#Bad Mood Jon Plot | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bellysoupset · 2 years

Note

Wanna do a fic where Vince finally reckons with Wendy and forgives her (albeit begrudgingly) for the Pussy Magnet incident? Either one can be the sickee but we definitely gotta see Vince’s tender side come out. Whether it’s from seeing her in a vulnerable state, or from realizing that holy shit those back rubs and gentle forehead touches checking for a temp are actually feeling really good, I wanna see them get closer with each other!

So this got a little plot, so disclaimer: It's a long read. Still I'm very happy with it! Tingling romance is my jaaam, thank you for the request!!

"Okay, I get why Lucas has to go," Vince said slowly, "because Bell wants to go and him and Jonah have this weird shared history-" which he was absolutely not jealous about, "and I get why you want to go since you two are friends or whatever," he continued, pointing at Leo, "but why do I need to go?"

Leo glared at him, not in the mood to humor Vince's bullshit today, "because you're his friend even if you pretend you're not and it's his birthday. I expect you to be bring a gift, be there at seven, sharp."

"Sharp," Vince repeated, sarcastically as Leo picked up his gym bag and barged off the gym. He sighed, now not only he was going to a party he didn't want to go to, but he had to wrap the gift he had gotten for Jonah.

Jonah was a fancy motherfucker who, unlike Lucas, made sure people knew it at all times. His birthday party was in the restaurant that was in the terrace of the fanciest business building in town.

Vince grimaced, looking around for his friends, fidgeting in the formal pants and the itchy blazer. He hated dressing up -

"Oh look at you," a voice said from behind him and he turned around to find Bella, who looked just as out of place as he did, "you clean up nice, Vin."

"Almost as well as you do," he smiled, kissing her cheek. Her auburn hair was up in a messy bun that he knew was not purposefully messy, but looked good nonetheless. He could count in one hand the amount of times he had seen Bell in a dress, but the simple mini black dress suited her well, "where's Luke?"

"Hiding somewhere," Bella grinned, "this place is packed full with his high school buddies."

Vince looked around, feeling twenty times more self conscious now. It was bad enough being in a fancy party, but it was worse knowing the people around him, full of judgment, were his best friend's old acquaintances.

"I thought he went to high school in Switzerland or some shit?"

"I did," Lucas grumbled, thumping his back as he appeared and then wrapping an arm around Bell, "Jonah kept in touch with a bunch of the guys, they've flown in to see him."

"Christ", Vince frowned, "where's the birthday bo-"

He cut himself short as he saw Jonah.

Jon, with a brilliant smile on his face, chatting with Wendy and a bunch of other people from med school.

"Not her," Vince pouted and then heard a hum in affirmation.

"He's been glued to her all night," Leo said from his right, downing a flute of champagne, "it's been hell."

Vince raised his eyebrows, he knew why he was bitter towards Wendy, but he had no idea what she could've possibly done to upset Leo, of all people, who was a ball of sunshine.

"Have you met?" Lucas asked, while Bella studied Jonah and Wendy, her blue eyes squinting and sparkling as if they were a puzzle piece.

"She's the med student who checked on me at the hospital when I had the flu, past month."

"Oh," Lucas frowned, "then why don't you lik-"

"They're coming over."

"I have eyes, Leo, thanks," Vince scoffed, only to force a plastic smile as Jonah walked their way, pulling Wendy by the hand. Literally what the fuck was up with those two?

"Hey guys-"

"Hi Pussy Magnet," Wendy said, her voice all bubbly and Vince's cheeks burned, while Leo scowled at her, "how are you tonight?"

"I was fine until now," he glared at her, while Bella raised her eyebrows.

"Pussy Magnet? Do I wanna know what this is about?"

"You do, girl," Wendy's hazel eyes sparkled with mischief, "big guy over here fainted at the fundraiser's fair becaus-"

"Are you gonna make a point of telling everyone you meet about this?" Vince snapped at her and she looked taken back, for a split second, before she flashed him a sharp smile.

"I don't know, I think I could tell at least ten more people before it stops being funny, Pussy Magnet."

Vince opened his mouth to retort, but Jonah interrupted him by laughing and rolling his eyes.

"It's really not that big of a deal, Vin," he said and he sounded so happy, much to Vince's absolute dismay. He would hate to ruin his birthday.

"Right," he cringed, "oh look, finger food-" and he took the chance to get as far away from Wendy as possible. God, he really didn't like her.

