidedly not great intentions is much less intimidating than being in a room full of heroes.

Thankfully, Fury walks in a second later, and all eyes drift to him as he takes his place at the head of the room. The second he opens his mouth, questions begin to overflow into the air-

“Where is he?”

“When does the interrogation start?”

“Bastard better be in pain-”

“The press keep asking if he’s contained-”

“Who are you?”

You glance up belatedly, realizing that last question is directed at you. “Um-” you look at Fury for help, but he simply raises his eyebrows at you. “I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you that. For… security purposes.” Which is complete and utter bullshit, and you’re fairly sure everyone in the room knows it, but the thought of being on any of these people’s radar makes your stomach turn. “I work for SHIELD.”

Tony Stark snorts. “Obviously.” He turns back to the director. “Well?”

“Loki is contained,” he says simply. “None of you will be allowed to access his cell.” This statement raises a round of protests until the man holds up a vaguely threatening hand. “Both the government and Asgard want him alive. And his being alive cannot be guaranteed if he’s put in a room with any single one of you.”

Most of them look disappointed, but in a murder-y, vicious sort of way. Thor looks relieved. “So we’re holding him?”

Fury nods. “We’ve worked out a temporary truce with Asgard. Before he returns with Thor for their trial, he’ll remain here with us until we can get some answers out of him.”

The group seems to agree to this with varying degrees of acceptance. “And who exactly is going to have the pleasure of choking him out until he gives over the intel?” This comes from the archer, who very much looks like he wants to be the one to have that pleasure.

“We have several of our best agents on the job. And…” Fury’s good eye trains on you, and you clear your throat in effort to keep your voice from wavering.

“They’ve also got me.” All eyes are suddenly on you, ratcheting your breathing up to eleven.

“You?” Stark asks incredulously. “What, is SHIELD just sending in junior agents as fodder now?”

You want to argue, but you really can’t, considering you’re basically the definition of a noob when it comes to this. The Norse god Thor is staring at you coldly, and dear god you really don’t want your neck snapped by any mythological figures anytime soon. “I’m keeping him company while he’s locked up, nothing more. I’m not going to hurt him,” you say, mostly to the god. He must see some truth in your statement because he settles back into his chair. “I’ve studied mythology, so I know a little about-”

“Yeah. I don’t really think you’d be capable of hurting him even if you wanted to, sweetheart.” You have to stop yourself from glaring at the billionaire. Jesus, does his mouth ever stop? “Why the hell aren’t you sending one of us in to do the job? Or, I don’t know, someone capable of actually defending themselves?”

“You’re all biased,” Fury answers easily. “If we’re going to get any answers out of him, he needs to feel like he isn’t in imminent danger of being throttled at the drop of a hat.”

The Black Widow raises a delicate eyebrow. “You plan on what, psychoanalyzing him?”

Thor shakes his head. “He is the god of lies, his words are not so easily sieved through-”

“He’s a psychopath.” The archer’s eyes look dead. “Enough said.”

Thor coughs. “I am not sure precisely what this ‘psychopath’ means, but I can assure you-”

“Save it, Thor.” The arrowhead stops flitting through the air, and the man abruptly stands, throwing a caustic look your way. “When he’s got you shaking on the floor wishing you were dead, let me know and I’ll put an arrow through his eye.” He leaves without looking back. After a few moments, the Widow follows silently.

How reassuring. This assignment just keeps getting better and better.

Fury sighs heavily. “You’ll be updated when deemed necessary.” A dismissal if you ever heard one. You’re out the door in a flash, intent on putting as much distance between you and that room and the people in it as possible. You’re so lost in thought you don’t even notice you’re being followed until you’re five hallways away.

“Lady Y/N.” You freeze, recognizing the deep voice behind you.

“Um… yes?” You say faintly. You’re scared to turn around.

“Please, I only wish to introduce myself.” That gets you to look at him. Thor Odinson stands at a respectful distance away, hunching his shoulders to make himself seem slightly less intimidating. It isn’t really working. “I am Thor,” he continues. “Son of Odin, prince of Asgard. Loki’s… brother.” He says the last bit hesitantly, as if he isn’t sure anymore.

“I know who you are,” you blurt without thinking, then immediately turn red and slap a hand over your mouth. You are not going to fangirl over Thor. You’re not you’re not you’re not. Just because you’ve been reading bedtime stories about him since you were five and wrote your dissertation about Norse gods does not mean-

“You do?” He doesn’t seem insulted. More like pleasantly surprised. “I take that my reputation precedes me.”

