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alilaro · 10 months

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I have some Thoughts on Evangelion, and I'm hyperfixating right now, so here's a massive info-dump on it. Thank you and I'm sorry.

(trigger warnings for: child abuse, child death, gore mention, pedophilia, mental health, depression, suicide, and potentially more.)

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So, my take on the End Of Evangelion is like a 'Worst Timeline AU.' So what would've happened if Shinji had given into the crippling (justified) trauma and deepest depression of an abused, manipulated, and unfathomably damaged child soldier.

The way Misato constantly screams at him throughout the entire series to 'be a man' and pressures him to get into the EVA and fight literal biblical, kaiju-like angels.

The pressure of trying and failing to get a crumb of praise or approval from his neglectful and spiteful father.

The way people (and fans, tbh) get upset with him for constantly changing his mind. How if he doesn't pilot the EVA, either he or his friends could die. The pressure every adult puts on him. Or again, the absolute cosmic terror of just seeing—let alone having to murder these angels.

Of course, he quits all the time, he's 14. He's a child. An average adult with all the combat training in the world would easily do the same.

Yet he comes back again and again, because of the guilt, the self-loathing, the manipulation of the adults around him—

(who can have all the greatest intentions in the world, "the greater good", etc etc, and it doesn't change a goddamn thing that they are putting these children into death machines and treating it like if they dont do it they are selfish and worthless)

—that if he doesn't do it, his friends will do it and either they or others will die if it's not him.

Like, the point isn't that he can't make up his mind: it's the fact that even if he "gives up", he still keeps coming back, and putting himself before others, despite the grief, despite the pain, despite the trauma

A fourteen-year-old child refuses to stop getting up and trying. Which I feel is symbolic of the whole shows entire meaning, no matter how dark things are, how much you hurt, how much others hurt you, how you feel like nothing, and you want it all to just stop—the pain, the memories, the guilt, the crushing weight of complete utter depression—even as the darkest envelops you and holds you tight, you feel like you can never escape: there is ALWAYS a way out of it.

It's fucking hard, you will lose yourself in it, you will hurt so, so much—but eventually you can find your way out. Through time, through loved ones, through therapy, and more. It's never too late or someone is too far gone in their own despair that they can't be saved and brought back.

And that's not even mentioning the other children. Fans enjoy Asuka more than Shinji because she's got that quick, snappy, high-energy personality. She's overly proud and stubborn, and she loves to fight in her EVA. And Rei, she's the shy quiet girl (a Kuudere, even (didnt like writing that)) designed to be mysterious, and to speculate over. Who is she? Why is she so calm? Does she have a personality behind that demeanor?

But, just like Shinji, they are all child soldiers, and like him, they are products of trauma and manipulation by adults.

Rei, was made in a fool-hearted attempt to bring back Shinji's mother, Yui Ikari, by combining her remains with Lilith. What they got was Rei. An assimilation of Yui, Lilith, Eva, all combining into Rei Ayanami.

Her creators obviously had attachments to her, both having loved Yui before her death, and Gendo Ikari almost took her on as a daughter-like figure (Rei being the name he would've given to his child Shinji, if he had been born a girl,) and revoltingly even more than that.

But as the theme of the series goes, good intentions from adults mean very little, and often act as nothing more than an excuse for creating/doing inconceivably monstrous acts.

She is of course used as an EVA pilot, being able to manipulate her form into a 14-year-old. She is used as a tool. She is replaceable. She knows this. She has no desires because no one has ever cared enough about Rei as her own person to let her think for herself, asked her what she wants, her likes, her dreams, her fears.

Rei's entire existence at this point is to serve, and in an eerie way, the only thing she wants is to serve Gendo, because he's shown her the only breadcrumbs of "compassion" she's ever known.

And then Shinji comes along. Shinji has no idea what she is, only that she is another EVA pilot like himself. He speaks to her as he would anyone else. He cares about her, and her well-being as another person. Actual true compassion.

In episode 06, when Rei is hurt and thought to have died by Shinji, he pries open the hatch to her EVA, ignoring the scalding heat that burns his hands to do so. He finds her alive and cries, and she smiles for him.

This scene is an exact parallel that takes place before with Rei and Gendo (Shinji's father.) He pries open the hatch, scalding his hands too, and finds her alive inside. It's identical except for one thing: Compassion.

Shinji fights to free and help Rei, and when he sees her alive, he is overcome with relief that she, Rei, is alive. He is in tears, he tells her she isn't nothing, implying her life is worth something and people care about her.

When Gendo does it, he does it like a man trying to save a valuable asset. He sees she's okay, and mutters 'I see', and that's the end of it.

Again, in episode 23, when Rei actually dies and is replaced; she is confronted by herself (the Meta Rei, the Rei in her purest, most godly self. A combination of all her sense of beings,) and realizes that she is feeling, she is lonely, she is suffering, and for the first time she cries, and asks herself if this just for her love of Gendo, before sacrificing herself in death to save everyone—specifically shinji.

She is replaced by her many clones, but this time she regains some of her memories, her feelings, her anger, and she is more human now, less vessel, more soul. She is Rei.

In the End of Evangelion, we see the depths of Gendo's depravity. He wants his wife, Yui, back as she was, of course. But in the meanwhile, there's Rei. Rei who is part Yui—a substitute. He touches her breast, an attempt to merge with her, and moves his hand down further to rest between her hips, inside her.

Rei is as much his daughter figure and a child, as she is a part of his own wife, and arises from this: an Oedipus Complex. Gendo treats her as a disposable tool, yet holds Yui at his highest priority. She is his to do with as she likes. How many times has he used her like this? How many times has he committed these atrocities with this child behind closed doors?

Amongst everything else Rei is, she is also a victim of pedophilia.

And in her final moments, while he attempts to merge with Rei in a delusional attempt to bring back Yui, Rei becomes her own being. Rei puts her foot down and says no. She's had enough.

"I will not be a puppet for you to control."

She takes the hand of Adam, fully merges with Lilith, and becomes a God.

And what does she do with all that power? She takes it all, and gives it to Shinji. The one person that ever consistently showed her care and compassion, showed her love. Made her realize she is her own person, gives her the strength to realize her worth and refuse Gendo Ikari, and choose her own path.

Her choice can be argued as good or bad, both. But in the end it was REI's choice, and no one elses.

Asuka uses her anger and her fighting as a means to cope with a barbaric childhood. Her mother, Kyoko, underwent a Contact Experiment when Asuka would have been ~5 years old.

Kyoko survived, but lost her mind completely, thinking her real daughter was actually a doll, and leaving Asuka completely neglected by her mother, all whilst begging and trying to convince her that SHE was her real daughter, not some doll she clung to.

Meanwhile, her father was completely unaffected by this, and even had moved on with another woman (An affair that had been going on before Kyoko fell apart completely, the woman being Kyoto's doctor, that she knew about, and took place in their own home while both mother and daughter were present.) Throwing himself back into his own life with this new woman, and job, Asuka was left with nothing.

Asuka's mother finally snaps and plans her own suicide. She invites Asuka, and with nothing else and wanting nothing more than to be acknowledged by anyone, agrees to take their lives together.

As if all of this isn't bad enough, as a final blow, Asuka's mother takes her own life without Asuka, leaving a five-year-old CHILD to find her mother hanging lifelessly, betrayed and alone again.

Her entire personality isn't because she's 'cool' or 'bossy', its an unfathomably traumatized child, constantly in pain and unable to trust anyone, because she has been taught as an infant that she can not rely on the people meant to care for her, because her parents taught her that in the most brutal and disturbing way possible.

There's even reference to her trying to repeat her mother's suicide after disappearing from the fight, only to be found gravely injured and withering away in a bathtub.

She fights so hard to be independent because she refuses to let herself be hurt and abandoned again.

At the End of Evangelion, even when she is screaming and crying, bleeding to death after being speared through the eye, losing power, and being cannibalized alive in her EVA, she is still so desperate, so angry, that she refuses to die, swearing vengeance on her enemies through dying rattled breaths, and it isn't until she is bombarded with blades that she finally succumbs. And at the hands of NERV.

Again, she, and every single EVA pilot, is only 14 years old.

tldr: The series is about child trauma, children being turned into soldiers, the failings of adults around them, and the tragically brutal and real aftermath of the wreaks of havoc that would have on a child.

#I had to get this out of me because the loud fanbase for this show is fucking putrid #and also im hyperfixating and needed to get that out of my system LMAO #evangelion #neon genesis evangelion #eva #end of evangelion #evangelion shinji #evangelion asuka #evangelion rei #shinji ikari #asuka langley sōryū #rei ayanami #kyoko zeppelin sōryū #saiyū langley #gendo ikari #yui ikari

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margarine-archives · 1 year

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Could I possibly request a Capsaicin Cookie x female reader dating headcanons for when ur requests are open again? (First time requesting, hope I didn’t say anything bad/wrong 😭😭) ty!!

General Dating HCs with: Capsaicin Cookie !

note: hello ! I feel as if this request was such perfect timing (my little capsaicin draft has been sitting for awhile !) with that, I'm afraid this doesn't mention a feminine reader due to the fact this was made weeks prior, so I apologize for that ! I hope you may still enjoy this !

I apologize for my abrupt hiatus aswell, I have been hyperfixated on other things (the owl house !) but now I have returned ! I am planning on a fluff alphabet for a certain cookie ! ~

- upon realization before your relationship, capsaicin is hesitant, both in admitting his admiration for you and the possibility of commiting to a relationship. He's afraid of you fearing him overtime, or even after knowing about his affections for you

- harming you is the last thing he wants to happen, even if his entire reason for liking you is because you embraced him, embraced every bit of flaw he had despite the dangers he may cause, erupt, despite having the power to turn you to burnt crumbs, it was like you didn't care about such risks.. He's concerned, yet at the same time, his sweet, crumbled heart felt like melting lava !

- you made him feel free from the confinements of invisible shackles, to feel lighter despite the huge mountain of insecurities that weighed him down, you made him feel like .. well, him !

- he wanted to grow closer to you, to embrace you aswell ! but alongside, he wanted to distance himself as far away from you as possible. He sees you as a cookie too fragile, who might crumble the moment he touches you !

- this may take months- even years ! unless you are aware of his lingering emotions, then please do talk him out of this phase ! You don't know how much he yearns for your touch, but simply cannot because of his dying heat ( you may or may not have asked prune juice cookie for a fire resistance potion ! )

- upon the course of dating, capsaicin is a very clingy man, both in public and in private. Nearly his entire life without any form of physical cookie contact took a huge toll on him ! He is, without his knowledge, a very touch starved man. Though if you address your concerns about PDA then he will stop immediately ( a bit sulky about it but he gets over it overtime ! )

- public affection aside, he can get quite possessive aswell, not from ill intentions or anything ! Capsaicin has an extremely low self esteem, any cookie he sees interacting with you ( especially if its a suitor of yours ) automatically makes him think that the cookie is more deserving of you than he ever will

- if you do dislike PDA, then he is more eager to staying indoors rather than being outside ( that's quite the surprise ! ). It's like his firing heart might die out if he goes on a day without holding your hand ! Must you talk so long with a friend of yours ? he already misses your sweet touch !

- your suitors could treat you way better than he can, they would let you live a love life without any form of danger - you're safer with any other cookie other than capsaicin ! yet you decided to choose him.

- he constantly ponders if he even has the qualities of being a good partner, often questioning the things he does for you. He wonders if his efforts lack more .. effort, that maybe your suitors can truly be a better partner than him, a dangerous cookie since his youngest days. He doesn't want you to have to risk being in danger because of him !

- capsaicin refuses to listen to any other reassurances if its not from you, but he also dislikes speaking up about it, he doesn't want any cookie to feel the pressure of having to reassure him, even if cookies like kouign-amann wouldn't mind such things

- the good thing is that it's noticeable whenever he does feel upset about something, and whether it's about insecurities or his own trauma, please do comfort him ! give him physical affection and lots of praise ! he'll think that he doesn't deserve such words but it does feel nice to hear someone say that to him, especially you !

- capsaicin cookie dislikes being restrained, it doesn't matter what place ! so your dates are very frequent, if not everyday. He simply likes roaming around earthbread, hands swaying back and forth as he rambles endlessly about his friends' antics !

- alongside this, I have a strong feeling that he over prepares before he goes out on your date. He has to make sure he is prepared for anything and everything ! But for some reason he somehow forgets an item or two, one time you both went on a picnic date and he forgot the flowers !

- loves holding hands with you ! Whether it be for comfort, to ground his inner self, or to show small affections for you, playing with your fingers or massaging your palms

- likes showing off his strength to you ! In public and in private. He feels that it is a must - do requirement to prove himself to you ! To show off that you are dating a strong cookie, a cookie that has a burning passion for you !

- below the surface of hot lava, he can be very soft spoken with you, he feels so much trust and comfort in you to the point that it doesn't feel like a constant requirement to appear strong and mighty, because any other cookie, strong or weak, can have their opposite moments too !

- despite the mindset he has of needing to prove himself useful to you, capsaicin cookie is now aware that this isn't how healthy relationships work, and that you simply wont leave him for even the slightest bit of weakness shown. He is learning to love himself just as much as he loves you !

#crk x reader #cookie run x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #capsaicin cookie #capsaicin cookie x reader #capsaicin x reader

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polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup · 1 year

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for the fic writer asks: 3, 15, and 18!!

3: What’s a fic idea that you have but haven’t written yet?

oof, there's a lot. i'm very longwinded and i hyperfixate easily, which is a recipe for fics that take a long time to make and then never gets made.

the all stars:

bucky barnes designated driver au: a personal fave, no idea if i'll ever write it in full but i hope i do. bucky barnes, fresh out of hydra, ends up stumbling into hell's kitchen and meets its devil. matthew murdock has an air of such good natured, reckless stupidity that usually manifests in a violent back alley street fight that it punches through decades of hydra programming because jesus christ, this man is terminally, dangerously stupid. why is that so familiar. this is one of the most chaotic things i've ever come up with and i love it with my whole heart. it's one of my favorite peter parkers i've ever come up with in it. he's so feral. may is where he gets it from. she is in a polycule with frank castle and karen page. it's so fun.

peter parker roommates au: weird cosmic energy linked the three peters from nwh and let them do what america chavez does, just with each other's universes. they immediately use this fact to save on rent costs by moving in together. multiverse shenanigans ensue. this one i'm probably going to write after i wrap up a few other projects.

time travel au: probably never going to write this one unfortunately, which is a shame, because it's an absolute party. matt murdock and peter parker are sent back to their old bodies in a freak magic accident. they immediately decide not to tell the fucking wizards this happened, because the fucking wizards ruin everything trying to "preserve the timeline" and "not destroy the multiverse as they know it." it's fine, peter did the math and they only have like a 13ish% chance of destroying space and time, trapping everyone in an endless void where death and escape will be impossible and those are like, AMAZING odds. and they sort of need those odds because they got booted back to the day that frank castle's family died and they simply fucking immediately saved them with no regard for the consequences. featuring a peter who refuses to be swayed by the fact that he's fucking thirteen again, he's going to airdrop the CIA's files to the entire state of new york, a matt who insists that he is aware that peter is like, thirteen and allergic to grass but this is one of his best friends, it's not weird, a frank who has no idea who these fucking people are, and a karen and foggy who got together and immediately sailed over the relationship hurdle of both mutually finding matt to be unspeakably attractive when he engages in open and honest communication, stumbled right into the most awkward seduction of all time. everyone is so stupid, except for peter, who is using this less of a romance opportunity and more as an opportunity to commit federal crimes.

Spider-Man v Kingpin x2: I have these two really different plot lines of Peter Parker versus the kingpin that’s like, cat and mouse, mind games, suspense type things. An older peter parker than what I currently have on my account, post nwh, that kind of showcases his ability to hold his own in the new york underground. Ensemble vigilante cast for both, but in very different ways. disney hire me i would make either of these into an eight episode series in a second.

De-fridging the punisher's family: okay so like, i think there's a distinction between all “my wife/kids/girlfriend/family died and now i have to commit gratuitous acts of violence” backstories and fridging that's like, bad writing (even though it almost always is bad writing, very few writers have pulled it off) and i don't actually think frank castle's backstory is bad writing. that being said, i LOVE undoing it. i do not know why i am hyper fixated on the castles, but i am. they are alive and they live in my head. i have wayyy too many stories that are focused on the castle family. i do not know why. my favorites:

Maria Castle was Jack Murdock's kid sister AU--probably one of the sadder ones of the bunch. Maria is the painfully estranged aunt of Matt Murdock, who she recently bumped into, only to find that he looked like someone kicked the shit out of him. In an effort to make sure he's okay, she tries to revive ties long since buried. She invites him to join her family on their tradition in Central Park.

"Castles for Christmas" AU--Winter break is here, the dorms have plumbing issues, Foggy has a mandatory trip visiting a horrible bitch of a great aunt who doesn't want any blind best friends tagging along, and Matt says "I have a place to stay" when the place is an old mattress next to the boiler in Fogwell's. Meanwhile, Agent Orange takes a very different approach to the problem of Frank Castle and steals his kids. Matt Murdock hears a couple of kids in trouble and decides to handle it himself. When the kids' father tracks him down afterwards--well, nightmare scenario, but they aren't ratting him out to the cops, so it's as good as it can go. The problem: these people are fucking insane and their mission of "thank the nice young man who saved our kids" turned into "fully kidnap him and force him to live in their guest bedroom because they have an exaggerated sense of duty and this man is living like a fucking goblin." Featuring a matt who's like, trying to politely explain to the Castles that he appreciates the concern, but also this is a fucking kidnapping, like there's literal zip ties involved, like seriously this is a felony, a castle family who has decided that if frank keeps dragging him off the windowsill before he can wriggle his way to freedom then maybe they'll give him stockholm syndrome and it will be a nonissue, and a foggy who is wondering if his best bro has been enslaved by a suburban family of four to make gingerbread men.

Maria Castle Matt Murdock Best Bros Au--at the start of his Daredevil career, Matt saves a random suburban housewife mid-mugging--only she was in the process of saving herself and Matt gets clipped with a bullet in the process. the injury to his person is minor. the injury to his pride is major when random suburban housewife pistol whips him in a moment of panic, proceeds to kidnap masked man for medical treatment. The thing is 1) she hates the PTA 2) it's so hard to make adult friends with you know, kids and everything 3) she is extraordinarily okay with aiding and abetting and 4) this man is her dumbass little brother now, look at him, he's so ridiculous and pathetic, she can't not bully him, this is an excellent life decision curtis calm DOWN. featuring a curtis who does not want to be a part of this, please and thank you, maria stop calling him, and a frank still in Afghanistan, under the impression that this is his wife's new gay best friend instead of like. a man she met via vigilante justice.

15: Are there words, phrases, mannerisms or scenes you tend to use a lot?

Uhhh, i overuse stuff like “(s)he sighs” or “(s)he doesn’t say anything” or “(S)he scoffs” and “(s)he shrugs,” etc. because i’m looking for a specific like, rhythm(?) in a conversation or in the prose and shove in those mannerisms like placeholders. I haven’t figured out a better way to handle that problem with my writing yet, but hopefully will one day.

Frank’s a weirdly expressive character, at least the way Jon Bernthal plays him, so I tend to kind of add in like, exaggerated exasperation. He has a lot of looking heavenward for strength, side-eyeing, that kind of thing.

Matt and Peter very purposefully have some parallels across my projects, but especially the Matt and peter in pottery shards. it’s this kind of impatient way of downplaying concern for them. I think that all narrators are inherently unreliable, is the thing. It’s all going to be framed through their mindsets and experiences. Matt and Peter are both deeply isolated characters who don’t know how to comprehend--let alone accept--help and concern, for different reasons. Matt’s used to systemic abuse and instability. He’s used to him having problems being treated as him having done something wrong and being punished for it. So there’s usually a scene with a character showing some pretty appropriate concern for him--Brett, Foggy, Karen, etc.--and Matt’s entire internal monologue is about how endless this conversation is and how he doesn’t know why they’re reacting like this, and the thing they’re reacting to is like, horrible abuse.