Leo threw him a desperate look as he moved away, but Vince simply squeezed his shoulder and bolted away. He circled the bar and went into a separate room of the restaurant, filling his hands up with canapes.

He attempted to blend in with the wall, an incredibly easy task when you were a large football player like him.

It was nearly forty minutes later when Jonah cornered him, nearby the fireplace and sipping on water, while overhearing the drama of one of Lucas and Jonah's old school mates. Rich people had the best gossip, he decided, fully entertained by the soap opera of "and then he married his step daughter!"

"There you are," Jonah smiled, leaning on the wall next to him and Vince scoffed.

"Yeah, because I'm easy to miss," he mumbled, then winced. Jonah's night, play nice, he reminded himself, "sorry. Happy birthday, Jon."

"Thanks," Jonah's tone went back to his normal one, "I can't take this party anymore. I've never smiled so much in my life."

Vince laughed at that, surprised, "I thought you were enjoying yourself."

"I am," Jonah shrugged, "but smiling so much? Being the center of attention for hours? That's a lot."

"Tell me about it," Vince raised his water as if to toast and Jonah looked at him intently.

"I think you hurt Wendy's feelings."

Vince spluttered his water, "I hurt her feelings?!" he choked, wiping the water down his chin, "Jon, c'mon now-"

"She got all excited when she realized you were here."

"I wasn't born yesterday, I can tell she doesn't like me, man," Vince rolled his eyes, "what's the deal with you two anyway?"

It was Jonah's turn to splutter, utterly confused, "our deal...?"

"Yeah, you're all... Sweet and touchy around her."

"I'm friendly," Jonah frowned, "I'm friendly with everyone."

Vince rolled his eyes, "have you met yourself?"

"Are you calling me an asshole on my birthday? Who's the asshole here, Vincent?"

"My name is not even Vincent, it's Vincenzo, just so you know" Vince couldn't help a smile, "and fine, sorry. But c'mon, Jon, don't act like you act like that with everyone."

"She's nice," Jonah sighed, "I don't know, I just... I get her, I guess."

Vince paused, thinking about what his friend said and couldn't help but nod in understanding. So far, with her ability to piss him off at every turn, Jonah and Wendy seemed like very similar people. It made sense they clicked.

"You should maybe... I don't know, clarify to Leo you're not dating her," Vince said, trying not to make it awkward and failing miserably. He had always felt the weird vibe between Leo and Jon, but it wasn't until Jon had spelled it out for him G-A-Y that he had thought maybe it could be more than just a one sided crush from Leo's part.

"Leo?" Jonah blinked a bunch of times, "you realize he's into you not me, right?"

Vince grinned at him, "everyone's into me, man, c'mon now."

"Oh fuck off," Jonah shoved his arm, causing Vince to shove him back, still smiling.

"I'm just saaaying, he might be all heart eyes when he sees me shirtless, but he's not jealous over me with a girl," Vince whispered, leaning in, "get your shit together, Jon."

"Only after you get yours," Jonah pushed him away, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips, "go apologize to my friend."

"...Really?" Vince did not whine, "do I have to? She's just gonna call me Pussy Magnet again and then make fun of me for passing out at the ER."

"Vince," Jonah wrinkled his nose, "grow up."

"Your wish is a command, birthday boy," Vince rolled his eyes, before scanning the room, "I don't see her anywhere."

Jonah shrugged, patted his arm and moved away, as if to tell him he'd not be helping find Wendy. Vince sighed, moving to the next room.

Lucas and Bell were chatting with people Vince didn't recognize and Leo had found Mikey and Ryan. Still, no Wendy.

He moved outside the hallway, to the large hallway, but besides two different couples making out, he didn't find her there either. Maybe she had left.

Vince moved outside the restaurant, to the terrace part of the penthouse, where some people were talking, others smoking... He had about given up, decided she had probably left early, when he saw a blur of green.

In the further corner of the terrace, away from the restaurant view. He stepped closer, wondering if it was truly her, but then she moved slightly and yeah - It was her.

Vince sighed, climbing over the two steps that separated her section of the piers from the rest. She was bracing against the railing that separated her and falling to certain death, 33th floors under. Vince didn't even attempt glancing down, just being this close was already unnerving.

"Hi-"

She jumped, startled, then she saw him and Wendy wrinkled her nose in disgust, "Oh, it's you," she scoffed, turning away from him once more and glaring at the spectacular view.