“Something like that. It helps that I’ve been studying mythology since I was little…”

“You mentioned this. What does it mean?”

“Mythology?” He nods. “Well. Basically, it’s the study of… you. I mean, not just you specifically. But gods and monsters and things like that. Of course, until a few years ago we had no idea what we were studying actually existed…”

He chuckles at that. “Indeed. I am pleased to hear our exploits have stood the test of time.”

“No kidding. You’ve got stories about you that date back to 1030, and that’s just what we’ve been able to uncover and translate-” you stop yourself, realizing you’re going into your whole overly-enthusiastic-academic persona. “But you probably already know that. Sorry.”

He surprises you with a hearty laugh, throwing back his head and making his hair ruffle around his shoulders. You find yourself smiling back. “I am happy to see the little one has such a lively personality! Perhaps it will do him some good.”

You want to bristle at him calling you ‘little one’, but he says it with absolutely no malice in his voice. Considering he’s about three times the size of you, you figured it’s a fair assessment. “Maybe,” you say sheepishly. “As of now he won’t even acknowledge when I’m in the room.”

“He is stubborn, and no doubt in a highly unpleasant mood.”

You snort. “I suppose foiled evil plots tend would do that to you.”

Thor sobers at your words; an abrupt change to his demeanor. “Tell me something, lady,” he says carefully. “What is your opinion of my brother?”

What? “Well, he did try to blow up half of New York and enslave the human race.”

“Aye, that he did.” He doesn’t offer anything else, but he seems to be looking for something nonetheless.

You shrug your shoulders. “He doesn’t strike me as the type to do something without reason, I guess. If historical accounts are to be believed he’s much too smart for that. I’m trying to keep a neutral opinion unless he gives me reason to think otherwise.”

“I see.” Thor looks at you thoughtfully. “You are wise for your years, lady Y/N.”

“You are literally thousands of years old.”

“And therefore you can take my word for it.” He pauses. “I am not allowed to see my brother, as you heard. Will you tell me of him? Just so I know he is…” he doesn’t seem to know how to finish that thought.

“I’ll let you know what I can.” Thor seems genuinely worried for his brother, and it sends a pang through your chest. The god nods, accepting that. “I’ve got a report to type up, so-”

“I will not keep you.” He inclines his head in a very polite manner. “Thank you for speaking with me.”

“Of course.” He walks off in the opposite direction, leaving half your brain screaming you just had a conversation with the god of thunder and the other half sulking and now you have to go sit with the god of lies.

A/N: Yeeeeeeeah you’re not exactly on great terms with the Avengers in this story. Fair warning.

Also, we’re up to 🎉 30k! 🎉 with 12-ish more chapters to be written? That’d put us at around 30 chapters, woot

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firebirdsdaughter · 5 years

Text

Random Writing… Tid… Bit?…

… Okay, I don’t even know what this is. It just… Popped out! DX

… No wait. That’s… A really weird image.

So! Why don’t I subject everyone to this, instead?

Well, this is whacky.

Random scene from a random timeline that will never happen in show.

Literally features a dialogue summary of the last Tidbit I just wrote.

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There was a long silence.

“Okay…” Aruto said, finally, leaning forward on his knees, clasping his hands together. The woman sitting across from him gave him a suspicious look, but didn’t interrupt, so he continued. “… Can you give them back?”

She blinked at him. “You’re asking if I can give Horobi back his emotions?”

There was an incredulous tone to her voice, but he nodded anyway, even though he saw Isamu rolling his eyes out of the corner of his vision, and Yua shaking her head. “Yes.”

The woman gaped at him for a moment, until she realised he was completely serious, throwing up her hands. “No! They were never a part of his original programming! They’re not some code I can stick back in.”

At that, Isamu snapped out of his usual exasperation with Aruto to shift forward in interest. “What do you mean?”

The woman shifted uncomfortably, grinding her teeth together. Eventually, Yua came closer well, leaning on the back of the sofa. “You’ve got immunity now, remember? And that man doesn’t ever need to know you were here.”