Peter has the same thing, because Peter in pottery shards is someone who enters the narrative as someone who has purposefully isolated himself and set himself into the mindset that people trying to interfere in his life--aka help him, the fourteen year old--is just going to hurt both himself and the people he loves. And there’s a lot of reasons for this, not all of which has been unpacked yet, but it’s resulted in this same mindset that Matt has as perceiving concern as something that’s at best a waste of his time and at worst a big problem he has to fix. So you have scenes where Curtis is actively providing him health care, or teachers are concerned about his wellbeing, and his entire internal monologue is either frustrated musings on how to get out of this, or perceiving it as them being upset with him.

Foggy and karen haven’t gotten to the brunt of their roles yet in any of the projects, but I usually try to model them around these same internal baseline characteristics that results in repeated mannerisms. Foggy is someone who is usually very purposeful in how he acts and the words he uses. like, he’s really more self aware than any other character, and he’s good at teasing through the maladaptations of other characters. So foggy gets these repeat lines of verbal clarifications like “This isn’t a fight” because he’s good at clocking what exactly is wrong with another character and trying to make his own actions clear. I’ll refrain from karen because most of her repeated baseline characteristics haven’t popped up yet.

18: Recommend someone else fic! (And tag them if they have a tumblr!)

i don’t think this author has a tumblr, and I haven’t seen anything from the in years, but silverpard on both AO3 and fanfiction.net has this one fic that changed the chemistry of my brain. it’s called a mirror, darkly and it influenced my own writing to a ridiculous degree. i’m not much of one for batman, never got into DC, but it’s very much worth it.

#fanfic ask games #that's surprisingly not all of my defridging the castles fics #i don't know why i care so much about hte castles #why am i obsessed with them

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touyubesposts · 1 year

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Holy shit, The mind electric by Chonny Jash makes my Sander Sides hyperfixation hit DIFFERENT-

Especially if you look at the heart segment as Patton and Janus, The mind section as Logan and Virgil, and the soul segment as Roman and Remus.

To further my point, here are some actual lyrics from the song ((with notes by me)):

The Heart segment:

But as complacency settles, anxieties will rise

And part this Soul as Jekyll parted Hyde

Now I’m but half of a hollow man’s lies:

The love, the hate, the еmotional side

((LIKE BROO???? Janus and Patton talking about doing nothing will just make Virgil be anxious and talking about how Thomas has them seperated))

“I know I’m weak. I know that I’m vile

But sometimes that is needed to survive.”

That’s what I’ll say to rationalize

“I’m needed if we’re to stay alive.”

((Janus trying to convince himself he is needed))

And yet, here I lie with black, sunken eyes

My Mind’s consigned our sighs to a leaden void

The Soul remains tempered. I remain plied

Condemned ‘til we are both all but destroyed

((Patton sad that Logan and Virgil are convinced that emotion is not needed, convinced that this will do more bad than good.))

But I know that one plus one can’t equal two

If happiness is both our truths

Our total sum must equal one if we’re to find that golden hue

((Basically like ‘Hey, guys! We need to be apart of this whether you like it or not!’ Also trying to convince the others that happiness is the ultimate goal.))

See how The Mind tricks The Soul

Into being something sickly, dead and cold

As you feel it start to tire and fester so, so slowly

Up until the point where it will finally die

Just in time to see what could have been

((Talking about Virgil and Logan trying to convince Roman and Remus to be on their side?? Also talking about how this is a bad idea because they could pass opportunities. God, I need an animatic and I need it now-))

Do what you want, you automaton freak

No, I can no longer bring myself to care

This hollowed out vessel’s beginning to creak

So take control, let’s see how you fare

((Janus being sassy before the Parts change? Iconic.))

The mind segment:

Resident Heart is feeble and frail

A scourge to purge; due diligence is all

Silent, sad outbursts, inaudible wails

Dictate he never does as he’s told

((Logan and Virgil talking about Patton? Mad he’s doing his job and has emotion, talk about projection.)

Fathers of fathers, brothers of sons

Deterred from being what they know they can

All because Heart refuses to run

This creature hardly resembles a man

((Once again, these boys trash-talking Patton, but now also bringing the ‘sons’ into this (R&R)))

My logic is the absolute

His pity parties simply harm these chances at an apt repute:

Esteemed regard in place of mockery

((Logan talking about the others and how he needs to be listened to more))

I’m sure it seems from his point of view

That I’m a simple, cynical machine

But is it so hard to see the whole truth?

I merely seek a Soul that’s pristine

((Virgil talking about Janus and how he only wants the best for Thomas))

See how The Heart plays profound

(See how he lies.)

But the depth is insincere

A pathetic, thin veneer

All the pain, regret and fear still resound

((Just more L and V talking shit, but more specifically critiquing on how Patton and Janus both think they know best when they don’t))

Though I seem harsh in all my assessments

We each seek a life lived in the light

Yet, there lies our Heart, engulfed in resentment

Stubborn, pale akaryocyte

((Logan being like ‘yeah, I was a little harsh, but I’m not gonna fucking apologize because something needs to be done.’ Also equated ‘having emotions’ as having a ‘virus’ because that's what akaryocyte means))

The soul segment:

Call me The Soul or call me my name

Oh, label me whatever you would like

Call me your host or call me insane

If that will help you stay in line

((Basically an introduction, but also why I put Remus as the soul because he would be like ‘Yeah, I’m insane, sure, but it works, doesn’t it?’))

Fathers of fathers, I know that I’m vile

Let’s see how long it takes to murder me

Neither is wrong, yet neither is right

Condemn him to the infirmary

((Remus basically knowing his job is to be terrible and telling Patton “hey, I’m the exact opposite of you. And if you hate it so much, kill me.” While Roman is like “both sides have points, but I don’t know who to choose”))

I. Am. Me.

((You can’t tell me this isn’t all of them shouting this at the same time. They a frustrated bunch.))

See how the brain plays around

And it splits what once was whole down into three

And you fall inside a hole, inside a

Someone help me

Understand what’s going on behind my eyes

Doctor, I can’t tell if I’m not me

((The creativity twins both mad at Logan and Virgil for digging deeper into the psyche, trying to make sense of things.))

See how they fight all day

The other half won’t hear what’s had to say

It’s just the game they play here in this labyrinth maze

((Do I... Do I need to over-analyze this line? I feel like this one does the job for me))

Tridential regicide

I won’t hesitate to kill my Heart and Mind

I will abdicate these deviants sat inside

I’ll take you down in tandem when this rope is tied

((Basically both of them saying ‘this fighting is gonna kill me and, in turn, us.))

And this was a lot longer than I intended. And there are parts I didn’t even get to! Please listen! God, it's so good.

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ardent-musings · 3 years

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“The Sweet Ones”

Neville Longbottom Smut

based off these two requests

Look, this is gonna be fucking long since I quite like Neville peep my username

EVERYONE IN THIS STORY IS OF LEGAL AGE AND CONSENTING

Warnings: NSFW 18+, dom!neville, swearing, spanking, oral sex fen receiving, restraints, rough sex, vaginal sex (WRAP THAT SHIT UP).

“No! Tell me you’re joking!”

You laughed alongside Ginny on a couch in the Gryffindor common room. It was well past midnight and by this time everyone was either asleep or in bed trying to fall asleep. You would be doing the same, except for the fact that you and Ginny were sharing far too many salacious details of your relationships to even think about bed.

“But toys, ties, he gagged you with your underwear?”

Ginny once again nodded as she brought a hand to cover her now flushed cheeks.

“Well, you know what they say, it’s always the sweet ones who are down with that kind of thing,” she chucked a Bertie Bott’s bean into her mouth, “but you know all about that.”

“I do?”

Ginny took her attention off the box of sweets to stare at you pointedly, “If there’s anyone softer then Dean, it’s Neville. Now tell me, what nasty shit have you guys tried?”

This was not how you pictured your evening going, you started out talking about Quidditch. But apparently Ginny in her chaser uniform really got Dean going and then the conversation spiraled out of control. You were fine listening to Ginny’s filth but when it came to your own, there wasn’t much to share.

“Nev is sweet, through and through, Gin.”

“So you mean...”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Really? That surprises me. I mean, he’s so gentle normally I figured there had to be something else going on.”

You started to grow warm from the way she depicted Neville in bed. Ginny went through a list of kinks the herbologist would possibly be into and with every new submission your heart pounder heavier. Some of them sound intriguing, and you let Ginny know which ones you would be interested in trying, although that was wishful thinking.

“Look, it’s not like I don’t wanna try these things. It’s just that Nev is,” you paused thinking of the right word to use, “he’s vanilla.”

You two continued talking for a bit longer, depicting how your sex life dulled in comparison to Ginny and Dean’s and how you wished for more. Neville was always good to you during sex, but sometimes you wished he’d lose control just long enough to have his way with you.

The fire started burning lowly in the logs, signaling it was time for both of you to go to bed. You and Ginny went to your respective dorms, feeling both riled up yet frustrated at the same time.

Down in the common room, sat Neville who had come out of his hiding spot near the portrait door. He heard everything; how he was too soft, too gentle, too passive. Neville assumed you picked him because of those things and it never occurred to him that you would like to see another side of him during sex. Knowing that you wanted him be anything other than polite sent his mind in overdrive. He went to bed hyperfixating on every kink, pet name, position you fantasized about and stored it for later use.

The next day went normally. You went to classes like typical but when you sat next to Neville during dinner you could tell something was off. By now he would’ve been telling you about his new favorite plant, it changed everyday. But today he was sitting, jaw clenched as he held your hand beneath the table while refusing to look at you. You figured he had a bad day and left it at that.

Dean came running up to you, grasping a foot long of parchment before dropping it in front of you.

“Please, I’m desperate, I have no idea what any of this means and Charms is your best class. Please help.”

You rolled your eyes, but took the boy’s paper and began critiquing his assignment, sharing your expertise. It was all very normal, until Neville took your hand that was in his and placed it on his leg. He had never been so brazen, especially in public, but you looked at him and smiled as you squeezed his thigh. Neville’s intense glare sent a shiver down your spine as it was accompanied by a smirk. It was unusual but wonderful.

The longer you spent with Dean, exchanging information and jokes from time to time, the more handy Neville was. He was now resting his hand on your thigh, twiddling the hem of your skirt between his fingers and occasionally dipping them beneath the fabric. Suddenly you couldn’t focus on anything but Neville.

“Uh, Dean,” you stuttered as Neville’s hand moved higher, “yeah, I’ve gotta go, I forgot I got detention.”

Dean’s brows furrowed, you never got detention. He didn’t get to question you though, as you pulled Neville up and out of the Great Hall with you. His teasing touches on you had your mind set on only one thing and you were ready to head to Gryffindor tower.

Neville had another thought in mind, instead he pulled you down a corridor and into a lesser used classroom. As soon as the door closed, he grabbed your hands and held them above your head, dipping down so his breath tickled your ear.

“I heard what you told Ginny last night,” he groaned lowly, his nose grazed your jaw. “Didn’t seem too shy about sharing exactly how disappointed you are with my performance, huh?”

Your eyes widened at his comment, feeling even hotter beneath his stern look. You tripped over your words, but your mumbling was instantly silenced as soon as Neville pressed his body fully against yours.

“No need to say anything, darling. I already heard it all. Apparently, you would like me to ‘fuck you like I hate you’ yeah?”

His lips were now ghosting over your throat, nipping along the way, unable to mask the quiet moans.

“Is that what you want, petal?”

Neville pulled away for a moment, his usual soft eyes offering you a look of the boy you adored. He waited patiently for you to give him the green light.

Breathlessly yet excitedly you nodded at him, “Yes, Neville. That’s what I want.”

“Sure you wouldn’t want someone like Dean to take my spot? You seemed pretty impressed with him last night.”

“No, Neville, I want you. Just you.”

He kissed you softly making you melt into his touch, savoring how he tasted like the vanilla ice cream from dinner.

“Then be a good girl for me. Hop on the desk.”

You shivered from how demanding his tone had become, but your breath caught in your throat once he unknotted his crimson tie and wrapped it around his fist.

You got onto the professor’s desk and noticed how there were no quills or ink wells. No one had been here for a while.

Neville sauntered towards you with a smirk, standing between your thighs.

“Shirt off.”

You complied again, feeling exhilarated from the boy in front of you proving himself to be more.

He held your hand, diving in to kiss you with so much force that you nearly fell backwards. It was messy and hard, but somehow so him.

One of his calloused hands raised to massage your breast, expertly teasing your nipple through the thin material of your bra. His lips left yours to trail down your neck to suck on the swell of your chest.

“Mind if I have a go with this?” He held his tie in front of you, waving the fabric with a wink.

You smiled widely and nodded, giggling as you presented your wrists to him. Neville’s chuckle bursted at the gesture, making him shake his head in joyful disbelief.

“Fuckin’ hell, I’m lucky,” he commented as he wove the tie around your wrists, double checking to make sure it wasn’t too tight.

You let out a yelp as he flipped you over so you were laying on the hard wood, belly down with your hands pinned beneath you.

Neville flipped your skirt over, grabbing the tops of your thighs and digging his nails lightly into your skin.

“I’m gonna give you a rundown of my plans, sweetheart,” he hummed as he gripped the straps of your panties, tugging them down your hips but not fully off. “First, I’m gonna spank your ass you like you deserve. It’s what you deserve after gossiping with Ginny last night. Then, I’m going to eat your pretty little pussy and then,” he pressed his body against your back. You could feel just how hard he had gotten and it made you wiggle your hips, just trying to get any friction, “Then I’m going to fuck you like the filthy little thing you are, sweetie.”

Without another seconds notice, Neville gripped your underwear and ripped it off of you, his large hands cupping and rubbing your ass meticulously. You could feel yourself growing wet already, just hearing Neville speak so openly and bluntly about handling you was making you ready.

“Give me the go, and I’ll make your ass red, baby.”

You groaned desperately, nearly lifting to your knees to get closer to him, “yes, please.”

Neville slapped you, not too hard, just enough to gauge your reaction to the new action. If your moan was anything to go by, he figured he could go a bit harder.

He alternated from side to side, reeling in the way you started to grind against the desk with every hit, practically mewling at his hands. Neville had never pictured doing this, but he couldn’t deny how pretty you sounded as you allowed him to use you the way he wanted. He could’ve gone longer, but the sight of you dripping down onto the desk looked too good to ignore any longer.

Your yell echoed in the room as Neville suddenly pressed his tongue against your pussy, licking up the evidence of his effect on you. He pulled you so close, ensuring that your hips lined up with his face; Neville had settled on his knees behind you.

His tongue began relentlessly feasting on you, growling into you which made your eyes roll back. He had gone down on you before, but this was different. Neville wasn’t doing this to make you feel good, he was doing it because he craved the taste of you on his tongue.

You couldn’t imagine feeling any better, Neville’s hands were holding you open, reminding you of the gentle sting on your ass. But when Neville wrapped his lips around your clit and filled you with two fingers, your hips rose as did the heat in your body.

Neville was mesmerized by you gasping beneath him, repeating the motions that left you writhing and crying for him. He never liked seeing you cry, but the soft wetness coming from the corner of your eye made him feral.

You couldn’t hold back anymore, and with a final suck at your clit and a thrust of his fingers, you came hard against him. The feeling made your whole body shake, only making your clit oversensitive as it met the hard desk. Neville started to massage your legs, calming you from your high before placing a soft kiss to your glowing ass.

He slowly turned you back around, grabbing your tied wrists and holding them above you, tying the rest of the fabric to the knob on the desk drawer. Your chest was still heaving and he couldn’t help but moan at the smell of your sweet sweat and the way your back was arched.

“Still have it in you to take my cock, honey?” He bit at your collarbone as he unclasped your bra and let it rest by your bound hands. Your exposed chest was being fully loved by Neville, his lips trailed your skin as you searched for your answer. “You said you wanted it rough, didn’t you? If that’s true, then we’re not done here.”

His tone was cheeky, but his darkened eyes alerted you to the hunger that still festered in your boy. He couldn’t keep his mouth off you, his swollen lips reached yours again, your whimper was silenced by his kiss as he pulled off your skirt.

“Actually, hold on, Nev.”

His big soft eyes searched yours, suddenly worried by your objection.

“What is it, love? Did I do something wrong? We can st-”

“No, it’s just,” a blush fell over your cheeks as you looked up at him, “Can you take off your shirt? I feel a bit uncomfortable being the only naked one.”

His panicked look disappeared at your request, and with one fell swoop his sweater was off his body, leaving him to just take off his pants. You loved Neville’s body. He was insecure some days, but he was perfect. His arms were muscular from lifting bags of soil and fertilizer and his back and legs were wonderfully firm. And you needed him.

He smiled as you whined, wriggling against your restraints. Once his trousers and briefs were off, his full body was on display for you. He made no move to cover himself, instead he just grabbed his cock and slowly stroked it against your pussy.

“I’m not going to go easy on you, doll,” he groaned, “this is what you wanted.”

“It’s what I want. Please, Neville,” you were mindlessly pleading for him to do something, you were aching for him to move. “Fuck me like you own me, please.”

Neville let out a low growl from the pit of his chest and without warning, he lined himself up and fully sank into you. By this time, the sounds coming from you were loud and full of desperate cries of Neville’s name. He was living up to your request, pulling all the way out to piston back in at a mind numbing pace.

“That’s right, honey, let everyone know who fucks you like this. Is that what you want?”

“That’s what I want.”

It took all of your focus to mumble those four simple words. As Neville rocked against you, his hand now wrapped around your throat, no clear thought ran through your mind. All you could focus on was how good Neville was making you feel.

You screamed once he started rubbing at your clit in timing with his thrusts, and you both knew you’d be done for. Neville kept thrusting deeply, his head falling back at the way your tightened against him.

“Fuck, baby, I’m close. Cum with me, baby. Do it.”

His grip on your throat tightened as did your legs around his waist. They were curled around him, doing everything you could to help him get you there. After a soft whimper from Neville, your body erupted. You moaned loudly, overwhelmed by his movements as your rode out your high. The air was heavy as you panted, and your squeezing around Neville’s cock made him cum right after you. He whined as his hips frantically met with your hips until his own orgasm died down.

His hair was sticking to his forehead in sweat, absolutely out of breath as he laid his head on top of your chest. Before you could even ask him to, he released your hands from the binds and placed tiny kisses to your wrists.

“Neville, holy shit.”

Your boy chuckled at you, his eyes warm and wide from your time together in the classroom.

“Was that okay?”

“That was amazing. Better than I could have even imagined.”

Neville’s bellowing laugh made you giggle beside him, basking in the comfort of your boyfriend and wiping the sweat from your neck.

“Well good, love,” he left a kiss to the tip of your nose, “now you can update Ginny about it all. Let her know that her theory about the ‘sweet ones’ is true.”

#this was a long ass smut #don't ask me how many words #i don't know #neville longbottom smut #neville smut #neville longbottom #i'm a simp #anon requests

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edwardelricsrightarm · 3 years

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"A lesson without pain is meaningless. For you cannot gain anything without sacrificing something else in return, but once you have overcome it and made it your own...you will gain an irreplaceable fullmetal heart." - Edward Elric

In honor of disability month and the FMA 20 year anniversary I wanted to address some Thoughts™️ about the series.

It's not often you see a disabled protagonist in media where their disability is integral to the story without taking up their entire character, even more so with anime. Yet, Fullmetal Alchemist has not just one disabled Protagonist, but two. The Elric Brothers are an exemplary representation of disability in media that I find myself reflecting on often as a disabled person myself. If you haven't completed the manga or Brotherhood, skip this as it will be brimming with spoilers.

(Mangahood will be my point of reference because while 03 is good on its own merits it's not as fresh within my immediate memory, and I am far less familiar with it. Keep this in mind, I've watched FMAB 10 and a half times whereas I've finished 03 only once years ago.)

The story highlights their disabilities immediately, Edward being a double amputee and Alphonse being without his ENTIRE body, only having the senses of proprioception, sight, and hearing left. Yet, despite this being key to the story and an integral part of their characterization, it is only one facet of their motivations and doesn't take center in the narrative, which is refreshing. It's not inherently negative to make a narrative centered on the characters' disabilities, but often this model of a story goes very wrong very fast and starts to feel hollow (no pun intended). FMA avoids this by making their disabilities a clear part of the plot and their motivations without allowing it to consume the entire story, so the Elric Brothers don't suffer the "my disability is all of my character" problem that many disabled characters are relegated to in a vast portion of media, all while being strong and competent.