Vince grind his teeth, shoved his hands in his pockets and tried not to be annoying. For Jon, "yeah, it's me. Look, I just wanted to uh..." he hesitated at apologize, because she hadn't even bothered to turn and look at him. Rude much? "to apologize," Vince forced out, "I was rude before... And at the hospital. And at the fair."

"Uhm," was Wendy's eloquent answer and he pouted.

"I didn't mean to offend you with the pussy magnet jacket joke, but clearly I did. It was in bad tast-"

"Oh god," she groaned, hands planted on the railing and letting her head hang in the space between her arms. Vince's pride stung.

"It wasn't even that bad, c'mon-"

"Fuck, can't you just- Shut up?" Wendy groaned and he felt his temper start to get the best of him, but then she let out another moan and his confusion overrode the anger.

"Uh... Are you alright?" he asked, frowning.

"Not really," she groaned and Vince raised his eyebrows. She sounded too coherent to be wasted, even with the powerful fancy alcohol.

"What's wrong?" he asked, taking a tentative step closer and she raised her head, facing him directly for the first time since he had approached her.

She had makeup on, but no amount of blush could hide how horribly pale she was. Her mascara had smeared at the corners, but it didn't look like she had been crying, just teary...

"Wendy?"

"My head's killing me," she answered, wincing in pain and once again lowering her head, chin to her chest, "you can go, I just need some fresh air."

Yeah, fuck no he was leaving her like that, Vince thought, rolling his eyes and stepping even closer.

"Do you get migraines?" he asked softly and she nodded slowly.

"I didn't feel this one coming, though," she said in a small voice, squeezing the railing a little tighter and pressing her lips in a thin line, "could you go? I... I'd rather you didn't witness this."

"Feeling sick?" he guessed, wincing in sympathy. Both his mom and baby sister had premenstrual migraines, he wasn't new to this. Wendy let out a pitiful groan, which was answer enough.

He sighed and gently pulled her hair back. It was wavy and chin length, so it wasn't pulled back like Bell's had been, just hanging freely around her face, ready to get coated in vomit.

"You don't have to-"

"It's fine," he cut her off, "forget I'm here."

"Kinda hard," Wendy groaned, then a tiny little burp rolled past her lips and she whimpered, snapping her mouth shut. Vince frowned, noticing how hard she was trying to keep it together, he didn't know if it was due to the fancy party or him being there.

"You're just gonna make yourself feel worse," he whispered, bunching up her hair in one hand and using the other one to rub her back. She was wearing a green dress that had a structured top and open back, so his hand rested directly onto her skin, "let it out, honey."

Another little whimper from her and Wendy leaned further over the railing, body shaking with a weak heave. She let out a pained sob, "hurtss..."

And all the music and chattering probably wasn't helping in the least, Vince thought, but what he said was, "you're alright, it'll be over in a minute."

He heard a gurgle go up from her stomach and then she burped up a stream of vomit over the railing, tinted pale yellow by the champagne. He grimaced, both in queasiness and just sympathy.

Black mascara tears ran down her cheeks and he waited until she stopped gagging and fighting for air, before reaching in and wiping them out. Vince gave her a minute of absolute silence, then said, "better?"

"A little," she sniffled, avoiding his eyes, "I think I'm gonna go home, before I make an even bigger fool of myself."

"Do you need a ride?" He heard himself say, before he could think through that offering. She looked just as shocked as he felt.

To her credit, she recovered quickly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and shaking her head, "No, you've done a lot already and I wouldn't want to impo-"

"I'm leaving anyway," Vince insisted and cringed. He sounded desperate, but he felt partially responsible for her, now that he knew what bad shape she was in. Wendy's cheeks turned red and she twisted her hands.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," he agreed, "let's go?"

She walked by his side, accepting the hand he offered her to get down the taller deck part. He watched as she grimaced and gulped down as they passed by the people who were smoking, but Vince also raised his eyebrows as he watched her wipe the corners of her makeup and straighten up as they entered the party, patting her cheeks to get some color back in her face. If he hadn't watched her just puke, he wouldn't have believed it.

"I'm just gonna go grab my purse, say bye to Jon," she said quietly, standing tall and stepping away from him. He waited until she stepped away to find Lucas in the crowd.

Him and Bell were sitting down at a couch, feeding each other dessert and being disgustingly adorable.

"I'm gonna drive Wendy home, can you pick me up so I can get my bike?" Vince asked in one breath, causing Lucas' eyebrows to shot up so far that they disappeared in his hair.

"Wend- What?"