The woman shot her a small glare, but sighed. “Horobi was intentionally designed to hate humans.” She explained, haltingly. “Where other HumaGears are programmed to support and assist…” She trailed into another deep sigh. “He didn’t choose the name Horobi himself. The boss gave it to him, so that he could ‘never forget what he was.’ People who interacted with him were instructed to keep their distance, make sure he kept a negative view of humanity, and to make sure that he never thought of himself as anything more than that.” She rubbed her hands together anxiously. “He wasn’t just a HumaGear. The boss wanted him to be a…”

There was a sharp thud as Isamu’s fist connected with the wall. “… A weapon.” He growled. “They wanted him to be a weapon. So they mistreated him to build resentment.” He punched the wall with his other hand, too, head dropping into his forearms. “Damn ZAIA…!” There was a sour edge in his voice that made Aruto strongly suspect he was thinking about the way Thouser had manipulated him, too.

Looking even more unsure of herself, the woman nodded. “Exactly. Horobi is, essentially, a carefully crafted WMD.” She looked down at her fidgeting hands. “I don’t know what exactly they did to him. I was just programming. But it… It sounded bad.”

Isamu was glaring daggers at her now, and Aruto wasn’t sure if he should be worried Vulcan would take a swing at the the woman, or glad that he was this angry on behalf of a HumaGear’s mistreatment.

Yua on the other hand, like always, was much harder to read. “… I see.” She murmured softly. “Thouser creates Horobi, and therefore MetsubouJinrai.net, in order to create an massive incident that he’s secretly in control of…”

Aruto blinked at her. “Eh?”

She gave an irritated sigh, but propped her hands on her hips and clarified, “Thouser deliberately created the threat so that he could be the one to step in and stop it—effectively disgrace Hiden for not being able to deal with it, and make himself and his company the hero.” Her mouth twisted. “All that damage. And I nearly…”

“We nearly helped him do it.” Isamu grunted from her left, not breaking his glare at the former ZAIA programmer. “Don’t bump me off the guilty list.” She gave him a look that was slightly annoyed—but also partially grateful.

“But something went wrong. His creation reached singularity despite his programming.” Izu brought them all back to the point, her level gaze never having left the woman. The HumaGear secretary tilted her head questioningly. “You stated that ZAIA created Horobi. How was Jin created?”

The woman hesitated for a long time, taking several deep breaths before answering. “… That’s just it. We… We don’t know how it happened. Something… Somehow, despite everything, Horobi… Something changed. One of the theories that came up was that he saw the humans interacting around him, and realised he was…” She choked on the word. “… Realised he was lonely.” Another nervous swallow. “Be we don’t know for sure. It was amazing how he managed to keep it from us—he worked nights, figured out how to hack the cameras and give them a feedback loop. We found a whole damn library of clips he’d been giving them to hide it.” She raised her hands to rub her face briefly. “Then, after he finished, he had Jin hide somewhere in his rooms during the day, when the staff came by.”

“… How did you find him?” Yua asked, very quietly.

The woman pursed her lips in a frown. “… He attacked a researcher. It was on the routine ‘conditioning’ visits, and…”

“He attacked the person hurting his family.” Aruto finished for her sombrely.

The woman didn’t nod, but she didn’t disagree, either. “I was…” She shook her head as she searched for words. “… Amazed. It was the first time a HumaGear creating another HumaGear had ever been heard of. And Jin was so advanced, in a way. He looked like an adult, but acted like a child, more personality than any other…” She trailed off again, her expression darkening. “But the boss was furious. Wanted him destroyed. Horobi went nuts, started shouting not to hurt him, called him his son.” Her hands rubbed together even faster, and she started picking at her nails. “Boss… Said he had an idea. Sent me out with Jin and ordered me to wipe his memory.”

“And you did?” Izu asked, with an edge to her tone that was unidentifiable.

“It’s not like I wanted to!” The woman’s voice broke. She looked frantically at Yua. “You know what he’s like!”

Yua, however, shook her head. “No. I left Thouser when he tried to make me cross the line.”

Tears pricked at the woman’s eyes—and Aruto did feel a little sorry for her, Thouser didn’t give the impression of someone who would be lenient on disobedience, but this had had had massive consequences. “What happened?” He asked firmly, trying to sound like his grandfather and bring the conversation back.

The woman’s jaw clenched, and she huddled into herself, but she continued. “… Daybreak happened.” She murmured. “The ForceRisers hijack a HumaGear’s main programming. Results can vary—they can reset it, alter it, magnify a particular program, or completely override to with something like a single command.” Her fists were clenching so tightly her nails were leaving marks. “He used it to drive Horobi berserk. Almost the whole facility was destroyed.” She sighed again, a slightly thoughtful one. “He came for Jin. I didn’t expect that. Even though his mind was overridden, and he was operating on his original core directive, he still came. I only survived because I had the sense to get out of his way.” She looked around at them. “Emotions were never part of his original design. He somehow… Taught them to himself. Through Jin. When the boss put the ForceRiser on him, it purged everything it deemed ‘unnecessary.’ He literally cannot feel.” She shook her head. “I can’t just put them back in him. He’d have to learn them all over again.”