Recap:

The brothers wished to revive their mother, but their good intentions cannot change the atrocity of their mistake, Truth makes this abundantly clear from the start. Edward loses his leg first, a punishment for "stepping" into God's shoes and transgressing the place of humans in their world. Alphonse loses his entire body, unable to feel any warmth or simple comforts like food and rest, when all he wanted was to feel the warmth and comfort of his mother's embrace again. At first, Alphonse's entire being is consumed by the gate, but Edward acts immediately, refusing to lose his little brother and refusing to allow his arrogance in this plan to cause his brother's death for only following his lead. Edward gives his right arm to have the gate give back Alphonse's soul, and stated clearly in his panic that he'd give his entire self to save Alphonse if that's what it would take, but Truth took his dominant arm only, showing something akin to mercy, although the character of Truth is capriciously strict and hard to describe as "merciful".

Through giving up his right arm, Edward regains his Right Hand Man, his little brother and best friend. His only remaining family, who he feels responsible for protecting in the absence of their parents. He felt immediately that he'd made a grave mistake, instantly full of regret as he realized the gate had taken his brother. In that moment he was willing to give anything to take it back and undo the suffering his arrogance caused his brother, yet Alphonse was still to suffer more to come. Ed tied Alphonse's disembodied soul to one of Hohenheim's collected suits of armor, managing to at least keep his brother alive in some way. One could say that Alphonse's punishment functioned as a secondary punishment for Edward, showing him how easily his hubris could have cost him what he has left in his obsession with regaining what they'd lost, their mother. A very clear symbolic reminder of the weight of his actions and how he'd misled his brother in his own naive ignorance. Even in giving another limb away to drag his brother's soul back out of the gate, he couldn't offer enough to bring him back intact. Thus is the law of equivalent exchange.

Now that we've reviewed some of that basic symbolism and the motifs the story draws upon with limbs and body parts in relation to characters, let's move on to each individual brother and break it down, shall we?

Edward Elric is a very realistic protagonist, this is one thing a majority of us familiar with this series can agree upon. He feels like a believable teen boy, with layers of complexity to his character while also showing arrogance and immaturity that is unsurprising at his age. He expresses unwillingness to kill and avoidance of unjust violence from the beginning, and has a strong moral code after the ordeal of committing the taboo.

In some characters his cocky personality would typically become grating, yet the story explains in itself why he is this way, then builds upon this to develop him into an incredibly mature character who is willing to admit when he's absolutely wrong and adapts to new information and context for the crisis unfolding around him as it comes, even if he remains crass. This arrogance is shown from the start to be a manifestation of insecurity, self loathing, and repressed guilt. Edward is a logic driven person, he has a very unique thought process, which is where my interpretation of him as autistic comes in. Edward's awkward social demeanor, somewhat abrasive and cold approach to some, and his trouble coping with nonsensical societal structures all stand out in this way. Furthermore he clearly shows hyperfixation, hyperactivity, special interest, and infodumping behaviors that are all too familiar. He's picky with food (*cough* the milk thing), has very little filter and speaks his mind bluntly even if this can warrant conflicting responses, yet at the same time struggles with vulnerable emotions, and he is frustrated when his own routine or itinerary are interrupted by forces beyond his control. All of these things Scream autism with comorbid ADHD. Many traits are shared between the brothers, and I'm quite certain they're both on the autism spectrum based on behavioral patterns. Neurodivergence aside, Edward's physical disabilities are undeniable.

Despite his bratty persona, Edward is fundamentally kind and uncharacteristically gentle and soft around the edges for a shonen protagonist in many ways. He cries openly on many occasions even if he struggles talking about his trauma and burdens in words at times, he feels pain, grief, and compassion so intensely it throws him into action on a regular basis in the narrative. In this way he's also a fantastic example of non-toxic masculinity (though in other ways he has displayed more toxic traits, he's just a kid). He acts on his heart, even if he's led by his mind and logic in most things. His humanity, value for life, and care for others will always win over his logic, and he shows a sense of personal responsibility for doing the right thing even if it harms him in the process. Ed is clearly shown having ghost pains in his lost limbs which is honestly an interesting detail to include, I don't think I've ever seen that aspect of amputation shown in media aside from FMA. It's also shown that when Ed's automail arm breaks this is a HUGE problem for him, but he's also shown to be very good at working around this in difficult circumstances. He doesn't become completely helpless, even if majorly weakened.

Alphonse is an extremely lovable and compassionate boy, brimming with altruism and care for others. Even in his noncorporeal state he pursues a better future and he's not helpless by any stretch. Edward clearly states Alphonse is the superior fighter for example, and it's not just because of his armor body being so large. He's *talented*, that's a fact. Al is every bit as clever and capable as Ed, moreso in some ways, and I love that about his character *because* he's so clearly disabled. He has no sense of pain, he is completely incapable of sleeping, he can't eat, can't relax or find comfort, he can only exist and think. This causes him to overthink in all his time alone, this is debilitating. He clearly is absolutely sick of the loneliness this causes, and he often feels helpless though he's not. He has doubts and fears that consume him in relation to his armor body, he questions his own personhood, even. Yet, Edward is stubborn and staunch in affirming that no matter what he's dealing with, he is fundamentally still a human being that is loved and irreplaceable. Alphonse is powerful and his body gives him some advantages, but it also sets him back, and the brothers know this even when others claim Alphonse's state is somehow a good thing. I have hEDS, a disability that comes with advantages as well as the major downsides, so I can understand and relate to Alphonse here. I too am told my disability is a boon because of flexibility and because I'm less likely to fracture bones, but I'm twice as likely to injure my ligaments and joints, which people ignore.

The brothers are both disabled, both flawed, both show weaknesses, but they are competent, determined, and strong in their own right. They are rounded characters that exist for more than to be pitied or condescended to by able bodied characters around them. They put their entire being in everything that they do no matter what that is, and they don't know the meaning of giving up. These traits that they're made of truly make them a shining example of disability in protagonists for others to look to for reference when writing their own disabled characters.

Even though by the end Edward has regained one limb and Al has regained his body, this also doesn't just deus ex machina reverse their disability or make it go away. It's clear that Alphonse's body is weak and has to be rehabilitated upon recovery, and Edward is still missing his leg and bears the scars and pieces of the port from his automail arm. They weren't suddenly made able bodied upon recovering these things, they reclaimed what was lost through struggle and grit, but the narrative didn't give the impression that their disability in itself was something to be fixed, which is important. They wanted to recover their bodies, but this doesn't erase the effects of their disability.

It was about Edward atoning for leading Alphonse into their mistake and saving his brother from suffering further, it was about them proving they can keep moving forward no matter what, not about getting rid of their disability in itself or putting themselves down because of the disabilities. This, to me, as a mentally and physically disabled viewer, is so important. They achieve their goal, but this doesn't in any way erase or undo the effects of their initial losses, they find ways to adapt and move on but they're still affected and still disabled. They always will be. That can be so important to see in comfort characters, and as a disabled individual who's had both brothers as comfort characters since I was a child, their impact on my own journey is surprisingly tangible for fiction.

#fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fma #edward elric #alphonse elric #elric brothers #character analysis #disability month #disability positivity #disabled #fma 20th anniversary

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zakthefiend · 3 years

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The Shadow of the Night

(Happy Birthday @pebster! I hope this adds to the celebration very well! Damn it’s been awhile since I’ve done one of these hasn’t it? Life gets in the way, new hyperfixations, Tumblr constantly killing itself, same old and same old. Well I feel like I’ve written a lot from other sources so why not return to my first MMORPG with a bang! Tyrande VS Sylvanas! Night Warrior vs Banshee Queen! Personally I didn’t much care for the cinematic, looked nice but I’ve long since given up on Blizzard actually doing good with their characters. That aside, my personal thoughts on WoW deserves it’s own separate post and shouldn’t be here where I gift an old muse and friend of mine something she’s probably been wanting for a long time. So without further adieu, I hope you enjoy!)

Ciradel lunges forward with her moon blades ready, her Elven weapons focused on their mark and their serrated edges threatened to rend the Banshee’s neck wide open! Suddenly she feels a shadow over take her chest before a sudden force smashed into her chest and sent her hurdling back! Her back slams into the ground, the force shaking her to her very core as she tried to pull herself back up. The Warden could barely catch her breath from such an attack yet willed herself back on her feet. Her fellow wardens were trapped in the midst of battle with the Jailer’s forces, and only she could delay Sylvanas from completing her ritual at that moment.

“Damn it!” She curses, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth quickly as she coughed some up in her helmet. Her hands rested over her chest and felt the overall damage. A cracked breastplate would explain why some of her ribs feel almost like dust now. Ciradel tried to regain focus, focusing on her stance again before drawing her moon blade again. Her breathing was ragged but as a Warden of Elune she must fulfill her duty before death!

Sylvanas simply took a glance at her before refocusing on the ritual once more, her attentions better spent on something far more important than Elune’s attack dog.

The Warden tried to move but found herself stumbling too much and ultimately fell to her knees. She tears off her helmet and coughs loudly while sucking in as much air as she could. Her hands gripped the grass beneath her and watched it slowly change colors from teal to black and grey. She felt the plants wither in her gauntlets and further inspection shows it all but ash in her hands. The sight of it, the smell of death that now permeated the air, it flashed images of her home before her eyes. The devastation brought on by the War of Thorn and the burning of Teldrassil ran before her very eyes. The faint screams and dying flames filling her minds and dulling her hearing before ultimately succumbing to the crushing weight of despair upon her shoulders.

“Poor lost soldier...” Sylvanas says, lowering herself to the ground and standing over Ciradel with a slight smirk on her face. “So hard you have fought for kin and nation, to stand for Elune only to watch her leave you to your fate. It reminds me so much of an old life I once had.”

Ciradel looks up, but not with a face of fear or intense grief, she stares up defiantly to Sylvanas. Tears running down her cheek as her blood stained teeth gritted as she stares into the Banshee Queen’s scarlet eyes. “I do not fear you, banshee! Kill me and raise my body if you wish, but my mind and soul belongs to the Kaldorei! I will not forsake my people as you have yours!”

That smirk faded, and a dark look overcame the Banshee’s face before drawing her bow. “Then die braver than most, Warden.”

Ciradel prepared for the arrow to make it’s mark, and muttered her prayers before feeling something yank her from her armor collar with such a sheer force of speed that she had thought it teleportation! She quickly gathers herself and the situation, seeing the Banshee Queen almost yards away from where she originally was only centimeters from here the arrow was pointed at her head!

Then, she saw her.

High Priestess of Elune: Tyrande Whisperwind.

The woman who brought back the Night Warriors to the Night Elves after their darkest hour, the one to have stood against Azshara when she sought to bring Sargeras to the world, and the woman who lead the Night Elves through the many wars and battles Azeroth has had over countless centuries. She stood over Ciradel, almost a towering presence now with the powers of the Night Warrior changed her appearance more now. A moon hovered above her head like a halo, as the markings she had received from her transformation now dazzled like stars upon a night sky, and runes of azure blue glowed across her arms and legs as she held her glaive in her other hand.

She let go of the warden, and gave it a wave and suddenly Ciradel felt her body completely healed of all it’s wounds! She looks up to Tyrande, whose black eyes stared at Sylvanas with a hatred rivaled only by Maev’s loathing of Illidan and of the Xaxa’s himself!

“Go.” She said to Ciradel, treating it less like a demand and more like something she was supposed to do, “Aid the others with repelling these deathless mongrels from these lands. Sylvanas is mine to rend justice upon.”

The Warden looked between the two, feeling these two near demigods were about to engage had her prepared to leave. She stood up quick and looked to Tyrande a final time. “Shaha lor’ma, Tyrande. Elune-Adore, an Andu-Falah-Dor!” Ciradel fled the scene to return to the other Wardens at the battle, leaving those two alone to their battle.

(Darnassian: ”Thank you, Tyrande. Elune be with you, and let the balance be restored!”)

______________________________________________________________

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut it with an axe, the two Elves who walked the path of vengeance were faced to face once more. Their previous fight back on Azeroth, where Tyrande had caught up to Sylvanas was interrupted and left unfinished until now. The peerless void filled eyes glared towards Sylvanas, returning the stare with a scowl as the memory of their last fight still burned in her mind.

“So. You found me once again. Did you wish for an award of some kind?” Sylvanas starts, opening her hands and closing them around twin shortswords of Quel’dorei design now warped to reflecting her darker attire now.

Tyrande took out her other Glaive from behind her, and did not hesitate with her answer. “Your head.”

Sylvanas nodded, removing her cloak and tossing it aside and shaked her head free of her cowl before smugly responding to her hunter: “Then come and try.”

Tyrande lunged forward, slamming her galives against Sylavanas’s blades and used her weight to swing the other blade at the banshee’s arm. Sylvanas quickly ducked beneath the swing and pulled her blades down with her and moved in to stab Tyrande in her gut but watched her swing herself out of the way for another slash to the Banshee Queen!

The two Elves were caught in a dance of blades and swords, each moving to a different tune and song of battle and war. Tyrande heard and felt the drums of the Kaldorei beat and boom as thunder inside her mind as she swung and spun herself with the weight of her blades and body against Sylvanas. The Banshee however felt the solemn sounds of a lute strummed and played louder and quicker within her, her parry’s and dodges and counters constantly keeping the other on their toes the entire fight. Neither dared to use their magic for this fight, as this was an almost ritualistic tradition that both Elven women of their races held close to their heart. With every swing that cuts the Banshee, the Priestess felt a stab to the exposed flesh of her armor. With every missed slash of the short swords came the near death experience of the magical glaives coming towards her neck. While the music within them played to different tones and themes, it was the same song that began to control their movements in an almost entranced way.

It ultimately ended when Sylvanas pierced Tyrande’s midsection with her blades, watching the woman drop her weapons from over her head to the ground. It was over.

Sylvanas won.

That is, until Tyrande gripped her fists together and swung a hammerfist across the Quel’dorei’s face! Sylvanas immediately stumbled backwards from the sheer force of the swing before forced to stop when Tyrande stomped her foot down on top of hers and swung a right hook across her face! She pulled her arms up to guard her face from the next punch, but felt an uppercut to her gut nearly shook her entire armor!

Sylvanas forced her foot free, and quickly side stepped the next punch and quickly backed away from the Night Elf to formulate a counter. Unfortunately Tyrande was on top of her the entire time and refused to give her a moment of rest. The next swing slammed into a tree and the bark practically exploded off from the force of the punch! Her knuckles bloodied from the swing, she gritted her teeth towards Sylvanas who used her new powers to bind Tyrande in shadowy chains long enough to catch her breath. In that moment, she realized that the Night Elf still had her swords firmly implanted into her gut! Before anything else could be discovered, a beam of light blasted down from the sky and blasted the Banshee onto the ground! She rolled onto her knees, snapping her fingers as the swords faded away and her bow was summoned into her hands. She quickly took pot shots at Tyrande, who now dashed to grab her Glaives from the ground. She was quick enough to dodge most of the arrows but felt one firmly implanted itself into her shoulder! She let out a quick groan before rolling for her weapons and quickly wielded them to block the next volley of arrows and slashed one in half before charging at her once more.

Sylvanas quickly realized the position she’d be in again if Tyrande was to close the gap again, and transformed into her banshee form to fly out of reach! Just as she turned to fire a shot at the Night Warrior, she saw Tyrande had blasted herself at Sylvanas with a mighty leap and slammed herself into the other Elf and the two came crashing back down to the ground below!

The air around them swirled with a blackish blue dust cloud, before it revealed Tyrande having impaled Sylvanas in her shoulders. Tyrande pinning her as the markings slowly faded, having expended much of her power to healing the stab wounds in her gut and that powerful leap. She kept herself over the Banshee by kneeling over her midrift. The Quel’dorei groaned in pain as she struggled to fight the Night Warrior off her body.

Tyrande leaned close to the pained expression of Sylvanas with a calm fury over her face, before speaking to her in a cold tone: “For Teldrassil, and Elune’s mercy be upon you.”

She pulled her glaive’s out from Sylvanas’s Shoulders, and impaled her in the chest with her weapons! The Banshee cried out, her hands trying to pull the blades out of her body while cutting her hands on the harsh steel of the blades. This pain forcing her to remember her final moments alive at the hands of Arthas all those years ago, forcing a boiling rage to swell within her at being reminded of such a hated memory. Her head rolled back as the pain shot through her body, her eyes burning with fury and pain as she looked back at the one who had done this to her.

In her eyes, she saw no joy nor satisfaction in this act. There was no pleasure in this act of vengeance. No glee or pride found in the Priestess’s eyes. Instead, she saw only pity. She almost saw a hint of regret behind her cold glare, as if she wished she didn’t have to end this life.

Sylvanas breathed heavily, her breathing ragged as she looked at the Night Warrior who kept the blades embedded into her body. She smirked up to the woman, feeling her blood escaping from her mouth.

“I... I suppose this is wh... where you take my head then? Well go on. Your trophy need only a swipe to claim. Ash karath, Tyrande Whisperwind.”

(Darnassian: “Do it, Tyrande Whisperwind.”)

Tyrande pulls a glaive out from her chest, and raised it over her shoulder. She looked down and took a deep breath, “Selama Ashal’anore.”

(Thalassian: “Justice for our people.”)

Just as she swung down, just before her blade could meet the banshee’s neck, she was interrupted by the Jailer’s minions and slammed off Sylvanas. She was pulled away, as the invading forces retreated and left Tyrande behind. She tossed her Glaive at them, but missed as they were too out of range for her. She watched them get further and further away, her breathing quickening as her anger soon boiled over, and she released a blood curdling scream as loud as she could that echoed across the realm!

Tyrande had won, but failed to finish off Sylvanas this time.

(Author’s note: I know, I know, I know, this is a shitty ending. Look we all want Tyrande to put down Sylvanas after all the shit that had happened between them. Hell, I’m hoping they duke it out and the cinematic gets the animation of Saurfang V Sylvanas! But for now, until we get to see where the story goes, she gotta stay alive. Still, I hope you still enjoyed this fic and hope you have a wonderful birthday Pebs.)

#pebster #pebe-art #pebsterino #Tyrande #Tyrande Whisperwind #Lady Sylvanas #Sylvanas #Sylvanas Windrunner #world of warcraft #WoW #Shadowlands #World of Warcraft Shadowlands #not my art #my writing #canon characters #Ciradel #not my character #zakthefiend

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sociallyawkward--fics · 2 years

Text

Cling To This Moment

Hello, hi, I have a new obsession and also a fictional boyfriend djkfhddf

Big big thanks to my very good and very dear friend @tevinterdays who was not only one of the primary voices to get me hyperfixated on and playing Dragon Age lol, but also beta'd this fic for me!!!

Also, please no spoilers in any reblogs or replies!! I have only played Origins so far, and I'm only partially through Orzammar so far. My dear friends just all egged me on to write my fic ideas without me having finished even the first game yet lol.

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Ship: Alistair/Female Mahariel

Summary: Cyrene wouldn't sleep, she couldn't. Not with those images burned behind her eyes forever. But it seemed like she wasn't the only one who was haunted by what she saw in the Fade.

Word Count: 4519 words

[ao3 link]

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Her eyes were heavy, but she refused to close them. Every time she did, a different horror flashed behind her eyelids. She wished she was out in the open, staring up at the stars or burning her eyes by gazing into the fire, but her companions refused to let her take any watch tonight, insisting that she needed her rest after everything she’d done.

Cyrene certainly was not doing much resting, curled up here alone in her tent.

She could still hear the screams of the Fade’s nightmares, no matter where she went. They intermingled in her mind with the screams from the Circle Tower. She could still smell the burning flesh, the acrid odor of demons. When they encountered enemies on the road back to Redcliffe, she instinctively reached for the powers she’d been granted in the Fade, only to feel tight panic grip her throat when they were not there.

It felt like she was in there for a lifetime.

And she had no intentions of going back, whether by force of another demon or mage, or by her own choice. Meaning that she would not sleep, refusing to allow the Fade to connect with her spirit through her dreams.

It had all felt so real. The warmth of the sun shining through the foliage to kiss her skin, the grass soft and plush as a bed beneath her, Tamlen’s body pressed close to hers as they curled together in the grass. Their weapons had been laid aside as they took a quiet moment, enjoying the summer air, their armor pinching them in all the wrong ways, and yet they still refused to move. Her hair was loose and down for once, a sweet-smelling flower tucked into it behind her ear, and there was no question that Tamlen had placed it there.