"Lucas," He groaned, trying to vocalize there was no time to get in details now.

"Just take a cab to the dorms, I'll take your motorcycle there tomorrow," Bella answered for Lucas and Vince gave her a grateful smile.

"Thanks, Beautiful," he said, then saw Wendy move to the door, all smiles to Jonah and shaking her head as she probably reassured him she was absolutely fine, "goodnight guys."

"Goodnight!" Bell said, while Lucas still looked confused and whispered to his girlfriend.

"Didn't he hate her five minutes ago?"

He caught up with Wendy at the hallway. Now outside, her brilliant smile vanished and she winced at the bright lights.

"I'm really sorry for ruining your night," she said in a small voice and Vince rolled his eyes, following her into the elevator.

"You didn't," he opened his hand, "car keys, please."

She tried getting them out of her purse, but her hands were shaking and eventually she just shoved the whole purse into his hands and crumpled against the elevator's wall, closing her eyes and resting her hands on her knees.

"Don't do that, you're gonna get even more nauseous," Vince warned her, "inertia and all that sh-"

She jostled with an aborted heave, clamping a tiny hand to her lips. He grimaced.

"Wendy?"

"Please," she whimpered, eyes squeezed shut, fighting against the nausea and the pain. Vince looked around the fancy elevator, but like any rich people's property, there was no trashcan to be seen and they still had 29 floor to go.

She gagged again and he saw her visibly swallow down, "'m gonna be sick..." Wendy whimpered, sounding awfully close to tears and Vince's heart squeezed.

"Fuck this," he scoffed, stripping down his blazer and cupping it under her mouth, "you're alright, I got you."

She shook her head, "No, please-"

"Shhh," Vince shushed her, tucking the strands of hair away from her mouth and moving behind her, so he could hold her jacket in front of her mouth and still hold her hair, "it's okay, you're alright-"

Her tiny frame shook with one more heave and then more champagne vomit poured out of her mouth, right into the jacket cocoon he had made.

Wendy whimpered, grabbing at the blazer to bring it closer to her mouth and Vince sighed in pure sympathy. He felt impossibly bad for her.

"Almost at the garage," he promised, eyeing the elevator hit the 18. She coughed again, puked another tiny stream and then sniffled pitifully just as they hit the 7th floor, finally seeming to get her stomach under control.

"I'm so so sorry-"

"It's just a jacket, honey, don't worry," Vince shrugged, "and a super cheap one at that, it was hella itchy."

She let out a hysterical giggle at that, "god, Vince, don't make me laugh."

They hit the garage without further mishaps and he discarded the jacket in the first trashcan they found, all while Wendy pouted like a kicked puppy.

He planted his hands on her exposed shoulders, squeezing them, "stop worrying, I can hear it from here - So which one is yours?"

She pointed a pink car and he snorted. Of course.

After she had rattled out her address for him to put in the GPS, she curled up on the passenger seat and went quiet, pain written on the lines of her delicate face. Vince stole a quick glance at her here and there, feeling bad when he pulled up in her building and had to reach in to shake her.

"Hey... Wendy?"

She blinked slowly, realizing they had made it inside the garage once more and sighed in relief at being home.

"Thank you, Vince... Do you wanna come up?"

"Nah, another day," he said before registering what he had said. Her cheeks turned red and she nodded... Then leaned in and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you. So much, you have no idea."

Vince's entire face burned and he cursed himself for blushing so easily, "anytime, honey," he shrugged, voice cracking slightly and getting out of the car, towards the exit of the building though.

-----

Five days later, he came to his dorm to find a large black box in front of his door, with a silver bow on top. The card read "Thanks for the help, Pussy Magnet. XOXO - Wendy"

It was an Italian fine blazer.

#emetophilia #migraine #sickfic #wendy marshall #mywriting

39 notes · View notes

catwingsathena · 7 months

Note

5, 19, 21 for the writing meta asks?

Thank you for the ask, friend! You sure do know how to pick these, huh 😂

5. What character you’re writing do you most identify with?

Thinking about the Jailbreak Squad, it’s funny, because Jon, Mike, and Karolina are the three I tend to relate to (and project on) the most, but like… in extremely different ways, because they’re very different people! And yet the things they do have in common are very much places I can relate: smart, stubborn, intense, autistic, nerdy, and incapable of doing anything with less than 110% commitment. There’s… I don’t know how to say it, a directness to them? Almost a purity, though not at all in the moral sense. What I mean is that they are what they are at all times and at full volume. You know they’re not being manipulative when they talk to you, not because they’d have any issue with it on principle, but because they’re just flat-out incapable. Sincere by lack of other options. Which is SUCH a me mood. It’s not that I wouldn’t lie to you, I’m just really bad at it…

19. Is there something you always find yourself repeating in your writing?

Thistle, you know the answer to this question. You know all of the many answers to this question. However, as per your request, I will expose my faults to the world, because I love you and it will objectively be funny.