Yua folded her arms. “And his relationship with Jin has already suffered for it, so that’s probably not…”

“That’s what you think.” Isamu muttered, straightening up. Turning on his heel like a soldier, he started toward the door.

Yua turned after him. “Where are you going?”

He came to a half a few steps from the exit. “It’s just the emotions he lost, right?” He asked the woman with clearly faux cheer, deliberately ignoring Yua’s question. “He still remembers that he made Jin, just not why, or how it felt?” Looking utterly bewildered, the woman nodded. “So.” Isamu clicked his fingers. “We just force him to remember.”

“Remember?” Aruto asked, rising himself, completely not following Vulcan’s logic. “How?”

Isamu sighed thoughtfully, then glanced at Yua. “Yaiba, why did you ditch Thouser?”

She hesitated. “… Because he wanted me to frame you for murder and then kill you.”

He pointed at her like she’d just answered the winning lottery question. “Exactly. Life or death decisions.” He turned and started toward the door again.

“So… What?” Yua demanded, starting after him. “What makes you think you’re going to be able to do this, that you’re the person for the job?”

Isamu stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “… Because,” He told her levelly, without turning around. “… Feels like I owe it to him. One of Thouser’s weapons to another.” Looking over his shoulder, he gave them all a tired, sad smile. “Like we’re the only ones who can almost understand each other, you know?” Then, with a nod, he vanished out the door.

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As you can see, I do like me the idea of Isamu being deliberately manipulated by Thouser/Yua’s mystery boss in the name of… Well, here, essentially using him as a weapon. Taking his hatred and fear of HumaGears and stoking it to help raise the stakes of the incident or something, or as a method to clear up evidence, or as canon fodder, whatever. And Isamu is pissed to learn of him doing something similar to Horobi.

Of course, none of this is gonna be exactly canon. There is a chance for the ‘Isamu (and maybe Horobi? Please?) being manipulated’ somehow, but it would not be exactly this, not at all.

Also this is way later in the series when both Wolf Dad and Cheetah Mom are on Grasshopper Son’s side. Also the thing that I wrote Yua leaving Thouser’s employ for… Feels possible. Like, for all she and Isamu fight and he drives her crazy, I don’t get the impression she’d be willing to kill him, and might even be disgusted by a plan to frame him for something as bad as murder. So, it seemed plausible.

#Random Writing Tidbit #Kamen Rider Zero-One #I am so very tired #need shower #throat feels like sand paper #draining #freaking head cold #Binary Retro Rider

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takaraphoenix · 5 years

Note

Ooh shiny new ask game..... If they haven't been asked yet F, K, X and Y? Thanks! 💜

They haven’t! Thanks for asking! ^-^

F: Share a snippet from one of your favoritedialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Oooof. I am so bad at remembering things I wrote. xD

Though one story where the dialogue stuck with me is “The Dragon’s Treasure“. I just, personally, found myself surprisingly funny in that one. Most of my humor is “Literally only I will find this funny lol”, but in this case, I was really pleased with it.

"What... in the world. You took the wrong person, dumb dragon. I'm a prince, not a princess."

"Not every dragon likes pretty princesses, some of us do prefer a pretty prince", replied a dark, rumbling voice, echoing through the cave. "And it is not polite to call others 'dumb'."

It took a moment for Percy to place the voice and even then he had a hard time wrapping his head around it. He very slowly turned his head to face the dragon whose black eyes bore into Percy's very soul. The young prince gulped hard, causing the dragon to look nearly amused.

"You... can... t—talk...", stammered Percy, feeling like the ground beneath his feet was crumbling, only that there was no ground because he was still being held by the dragon. "I've gone mad."

"Debatable", hummed the dragon, very clearly amused now. "But yes, of course I can talk. All dragons can talk, we just choose not to because most humans are not good conversationalists."

"So... why are you talking to me? And why did you abduct me?", asked Percy skeptically.

The dragon seemed to frown as he tilted his head – the voice was very clearly male. "If I put you down now, will you be a good, little human and not run away? If you try to run, I will be forced to punish you and I did have other plans for today, little one."

"First of all, I'm not little!", sputtered Percy with a fierce glare.

"Of course, fragile creature that fits into the palm of my hand", drawled the dragon out sarcastically.