But there was something wrong about it all. The trees a bit too green, Tamlen’s eyes a bit too blue… and Cyrene’s heart a bit too pinched. It didn’t ache in the way it used to ache around Tamlen, a yearning that they never got a chance to put a name to before she failed and lost him, too busy teasing each other and enjoying their youth to waste time on such confusing emotions. It was a wrenching, a yanking, a sorrowful squeeze deep in her chest, and she knew it wasn’t right. That he wasn’t right.

She felt that old familiar ache for another now, as guilty as that made her feel to admit. It wasn’t Tamlen’s arm that she wished she had wrapped around her, not anymore. At least, not in that way. And when she questioned the world she found herself in, fighting through the fog in her brain to access any of her recent memories, she had to fail Tamlen yet again. Only this time, he died by her own hand, his blood dripping from her own blade. Only this time, there was a body still left to mourn.

Cyrene couldn’t lie and say she hadn’t dreamt of Tamlen a lot since she’d lost him. She even preferred the roars of the Archdemon over her dreams of Tamlen. She would still wake in a cold sweat, panting for breath, but when she dreamed of the Archdemon, there were no bitter tears burning her eyes and no pool of guilt in her stomach, swirling her nausea around like a child’s spinning top. But now, her brain had a completely new set of horrors to use against her.

And after seeing what the Fade was truly like, beyond her own dreams and nightmares, she never intended to go there again. Yes, she’d probably drop from exhaustion before too long, but by then, hopefully her mind and body would be far too exhausted to dream.

So instead, she sat there in her tent, curled into a ball, her armor pinching her much like it did in the world the Sloth demon had created for her. She refused to remove it, though. Her daggers as well, still strapped tightly to her back. If she did fail, if she did fall asleep, she did not want to find herself in the Fade defenseless.

She listened outside, letting the quiet conversation of her companions drift past her ears without absorbing it, choosing instead to focus on the sounds of the wilderness around them. The rustle of brush, a twig snapping, an owl hooting. Eventually, she was listening to the sounds of her companions settling in to sleep. Leliana had first watch that night, and she liked to hum when she did. Cyrene spent the next few hours committing those tunes to memory, even if they were nonsense Leliana was making up on the spot.

She never knew when someone else would be taken from her. She had to gather all the memories she could while it was still possible, while they were all still here.

Alistair took watch after Leliana, despite having gotten trapped in the Fade with Cyrene earlier that day. They had a hushed exchange of goodnights, and then she heard Leliana crawl into her tent. After a short time, the shuffling of fabric stopped and Leliana’s breathing joined the rest of Cyrene’s companions, deep and slow with sleep.

Then, Cyrene nearly leapt out of her skin when Alistair spoke at a normal volume, the previous whispers of the night gone.

“You know, if you’re not going to do a better job of pretending to sleep, you might as well come out,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Cyrene sighed and shook her head. Then, she shook out her hands a little and smoothed back her hair. Her ponytail was probably looking a little rough with how much she tended to touch her hair in her anxiety. She pulled open the flap of her tent and rose as gracefully as she could manage, hoping she didn’t look as horrible as she felt.

“Do you usually make a habit of listening to me sleep?” she asked, trying to insert their usual teasing into her tone, but failing and falling far too flat.

It was only made worse by the fact that Alistair didn’t fluster and stammer as he normally would, in that endearing way of his, and he didn’t tease back either. He just stared back at her, eyes haunted and carrying bags almost as deep as hers. His hair was sticking up in every which way, like he’d been tossing around in his tent since he’d laid down. The only difference between the two of them was that Alistair had actually bothered to strip down to just a shirt and trousers to pretend to sleep in, while Cyrene was still sweating away in her armor.

“No, I don’t,” he eventually said, when they’d been staring at each other far too long. “Though I’d imagine you know the breathing patterns of everyone in this camp just as well as I do.”

Cyrene didn’t reply, looking down to her feet. Then, after a moment of debate, she moved toward the fire to sit with him. She raised her head to take stock of their little clearing as she did so.

Morrigan’s fire across the way was burning low, practically just embers. She was probably long asleep. She hadn’t seemed fazed in the least by what she’d seen in the Fade. Cyrene envied her. She couldn’t see Bodahn and Sandal from where she stood, but she could hear their telltale snores echoing through the clearing and knew they were safe. Phoenix was curled up near the entrance to their clearing, breathing low and even, but Cyrene knew the mabari was a light sleeper and prepared to alert them of anyone’s approach. Sten slept silently in his bedroll (for he had refused a tent, choosing to sleep under the stars some distance away from the rest of them), his quiet snores and deep breathing reaching Cyrene’s ears easily. And there was steady breathing and little movement from both Leliana and Wynne’s tents.

Everyone was here. Everyone was safe.

Alistair sat on a long log near their fire, which was still burning bright and warm. As she approached and rounded the log, she saw that his sword and shield reclined against it next to one of his legs. She finally unstrapped her own weapons from her back so that she could sit on the ground next to his other leg, leaning her back against the log. She carefully placed the daggers next to her, easily within reach.

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked her.

She felt too raw to answer that, to answer all the follow-up questions that would come with it. So instead, she shot back with, “Are you?” There was more bite in her voice than she had meant. She immediately wanted to take it back.

But Alistair didn’t seem to notice, or at least didn’t care. “No,” he said, his voice much softer than before. “And I’d imagine the answer is the same for you.”

Cyrene drew her knees up protectively, laying her forearms on top of them and resting her chin on top of her arms. She probably looked like a child. She certainly felt like one. The world was too big. Their problems were too immense. And Cyrene was somehow made leader of a band of misfits who were fooling themselves into thinking they could fix it.

Cyrene stared into the fire until her eyes burned and watered, both from the brightness of it against the dark night and the smoke that filled the air. Alistair was shockingly silent, despite how he usually couldn’t seem to stop his flood of words, especially when it was just the two of them together. It made her stomach squirm, forcibly reminding her of the horrors they’d had to go through earlier that day.

“What did you see?” Alistair eventually asked. “In the Fade, I mean.”

Bitter bile rose up to the back of Cyrene’s throat. “You mean my nightmare? Or the near dozen others I had to fight my way through?”

“I’m sorry. I should have been there.”

Cyrene lowered her head, feeling shame at the tears burning in her eyes. She shifted to rest her forehead against her knees, raking her gloved fingers over her scalp and only pulling more hairs from the tie trying so desperately to keep them contained.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, her voice wavering with the effort not to sound weak. “None of us had much control.”

“You did,” Alistair said. “You had control.”

Cyrene huffed out a bitter laugh.

“You’re strong,” Alistair continued.

“I was just doing what needed to be done.”

“It was thanks to you that everyone made it out.”

Cyrene raised her head and gazed into the fire again, fingers digging into the back of her neck. “Not everyone. I couldn’t save Niall. And I was too late to save all those mages.”

Not to mention failing Tamlen. Again.

Alistair slid down the log, settling on the ground next to Cyrene. They were pressed together from shoulder to hip, but Cyrene couldn’t feel his warmth, the proof that he was alive, through her armor.

“You can’t save everyone, Cyrene.”

Cyrene shook her head.

Alistair sighed. “You can’t. It was one of the first things that… that Duncan tried to teach me. It never stuck, as you can probably tell, but he did still try. You’re a much better listener than I am, you probably would’ve taken better to the lesson.”

Cyrene turned to look at him for the first time since she’d sat down, an angry retort ready on her lips, but she stopped short at the look on Alistair’s face. His eyes were glassy, gaze far away. She couldn’t tell if the red rimming his eyes was from campfire smoke or since-dried tears. But like Alistair said, Cyrene has always been a good listener.

“Alistair,” she said softly. “Do you need to talk?”

A wry smile twisted onto Alistair’s face, twisting Cyrene’s guts further with how false it was. “What on earth would I have to talk about?”

“Duncan.”

Alistair’s smile fell as quickly as it was pasted on. “I suppose we’re not in a joking mood tonight, are we?”

Cyrene bumped their shoulders together. “Maybe later.”

Alistair rested his elbows against his bent knees, fingers fiddling with each other where they rested in the space between his slightly spread legs. His gaze was fixed on the stars, the pinpricks of light reflecting in his eyes. Cyrene leaned a little more heavily into his side, hoping it was okay. She wasn’t shoved off or asked to move, so she assumed it was.

“It was hard enough the first time,” he said, his voice cracking. “Losing him, I mean. Knowing he was lost. But to-- to have to kill him ourselves. And the things he said, Cyrene, I--”

“I know,” Cyrene whispered.

“I don’t think I would’ve gotten out if it wasn’t for you.”

“Alistair--”

“No,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Cyrene, I wanted so badly for it to be true. I knew something didn’t feel right, but I ignored it. Because it meant I could be happy, we all could be happy. The Blight, the darkspawn, the Archdemon, they-- they were gone.”

Cyrene didn’t reply. She didn’t know what to say.

“And I wanted so badly to ignore you, when you were trying to tell me the truth.”

Almost without thinking, Cyrene reached over and grabbed one of his hands. She was still wearing her gloves, which she was incredibly thankful for. He wouldn’t be able to feel how sweaty her palms were, how nervous he made her. She laced her fingers between his and squeezed. He smiled, looking down at her finally.

“And then you did that,” he said, shaking their held hands and squeezing hers in turn. “And it was more real than the pats on the back or the friendly hand on the shoulder that Fake Duncan gave me, and I knew I couldn’t keep pretending it was real.”

Cyrene relaxed into his side. He raised his arm, the one whose hand was in hers, and wrapped it around her shoulders, crossing her own arm across her body so they could stay latched together. He pulled her in even closer.

“How are the others?” she asked.

Alistair sighed. “Leliana was upset that we were upset, especially since she and Sten were the ones to stay back at camp with Phoenix. Sten, as always, has not had a reaction. Not a readable one, anyway.”

Cyrene hummed.

“Wynne… She seems tired. I’m a little worried about her, to tell the truth. She seemed rather shaken, though maybe not to the point we are. What was her--?”

“It’s not my place to tell,” Cyrene said. “The nightmares, they… They were all very personal. You can ask her, if you want, but I will not say.”

Alistair nodded. “I’ll give her some time first, then. And as for Morrigan--”

Cyrene snorted. “Unfazed?”

“Completely and totally. I don’t know how she does it. It freaks me out.”

Cyrene shook her head, though a small smile briefly tugged at one side of her lips. “She was never fooled, in there. When I finally showed up, she was already halfway through defeating the nightmare herself.”

“That sounds about right.”

They sat in silence for a moment. The fire crackled, the owl continued to hoot, their friends and companions continued to snore. Phoenix twitched in his sleep, making a few silly little noises. Cyrene hoped his time in the Fade was more fun than hers.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Alistair asked her eventually.

Cyrene sighed again. “About mine?”

Alistair hummed.

“No. I--I can’t. Not yet.”

If I do, you’ll know too much. You’ll see the failure I am. You’ll cast me aside just as I deserve.

“Well,” Alistair said, and Cyrene could tell her was floundering a bit, trying to decide how to proceed. “It’s over now. You don’t have to go back.”

The laugh that tore out of Cyrene’s throat was foriegn. Completely involuntary and completely not her own, bitter and cruel and hurt. All the liquid poison boiling inside her pouring out in one short sound.

“Cyrene--”

“Over? Alistair, we’re sending someone into the Fade again tomorrow, the moment we get back to Redcliffe. We’re throwing someone directly back into that danger, and we don’t know what the outcome will be.” She pressed the fingers of her free hand into her arm with bruising force. “And everyone’s going to be looking to me to make that choice.”

“So send Morrigan.”

Cyrene’s head shot up, she squinted at Alistair, eyebrows furrowed. “You say that like it’s so simple. I have to choose to put someone in harm’s way, give them up to a demon--”

“Stop agonizing over it. Morrigan wasn’t afraid of the Fade. Actually, come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen her even flinch at a single thing we’ve faced, not even the darkspawn. Not to mention, putting someone as stubborn as her against a demon? Maker have mercy.”

Cyrene took a shaky breath. Then another, and frowned. “That… actually makes sense.”

Alistair grinned. “I’m not a complete idiot, you know.” He cocked his head to the side, pursing his lips. “At least, not all of the time.”

Cyrene pushed her shoulder into his side, shoving him a little. “You’re never an idiot.” Then, to make sure he knew she was teasing, she gave him a sly grin as she said, “At least not a complete one.”

He laughed, relaxing back against the log and stretching out one leg in front of him. Cyrene curled both her legs to the side, instead of keeping her knees pulled protectively up to her chest, and leaned back into Alistair. He squeezed her fingers before letting go of her hand, bringing his fingers up to massage the back of her neck. She looked out at the fire again, and the woods beyond, trying not to tense so his fingers could help with at least some of her tension.

“You really should try to sleep. After the day we’ve had, and everything that’s to come tomorrow. You don’t have to agonize about it all night, now.”

Cyrene’s lingering smile dropped instantly, a stone settling in her stomach along with it. She wrapped her arms around her own waist, as if that could help keep her from tearing apart at the seams.“That’s the other part of it.”

“Other part of what?”

“It’s not that I can’t sleep because of what’s to come. Not all of it anyway.”

Alistair turned to look at her again, but she didn’t look back. “And what’s the other reason?”

“When we dream-- that’s the Fade, Alistair. If I fall asleep, I’ll be back there again. And-- and--”

Alistair's fingers faltered a bit at the top of her neck. The cord in her hair had become so loose from all her fussing with it that one end of it had trailed down, and his fingers accidentally caught on it in his fumbling. The tie was so loose now that it tugged completely free, leaving her hair to fall loose around her shoulders. She suddenly felt a lot more vulnerable.

“And what?”

“And what if I can’t make it out this time? What if I’m stuck there forever and it drains my life away, just as it did Niall? What if I become trapped in an endless nightmare, like so many of the people I came across? What if--”

“I know I’m no good at taking my own advice, but you’ll drive yourself insane with all those ‘what-if’s.”

She finally turned her head, if only to glare at him.

Alistair raised his free hand in surrender. “Look, all I’m saying is, all of those things we went through in there? They were caused by a demon. And there’s no demon here now, is there?”

Cyrene raised her eyebrows. “One, you don’t know that--”

“I think I’d notice if Sloth’s twin brother was taking a nap in the middle of our camp.”

“--And two, Connor was approached by a demon in his dreams, and that’s how he came to be possessed. How do I know the demons won’t come to me for revenge once I fall asleep?”

“Well as far as I know, that only happens to mages, and since you aren’t a mage, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” A teasing note slipped into his voice as he added, “Unless you’ve got something to tell me.”

Cyrene huffed and crossed her arms, scowling back at the fire and not bothering to answer. She knew how petulant and childish it must have made her look, but she was tired, she was scared, and she was hurting. She figured she could afford to be a bit petulant tonight.

After a few moments, Alistair’s hand returned to her neck, massaging it again before slipping his fingers up into the underside of her hair and trailing them down, gently pulling out the tangles as he went. Cyrene shivered a little, goosebumps rising on her arms, but she didn’t tell him to stop.

“Well, if you’re not going to sleep, you can at least keep me company while I’m on watch. Staying up all on my own until Morrigan comes to take over is so boring.”

Cyrene snorted and slowly leaned back into Alistair’s side. His hand did not leave her hair, continuing to tug through the knots with a surprising amount of gentleness. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

“I can’t promise to be good company. Not tonight.”

Alistair tugged playfully on a lock of hair. “You’re good company every night.”

Cyrene ducked her head to hide her smile, feeling her cheeks warm.

Then, Alistair seemed to realize the other implications of what he’d said. “I mean-- not company as in-- we’ve never even-- I don’t--”

Cyrene laughed, loud and bright, and clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle it. She heard Sten shift in his bedroll several meters away, and a light bout of murmuring from Leliana’s tent, but other than that, their companions remained settled into their sleep. Instead of teasing him (though the temptation was certainly there, his cheeks and ears had turned a wonderful pink and she did so love it when he turned red, the flush spreading down his neck and chest), she decided to have mercy.

“I know what you meant, Alistair, don’t worry.” Then, she looked down again and fiddled with her fingers a little. “You know… I think I was promised a few more tests on something? You know, to make sure it wasn’t too soon?”

Alistair hesitated for a terrifying moment before leaning into her, a fraction of his (only occasional) suaveness regained. “And I did promise to arrange that, didn’t I?”

Cyrene hummed an affirmative. The hand twisted in her hair suddenly freed itself, instead cupping the back of her neck and turning her head towards him. Alistair smiled as his eyes searched her face, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he’d found there.

“I do always keep my promises,” he told her. “And there’s no time like the present.”

And then he was pulling her in with the hand on the back of her neck. One of her arms lifted and snaked around his shoulders, and she used it to balance as she pulled herself up to a more equal height. And then they were kissing, and a mad swarm of butterflies erupted in Cyrene’s stomach, just as bad as the first time they’d kissed only a couple nights ago. She hoped the butterflies would never stop, not while she was with him.

Alistair was still smiling when they pulled back. “And what about now?” he asked, a little breathlessly. “Still need more tests?”

Cyrene grinned back at him. “I’m not sure, it’s a very complex question. I think it needs a lot more testing than that.”

The twinkle had returned to Alistair’s eyes, the tense lines no longer standing out around his mouth. She closed her eyes as he pressed their foreheads together, only opening them when he started to speak.

“Well, I’m all for the pursuit of knowledge. Just let me know when the next test is and I’ll be there.”

Cyrene swallowed a rather embarrassing giggle, not willing to ruin the moment by making a fool of herself. “WIll do.”

Somehow, they managed to maneuver themselves into the same position as they were in before they kissed, innocently curled together. Alistair’s fingers returned to her hair, scratching at her scalp and twisting locks of hair around his fingers now that there were no more tangles to smooth out. Cyrene watched the breeze rustle the leaves on the trees as her body became more and more boneless, until finally, she couldn’t manage to keep her eyes open anymore.

She wasn’t sure how long she had dozed for, not quite asleep, but not quite awake either, when Morrigan’s voice broke through the cloudy haze. It only just barely reached her, unable to drag her into full consciousness with how tired she had been.

“Well, isn’t this just the most sickening thing I’ve ever seen?”

Alistair shushed her.

Morrigan sounded offended when she spoke next. “Did you just--”

“Look, can we argue about this at another time?” Alistair asked in a hushed tone. “I don’t want to wake her.”

Morrigan sighed. “Fine, fine.”

Cyrene was aware of Alistair shifting beneath her cheek, sliding his arms underneath her knees and back to lift her as he rose to his feet. She remained unable to open her eyes or even move, exhaustion’s grip tight around her despite how hard she’d tried to fight it. The only thing she could manage was to turn her head further into Alistair’s chest, hearing his breath hitch a little. Through the sleepy fog, she distantly wondered if that had made him turn red, too.

“Oh, don’t coddle her.” Morrigan said.

“I’m not coddling,” Alistair hissed back, and then they were moving.

It was a bit clumsy, certainly not the smoothest ride Cyrene had ever had, but she would absolutely not be complaining. She heard them shuffle their way across the dirt, and then felt as Alistair fumbled her a little along to the sound of rustling fabric. She was placed on something far more comfortable than the ground (though not nearly as comfortable as Alistair) and Alistair’s hands finally left her. She felt him caress her face one last time, his thumb brushing over her tattooed cheekbone.

“Sleep well,” he whispered.

And then, with another rustle of fabric, Cyrene knew she was alone again. It wasn’t long from there before sleep finally claimed her, dragging her down into its warm, murky depths. And despite it all, she couldn’t bring herself to be afraid. Not when the memory of Alistair’s body pressed against hers was so fresh, and so real -- nothing like the hollow illusion of Tamlen that the Sloth demon had given her.

And to her surprise, Cyrene did, in fact, sleep well.

#dragon age #dragon age fic #alistair theirin #female warden #alistair/warden #female mahariel #dragon age:origins #dragon age:orgins fic #My writing #hurt/comfort

8 notes · View notes

domesticmail · 4 years

Text

scrapes

pairing: jj maybank x reader

word count: fuck if i know lmao

requested: nope!

summary: idk how i’d explain this one. reader is frustrated that the pogues keep treating her like a baby, so she takes things into her own hands, and when she gets hurt, things come to a head in the kitchen of The Chateau

warnings: ANGST. cursing, blood, and ANGST BABY ANGST

a/n: starts quick, gets sad/angry, ends content and kinda happy! also for reference the Pogues are all 17 and the reader is 16 here!! might make this a multiple part fic, who knows !!