My characters breathe to express emotion way too often (this becomes especially annoying when I’m writing about characters who don’t need to breathe) (confession time: I established early on in A World of His Own that Jon still takes deep breaths to calm himself, even though he doesn’t need to, because I knew some would inevitably slip through even if I tried not to have him do that, so I decided to just give myself an excuse). In particular, people take deep breaths, or deep, shaky breaths, or deep, shuddering breaths… you get the picture. Like many writers, I overuse nods and head shakes. People also say or do things slowly a lot. (As you would imagine, people in my fics nod slowly far more often than they should.) I’m much too fond of the words “wry” and “rueful,” which probably says as much about the kinds of characters I gravitate towards as it does about my writing, but still. People “give” expressions or sounds (“she gave a shaky smile”) instead of just doing them. I do, in fact, overuse the phrase “in fact” in that particular construction. There’s more, but that’ll do for now.

As for tropes, plots, characters, et cetera… sorry, disclosing my word choice sins on this webbed site was quite enough oversharing for one night :)

21. What other medium do you think your story would work well in?

I’ve definitely imagined some Jailbreak Squad comics! You could do super fun things with perspective for the Vast people and Helen’s corridors, I bet, and Helen would have a great time interacting with panel boundaries/sound effects/etc. and ambiguously breaking the fourth wall. Jon is also an occasional fourth wall breaker, and you could do some really cool playing around with text boxes for him, I feel like? Incorporating speech into the images in various ways, having an entire panel background that’s just words, that sort of thing. I actually have some little scenes in my head as comics, including but not limited to “may the gods ensure your suffering,” “go to horny jail,” “SoL,” “squeaky,” the carnival not-date, and the Pacific Rim movie night idea we were talking about. I also think Do Not Ignore the Mermaids (for everyone who isn’t Thistle, Harriet and Oliver’s first meeting) could be FANTASTIC as a comic.

Once again, thank you for the asks, my dear! Hope my answers were satisfactory 🙂

#answered asks #my writing #tma au #the jailbreak verse #thethistlegirl

6 notes · View notes

asagaos-in-the-window · 1 year

Note

hello. ive been considering replaying asagao academy for the first time in like six years. any advice/tips/recommendations i litch rally do not remember the optimal route order or anything like that and idk if i trust 2016 fandom abt it tbh.

this is an insane ask to receive in the year 2023 on anon i hope you know that BUT i got you!

my personal recommendation [aka the order i should’ve replayed the game in, and the order i actually replayed the game in] kinda changes depending on how much you remember of the game, and if you’re trying to/willing to play the entire thing (which... okay, i have opinions on that, but we’ll get to it. for clarity’s sake, i’ll be including jared and jon routes, but it’s up to you if you want to play those.)

strap in. long post under the cut.

#1) if you want to actually enjoy the game (subtitle: 2016 fandom wasn’t wrong but they weren’t right either)

if you don’t remember the game, 2016 fandom’s order of completion isn’t... bad?? but it isn’t very fulfilling narratively for your second time playing. you should only play pbg route first if you don’t remember his plot twist -- if you do remember it, leave him till last. it’ll make all of his sad guy shit in the background of every route a little funnier, and a little sadder, and it solidifies pbg as (if not the “canon” route) the standard route to play him at the end.

additionally, the level of quality in each route varies a *lot* more than 2016 fandom would have you believe. this is purely subjective, but the “optimal route order” REALLY assumes all routes are written equally, and going from a fantastic route to a meh one is going to kill the mood a little. in my recent replay of the game, i went from jared route [unfortunately the best-written route in the game] to continue route and had to quit from whiplash. HOWEVER: if you’re looking for the funniest experience, which is also my personal choice of playthrough, ill give you a good -> bad -> good -> bad ranking.

my order in this scenario:

*#1. pbg (if you remember NOTHING of this videogame, play pbg’s first -- if you remember his twist but nothing else, play him last.)