Percy's glare darkened even more, though he also looked a bit embarrassed. "Whatever. Yes, yes I won't run away. I just want to know what the hell is going on here."

The dragon cautiously put Percy down before patting his head with a single claw. "There, there. Good, little human. Now, just sit there and wait for a moment. Don't scream, it's annoying."

Percy wanted to ask why, but then it already happened. The magnificent dragon shrank down to... a human-like version of himself. His skin was darker than that of Percy or his country's people, an olive-color, there were patches of scales on his arms and torso. Black curls and silver horns on his head, eyes still as dark and intense as they had been before, with a predator-like look on his face. Percy shuddered under that intense gaze. Around his hips was a piece of leather wrapped that looked pretty much like the dragon's skin had; black, beautiful and adored with sapphire-shards. Thanks to the cloth only around his loins, the human-looking dragon was showing off his very nice physique. Percy felt his face heat up as he stared at the gorgeous creature in front of him. The most stunning parts however were behind the young man – large, black leather wings (though of course smaller than the ones from his dragon-form; proportionally shrunken down) and a black tail whipping behind his body. Percy had never seen anything like this creature before.

"W—What are you?", stammered Percy, clearly frightened by the new things.

"I'm a dragon. I had hoped you would be up to speed on that", sighed the creature disappointed. "My name is Níehkkón tou Chaédez, but you can call me Nico, it is most likely easier to pronounce for your human tongue. I am a dragon. And yes, all dragons can talk and all dragons have a humanoid form. Though we only talk to those we deem worthy. And our humanoid form is normally reserved for our mates. I do have the urge to smack you upside the head however and if I'd do that in dragon-form you will most likely never recover from it."

"Why do you—ouch!" Percy interrupted himself as he was smacked upside the head by a tail.

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come upwith?

That’d be Hanging on by Thread. It would have been part of my Chasingverse. And it’d have been a more elaborate look into when Percy lost the baby. I had only hinted at it in the story prior to when he loses it and then talked about the loss during Chasing Fireflies itself, but for a time there I wanted to make a separate story for it.

The whole deal of it was that, during the Giant War, Nico would have gone to the Fates and made a deal with them to protect Percy at all costs, because the thought of losing Percy was too terrifying.

“A life for a life”, was what the Fates declared. “A debt to be paid in days to come.”

And Nico, being young and not knowing what it would entail, agrees.

2020 rolls around, Nico actually managed to get together with Percy, they’re happily married and expecting their fifth child. And then there are complications. While Percy is in the hospital, fighting for his life and the baby’s life, Nico goes to the underworld, trying the only thing he can do.

But he can’t. Because he made the deal. A life for a life. And now he has to make the choice. Uphold the deal and give the life he hasn’t met yet, or undo the deal and instead lose the love of his life and rob their four children of Percy, rob Sally and Paul and Tyson and everyone else of Percy.

So he makes a hard choice that he never told Percy about.

Yeeeah, that was the idea. But then I chickened out of it because I love happy endings and this would literally just reduced me to tears just writing it. Percy losing the baby, blaming himself, slipping into depression, Nico carrying the burden of knowing what had really happened and also blaming himself and just overall angsty sadness. That idea got canceled.

X: A character you enjoy making suffer.

Jace Herondale! He is a precious boy who is so good to hurt! *^* Physically and emotionally! ^o^ It’s just so much fun, because Dom plays him so beautifully and I know how wonderful he looks when he suffers?

Y: A character you want to protect.

On the risk of sounding like a hypocrite: Jace Herondale. As much as I love making Jace suffer, the show has gone way too far at this point, like seriously even my sadist writer self thinks “Slow down some guys, killing dozens of innocent mundies and murdering Clary in his dreams over and over again and then blaming himself for Clary’s supposed real death really seems enough, did you have to make him murder his only livnig relative??”...

Fanfic Ask Game

#Jace Herondale #Fic: The Dragon's Treasure #Fic: Chasingverse #Nicercy #PJOverse #Fanfic Ask Game #send me asks #mysticalnights2

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wolf-with-a-pen · 3 years

Text

Twin Skeleton’s Part 1

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Death, Gore, Unreality, Murder, Being Watched?

Masterpost, Next

Please tell me if I have missed a trigger, and I will be sure to add it, if you want to be mentioned when I post a new part, ask, and if oyu want me to tag this with anything else, tell me.

This is a new series,hopefully shorter than Knockin' On Heaven's Door, it physically wouldn't let me work on it until I had wrote at least part of it. I should hopefully be able to work on it next week, but if not, expect another part of this.