Your feet hit the ground, rubber soles slamming against pavement. Broken pieces of road and rubble crunch under your feet. The sound of pebbles cracking under your weight is lost in the commotion of noises, your heart throwing itself against your ribcage, the friction of your hand sliding against a wall, cold air blowing in and out of your lungs.

Splinters embed in your skin as you scramble up the fence, wood cutting into the meat of your thigh. As your body hits the dirt, you swear you can feel the wound opening, blood painting the ground. A ringing fills your ears, but there’s not room in your schedule today to worry about that - you’re on a bit of a time constraint here, if you hadn’t noticed. With that in your mind, the panic of falling behind floods your veins, and you’re up again, sneakers throwing dirt and rocks in your wake as you high-tail it away from your bad decision.

Shouts come from behind you, telling you to stop, but clearly they haven’t gotten the message: you’re not sticking around. You round the corner and haul ass down a few twists and turns before finding your final destination, a friend’s house. You burst through the front entrance and slam it shut, leaning back against the front door, chest heaving.

John B. raises an eyebrow at you. “Woah. Hey, Y/N.”

You don’t respond - you’re busy doing that mental-checklist thing you always do.

Shoes? Ratty old converse, several years old, scuffed on the sides - but they were like that before. Check.

Cut on your leg? Not too big, hurts like a bitch, though. Can be fixed with a towel, rubbing alcohol, and some pressure. Check.

Any other cuts? Some splinters in your palms, yes, but nothing else major. Thank fuck.

A pat of your back pocket reveals that your wallet is still there, secure. Your earrings - still there. Phew. Necklace didn’t break or fall off when you hopped the fence? It’s still dangling around your neck, holy shit. Check.

Aside from the cut and some flecks of dirt dug into the arm you landed on, you’re in remarkably good shape for someone running from hired security.

You shoot a grin at John B., who’s now been joined in his confusion by the rest of the group: Kie and Sarah looking worried, Pope looking exasperated and mildly concerned, and JJ looking very, very confused. Walking past them to the kitchen, you start rooting around for supplies to clean up your leg. Nobody’s said anything yet, and you know why. It’s not common for you to come home like this, out of breath, roughed up a little, bleeding. You can feel them holding their tongues, waiting for you to explain.

The silence stretches into uncomfortable territory. You’re too busy trying to fix your cut to care, really. You know what comes next, anyway - you’ve seen them do it to JJ about a thousand times. The quiet, palpable tension of concern, and then the inevitable eruption.

Just as you expect, as soon as you hop up on the counter and begin your at-home wound treatment, showing no signs of speaking first, everyone explodes at once.

John B. “So no explanation? You’re just gonna walk in here like this is normal?”

Kie. “What the hell, Y/N? We didn’t know where you were! You could’ve died!”

Pope. “That’s a huge cut, what is wrong with you? What were you doing that was so stupid you got a cut like that?”

Sarah. “We were so worried! You weren’t picking up! Are you okay?”

And, of course, JJ. “Who did this to you?”

You’re applying pressure to your leg (fuck, fuck, ow, fuck, shit, bitch, motherfucker no thank you, ow), listening to your friends voice their concerns, when something hits you - JJ thinks someone hurt you?

More importantly, why is JJ so angry about it?

You’d been expecting him to be the least concerned, to give you a high five or a compliment or at least a proud grin, but no, you’re facing anger, frustration, radiating off of him. This is unprecedented - you never thought you guys were close like that.

Don’t get it wrong, you’re close with all the Pogues, just as family as the rest of them - JJ just isn’t really your person. You tend to be glued to Sarah and Kie at the hips, tagging along with them when it’s not a whole-group outing, so their worry makes sense. (You usually tell them everything, like sisters, but a two-day long excursion to do some very reckless shit hadn’t felt like something you should tell them. They’d just try to convince you not to go, and you were having none of that, two mornings ago.) But JJ? If anything, you were each other’s least favorite Pogues. The youngest and maybe the most reckless of the group (excluding Pope), you’re typically the one who reminds JJ of all the stuff that can go wrong with his ideas and schemes. You would think he’d be glad to see you get into a bit of trouble.

But there he is, jaw clenched, those eyes fixed directly on yours. His neck’s gone all tight (you’ve been around him long enough to know that only happens when he’s angry; it’s a little endearing, actually, a little cute), the hand not placed protectively on your knee clenching into a fist laid on the counter. And there’s something in that touch, the way he’s got his hand on your knee - there’s affection there, emotion, something you’ve never felt from JJ before.

All of a sudden, it’s like the greatest hyperfixation in the world is JJ’s hands. They’re not soft, necessarily, not the type of hand you want to hold just because it feels like it’s gentle and kind. Maybe that’s why you’re so drawn to this weird, unexpected touch. You can feel the callouses on his palm pressing into the pink, scraped (oh, you missed a spot in your checklist, your knees look wrecked from that fall over the fence; probably shouldn’t do that again) flesh of your knee, the pads of his fingertips pulling your attention away from the group and to him.

To put it lightly: it’s a very intimate three seconds.

You want to disappear for a second, want to vanish in a puff of smoke and not exist, because the intensity with which he’s looking at you is scary. Not like you’ve done something wrong, but like whoever he thinks did this to you is going to pay, and pay a hefty fee at that.

You don’t like it. Not at all. You would do anything - anything - for him to never look at you like that. Like he’s going to kill someone.

“What - Nobody did this to me, JJ,” you scoff, matching his intense gaze with an annoyed look. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “You’re covering up for them. What did they say they’d do to you? I’ll do worse to them, Y/N, I swear, just tell me who did it.”

You scowl at him, scooting over to move your knee from his hand. This isn’t about you and JJ - this is about you wanting to prove yourself. This is about you showing them you’re not a baby. That you can handle yourself. Not that you need JJ to get all weird and protective over you. “I did this, JJ, back off. I don’t need you to be weird about it.”

The rest of the group has been quiet, but John B. pipes up. “He’s not being weird about anything. We were all worried.”

“I don’t need you guys to be worried about me. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fucking fine, you have a fucking cut on your leg - “

“I’m fine, JJ - “

“If you were okay you wouldn’t be fucking bleeding, Y/N - “

“Will you stop acting like I’m a child for two seconds? Nobody did this, it wasn’t Topper or Rafe or - “

It’s like a lightbulb goes on in JJ’s head. “It was Rafe, wasn’t it? I’ll fucking kill him, he has no right to put his hands on you - “

“JJ, shut the fuck up!”

He looks at you in stunned silence, leaning back a little as though your words had physically struck him.

You’re fuming now, blood running hot. This is exactly why you didn’t tell them your plan - they’d start with this shit. The constant babying. You understand, they’re seventeen, you’re sixteen, you’re younger and they want to protect you, but jesus christ, it’s not like they had some worldly experience - they’re seventeen years old, for fuck’s sake. “Don’t use my actions as a reason for you to go beat up Rafe, JJ. I’m not a fucking excuse for you to get in a fight. I did this for a reason, so how about you leave me alone and let me get to it instead of acting like I’m a fucking child?”

Everyone is silent.

The group looks actually stunned, like they’ve all been sucker-punched. Where the hell did this come from? You’ve never yelled like that. You’ve never yelled, period. You’re never the angry one - you’re the quiet one, the one who would rather be helping at The Wreck or on the HMS Pogue than be at the Boneyard at a kegger.

JJ, after the initial shock, looks even angrier now. He pulls away from you and storms off, running a hand through his blond hair. The sound of his shoes on the hardwood floor echoes through The Chateau, and you sit on the counter quietly, tears filling your eyes.

Not tears of sadness, though. You’re not sad.

You’re fucking angry. At all of them. For bringing you here. For pushing you to this point. For making you feel like a child.

“You treat me like a kid,” you say quietly, but with force, scowling at your tears.

Sarah’s the first to approach, wrapping her arms around you softly. You want to push her away, to refuse the affection, but you don’t. You just accept the distance, reluctantly hugging her, resting your head on her shoulder and just breathing, breathing, breathing. Maybe the tears’ll go away if you just breathe.

Pope is the next, not Kie. (She’s still surprised that you yelled. The indignation of being yelled at is fading, her initial annoyance becoming gentle concern.) He envelops you and Sarah.

Kie joins next, and then John B., and it’s when you feel his hand on your back that your breathing, breathing, breathing, becomes choked sob after choked sob, cries wracking your body into Sarah’s shoulder. You feel like you’re breaking down into them all, like the anger is pouring out of you like a waterfall, just gushing and gushing and gushing. It’s so frustrating, so difficult, so annoying, you just can’t deal with it anymore.

You don’t know how long you’ve been crying when your sobs recede their way to gentle hiccups. Your face is dry from the tears, and when everyone pulls away, you see tears in Sarah’s eyes. She offers you a weak smile, one you return.

There’s a conversation then, right there in the kitchen. It’s not one full of anger, or sadness, or anything especially negative. It’s just tired. The words float out of your mouth - “I’m sorry” - and it’s like you’re disconnected from yourself. It lasts maybe twenty minutes, apologizing from all ends, promises to do better, and at the end, you feel so full of love that you’re nearly bursting at the seams. We’re family, we love each other, you could’ve just told us if we were being frustrating, reassurances floating their way through your head like water, pushing out all the anger.

You don’t know how you ended up on the hammock with the rest of the group - excluding JJ - one arm thrown across John B., snuggled in with Pope, legs resting on Sarah and Kie’s, who are laying together the opposite way. The warmth of the sun on your arms and your friends around you is lulling you to sleep slowly, the hammock swinging gently from side to side.

You know you’re going to have to talk to JJ.

But you’re falling asleep now, and you’re losing your train of thought quickly, words floating into oblivion.

You’ll talk to JJ tomorrow.

For now, you’re going to sleep.

#obx #obx x reader #jj maybank x reader #outer banks #jj maybank #kiara carrera #sarah cameron #john b routledge #pope heyward #that's right babes this is ANGST #she's ANGRY #young!reader

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capsironunderoos · 4 years

Text

I Know

JJ Maybank x Reader

Summary: The reader is there to witness JJ’s hot tub scene.

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: Yay! A new hyperfixation! I absolutely adore JJ, and I knew I had to write something for him as soon as I finished Outer Banks. So, here it is! I plan to write more for this sweet boy, but if you want to see something specific, don’t hesitate to ask! I hope you enjoy!

capsironunderoos masterlist

You hum quietly from your spot on the couch that rests on the Chateau’s screened porch.

It had been a relatively warm day, nothing special, which was saying a lot.

The past few days had been non-stop, swimming in the marsh, driving the HMS Pogue, looking for lost gold, and stealing drones, not to mention stealing money from a local drug-dealer.

You shift in your spot, sinking further into the couch, your head coming to rest on the back of it as your legs sway swiftly back and forth, the sound of sand dragging under them and against the wood beginning to lull you to sleep.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d slept more than three hours, and this week had been no exception.

This rare moment of silence, and finally being alone, had caught you off guard at first, and you were almost unsure of how to react to it, searching the Chateau and the yard around it for any of the Pogues to help you waste time.

When you found none, you’d shrugged it off and made your way to the couch, where you were currently slipping into a welcomed afternoon nap.

Just as your breathing begins to even out, and the sound of the water spilling by has drowned into nothing, a loud beeping jolts you up and into a seated position, hands grasping the fabric of the couch as you frantically look around to place the sound to its maker.

A large truck is backing into the yard, red lights glowing as it brakes every few seconds.

A man wearing a shirt for a local pool store is directing the driver, and beside him, JJ stands, hands on his hips, offering directions when needed.

You furrow your eyebrows, unsure of how to handle the situation you’ve currently found yourself in.

You know for a fact JJ doesn’t know you’re here, much less watching him unload a huge hot tub under the tree in the backyard.

You stand to your feet, walking over to the window in front of you to try and hear snippets of conversation.

Once the hot tub is settled in a spot JJ deems as perfect, he shakes the hands of both the men, thanking them before they climb into the cab of the truck and disappear back down the road.

You shift your weight, watching JJ carefully as he stands and admires his purchase.

Deciding to finally try and get to the bottom of the mysterious hot tub situation, you quietly leave the porch, although the sound of the second step from the bottom creaking when you set your weight on it gives away your position.

JJ’s head whips in your direction, guard up and sneer evident on his face.

You raise your hands in surrender, eyes going wide at the bruise and cut flowering on his cheek.

His defensive state falters when he sees it’s you, and you slowly walk over to him, approaching him like a wild animal that is moments away from attacking. He watches your every move, a simple smile eventually fighting its way onto his lips.

“I got us a hot tub!”

He yells, trying to sound triumphant, but you pick up on the waiver in his voice, the uncertainty, the need for approval.

“J…” You start, voice falling away when you get closer and see the extent of the cut on his face.

Your hand lifts, aiming to cup his jaw and offer comfort, but before it reaches its intended target, JJ jerks away from you, intent on being out of your line of vision.

“Stay away from me,” he growls, and your mind drifts back to the idea of a wild animal, hurt and refusing help, when it is right in front of them, and all they would have to do is ask, or accept.

Your hands fall to your sides, gripping the hem of your shorts to keep yourself grounded.

He is angry, but you know not with you, so you have to work to keep from snapping at him, for yelling at him for not accepting your help.

“Will you at least tell me what happened?”

You whisper, hands still kneading the hem of your shorts. He twists further away from you, and you accept that as a no.

“Don’t get near me, right now, okay?”

He grumbles through gritted teeth, and you nod, backing up.

He walks over to a collection of plastic bags you hadn’t noticed before, bending down to begin emptying them of their contents.

You glance behind you, eyes landing on a stray lawn chair before you move to pull it into the yard. You set it up, sitting down into it far enough away to keep JJ content but close enough to keep him in your sights.

You watch for the next few hours as he works to weave hundreds of colored and white christmas lights through the trees around the hot tub. You aren’t sure how John B will react to JJ using up so much power, and you secretly hope you aren’t here to see them argue yet again.

JJ had been on edge the past few days, the final straw being pulled over and almost robbed by Barry.

When he had walked out of the trailer, bag of money in hand, your heart had stopped.

You’d never seen him so angry as he pushed John B against the side of the van, hands shaking as his body worked to find ways to release days, weeks, months, maybe even years of aggression.

He had yelled about wanting to protect the pogues, and when his eyes caught yours his rage had faltered, his shoulders drooping before he literally shook himself out of your gaze and stomped away.

You hadn’t seen him since then, but here he was now, testing the jets in the hot tub as he blew up small inflatables and placed champagne flutes in them, complete with the fanciest bottle of champagne you’d probably ever seen.

You shift in the lawn chair, the fabric creaking in protest and age.

The sun had begun to set, and you watched as JJ finally climbed into the hot tub, content with his work as he settled down into the water.

He wore a new pair of sunglasses now, smiling to himself, proud of what he’d accomplished.

You had an idea of how he’d managed to purchase not only the hot tub, but all of the accessories and extras, but you didn’t dwell on it, not wanting to to be true, for his sake, for the sake of the pogues, for the sake of everything they’d done in the past few days.

He slowly removed his shirt, now wet, and slung it over the side of the hot tub, hearing it land against the ground with a soft thud.

You didn’t know if you should call Kie, or Pope, or maybe John B, although no one really knew where he was.

So, you sat and watched, keeping your distance as JJ drank, eventually abandoning the small glasses to drink straight from the bottle.

When he finally began talking to you, his speech was slurred, and different, instead of strong and proud, his voice came out small now, almost as if he were wary it wouldn’t work when he spoke.

“Can you just go away?”

He mumbled, and you stood up, moving closer in order to hear him better, stopping when you reach the bottom step of the hot tub.

“Can you just come inside and tell me what happened? This isn’t like you J.”

You plead, and he scoffs, shifting further into the water.

You watch him warily, unsure of what this state of mind would urge him to do.

“How- how would you know what’s like me?”

He asks, eyebrows furrowing over the tops of his glasses.

“JJ you’re my best friend, of course I know what’s like you,” you retort, placing a hand on your hip.

He watches you before smiling and shaking his head.

“No, you don’t. None of you do.”

You hear footsteps behind you then, and you glance over your shoulder to see Kie and Pope walking up.

Kie looks as if someone has personally shattered her heart into pieces, and Pope looks like he’s seen a ghost.

You look back to JJ as Pope speaks.

“What-” he sounds breathless, unbelieving of what he’s seeing, “did you do, JJ?”

JJ moves his glasses to the tip of his nose, a smile working it’s way onto his lips as he lifts the champagne bottle in his right hand and gestures to the water.

“I’ve got a jet going straight in my butt right now!”

He exclaims, giggling, working to get a different reaction from his friends in front of him.

No one moves, Kie and Pope still speechless as you shift your weight from one foot to the other, eventually moving from the bottom step of the hot tub to the top.

JJ reaches for two floating glasses, filling them with champagne.

“You have to get in immediately, okay?”

You notice the difference in tone now, as opposed to your short conversation moments earlier.

This JJ is putting on a show, trying to assure Kie and Pope that he is okay, that they are, and will be okay, and that what he has done is good.

But your JJ, from earlier, was different, angry, asking questions that you were unsure you held the answers to.

“Salud!” he cheers, lifting the bottle to his lips and one of the now full glasses in your direction.

“How much did this cost?”

You hear Pope ask behind you, his feet shuffling on the grass as he steps closer.

You glance over your shoulder at him, and you know he has already answered his own question.

“Uhhh…” you hear from JJ, and you turn back to him, arms crossed over your chest as you prepare to hear him confirm your suspicions.

You didn’t know much about his dad, but you knew neither of them had enough money to spend on a hot tub.

“Well,” his hands flit around as if he’s doing the calculations as he speaks.

“With the generator, the petrol, oh! And express delivery, hmm…”

His lips puff out as he finalizes his thoughts.

“Yeah, pretty much all of it.”

You feel the weight of the world crash around you, almost hearing it land on you, Kie, and Pope’s shoulders.

Your arms fall beside you.

“All of it?” Pope asks, and JJ nods.

“Yeah, all of it!”

You squeeze the bridge of your nose, eyes shut tight as you try and fight the oncoming stress headache.

“You spent all the money in one day?”

Pope asks again, and you want to yell at him for asking so many questions.

“Yes! Burned a hole right through my pocket,” JJ answers, left hand swimming in front of him, “but you guys, c’mon I mean,” he gestures to the water.

“Look at this! Finest jet-based therapy, that’s what they told me,” he mumbles on, words slurring together as he tries to reason his purchase to the three of you.

He’s quiet for a second, waiting on someone to give the slightest ounce of approval.

Hearing nothing, he looks past you over the rim of his glasses, finding Kie.

“Kie what?”

You glance over your shoulder to look at her.

She’s staring at him in disbelief, shoulders drooped, looking as if she has given up completely.

“Can’t a man have a little luxury in life?”

Hearing the rasp in his voice, you turn to JJ.

He’s close to crying, you can tell.

His actions are hurried and his voice is breaking, but he carries on, fighting past the urge to appear weak in front of his friends, in front of the people he needs to be strong for.

He yanks his glasses off then.

“What, all this scrimping and scraping? I mean uh,” his voice quivers and you step closer to the hot tub, hands coming to rest on the edge of it, fingertips being splashed with water as JJ moves around.

“You only live once, guys, right?”

He’s still seeking reassurance, understanding, and you want to give it to him now more than ever but you can't because you don’t understand, and nothing about this situation is reassuring to you.

“Alright,” he starts again, voice void of the emotion it held so tenderly only moments earlier.

“Enough with this emotional shit, get in the Cat’s Ass, c’mon.”

He gestures and shifts, making room for his friends, but none of you move.

The air is so tense you swear you could cut it with a knife.

“The… what?”

Kie questions, unsure of what she just heard leave JJ’s mouth. JJ leans back, proud now, chest puffed out.

“The Cat’s Ass, that’s what I named her.”

You sigh and your fingers find the bridge of your nose, pinching again but doing nothing to ward off the headache that has already settled in your temple.

“Oh, hey yo! Almost forgot!”

JJ exclaims suddenly, and his sudden movements to the other side of the hot tub cause water to splash up and onto your shorts.