#2. jirard (play this before the more heavy routes; it’s insanely sweet and the whiplash will be too strong anywhere else)

#3. jon (you can put this before jirard route or after it, but this is basically just a long haul to get to better routes, so if you don’t want to play it -- it is HILARIOUSLY subpar -- you can skip it pretty easily)

#4. continue (i can’t support playing it last but i can’t support playing it first either. i don’t care for the paul/hana romance, because hana’s kind of miserable throughout it, but if you like josh and nick [plus some kick ass ian characterization] continues got something for you. this is also the only other appearance of mai bikini sprite outside of jared route.)

(**bonus: #5. hiddenblock route (play this as an intermission before jared route, it’ll make the absolute roster of hb members in that one so much more fun)

#5. jared (the best written route in the game. i played it again for the irony and sadly its narrative is fucking incredible. 10/10. you can’t play this route before paul because if you do, dating paul is going to be miserable. believe me. i did that and literally had to quit continue route even though i was thoroughly in love with josh [and, yknow. jeff and ian content is good.]) #6. satch (you have to play satch and jared right after each other because they’re weirdly relevant in each other’s lives. either order is good, but there’s a joke at the beginning of shane route that begs me to say satch - > jared. so ill say that in my personal order.)

#7. shane (i switch satch and shane’s routes around for maximum whiplash <3 no seriously, play this route as one of the last. i have some insanely mixed opinions on it [it’s the funniest route but it definitely wasn’t trying to be] but you can’t play it as one of the first.) *#8. pbg (again, if you remember his whole deal, play him last.)

if you’re a real trooper and you want to play jacques route... kinda got no opinions on that. play it whenever you want so long as its in the later half of your run.

#2.) my personal order (subtitle: don’t play the game this way)

in my personal run through, my friend and i decided to pair each Really Good route with a less good one. you can play these pairs in any order, but you cannot separate them. [good/bad]*

*(the only exception to this is satch/hidden route, in which both routes are fantastic.)

#1. pbg/jon:

they’re roommates, and jared’s route is too good to be paired with pbg’s. nothing will make it more apparent that jon gives zero shit about hana than playing pbg route before or after jon’s route. if you’re in it for a depressingly hilarious romp that ultimately culminates in hana settling for second-best to a BIRD, the poor writing of jon’s route goes from dreadful to insanely funny. watching pbg treat her like a human person after or before that is both comedic and speaks to the pbg route’s strengths.

#2. jared/paul:

i don’t hate paul route -- far from it, actually, even if i’m biased in saying that. but jared route is simply and utterly, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the best route in this game. and there is just nothing more cathartic than watching hana break down in tears in paul route because shes in love with him and he fucking sucks before watching jared and hana have the most beautiful dating sim romance ever written [alongside paul’s clowning in chapter 4]. like i don’t hate paul but how do you even compete with the romantic lengths jared goes to for hana. simply isn’t possible.

#3. jirard/shane:

i know this would be controversial in 2016 asagao fandom but jirard and shane are inseparable in every route that isn’t shane’s and that’s why shane’s route fails. they’re like “what if we made shane so sweet and niceys” and then didn’t even give him the guy that forces him to be sweet and niceys until the end of the route.

jirard’s route is a nonstop fluff-fest of sweet hana characterization, accurate hidden block characterization, with an insanely good, if simple romance at its center. it’s got so much heart and earnest love to it that you can’t help but feel like jirard is the perfect match to all of hana’s insecurities. how can hana be as bad as shes convinced she is if someone like jirard loves her so much? and on top of that, jirard has to convince her that’s a bad way to think -- that his goodness is not a marker for her goodness, that she is good in her own right. it holds a lot of weight, surprisingly, and even when it gets tropey, it still feels earnest, sweet and new. (i’ve replayed this route eight times.)

shane’s route on the other hand. squints. i don’t know how they made every possible bad writing decision but they absolutely did and unless you’re SUPER invested in shane, but not invested enough to care that they butcher his characterization from every other part of the game, it’s going to be obvious. the favoritism is real (the only NB members that show up with any notable screentime are jon and jared), the hidden block characterization is utterly insane (it’s not only violently out of character but has some insane implications on shane’s relationship to hidden block. ALSO LUKE DOESN’T SHOW UP EVEN IN PASSING), and the crux of shane’s issues does not excuse nor explain his actions in any other route. just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it’s good.

Dont be fooled though shane route is the funniest one and i love her for it. But yknow. They probably didn’t mean for it to be funny in this way.