Word Count:2909

I HAD BEEN dead for 6 years when they arrived. Unwilling to leave the hotel after the horrors they saw and the near-death experience they had. I watched as their friend took their last breath, just like I had so many years ago, albeit in a more... bloody way than mine. Almost reminded me of Psycho with the amount of blood that poured out of them, spilling on the yellowing carpet, pooling around both of them. However, this time I wasn't fully fixated on the dying people-not this time. No, I managed to dial 911 and somehow get an ambulance for them (I'm as surprised as you are) and made sure to memorise the perpetrator’s face in case I saw them again. Anyone willing and able to kill is bad in my books. Especially after that, but I refuse to talk about it. There's no point dwelling on the past anymore.

For the event that happened, it was quite a sunny day. Surprising since deaths almost always happen in the rain. (Yes, I'm looking at you authors. Why? Oh, and hi to the audience I suppose. Who knows why you are using my life for your entertainment, but who am I to judge? Still don't like you, but I guess I'll put up with you.) Anyways, where was I? Right, honestly, I didn't mind that day, for the life of a ghost is a lonely one- we are rare. Only people with unfinished business become ghosts. Surprisingly only a small amount of the population. Most say "I want to do X before I die", but most of those desires aren't strong enough to cause them to become a lost spirit. And even then, most leave within a few years, or their unfinished business isn't necessarily needed to be done on earth. The rest of us are doomed to stay in one room for most of eternity, invisible to almost all. Almost being important. There are a few who can see through the veil of death, but it is rarer than ghosts themselves. Imagine my surprise when I found out that 1) they are created, not born, and 2) when one found their way into my room. Are you imagining it? That's you audience. Yes? Ok, now times it by 100. Yeah, I was shocked.

It was a month later I found out. You see I believed that both of them had died. I only saw one of their souls leave, but I assumed the second's wounds were just as severe- severe enough they wouldn't survive. I was wrong. They stumbled in 4 weeks later, discharged but clearly not out of the wars. Way too many bandages were on them, almost excessively. Their entire body appeared to be covered, save for their head and hands, despite only one wound being present. And it was on their chest. They didn't need half of them. But, oh well, better safe than sorry I guess? Who knows. All I know is they were followed by one of the staff members- clearly to make sure they didn't get hurt. However, they ignored their aide to stare straight at me. Yes, that's right. At me. Not through me. In the background the aide started. “Here you are,” he announced. “It hasn’t been changed beyond the clean-up and we made sure it stayed empty the entire time,” he launched into a full blown speech- I could tell he would. I cautiously stepped to one side, sure that they couldn’t see me, and were just staring off to the distance. Their eyes followed keenly. I knew I had to react before they told the staff member. Quickly I put my finger to my lips, saying out loud. “They can’t see me, act like normal.” I saw them nod slightly, before turning to the staff member, pretending to be interested in what he was saying. But the whole time, they carefully cast sidewards glances at me, as if I would disappear if they didn’t constantly look at me, while trying to decipher if I was actually real or not. It appeared they couldn’t decide.

Only once the other human had left did they talk. “Who are you? And how can I see you?” they said tentatively.

“Who I am does not concern you as of yet. And I don’t know how you can see me. Probably something to do with being stabbed made you able to see through the veil – you can see through the divider that separates our world and yours, automatically making me visible to you.” I replied curtly.

“Wait, so are you a ghost or something?”

“Yes, I am.”

“So, I can see ghosts now?”

“Yes, you can see ghosts,” I replied, annoyed “you can also see angels and demons in their true form, though why anybody would ever want to do that, I don’t know.”

“And you saw me get stabbed?”

“Who d’ya think called the ambulance sweetie?”

“And I’m gonna ignore how you managed that. Despite saving me, you don’t want me to know who you are.”

“Of course not. You might get attached and do something stupid “to be with me” or worse, I might get attached and have to watch someone else die. No way am I letting that happen. I can’t do that again. I don’t think I’d last. Plus, the first thing is a fast track to hell- it wouldn’t work. The only reason I’m still here is unfinished business. You have none. And you have the rest of your life to live out. I don’t want to infringe on it."

“Fine, keep your secrets then. I’m staying here and talking to you anyway, whether you like it or not.”

“Great, just what I needed. A companion. I have been fine for the last 10 years, I think I’ll be fine for 10 more, or however long it takes for my spirit to disintegrate.”