He clicks a button and the jets begin shooting water over the tub, and bright lights begin emanating from it.

The three of you simply stand in awe, and not at the hot tub, but at the absolute disaster that has become JJ Maybank.

“Yeah that’s right! Disco mode!”

It’s the final straw for Pope, and you hear his feet shuffle as he comes to stand beside you on the ground, his head reaching where you shoulders are.

“Are you kidding me? You could have paid for restitution!”

“Or literally given it to any charity!”

Kie follows, and JJ’s eyes flit between the pair before connecting with yours.

You say nothing, not even sure you could find the right words.

He turns away then, mimicking your earlier actions by pinching the bridge of his nose as he listens to Pope continue.

“Or better yet, helped us buy supplies to finish getting the gold from the well!”

JJ jumps then, turning angrily to face the three of you.

“Okay! Alright! But I didn’t do that!”

As he finishes his sentence, he stands, and large purple bruises marring his torso come into view.

The sight of them makes your stomach flip, and tears instantly spring to your eyes. You step back, almost falling off of the step, but catching yourself by grabbing the edge of the hot tub.

Your left hand anchors you there, but your right moves up to cover the shock on your face, and you feel warm tears landing against your fingers.

JJ is beginning to cry now too.

“I got a hot tub. For my friends.”

You don’t have to look at Kie and Pope to know they are just as shocked as you are.

Who had done this to him? Why hadn’t he said something earlier?

You could have helped, or taken him somewhere, or done literally any and everything to help him.

“You know what, you know what? No! Screw friends! I got a hot tub for my family!”

“JJ what the hell?”

Kie asks, and you watch as he gestures around the hot tub.

“Look at this! Look at this!”

“JJ…” She pleads and it only makes him more upset.

“No will you stop being emotional? It’s fine, okay?”

He inhales a shaky breath and you have to bite down on your hand to stop from sobbing.

“I mean it’s sweet right… every… everything…”

He trails off and you don’t waste anymore time before climbing into the water, not caring about getting wet as you reach for him.

He stands there, tears flowing freely now, as his head connects with your shoulder, your arms coming up to rest around his neck as you try to pull him as far into you as you possibly can.

“I was gonna do it,” he whimpers, his head falling onto your chest as his arms finally wrap around your middle, pulling you into him.

He’s dropped the champagne bottle, and he shakes as he cries, you moving with him as he finally lets out what seems like ages worth of emotions and held-back fear.

“I can’t take him anymore!”

He cries out and suddenly everything comes crashing onto your shoulders.

Nights spent at John B’s or yours when his excuse was simply not wanting to go home, days where he’d show up on the HMS Pogue and refuse to take off his shirt. Not showing up for weeks at a time, and when he finally did, a new scar would be seen blooming on his cheek.

His father had been doing all of this to him.

How had you not realized sooner?

“I was gonna kill him,” he whimpers, and his voice is so small, so quiet, that it breaks you, and you begin to sink down into the water before you feel two sets of arms wrap around the both of you.

Kie and Pope have followed your lead and stepped into the pool with you, wrapping you and JJ into their arms as all of you cry together.

No one talks, everyone just listens, to JJ, to the water in the hot tub moving around you.

“I just wanted to do the right thing,” he explains, and you pull him closer into you.

You place your lips against the crown of his head and whisper.

“I know J, I know.”

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #outer banks #outer banks x reader #obx #obx x reader

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immortalcoelacanth · 3 years

Text

Dream SMP Oneshot: Lonely but not Alone

Sometimes I hate how my brain hyperfixates on new media/ideas and refuses to leave me alone until I write it out, but at least I get some good angst out of it!

Also, let it be known that I’m pretty behind on the streams and info (the wiki is a blessing) and I haven’t really watched any of Tubbo’s streams, so I apologize if the characterization is off! Quick reminder to double check the tags as this is an angst fic!

Word count: 1874

Summary: Alone and full of regrets, a ghost from Tubbo’s past makes an appearance.

L’Manberg was… quiet, but that was not unexpected given everything that had recently happened. The preparations for the upcoming wedding, the continued reconstruction of the damaged nation, and…

Tommy’s exile.

How much time had passed since then? Hours? Days? Tubbo honestly was not sure. Everything seemed to blur together, a mixture of stress, sorrow, and the struggle of trying to feel like everything was okay when it clearly was not.

He felt so, so tired.

Exhaustion weighed on him, dragged him down and occasionally made the words spoken to him by his friends sound muffled and incomprehensible. His brain felt like soup, sloshing around in his skull as he listlessly completed each task set before him. Conversations about reconstruction, about political affairs and new battles that were breaking out.

More pointless death and destruction that he, and he alone, had to prevent.

Tubbo sighed and leaned against the nearby building, placing his head in his hands. There were so many choices he wished he could take back, so many decisions he regretted making.

He missed Tommy.

He missed his family.

Wilbur was dead and Ghostbur had forgotten so much. Tommy was gone, exiled before ruin was brought to L’Manberg again and innocent people suffered because of his actions. Techno, a criminal, and a threat to both L’Manberg and himself-

His older brother silhouetted in the cold moonlight. The silence of the crowd, Schlatt’s shouts and demands for his blood to be spilt, his life to be ended.

Why? Why did this have to happen?

I don’t want to die.

Please.

Please-

The harsh, sudden stinging of his cheek snapped Tubbo out of his spiraling thoughts, and he hesitantly lifted a hand to touch the aching spot. His hand hurt, too, but that was nothing. He was used to everything hurting nowadays.

His mind, from all the thinking and planning.

His throat from the constant talking.

His heart from the constant breaking-

With every fiber of his being, he wanted nothing more than to be hugged. For someone, anyone, to show up and wrap their arms around him. To promise that everything would turn out okay. That when he next saw Tommy, his brother would not hate him-

Phil, he missed Phil so much!

This would be the perfect moment for Phil’s dad instincts that he had honed over the years to activate, causing the man to randomly appear out of the shadows to give him the reassurance and comfort he so desperately craved.

Feeling hopeful that his wish might be granted, Tubbo looked up and let out a disappointed sigh upon seeing that no one was there. Still all alone, his family scattered, and his friends-

“Why hello there.”

“Quackity!” Tubbo yelped as he spun around, a hand clutching at his chest as he faced his companion. “Big Q! You scared me! And… you sound different.”

He also looked different, Tubbo realized. Dressed up in a suit that brought back far too many negative memories, something about Quackity just seemed… off. He was so still, so stiff, so… emotionless.

It was as though the smile stretched across his face was fake, plastered on for some unknown purpose.

Unconsciously, Tubbo took a step back, discomfort with the situation rising. Just before he could ask Quackity what he was doing here, and if he was okay, his friend, could he still call him that, stepped forward and spoke.

“Are you happy, Tubbo?”

But it was not Quackity’s voice he heard.

Eyes growing wide as horror coursed through him. The seeming calm, casual tone those words held. That familiar, scheming smile. Even the suit was reminiscent of-

No. No. No no no no-

“What’s the matter?” The possessed Quackity laughed as his shadow stretched out behind him, growing longer and taller, Sprouting horns and a set of scorching red eyes.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, pal.”

“Y-You’re not real!” Tubbo exclaimed as he backpedaled, tripping over his feet and roughly landing on the ground. “You’re dead! And not like Ghostbur! You didn’t come back!”

“Oh, Tubbo, Tubbo,” Schlatt chuckled as his shadowy form slithered across the ground, looping over the younger man’s legs and preventing him from moving. “I knew you were stupid, but you can’t be this stupid.”

Tubbo shuddered, his fingers clenching and forming fists as he desperately looked around for someone, anyone who could get him out of this mess. Alas, he was still alone, trapped with Schlatt.

… Trapped, unless someone was drawn to his location!

He quickly inhaled, but before he could start screaming, a pair of hands wrapped around his throat.

“Ack-”

“C’mon, we just started our chat. I can’t let you end it so soon.” Schlatt chuckled, squeezing tighter. Tubbo thrashed, lashing out at the shadow in a desperate, and ultimately futile, attempt to free himself.

His vision was spotty, going dark. He felt light headed. His throat hurt. He couldn’t scream.

No, no-

Can’t die here, won’t die here.

Have to apologize-

Suddenly, Schlatt let go, and Tubbo collapsed. He crumpled up on the ground, body shaking as tears rolled down his face. He shuddered and wheezed, the occasional cough escaping him as he struggled to get control of his breathing.

“Now that we don’t have to worry about any interruptions,” Schlatt continued, the shadows wrapped around Tubbo’s legs tightening briefly and making the younger man cringe. “I can offer you my congratulations on your victory.”

He felt himself pale upon hearing Schlatt’s words, and he shuddered before quickly shaking his head.

Victory? How could such a hollow title as being President be considered a victory compared to everything he had lost to get here. His family had been torn to shreds and scattered, his friends fought with him, argued about the choices he had made to protect L’Manberg, leaving him feeling so alone and isolated.

With each passing day, it was becoming more obvious that he had lost.

His anguish was obvious to Schlatt. Schlatt, whose devious smile grew wider as his red eyes burned brighter. “Aw, now don’t be like that! You should be proud! You’re keeping Manberg safe, got rid of Tommy-”

“I didn’t want that.” Tubbo muttered, pushing himself upright as he dug his fingers into the chilly grass. “I didn’t want him to be exiled-”

“How can you be so sure?” Schlatt cooed, his hands resting on Tubbo’s shoulders as he leaned forward and smiled at the younger man. “You got rid of a threat, to Manberg, and to you-”

“He’s not a threat! Not to me!” Tubbo shot back, his sorrow turning to anger in an instant. “Besides, it was to keep him and everyone else safe-”

“You threw him out into the cold with just the clothes on his back. You haven’t visited him, and you’ve allowed Dream to do whatever he wants-”

“I can’t stop Dream! I-I can’t control him, and if Tommy hadn’t been exiled then L’Manberg would be trapped behind a wall of obsidian, and he’d probably be dead!”

Schlatt let out a disappointed sigh as his fingers, now claws, dug into Tubbo’s shoulders, making the younger man cringe in pain. “Oh Tubbo, Tubbo, Tubbo. You and I both know that’s not why you got rid of Tommy. He was a threat! He could’ve taken over Manberg, and you know he would’ve!”

“That doesn’t matter! I wasn’t-”

“Oh, but you were. You can lie to the others and you can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me.” Schlatt hissed. “Surrounded by rats and traitors. How long do you think it’ll be before you’re hung, huh? Do you really think they won’t turn on you?”

“Of course they won’t! They’re my friends-”

“Friends? You threw your BROTHER out of Manberg!” Schlatt threw his head back and laughed. “Are you stupid enough to think they’d care about something like that after what you did? Why would they EVER want to stay friends with you?”

Upon noticing how silent the younger man was, obviously processing what he had said, the shadow decided to keep going.

“Face it! You protected yourself and your throne. Nothing more, nothing less, and they’ll see it that way. They always will!”

“Fuck you-” Tubbo spat before he was cut off by Schlatt reaching out and snagging his suit, twisting the front so the sides of the formal attire dug into his neck. He let out a strangled gasp as he was dragged upwards, lifted so he was finally back on his feet. He scratched and clawed at the shadowy hand holding him up and, after a moment full of struggling, was dropped, allowing him to stand.

But that did not mean Schlatt was done with him just yet.

Before he could escape, or scream to alert someone other than the catatonic Quackity to his predicament, the shadow coiled around him once more so Schlatt was hovering over his shoulder, face close to his own.

“Besides,” Schlatt said, the air in front of the pair churning and whirling, a mirror formed out of darkness, and in its reflection was Tubbo.

Suit wearing, horn bearing Tubbo.

“Soon you’ll be just like me-”

“STOP IT!” He shrieked, hands clasped tightly over his ears as he hunched over, eyes screwed shut as tears leaked out of the corners. “I’M NOT YOU! I’M NOT LIKE YOU! JUST SHUT UP! SHUT! UP-”

He halted in his wailing as he felt someone touch his arm. He violently cringed backwards, looking up to see-

Quackity, suit and ghostly shadow gone. Even the strange mirror was nowhere to be seen. He looked perfectly normal, and concerned.

Scared.

As if Tubbo had been the one acting strange with all the crying and shouting, as if he was unaware of Schlatt’s brief yet painful presence. But… Quackity had been possessed, right?!

Schlatt had been here, right?!

The… the ghost had to have been! There was no way he had made something like that up! It was real, it had to be real!

He… he wasn’t crazy, Tubbo wasn’t crazy.

He was fine, perfectly fine.

There was no way he had hallucinated Schlatt tormenting him, that was impossible!

He wasn’t crazy!

A high pitched, borderline hysterical giggle escaped him before he slapped a hand over his mouth, a desperate attempt to contain the noise, and one that had ultimately failed. He looked up and noticed that Quackity had taken several steps backwards, putting more space between them.

Schlatt’s words from earlier reverberated in his mind.

Why would they EVER want to stay friends with you?

Why, indeed. Could he still call his friends, friends? Would Tommy still call him brother after everything that had happened? Would he have anyone left to be there with him?

Would he wind up like his predecessor?

Unnoticed by Tubbo, Quackity had continued moving backwards, step by step, until he felt he was far enough away from the clearly disturbed President. Once he felt there was enough space between them, he decided to speak up.

“Okay, I’ll… uh… seeyouaround!” He squeaked as he spun around and swiftly walked away from the crying man. Just as Tubbo was finally left alone, that painfully familiar voice whispered in his ear one last statement.

One unfortunate promise.

“I’ll be watching you, Mr. President.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Welp! I’ve already fallen headfirst into this mess and have several ideas, AU concepts, and other fun, angsty stuff! As if the fandom didn’t have enough angst already! At least this gives me the perfect opportunity to let my inner angst gremlin fly.

I hope you all enjoyed reading!

- ImmortalCoelacanth

#my story #fanfiction #dream smp #dream smp fic #dsmp tubbo #dsmp schlatt #angst #so much angst #ghost schlatt is a bitchass motherfucker #tubbo is sad and regretful #a background plot is put in motion #tw strangulation #tw emotional manipulation #possessed!quackity is the perfect vessel for angst and other things

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brabe · 4 years

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WHAT IF... MURATA UGETSU HAS BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER?

“Murata Ugetsu was by no means detached from life- nor was he free of worries and grief, he had feelings too- the same as anyone else... But, unlike ordinary people, his heart and his emotions were overflowing.

While I listened to Ugetsu’s music that day—to the sudden flood of music-feeling that was amplified so many times more than usual, I found myself wondering — how... just how was this child prodigy able to live...?

Be it joy, or sorrow, or suffering, Ugetsu lived with feelings which were much more complex, and exponentially larger than those of ordinary people- just accumulating it all within himself.” (Chapter 17)

Murata Ugetsu’s introduction struck a chord with me right away because I recognized the feelings described all too well. So, I asked myself, what if?

After finishing the anime, I read all the chapters of the manga mainly because I wanted to know more about this intriguing character, and I only kept finding clues that reinforced my initial assumption.

I am hyperfixated on mental health issues, in part wanting to find characters to relate to, so here is my reading of Murata Ugetsu. I wonder if anyone came to the same conclusion as me.

Borderline personality disorder (BPD) is an illness marked by an ongoing pattern of varying moods, self-image, and behaviour. These symptoms often result in impulsive actions and problems in relationships with other people. A person with borderline personality disorder may experience episodes of anger, depression, and anxiety that may last from a few hours to days. In general, someone with a personality disorder will differ significantly from an average person in terms of how they think, perceive, feel or relate to others.

“People with BPD are like people with third degree burns over 90% of their bodies. Lacking emotional skin, they feel agony at the slightest touch or movement.” (Marsha Linehan, Professof of Psicology, who has BPD herself and developed the most effective therapy to date for this disorder).

There are many categories of symptoms for this disorder and I reckon Ugetsu manifests the following:

A pattern of unstable relationships swinging from extreme closeness and love (idealization) to extreme dislike or anger (devaluation):

The most glaringly obvious one is, of course, the relationship with Akihiko.

“Right after Ugetsu has been away from home for some time, there is a honeymoon phase which lasts a few days. It’s as if we have returned to the past... And then out of the blue, it happens—as if he’s saying, yes, this is a great chance—let's take this opportunity, quit being together and break for real this time. Like he is in a rush... Like I am not needed. Like—he is forcibly shutting me out from his world.” (Chapter 19)

“Him and I... We have been causing each other nothing but despair for almost two years now.” (Chapter 17)

It’s also notable the lack of other relationships. When Mafuyu asks him, why Ugetsu was confiding in him, even though they were virtually strangers, Ugetsu replies: “Because I don’t have any friends! Perhaps, I really just wanted someone to understand... Just a little bit is enough.” (Chapter 17)

He is actually really kind towards Mafuyu, opening his home to him, freely helping him with music anytime Mafuyu wants even though he is a world-renowned musician and even letting him practice at his house while he is not there. We know he does that because he recognizes the genius in Mafuyu, but still, I think he actually would like to have friends; he probably just doesn’t know how to. We know that Akihiko was his first friend and evidently years later still the only one close to him.

Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger, often followed by guilt and shame:

Ugetsu gets suddenly physically violent with Akihiko two times (and a third one is implied when Haruki first saw Akihiko and he had a bruised cheekbone). He throws a glass on the floor when Mafuyu visits him because Akihiko still hasn’t come back home. He seemingly inexplicably smashes the mug Akihiko gifted him: “Around the time we had just started to live together, when he brought me my first present, somehow... I hated that very much, and I refused it saying—’I don’t want it!’ Even though it was only a mug. Back then, I should’ve just said—’I’m happy. I want to be with him.’” (Chapter 17)

I believe the last one was a dissociative episode, another symptom of BPD, a trance-like state in which one is disconnected from their own mind, body and surroundings. Then the switch turns back on and Ugetsu suddenly starts crying, crouching on the floor, staring blankly at the broken pieces and picking them up, asking himself why, just why did I do this?

The guilt and shame aspect is also shown, when after having recounted his history with Akihiko to Mafuyu, Ugetsu leans his head on the steering wheel of his car remembering everything, clearly in grief, and thinking to himself: “Really... He is a good guy, isn’t he.” (Chapter 17). Here I want to indeed praise Akihiko and underline how well he dealt with Ugetsu’s dissociative episode. He didn’t freak out and lash out at Ugetsu, calling him crazy, but instead he tried to diffuse the situation, laughing and helping Ugetsu to pick up the pieces of the broken mug. As if to say, ‘it’s okay.’

Desperate efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment:

One way of doing this is leaving the other person before they leave you, which is exactly what Ugetsu does or tries to do. He is terrified that Akihiko will leave him definitely one day, but at the same time he actively tries to make him leave: “I’m the lowest son of a bitch towards Akihiko and I guess he resents me, y’know... But I love him to death.” (Chapter 17)

“I’ve been pushing him away but he hasn’t given up on me at all. I’ve been trying to leave him every chance I get. But it seems like I’m still not good at doing that, so... I’ve always been waiting for him to let go of me.” (Chapter 17)

“What if he never came back, just like that? I’ve thought about it countless times. Yet, I’m still not able to imagine it. Tomorrow, he might come back all of a sudden? Or maybe he won’t? But, just the same, I want this suffering to end. But on second thought, I don’t really want that. All the stuff that’s in this room right now, the thought that everything might disappear... Will nothing... Not one thing remain?” (Chapter 27)

Distorted and unstable self-image or sense of self:

It’s fair to say the core obstacle in his relationship with Akihiko. Ugetsu’s whole existence is ingrained irrevocably in music. It is what gives his life purpose and the outlet with which he deals with his too intense emotions. Which leads me to wonder what would happen if for some reason he lost music. And I am not positive he would survive that.