*#4. satch/hidden route:

i should preface this by saying this is the only pair of routes where both are equally great, and i’ve put them together because they promote the same agenda. this agenda being hiddenblock supremacy.

i’ll spare you the details since i just went on and on about jirard and shane, but satch’s route is deeply sad while remaining endlessly kind to hana AND satch’s plights. it’s a great balance. and at the crux of it all is the fact everyone in normalboots sucks aside from satch, who OPENLY CRITICIZES NORMALBOOTS’S WEIRD HIEARCHY AS PERPETUATED BY SHANE, and you might as well go sit down with hidden block afterwards with satch in your heart. when shit goes down, satch, mai, and the hidden block club remain oh so sweet to hana and that is fucking refreshing.

(personally i enjoyed playing satch route *before* shane route. shane is such an unbearable dickwad in satch route and i love him SO much for it. his feeble attempts at cottagecore cannot fool me.)

hidden block route doesn’t need a lot of elaboration. it’s hidden block shenanigans featuring hana, and there’s no party like a hidden block party. have fun with it.

thank you for coming to my ted talk anon let me know how it goes!!!!!!!!!!!!

#asagao academy #thats like all i can tag this as huh #anyway thank you for coming to me with this (guy with zero expertise) i hope i didn't set you up for failure #xoxo

8 notes · View notes

thezolblade · 1 year

Note

So bdsm is gonna feature in some of the fics, right? Or really fucked up in no way safe, sane, or even consensual bdsm. I mean, I doubt Jon is gonna let Martin have a safeword. Or would he? You already talked about the gags and bondage. And also I think mentions of impact play came up. Would it be alright if you got more into the specifics? Like is Martin gonna get spanked or something else?

Yep! I've got some ideas for the sex scenes, but a lot of the details are yet to be filled in. The notes are mostly about the a-plot, which will create space for regular sex in their relationship, with the mood at various points depending on how recently they've argued or gotten into other trouble. I guess the more ideas I can come up with, the more scenes I can include. So, requests are welcome as prompts, even if they may or may not end up in there. Some thoughts on general tone, and some details:

Jon's going to set awful boundaries by pushing Martin to say 'yes' to as much as possible in broad terms, and expecting him to keep saying 'yes' throughout whatever power play or pain play he wants to do, so he wouldn't generally think to bring up safewords for that. He'd probably say that if Martin ever seriously asked to stop something, they'd stop. But in practice, Jon would probably only technically stop by switching to doing something else in bed instead of moving on to aftercare, or pushing Martin to agree to keep going for a couple more minutes before finishing earlier than planned - or if Martin dares to put his foot down too hard, Jon would stop but then pick a fight about it. (Sometimes Martin would try to avoid that by taking an extra subservient tone, like pleading for Jon to hold him until he feels better. Jon would maybe still be slow to stop, but he'd stay in a more indulgent mood.)

Jon's leverage varies, but generally, he wouldn't want to kick Martin out, place his life in danger, cause him permanent physical harm, or push beyond whatever Martin would submissively let him get away with, since he wouldn't want him to get angry and fight back. He'll carry on asking questions and switching tactics when necessary to avoid that. (Though he's awful at judging harm; choking Martin was far more dangerous than he'd have faced up to in the heat of the moment.) So the leverage he'd fall back on would be more like getting Martin to agree to do things Jon likes in exchange for doing things Martin likes another time, and if he ever pushes back too much, insulting and guilt-tripping him ("you said you were mine"), and punishing him by refusing to spend time together until Martin makes it up to him, even while they're still living and working together. And if things got that bad, Martin would worry that he was on the verge of being kicked out, without trusting that Jon was too attached to go that far. Plus, he’ll get worn down over time. So he’ll often say yes to things he doesn’t really want to do.

And, yeah, as mentioned, on the heavier side of this, Jon would sometimes use gags & bondage to avoid interruptions, and afterwards he'd soothe Martin until he was being compliant before untying him. Other times, he might just try out one or the other; bondage while Martin can still talk, maybe combined with temperature play. Cockwarming with a gag to make it easier.

With impact play, I kinda feel like this Jon would want to hit Martin, but wouldn't want spanking to feel infantilising in a 'child's punishment' sort of way, so he might be quite picky about the details. Like sticking to nudity or lingerie for Martin, there. He might try out impact toys, if they could agree on them, but that sort of thing would probably spook Martin at first glance, and take some research. Things like pinching and biting would often be easier to get away with.