“Don’t be like that. I might not be that bad.”

“Fine, you have one chance, don’t waste it. You have a month to earn my trust. If you don’t, you leave me and this place alone. If you do, I might let you stick around for a while. Deal?”

“Deal.”

The first day was relatively annoying. For some reason they decided to pester me until I gave them some information about myself, whether on accident or on purpose to shut them up. That and gushing about how they have always wanted to meet a ghost and asking me to explain how everything in the new world they discovered worked. I didn’t mind telling them that much. Why wouldn’t I when they would have to get used to it, and fast? Despite being a minority, they would soon see us everywhere. Well, us and angels and demons. God forbid they meet a Guardian. That’s why I don’t mind. They opened up a world of just new, unfamiliar and dangerous things. I kinda owed them an explanation of what was going on. How the world truly worked. I started with two concepts that most people already knew of: heaven and hell.

“So, what do you know of heaven and hell?”

“Just the religious speculations people came up with. Heaven is said to be a safe haven of angels you reach when you die- if you have done good deeds that is. Hell is supposed to full of demons, and where you get tortured for eternity for all the bad things you have done to others. I always hoped it would be the other way round cause everyone says I’m going to hell.”

“First, none of that is really right. Second, what do you mean by you’re going to hell?”

“Because I’m a demigirl and a lesbian, everyone says I should be in hell.”

“Well, we’re all going to hell- only those of pure heart or are naive enough to be manipulated go to heaven. There are few exceptions to that rule. The rest of us end up in hell for having too much personality. It’s better for us anyway- you don’t want to go to heaven. It is a dictatorship, ruled by one person with a hive mind to enforce their laws. Highly corrupt, anyone who even slightly misbehaves or shows opposite ideas to the leader has their soul removed and their shell is sucked into the hive mind- an army of ruthless soldiers with no feelings or general consciousness. All actions are controlled by the leader. Hell is much better. It is more of an anarchist government type thing, with no rules. What you can do is only limited by the strength of your moral code. Only those who are deemed the worst of the worst are punished- mostly the ones likely to disrupt the relative peace too much or are general pieces of shit. For example, genocidal maniacs, and the likes of Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk. From what I’ve heard, there is a special place in hell for those two to suffer. Plus, demons can come to earth, whereas the angels are trapped in heaven from the second they step foot in there by the guardian angels and the border guards.” I rambled on, forgetting who I was talking to, and the fact that most readers and listeners prefer to have shorter paragraphs.

“Wow,” they said once they managed to recover from the information overload, “So, technically I was right about the role reversal.”

“I guess.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to introduce myself, I’m…” they started before I cut in.

“Ruby-May Johnson, but you prefer to be called Bee. You are 30 years old, and have been single all of your life. You were born on the 19th of May, which is likely where your double-barrelled name came from. You are an extrovert and sister to Lily August Johnson-Kennedy, who died in the attack.”

“How do you know all that?”

“Your passport says a lot. The rest are assumptions from watching and listening to you before, I had nothing better to do, so I watched you.”

“Right, OK. You still not willing to tell me about you?”

“Nope.”

“Alright. What should I call you and refer to you by? I’ll go first. I’m a demigirl, I like she and they pronouns, but prefer they to she. With relationship terms, I prefer the gender neutral terms, but I’m still fine with the female ones.”

“Ok Bee. Try not to refer to me. Nobody else knows I exist, and I'd prefer to keep it that way. If you have to use she/her or you’ll get she/hurt. If you need me, use Spectre. Everyone else does.”

“Thank you Spectre.”

“It’s late, sleep now.”

“No, I wanna know more.”

“No,” I announced, forcing them into their bed, “I refuse to tell you any more until you have slept.”

“Fine, but only because you leave me no choice,” they agreed begrudgingly, “Good night.”

“Good night,” I replied, making myself invisible to all- including veil-seers- and turning off the lights.

“Wait! Please stay until I fall asleep. And, can you turn the light back on.” I heard, their voice cracking slightly.

I made myself visible, flicking on the lights before inquiring, “Autophobia, nyctophobia or somniphobia?”

“A bit of all of them.”

“Ok, I’ll stay. I’m pretty sure in the bottom draw of the dresser, there is a night light if you want it.”

“Really? And yes, thank you.” They climbed out of bed, making their way towards the dresser grabbing the night light and pushing it into the wall. It illuminated the room nicely, I remembered that from when I had to use it. I simply answered her first question: “Yeah, I know what it’s like. Now, sleep. You are safe as long as I’m here- I will be watching you and making sure you don’t get hurt.”