“After we graduated from high school—at the time, when I was actively performing as a musician... one day all of a sudden I realized, the existence of the other—was the one thing we both chased after the most in this world. As long as Akihiko is with me, I’ll be unable to become free with my music.” (Chapter 17)

Ugetsu felt as if he was losing himself and his music in his love for Akihiko, which brings to the unstable sense of self. This terrified him. Love is messy for everyone and anyone but with BPD emotions are plugged into an amplifier and dialled up to the maximum (“But for my heart to be touched like that”). He can’t deal with all of this and the fight-or-flight response is triggered and “Let’s end this already.” (Chapter 17)

Black-or-white thinking:

People with BPD often struggle to see the complexity in people and situations and are unable to recognize that things are often not either perfect or horrible, but are something in between. This can lead to "splitting," which refers to an inability to maintain a cohesive set of beliefs about oneself and others. Ugetsu seems to be obsessed with perfection and probably to be a world-renowned violinist you need to be to a certain degree. But for example, when asked by Akihiko to come to the band’s first live, he replies with: “Is it at a level that you can show me? Ah... it’s not at a level where you can reply to me right away... then, I won’t come. There’s no point watching a performance if the performer doesn’t have the confidence to do it well.” (Chapter 8)

Ugetsu doesn’t exist in the in-betweens. There is pefection or worthlessness, love or hate, music or Akihiko.

Depression:

Ugetsu manifests many symptoms of depression.

He is either practicing the violin or sleeping.

He seems to undereat. Almost in every panel in which they are at home, Akihiko worries about whether Ugetsu has eaten or not, and always offers to cook for him, implying that Ugetsu wouldn’t bother if left to his own devices.

He is untidy and careless to some degree. At the violin concerto where Ugetsu is the soloist, Akihiko exclaims: “Again? That idiot... His hair is a mess.” (Chapter 15) implying that it isn’t the first time that Ugetsu appears somewhat shabby at a formal event, in which furthermore he is the star. This fact in particular surprised me because I had the impression that Ugetsu was vain.

This neglectfulness also reflects in his living space. Once Akihiko leaves, the house is in complete disarray. When Akihiko comes back to say he will move out, the debris of the glass Ugetsu smashed when Mafuyu visited are still there.

Last but not least, Ugetsu lives in a soundproofed basement in semidarkness, a fortress of solitude of sorts from the outside world.

Suicidal thoughts or threats:

“Well, when I was a kid, I used to go to some unknown old man’s plantation on my own, and I enjoyed killing bugs by squishing them with my right hand, y’know... Then, on one clear sunny day, I happened to listen to some music playing on that old man’s radio. It was ‘In the flow of time’ by Paul Simon... Yet even though I was only a kid, I thought, wow... I want to die... It’s a good day, isn’t it? Well, there were other things too, but somehow, I wonder If I’ve basically been chasing that feeling of dying from back then...” (Chapter 21.5)

Well, this passage speaks for itself. In some capacity Ugetsu has been pondering on death, has been chasing it, since he was a small child. I think this can be linked to the BPD symptom of chronic feelings of emptiness.

Impulsive, self-destructive and sensation-seeking behaviours:

In this category I think we can include the sleeping around in which Ugetsu engages. While not a harmful behaviour in itself, I think the motive is. Ugetsu has been systematically sleeping around for two years not because he actually wants to and it makes him feel good, but he does it to spite Akihiko and as a coping mechanism to try and get over him. This wouldn’t do good to anyone’s mental health and self-worth.

“Ugetsu and I fought all the time, even after we broke up. That... was because of his timing when it came to finding a new man... It was as though he was doing to spite me.” (Chapter 19)

Intense and highly changeable moods:

Simply, all of the above.

This is all for now. I will edit this list if future chapters will shed more light on the mind and heart of this character that I have come to care so deeply about.

#murata ugetsu #given #borderline personality disorder #akigetsu #bpd

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pastellipanic · 4 years

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Junkenstein's Legend

It isnt a secret that I like Overwatch. It isnt a secret that my favourite event is the Halloween event of Junkensteins revenge. It also isnt a secret that I get hyperfixated onto uncommon things or parts of things. So today, presented by my hyperfixating grey brainmatter, I bring you:

The Full Tale of Junkensteins Revenge

Or, you know, the The Full Tale of Junkensteins Revenge as Theorized by Pastelli During Sleepless Nights. Anyway, we shall start at the beginning!

(Everything in this story is theorized upon the tidbits of canon information from the game, the comics and details of skins, sprays and maps. You are entitled to disagree with my theorization and I will gladly take on any opposing theories if they are given to me with a constructive and positive vibe. I will also gladly have a chat with anyone who is interested in the subject or has ideas I hadnt considered. That being said, Enjoy!)

Chapter 1: The sad beginnings of a mad doctor and his first step onto the battlefield.

Doctor Jamison Junkenstein was a young lad who worked for the local Lord Reinhardt in a town of Adlersbrunn located in the outskirts of Black Forest. He was a brilliant mechanic, engineer and had no fear of working with electricity, hence he had gotten the job in the first place. While his social skills were limited and his fame in the town stained, he was a hard worker and a genius in his own field. At some point during his career, he got bored of the same old electricity and piping, and began to experiment in robotics. His first one was a crude little thing but he was proud of it, so he decided to continue on this path. He began to dream of building live automatons, creatures that could think and feel for themselves. Perhaps it was the fact that he yearned for someone to befriend whilst the townspeople mistreated and disrespected him for his oddities, or perhaps it was his pride towards his own intelligence. However it may be, he started spending more time upon making the automatons, "omnics" as he called them or "Zomnics" as they were later called by the townspeople for their ghastly slow movements. Lord Reinhardt was displeased by him giving his time to such silly things, even more so when Junkenstein came to his door to show them. Every time he made adjustments and showed them to the Lord, he waved the "useless trinkets" away, and everytime his already feeble fame deteriorated in peoples rumours. Madman, lunatic and fool were quickly becoming synonyms for his name. This only spurred him on in his quest to prove them wrong. The metal husks laying in his laboratory soon turned to dug up corpses, the wires he used to put inside turned to stitches on the flesh and what he couldnt understand in anatomy he changed into machinery. Soon he had a body, half organic half inorganic, and all he needed was to make it come alive. Bloodpumping didnt work. Watershocks didnt work. Exchanging the heart into a running motor didnt work. Atlast he tried using electricity to bring his creation to life, unsuccessfully. Junkenstein was exhausted, abused and even his trust in his skills had failed him. He was on the brink of quitting and burying that stupid project, until...

Witch of the Wilds appeared!

The Witch of the Wilds was a well known individual, feared by all near and far for her magic. It was rumoured she could turn coal into gold, make waterfalls run upwards and burn a castle with the flick of her wrist. She was also known from her coming to people at their darkest hour and offering a solution... for a price. And thats exactly what she offered Junkenstein, a solution to his problems; the spark of life. She only asked for a favor, one she would come collect in a nearby future and one that he couldnt refuse. He accepted. He had nothing to lose. Applying the spark of life onto his machine, he started the creatures heart and mind. There were a lot of things that went through its mind when it woke, curiosity and giddiness, but most importantly: Panic. In a furious frenzy it tore itself from its bindings and ran out, into the streets of Adlersbrunn. The townspeople, upon seeing the monster, immediately screamed, cried, yelled, attacked and fled. The monster had no sympathy for people so cruel as the baker who hit it or the children kicking its shins, so he let out his rage onto the masses. It was carnage.

Junkenstein was happy. He had succeeded! His monster was doing exactly what he wanted; avenging the years of societal neglect and bullying Junkenstein had gone through. Yet he had no control over the monster, and no idea how to get it to the Lords doorstep. A couple of hours of manipulating the routes and trying to get the monster where he wanted, he finally got to the door.... Only to find that while he was busy, so was the Lord. He had hired a few wanderers to protect him when he had heard of the happenings in the town. An old soldier searching for a fight, an alchemist practizing her talent, an archer running from the past and a gunslinger hunting for easy money. Only four they were against the doctor, his monster and his minions, and against the Witch of the Wilds and her fearsome ally; a cursed pumpkinheaded man by the name of Reaper. And only four they were who beat him, leaving his corpse battered onto the rocktiles of the yard. His monster was perished, the Witch had fled and the Reaper had gone with her. The wanderers went inside to claim their prize.

Chapter 2: How to tame a monster and revive a doctor.

As the wanderers left the scene, Witch of the Wilds saw her chance to do her work. She quickly used the spark of life to revive Junkenstein, giving his bruised flesh some tidying up whilst doing it, and watched as he sat up. Safe to say, he was pissed to have lost. He wanted to charge right back into fight, but was stopped by the Witch. She managed to make him change his mind, to wait for a year and build his army before trying again, and give her some time to get allies. Gathering what he could of the broken zomnics, Junkenstein found the corpse of his monster and decided to take it back to his lab for revival. He wasnt sure if the creature would run out again or stay, but he wanted to still show the town that he could make something living. This time, when rising from the cold metal table, the monster sat still and stared at Junkenstein. During the fight it had noted that the doctor didnt attack him, even defending him from the attacking gunslinger. It decided to stay near him, for no other reason than that it trusted him. Junkenstein was thrilled to have a friend, even if it did smell of decay a bit.

11 months went by in peace. The town healed, forgot about the incident and, assuming that the wrecked corpse of a homeless man was Junkensteins, buried the past with it. Meanwhile the doctor had other things to think about. He had built an army of zomnics, had tamed the monster and befriended it, had taught it to speak a little and had served the Witch on a few occasions. On some days he still liked to venture into town to see how life was going there. At one point he had almost forgiven the town, before he had come to learn of a new game for the children based after the mocking of his person. Thats when his short temper blew into pieces and he jumped to make an announcement in the middle of the town. He raged, mocked, spat at the townspeople, before revealing his identity and announcing that all of them would perish under his boot. Seeing a dead man back from the grave gave quite a scare to the town, making them panickedly run to the local Lords. They decided that a meeting was to be held to consider this new threat. Some voted to kill Junkenstein again, yet it was deemed to be an ineffective solution due to him coming back the last time. Some voted to trap him and enslave him for the rest of his days, but it was a futile idea for someone like him to be trapped. He would just squirm his way out like the vermin he was. It was decided that Adlersbrunn was to be evacuated. All people were to be gathered into Lord Reinhardts castle, to have few protectors stay behind until they could safely escape. Lord Reinhardt sent word to three people in order to get protection for this event. A Countess from a family of Hunters that had shut herself from the world. An old friend of the Lord who traveled the world, hunting dragons. And a Monk with his Apprentice, answering to a higher calling than human.

Meanwhile the Witch of the Wilds was gathering her allies, having gotten an interesting offer from a dragon in the Black Forest. The dragon offered to lend one of their servants the powers of a dragon and give that servant into the Witches hands for the battle. The Witch was intrigued but suspicious, so she asked what the dragon wanted in return. Nothing. It wanted the greater good and it knew that the Witch wanted that too. Adlersbrunn was filled with people and people were filled with fears of the unknown. The Black Forest was filled with the unknown, and therefore they were hunted. Silver bullet battles, witch burnings and burials of the undead had plagued the creatures of the forest for long enough, and it was time for the people to leave them alone. If not by peace, then by force. Junkenstein was a great tool for the Witches cause, but she still needed more power, therefore she agreed to take the servant of the dragon onto the battlefield as her ally.

Chapter 3: Junkensteins Revenge 2, Electric Boogaloo

The fight happens almost the same as last, but this time the tables have turned. The wanderers struggle to keep up with the Summoners dragonfire blasts, the bombs lobbed by Junkenstein and the gunfire from Reapers guns. While they dont win the fight, they manage to hold them off just enough time for the townspeople to flee far away from Junkensteins grasp. Instead of a petrified Lord, Junkenstein is greeted by an empty castle. At first he seems gleeful, running to hop on the throne. Once he sits down and looks around, he bursts into tears. After all these years of pain, he doesnt even get his revenge. He doesnt get to have his victory even at his brightest moment. The monster tries to comfort its creator, succeeding just to quiet him enough for the Witch to speak. Its time for the favor he owes her.

Before, she wanted him to leave the town as well, but seeing how he was alone already she wanted something else. She wanted him to be a guardian for the black forest. No town would ever become of Adlersbrunn ever again and no one would step a foot into Black forest while the doctor was alive, to ensure that the creatures could live in peace.

He accepted, as he was to do, and remained the only human left.

Chapter 4: The time that we dont speak too much about because honestly nothing happens

Some hundred years passed in quiet. Adlersbrunn collapsed and became ruins of what it once was. Junkenstein guarded the forest and helped the creatures inside it, at one point building a bride for his monster. (Nothing too much is said about what happened to her or where she went) The monster learned and lived, helping Junkenstein with his work. Due to both of them having been revived with the spark of life, they had become immortal. (Unless killed) Witch of the Wilds passed peacefully after a long life. Reaper found his head and his curse was lifted. Life was good.

Chapter 5: Junkenstein of Eichenwalde

One day Junkenstein realizes that where Adlersbrunn once was, is now something new. People have come and started building a town, so he disguises himself and goes to investigate. These people have migrated here from the north, calling this place Eichenwalde, and seem to be very nice. They offer him food and water, the kids want to play with him and the grown ups tell stories of the North to him. He doesnt see an issue with them coming here to stay, since they seem nice and the forest has few creatures left to protect. When a little girl tries to run into the woods, Junkenstein holds her back and tells her not to go. Intrigued, the little girl asks why. The doctor starts telling about monsters and creatures to scare the kids, but they are more interested in hearing his ghost stories, so he obliges to tell them one. He tells about a mad scientist who created a monster and how the monster now lurks in the woods. The kids are excited and the adults think of it as a great legend. It becomes a habit for Junkenstein to come into the town to tell ghost stories to kids. One day, when its Halloween, he notices a difference. The town has changed their style into old fashioned clothes, their mechanical cars to wooden carriage and posters of a fake Mad scientist and a Monster litter the walls. The kids are playing as the characters from his stories and running around with mouths filled with candy. The legend has come into a tradition of a reenactment.

One day, a man arrives into the town, and raises some questions in Junkenstein. The man looks like the Lord. Speaks like the Lord. Walks like the Lord. Has the same mannerisms as the Lord. He even introduces himself as Reinhardt to the disguised Junkenstein. The Lord escaped. It would make sense for him to have started again somewhere else. This could be his descendant, without knowledge of the legend. Who would want such an odd story to be passed down to their descendants? Who would even believe it? Junkenstein keeps an eye on the man and, even when he leaves, the monster follows him for a while. It doesnt seem like he is a threat of any kind. The life goes on in Eichenwalde, with Junkenstein telling stories and living his life with the monster. Every year his story is celebrated in front of him, without any idea that it is truer than any other tale told.

The End.

It took me 3 hours to write this down and I know it starts showing at the end. Also, there are still some mysteries in the story that have absolutely no canon to even start theorizing from. (Aka The Sombra Situation. Theres literally only one spray and a skin where she is linked in any way.)

Also, some very fun theories that I didnt know how to incorporate into the story are:

McCree gets bitten by a werewolf after the first fight

The first fight is the original Junkensteins revenge-gamemode. The second fight is the Endless gamemode.

Canonically the countess killed the Monks master, and I like to think its because of this they lost. They couldnt trust eachother.

When Summoner is close by the air gets heated.(Almost Canon. It is implied in voicelines)

Junkenstein is implied to be so chatty that he keeps talking/laughing during the fight

The Countess is from a family of Vampire hunters, who was bitten by a vampire and was ashamed. The reason she joins the battle is to honor her familys name and hunt for one last time.

It took me 3 separate days to research the canon elements, put them onto a paper and theorize around them and now I finally got this written down in here.

If you are interested in the notes I have, here you can read them: (Mostly in english, but might have some finnish words in there)

Now go my children! Hyperfixate onto this and share my pain!

(Also I would appreciate that if you take this theory and post it somewhere else, that you would credit me and tell your friends I said Hi!)

#overwatch #junkensteins revenge #junkenstein #junkrat #roadhog #mercy #reaper #symmetra #halloween #hyperfixation #theory

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woofools · 4 years

Text

Years ago I had a creative writing assignment while I was neck-deep in a Yin Yang Yo! hyperfixation, so I basically lifted a bunch of characters from the show, put them in a human AU setting, and changed their names.

BUT, I was talking with @yuckisalesbian, who was like “hey I’d read that!” This one’s for you, pal.

So here it is! A (sort of, very very loose) human/modern day AU! (Names changed back for clarity.)

Please be merciful this was written a while ago, as I’ve said. Beware of swears.

There was a series of crashes and the sound of glass breaking, then a muffled glugging noise. A pause, then, in unison,

“We’re so dead.”

Yo didn’t move from his spot in bed. He wasn’t sure of the exact time (checking it would require moving), but he was sure that it was too early for this shit. He entertained the thought of ignoring the sounds of rising calamity and just dropping back off to sleep, but then the smoke alarm went off. Regretfully, he had to let the fantasy of further sleep drop back to the hopeful abyss it’d sprung from. The noise, if nothing else, would keep him awake.

He still didn’t move, though.

There was the sound of feet approaching at a semi-frantic clip, and then he heard his door being thrown open.

“Heeeeeyyy, Yo, buddy, you awake?”

It was Yang. Yo grunted.

“Cool, that’s cool, so um, hey! Quick, completely random question that has absolutely nothing to do with our current situation: where do we keep the fire extinguisher?”

Yo heard Yin frantically yelling for her brother from the kitchen, and grumbled, “Back of the closet.”

“YANG!!”

“’KaycoolthanksYobye!”

And with that, his door slammed shut.

Yo stayed where he was for another thirty seconds, this time trying to convince himself that two twelve-year-olds could absolutely handle a fire on their own. Absolutely. In no way did they require his help. None at all.

Yang was distantly yelling, “How do you work this thing?!” as Yin screamed, “Squeeze it! Squeeze it!”

Yo groaned into his pillow, and pushed himself upright.

*****

An hour later, after the fire had been put out, the shards of dishware had been disposed of, and the half-gallon of milk had been mopped off the floor, the three of them sat on the sofa eating cereal out of pans (all the other bowl-like instruments were either broken or dirty). The twins kept glancing at each other. Yo braced himself.

Sure enough, after a minute or so of mental-twin-communication – or whatever the hell he was witnessing – Yang began, “So hey, Yo—”

“No,” he said through a mouthful of cereal.

Yin sputtered. “We haven’t even asked you anything yet!”

“Still no.”

Yang stuck his lip out. “Why not?”

Yo gave him an unimpressed, annoyed look. “Because I have to buy a new microwave.”

Both twins deflated.

“We were trying to make you breakfast,” Yin offered meekly.

“So you could butter me up for whatever you’re trying to ask for? Stick to something noncombustible next time.”

He watched the pair deflate further, staring dolefully into the last dregs of their cereal. Ah, and there was the guilt, right on schedule. Which he felt was (mostly) unfounded; he was fairly certain they weren’t as broken up as they were pretending to be, anyway.

And yet, here he was, falling for it.

“What were you gonna ask me?” he half-groaned.

The fact that they both instantly perked up only added to his “they’re just putting it on” –theory.

Yin began, “So our school’s hosting this thing—”

“—it’s kind of like a talent show—” Yang threw in.

“—and we signed up for it—”

“—because who’s more talented than us?—”

“And families and stuff can come to watch—”

“Yo, you have to come watch us!”

“Come see us do our bit pleasepleaseplease!”

They said all this very fast, and at roughly the same time. Yo reeled.

“…Lemme get this straight,” he said slowly. “You two were planning to bribe me into coming to see your school thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Pretty much.”

“Which won’t actually cost me anything other than my time?” Yo went on.

“Uh… yes?”

“Is that a trick question?”

Yo wasn’t sure what to make of the outrageously hopeful faces boring into his soul. “That’s… that’s not something that needs bribing…”

“That mean you’ll come?” they asked in unison.

“I– yeah, knuckleheads, that means I’ll come.”

He rode out the mini-explosion of joy and excitement by grumbling that this was probably the stupidest reason they’d had to date for inadvertently destroying his kitchen.

*****

The twins left for a nearby park shortly after finishing their cereal, claiming they needed to go practice their act. They refused to tell him what the act was exactly, because for some reason kids relished the idea of surprises. Yo, who was old, took surprises with a mixture of apprehension and distaste. But it was making them happier than he’d seen thus far, so alright, fine, whatever. “Surprise” it was.

Yo was grudgingly heading out to Sears to pick up a new microwave. Microwavable meals had been the majority of what they’d been living on, so not having a usable one around the apartment would only make life that much more difficult. As the “adult” it was his sad duty to put aside his plans for the day to go get one. As compensation, he decided that this meant that there were two kids who wouldn’t be getting an allowance for the next three months. He hadn’t bothered to mention that to them yet. That should be a fun conversation.

He stood waiting for the elevator, absently swinging his keys, when a voice down the hall suddenly decided to take a metaphorical cheese grater to his eardrums:

“Yo? That you down there? Oooh how’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in ages!”

He heard the woman shuffling down the hall towards him, and weighed the merits of pretending to have a heart attack and die. She linked arms with him before he could make up his mind.

“Hello Edna,” he said stiffly instead.

“Oh, Yo, it’s so good to see you, I was getting so worried! I never see you out and about lately, and whenever I go to check on you, you aren’t home!”

“Really? Huh. What a strange and completely unintentional happenstance.”

“I told my Herman— I said, ‘Herman, if poor Yo doesn’t show up soon, I’m going to need you to do something Herman!’ And d’y’know what he said? He said, ‘Yes Mother!’ He’s such a good boy, my Herman, he was worried about you too—”

“Interesting,” Yo grumbled, internally demanding God tell him why the elevator was taking so long.

“So you gonna to tell me where you been? Where you going now?”

Not seeing a way out, Yo said, “I have to go get a new microwave.”

“Really?! Why’s that?”

The elevator doors finally opened, but just as Yo was about to (happily) excuse himself, he realized what had taken it so long in the first place: a couple of guys were trying to move a couch. How they’d managed to cram the thing in there was a mystery to Yo, but now it seemed to be his unhappy privilege to get to watch them try to wriggle it out.

Despondently, he replied, “Kids blew up the old one.”

“Oh yeah, you’ve got those kids living with you now…” Edna’s grip on his arm suddenly got a little tighter. “So, what are they anyway? Niece and nephew? Second cousins?”

“Uh… no? They’re… y’know, mine.”

“Really.” Unless he was imagining things, her tone had iced over just a touch. “Adopted?”

“…Yes and no…”

“What?”

This was undeniably the last thing Yo wanted to be talking about right now. But then, talking to Edna was undeniably the last thing he wanted to be doing period, so in a way it kind of fit. “They’re my real kids – biologically, I mean – but I’ve only really been their ‘parent’ since last year.”

“Ah. And the mother?”

“Gone.” And fuck you Edna, because that was all he was saying on the matter.

But apparently that was good enough for her, because all she said was “I see,” and then resumed snuggling into his arm, warm and bubbly as ever. “I’ll bet she just took the kids and ran, didn’t she? How horrible for you! Well, I guess she got her just desserts, isn’t that right Yo? And now you have your precious little babies back!”

Yo didn’t say anything this time. He was too busy trying to convince himself that it was indeed a real person hanging off him, not some cartoon escaped from a kids’ show.

“But you said they blew up your microwave? That must be something they picked up from their mother’s side, I’ll bet you any money— Y’know Yo, if you want, I could send Herman over to talk to them for you— OOH! We could have a family dinner together! The three of you could come by tonight, I’ll make my famous creamed pork just for the occasion—”

The guys had finally freed the couch, thank Jesus. Swiftly untangling himself, Yo said, “Sorry, I’ve got plans,” and practically leapt into the elevator. The last thing he saw as the doors closed was Edna looking as though she’d just had her favorite treat snatched out from under her nose. Sighing in relief, he slumped against the back wall of the elevator.

He’d made a solemn promise to himself that the only way he’d ever have dinner with Edna Laskey was if someone’s life hung in the balance. He had no intention of breaking that promise today.

*****

Yang stuck the landing from his jump off the monkey bars, then spun around to face his sister, arms outstretched in showmanship. Yin nodded, smiling.

“Nice. I still think we should have some streamers though…”

Yang made a face. “We don’t need any stupid streamers, Yin. The act’s fine the way it is.”

“Says the guy who wanted to use rocket packs…”

“It would’ve been cool!”

“Uh-huh. Tell me again, where did you think we were going to get the rocket packs?” Yin asked, head tilted challengingly.

Yang pouted, and didn’t answer.

“I rest my case.”

“…still would’ve been cool…”

“Still would’ve been completely impossible, meathead.”

Yang stuck out his tongue, and his sister returned the gesture. Then his face lit up.

“Okay wait hold on… If we did use streamers—” (Yin squealed,) “—Lemme finish. If we used streamers, then could we also add some fight moves?”

Yin suddenly looked much less enthused. “‘Fight moves’?”

“Yeah, like karate kicks and stuff. We could throw ‘em in at the end.” Yang took the opportunity to display his karate-kicking prowess, with copious amounts of “hi-yah!”s and “chee-hoo-wah!”s for good measure. With a final, vicious kick, his sneaker went flying off.

“Nice going, dork-butt,” Yin said dully as she watched the shoe fly through the air.

The park they were in was, unfortunately, at the top of a high hill. At the bottom, there was a Walgreens and an attached parking lot. The twins watched the shoe plummet from the sky before rolling down the hill, right underneath the maroon Impala parked at the edge of the lot.

“Aw crud,” Yang groaned, stalking down the hill. His sister hopped up from where she sat and trailed after him, snickering.

Upon reaching the car, Yang ducked down and stretched his arm as far as he could. Which, since he was a twelve-year-old, wasn’t very far at all.

“I can’t get it,” he grunted. “Can you reach it from the other side?”

Yin circled around the car and imitated her brother’s actions, with similar results. “Nope,” she called back. “Try crawling under on your stomach.”

Yang grumbled irritably to himself, but nonetheless dropped to his stomach and began trying to worm his way under the car. Yin straightened up, using the door handle as leverage.

The door opened.

Yin stumbled, landing hard on her rear. A chunky Manilla envelope fell from the car and landed in her lap.

“What’re you doing?” Yang asked from under the car.

“The– the door opened.”

She heard rapid shuffling from under the car. Seconds later her brother came from around the front, hopping on one foot as he tried to tug his sneaker back on. By that point she’d already gotten to her feet, and was just about to toss the envelope back into the car and slam the door.

“What’s this?” Yang asked, plucking the envelope from her hand.

“It fell out of the car,” she said, trying to snatch it back. Yang dodged her hand and retreated several paces.

“Whatcha think’s in here?” he asked, holding it up to the light as if trying to see through it.

“It doesn’t matter dorkasaurus, it’s not ours! Give it back!”

“Lighten up dorkasaurus-rex,” he said, lifting the metal tab, “I’m not gonna hurt it.”

“Yang, don’t—!” but he’d already lifted the flap.

“Holy—”

Yin moved to her brother’s side and peeked into the envelope he was holding. Her jaw went slack.

The envelope was filled with thick rolls of hundred dollar bills.

“Put it back, Yang,” Yin begged. “If the owner comes back and catches us holding this—”

Yang hastily resealed the envelope and lobbed it back into the car. It landed in the center of the bench seat in the back, on top of a pile of blankets that had been heaped there. Yin could also see what looked like a champagne glass full of water (??) in the cup holder, and several journals strewn about the floor. As she wondered what any of these things were doing in the back of an Impala, she noticed, through a crack in the blankets—

She screamed and grabbed her brother’s wrist, dragging him back up the hill as fast as she could manage and ignoring his alarmed questions.

As she’d looked at the pile of blankets, she’d seen an eye looking back.

*****

Yo didn’t know up from down when it came to appliances, so after thirty minutes of futilely trying to compare microwaves against each other, he broke down and just bought the cheapest one they offered. As he exited the store with the box under his arm, he felt his cell buzz insistently in his pocket. The ID read “yin.”

“Y’ello?”

Of all the things he could have possibly expected to hear on the other end of the line, frantic, hysterical sobbing wasn’t on the list.

“Yin?”

She was saying something, repeating it over and over, but he’d be damned if he could pull a single legible word from the mess.

“Yin? Yin, you gotta calm down, what happened? Yin—?”

Yin gave a sudden loud exclamation, there was a sharp sound he couldn’t quite place, then silence.

“Yin…?”

For a horrible second, Yo thought the call had gotten dropped. But there was what sounded like shuffling from the other end; was that someone messing with the phone, or some kind of weird feedback? Then, a distant, very male, very adult voice said,

“That just won’t do, now will it?”

The line went dead.

*****

The cop had a bristly blonde mustache that hovered over the stubble covering the rest of his chin. His paunch threatened the integrity of his shirt’s buttons, and he had sweat stains under his arms. He paced absently in front of Yo while his partner sat off to the side behind a table, watching them. After another moment of silence, the mustached cop said, “Tell me what happened one more time.”

Yo’s fists clenched involuntarily, but he steadied himself with a deep breath. “I woke up this morning to a lot of noise because my kids had accidentally blown up the microwave—”

“No,” interrupted the cop, “from the beginning.”

Yo faltered. “That– That is the—”

“Where’d you get the kids in the first place?” the cop’s partner specified, the fluorescent lights creating a shining spot on his balding head.

“From… Their Mom went missing a year ago—”

“And what was your relationship to her?” asked the first cop, who was now standing directly in front of Yo, staring down at him.

Yo shifted a bit in his uncomfortable plastic seat. “Is there a professional way to say ‘one-night stand’?”

“Did you know your ‘one-night stand’ had gotten pregnant as a result of that night?” Mustache asked.

“…yeah. She told me.”

“But you didn’t want kids, did you?” asked Mustache, sneering.

Taken aback by the cop’s sudden hostility, Yo blurted, “What does this have to do with—?”

“Answer the question,” Baldy interjected.

Yo was quiet for a second, feeling suddenly disoriented. Eventually, he managed to grind out the half-lie, “No. Not at the time.”

Mustachio looked grimly triumphant. The queasy feeling Yo had gotten when he’d first heard Yin sobbing over the phone now had company: a twitching, pulsating kind of foreboding. He was having a harder time working out the origin of this new feeling, though.

“Keep going,” Mustache pressed (though Yo was starting to realize he most likely knew all this already). “How did you end up taking care of the kids you’d previously abandoned?”

“Their Mom had gone missing, and there was no one else to look after them,” Yo said, feeling like a child being grilled by a particularly sadistic teacher.

“So she did,” said Mustache, now falling heavily into the seat in front of Yo. “We had a look at the file before we brought you in, didn’t we Brian?”

Baldy nodded, producing a folder from somewhere underneath the desk and handing it to his partner. Mustache casually flipped through the papers inside.

“Mom was supposed to pick the kids up from school. Never showed. They had to walk home. Called the police four days later when she still didn’t show up. Kids didn’t have anyone else to stay with, so they briefly went into foster care. You, Mr. Yo,” the cop’s eyes darted up to observe Yo briefly, “were on their birth certificates as their biological father, so you were contacted. You showed up, the situation was explained, and after all the legal issues were ironed out, the kids were packed off to live with you. That sound about right?”

The cop’s steadfast refusal to focus on the fact that two children had just been abducted in favor of rehashing a year-old case made Yo’s frustration (and phantom sense of dread) increase by a factor of five. He nodded stiffly and hoped he would get to the point.

Mustache carelessly tossed the folder back onto the desk and pushed himself out of his chair. “Kind of suspicious that both your kids and their mom would inexplicably go missing, don’t you think? Especially only about a year apart from each other…”

He resumed his pacing, speaking almost thoughtfully. “Here’s what I think happened: I don’t think you planned on so much as calling this woman after you were done with her, so when she calls you saying she’s pregnant, you panic and hit the bricks. Years down the road, she tracks you down. Maybe she’s in desperate need of money. Maybe she just wants you to finally do right by your kids. Doesn’t really matter the reason; you want nothing to do with it. Angry accident or preplanned move, one way or another that girl ends up dead.

“I don’t know how or where you got rid of the body; that’s an issue for another day. Bottom line is you thought that was the end of things. But then you get the call. They tracked you down. There’s no one else to pawn the kids off on. And you don’t like that.

“Now the story as I see it can go one of two ways at this point: either you’d decided before they’d even moved in that they wouldn’t be staying with you for long, or you’d tolerated them until they made your microwave go bang, and then that set you off. Either way, you decided to do exactly what you did the last time you had a problem you couldn’t get rid of. Isn’t that right?”

The cop was staring at him with savage triumph, every inch the person who thought they’d seen through and dismantled a cunning ruse. Yo stared back in dumbstruck silence. He understood the foreboding he felt now, and understanding only made it stronger.

The police thought he was responsible for the disappearance of his children.

They weren’t going to help him.

*****

It was 2:00 am before the police finally let him leave. They didn’t have enough evidence to hold him, so when hours of trying to bully a confession out of him didn’t work, they let him go with a warning not to leave town and the promise/threat that they’d be in touch. By the time Yo got back to his darkened apartment, he was so numb that a faraway part of his consciousness questioned if he was still even a real person at all.

He closed the apartment door behind him, but paused as he went to lock it. Slowly, he removed his hand from the latch. He went to walk away, but stopped as he got to the corner of the hallway leading to the bedrooms, looking back at the door.

Sliding against the wall, he sat down on the floor and stared at the door.

He sat there for hours trying to convince himself they wouldn’t be coming back through it. He didn’t listen.

*****

Yin was sitting on the couch, trying to read a book. Yang was also sitting on the couch, trying to annoy her by imitating various bodily functions. Usually the twins’ squabbling set him on edge, but right at that moment Yo couldn’t have cared less. They were home, bickering like they always did, unhurt and whole. They both went silent when he hugged them, but then Yo wasn’t normally a hugger, so their surprise was justified. He suspected he’d be doing a lot more of it from this point on though, if he ever let go of them to begin with—

The phone rang.

Yo jolted slightly, and looked around, disoriented and groggy. He was on the floor, slumped against the wall facing the door of the apartment. Where had the twins gone? They’d been here, he’d felt the weight of them in his arms, heard their voices, they’d been here—

He stood up, head sent spinning, and stumbled down the hall. They’d gone to their room. They were just in their room. He ignored the phone.

Yin’s bed was neatly made, while Yang’s merely had its blankets haphazardly thrown back up over the bed. But they weren’t there.

Reality came smashing back down on his head. They weren’t there. They hadn’t been there all night. He didn’t know where they were.

The phone rang and rang in the background. Yo made no move to answer it. Eventually, it went silent. They weren’t there.

Haltingly, he pried himself away from the doorway. He wondered, dully, distantly, what he should do with himself now. The question was met with an agonizing barrage of white noise.

The phone rang again.

Yo stared at it for a couple of seconds before slowly reaching over and lifting the phone from the charger. He answered it with nothing more than a small “hm?”

“Took you long enough,” snapped the person on the other end. For a moment the white noise returned to completely consume the scope of Yo’s thoughts, and then he was white-knuckling the phone as he held it to his ear, eyes wide. The voice on the other end of the phone was the same one he’d heard when Yin and Yang had gone missing.

“You’ve misplaced a pair of things, correct? Did you know to find things you’ve lost, sometimes it helps to retrace your steps back from the place you lost them?” The voice paused. “In case you happen to be a complete imbecile, be at the park in twenty minutes. If you’re late or bring anyone with you, we won’t be speaking.”

They hung up before Yo could get a word in.

#I speak #Yin Yang Yo #yin #yang #master yo #I remember being proud of this #I actually managed to make my teacher go ''what do you mean that's all there is??'' at any rate

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the-arcana-but-saucier · 5 years

Audio

(via https://open.spotify.com/user/x3q9pcau1lxkahl7prswt5g6n/playlist/3GG6dzSe8hP9msdZvdvwJZ?si=pNIMILroSAuKbdRVyG2hsw)

Hi everyone! I do not come empty-handed to this blog... indeed, I have some songs for your soul. They may dare to delight, but what is the story behind this playlist other than its link to everyone’s favorite plague doctor...?

Poetry aside, hello! I’m Tex, owner of this domain (call me what you want, I don’t mind ^^). I’ve recently been enjoying The Arcana, romancing Julian (he’s my fav, sorry Asra <3), and thinking of all the fan-content I could produce while the game is still my current hyperfixation.

So to start me off running, I carefully crafted a playlist full of songs that lead you on a path through Julian’s heart as he battles his demons and ends up falling head over heels for the player. (Bearing in mind I’m trying to unlock all his secret scenes so I haven’t actually finished his storyline yet. No spoilers!)

Below you can find a short explanation of why I included each song. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

1. Killer by Crazy Lixx

This song sets out what the player knows about Julian at the start of the game: he’s a murderer on the loose, a villainous man running from his crimes, covering his face with the mask of a plague doctor. Scary stuff!

2. Blood On My Name by The Brothers Bright

This one covers how Julian feels about himself at the start. He’s afraid of what he might have done, afraid of himself, and facing the fact that he may well end up in the gallows. Deep down he wants help, but with the whole world seemingly after him, where in Vesuvia could he find it...?

3. Plague by Tris Mikal

It has ‘Plague’ in the title so I thought it was appropriate. General self-deprecating feel. What? Not all of these were thought out in such depth. I do my best.

4. Heaven On Hold by Bryce Fox

Julian feels like a dead man walking. With death knocking at his door and whispering his name from your deck of tarot cards, it seems he’s always minutes away from the afterlife, but never quite getting there.

5. I Need A Doctor by Martin Vide (Remix)

Obligatory meme song about doctors (were you around for all the animation memes they made of this one?). Had to be included. Chose a remix version because the rap lyrics are A) horrible to listen to and B) don’t really fit with the theming I previously laid out at all. Case closed.

6. Living Dead by Marina

Another one about how Julian is walking the line between living and dead. He’s surviving but not really living. Nice little reference to birds and therefore his ‘familiar’, Malak the raven. Touches upon his blossoming feelings for the player very briefly.

7. Whiskey Tango by Jack Savoretti

I promise we’ll get out of the ‘Julian wallows in self pity’ songs soon... this one describes how he feels like he’s stuck, unable to make right what he’s done wrong. He pushes the player away by lying to them and keeping secrets, and yet needs them desperately, running towards the light even though it only leads him further into the darkness.

8. Flesh by Simon Curtis

Hey, it wouldn’t be a Julian playlist without getting sufficiently spicy, would it? (Don’t play this one in the car with your mom...) Inspired by the secret scene backstage in the community theatre (Book VII - The Chariot, Chapter 2), this one dives straight into Julian’s affinity for pain and how for him, it’s also deeply pleasurable. This middle section of songs describes the sexual tension between Julian and the player and the fact that he is probably (definitely) a sub...

9. Bad Romance by Halestorm

Didn’t want to use the original because I feel rock/metal suits Julian a little better than modern pop, plus the singer’s voice is slightly deeper. This one describes the player’s feelings for Julian (and perhaps Julian’s feelings for the player, depending on which way you swing it), and the tantalizing world of danger he offers the player, seducing them into a romance that could put both of their lives at stake. Sexual tension so thick you can cut it with a knife (and we both know he would love that...)

10. Poison (Radio Edit) by Groove Coverage

Completely going against what I said last time and using a pop cover of a rock song (oops!). This song describes the tension on Julian and the player’s relationship due to his dangerous lifestyle and how they both want more of each other but rarely get the chance. The player should heed Julian’s glaring red flags that he may well end up hurting them, and Julian is poisoned by the player’s peppy attitude and refusal to let him self-sacrifice so easily, and tries in vain to drag himself down into the darkness again, pulling away from the player at times.

11. Can’t Help Falling In Love by Pentatonix

Something soft and sweet to offset the sexy tunez previously - Julian finally opens his heart up to the player and lets them in, despite all his instincts telling him it’s a bad idea to get someone he cares for involved in his dire affairs.

12. Believer by Imagine Dragons

This one speaks of pain again, throwing a sly wink in Julian’s direction due to his masochistic nature and also speaking of how the player is helping him to overcome his struggles and how they’re the face of his future and the blood in his veins. The player helps Julian to believe in himself and believe that he can have good things and deserves to live.

13. Nothing To Lose But You by Three Days Grace

Returning to a slightly darker place with a renewed interest in falling into death’s steely grip, Julian struggles with how the player will feel about his death, should it occur. He has nothing left to lose except the player themselves and it’s obvious that it pains him greatly to turn away from them again and face the gallows smiling. He admits how deeply his feelings run for them and how they’re the light of his life.

14. Don’t Let Go by GENTRI

A final song to bring this thrillsome playlist to its conclusion, and something a little different in genre - this song comes from a place of vulnerability for Julian. I imagine he so desperately wants to ask the player for their help, scared of himself and the future, and when they finally have him, he clings to them tightly: “I love you. Don’t let go now.”

And that brings us to our conclusion! Please let me know what you think! What songs would you have included, and did I do a good job picking these ones out? Many thanks for listening/reading and I hope you enjoy getting all the feels for this loveable red-haired rogue.

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