“Thank you.” Bee whispered, closing their eyes and falling asleep.

“Sweet dreams. I hope.”

The second they fell asleep I turned invisible and ventured as far out of the room I was able to go. Here, the barrier between the possessed areas of the world were thinner, allowing me to talk with the nearest spirit to me. Or at least, what I believed must be the nearest spirit. And he probably wasn’t actually a ghost, but good enough for me. I called out to him, knowing he would most likely be there. “Ashton, are you able to talk?”

“Yeah, sure, nice to talk to you again Spectre. How long has it been? A month or two at least. Anyway, what did you need?”

“What, no, I don’t need anything,” I said. You know, like a liar.

“You only talk to me if you need something, whether information or more physical, you cannot fool me.”

“Fine. I managed to somehow end up with a veil-crosser.”

“Seriously? Cool. How did you manage that?”

“I called an ambulance.”

“You know we’re not meant to interfere.”

“It was them, they struck again. I couldn’t let it happen again.”

“I understand, but you still know the rules. If anyone found out you’d be doomed to stay there forever, unable to interfere anymore. You’re lucky that I’d be a hypocrite to tell them, if I was anybody else…”

“I know. And I need help. What can they do that I need to know about, and what do I need to teach them?”

“Firstly, you need to teach them about all of the aspects of death.”

“How am I meant to do that when I don’t know all of them myself? You refused to tell me more than angels, demons, ghosts and veil-breakers.”

“There are more, I’ll get my human to take the book to your room, and see if I can get him to talk to them, and teach them a bit. As for abilities, they depend on the person, you just need to wait for them to figure it out themselves. They only find them when they need them the most. It works on instinct, don’t force it.”

“Ok, thank you. It should be helpful. How are you getting on with yours?”

“Turns out he can give us temporary physical forms.”

“Is that how I could call the ambulance? Usually I can’t touch anything.”

“Probably.”

“Tell him thanks, if it was him. Also how is the asking out thing going?”

“Badly, I have tried so many times and it never worked. He’s just really oblivious.”

“Himbo?”

“Yes.”

“Ask him out straight. Well, since you’re gay, it wouldn’t be straight, but you know what I mean. Tell him outright that you want to date him.”

“I’ll try.”

“Keep me updated, I want to know if he accepts.”

“I will. I suppose I’ll speak to you later then?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Bye then.”

“Goodbye.”

I stayed in the bathroom a few minutes before making my way back into the bedroom. The first thing I noticed was that they were still asleep. “Good.” I thought, “At least they won’t be sleep deprived.” Then I noticed it- the door was ajar a crack. “Strange.” I thought. “I was sure I made them lock it.” That’s when I saw it. A singular eye, peering at them through the door, filled with a malicious intent I noticed instantaneously. I shivered. Bright blue with red streaks running through it- easily distinguishable and recognisable. It was the same eye I had seen 1 month ago, and again 10 years ago. They were back to finish the job. Gently, I used whatever power I could muster to push the door closed and lock it, leaning on it to make sure they couldn’t get in- I knew whoever it was had the keys. Quickly I remembered something Ashton had given me a while ago in case of a situation like this. Carefully, I fished a small silver charm with wood beads in white and yellow out of my pocket, and tied it around the door handle. Hoping it would work, I stepped away form the door. Their key turned in the lock, unlocking it again. I prepared for the worst, standing by the telephone- next to the door in case I could apprehend them.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!” screamed the door as they tried to force their way through the door, quickly realising it wouldn’t open by the handle, after trying the key in the lock a few times. Despite it being just wood, they were failing miserably. Glad to know Ashton’s charm worked. For he believed it was a protection spell, given to him by a god looking like a crow, but at the same time, he could tell it wasn’t really a crow. Why wouldn’t a god choose a crow to parade around as- I mean, it’s jet black, sleek and pretty, and supposedly very clever. As I always say, who am I to judge? At least I knew the charm worked, and we had something to protect us until I could convince Bee to but some more security stuff for the doors and windows- especially the hinges that have a pin to lock them so it doesn’t pivot. Those would be a godsend. Then we’d only have to worry about the strength of the glass and the door- easily fixable with the charm. With that plan set, I sat in the corner, next to the bed, and with a clear view of the door. I sat, planning out a security plan for next time, before eventually losing consciousness- something I didn’t know ghosts could do.

#Twin Skeleton's #TW unreality #Original Content #TW death #TW gore #TW murder #TW swearing

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