As for other toys, he might want to try out a violet wand, e.g. quizzing Martin on facts from the statements and shocking him for wrong answers, with a forfeit punishment if he gets sick of the questions.

He might push Martin to get a tattoo, in a possessive way. And maybe get him a collar (the kind that looks like a slave thing, not a pet thing), if they go window shopping together; he probably wouldn't risk picking up one that Martin hadn't agreed to wear. (A lot of the bad behaviour is to avoid uncertainty and rejection.)

(This Jon probably wouldn't be into pet play; he'd want to imagine Martin shaping up to be smart and capable, even in a submissive role. Martin actually might be more the one to raise that possibility, at the level of 'let's both put on fuzzy ears and roll around on a soft rug by the fire, without any strict rules or anything'.)

Safewords might come up if they decided to try roleplaying scenes where either of them pretended to be someone else, since they wouldn't be supposedly speaking their mind for the duration. E.g., if Martin wanted to process some trauma by having Jon play a (non-wormy) monster who follows him home. If it got to be too much, the safeword there would probably be 'worms'. (And then after psyching themselves out, they'd want to check the doors and windows, and have a hot shower.)

In terms of the darkest routes, when Martin runs away, and Jon goes monster and takes him back, that'll change things, naturally. Once Jon's credibly threatened to follow him anywhere in the world and hurt anyone who gets between them, Martin will be far more scared of saying no, and Jon will be more inclined to order him to do exactly as he's told. He'll still be pushing Martin to give in, which he'd do out of pragmatism if he had no choice. In that context, Jon would frame noncon violence as a punishment.

If he wants to get rough when Martin's being obedient and hasn't done anything 'wrong' recently, then he'll frame it as play, and praise Martin for being good by cooperating, even if he's visibly unhappy, and he'll go easy on him if he breaks down crying too badly.

If Jon takes over the Institute, he'll have an apartment built into the top floor, and he'll make sure the building's security team answer to him, not to a 3rd party contractor. By then, he'll also be in a position to punish Martin by controlling whether he's allowed to talk to anyone else or leave the building on any given day. And controlling his workload, and whether he can eat food he likes, and what clothes he can wear. And promising threats or favours regarding how Jon will treat other people, besides the two of them.

#heart of the disaster #tma thoughts #rozzlynn's fanfic

2 notes · View notes

goddamnwebcomics · 2 months

Text

I’ve been thinking about this particular discussion for a while…While I understand and disagree with your new policy at the same time, I’m not here to talk about that nor challenge you. I’m here to talk about the two comics themselves.

As I mentioned to you privately, I have an opinion to share the original comic and the reboot: I am reading the original as we speak, and I can’t understand why he has so much shame over this. I think it’s a fun little comic that’s enjoyable unlike the reboot! Here’s why.

The way I see it, the original is just pure fun. No obnoxious subplots that get dragged out, no whiny angst, nothing. Just pure wackiness and hijinks; It’s basically something anyone can enjoy. Sure, he borrows aspects from comics like Sabrina Online, and doesn’t really stick to one solid plot nor have much character development, but it’s still a fun read and one I intend to continue given how enjoyable it is. Arguably, it’s because of the lack of it that makes it so appealing on an esoteric level at least. It’s the same exact reason why Frankie Avalon’s Beach Party series or the Original Sabrina Online Comics had so much appeal; no solid plot, no annoying angst, just fun antics.

Meanwhile, the reboot that Jon and everyone else holds in such high regard is pretty much either:

-The same exact hijinks and lack of plot that he despised from the original continuity except this time they’re obnoxious instead of fun and it’s even worse the second time around given how they frequently disrupt the mood and the grounded feeling the reboot is supposed to set, as demonstrated by nonsense characters like Von Munchkinn and Korgar, which makes the entire point of the reboot a moot point. He may have done away with Munchkinn for good, sure, but the damage is already done. Not to mention, turning Seth into a guardian, and the whole “guardian” nonsense makes the entire comic feel like a dumb kodomo series.

-Frequent pity parties for Peter (try saying the last four words together 10x fast; I can’t) and the author by proxy especially in the earlier chapters, all of which have aged poorly and ring hollow.

-Bad/questionable writing choices like with Chelsea…which I’ll be honest, I don’t care to talk about…but is still worth mentioning since he almost decided to give her another pointless villain arc that would have brought back Von Munchkinn and that fish guy who, again, bring the same exact problem that he had with the original continuity. I also got a particular issue with Ezzy’s existence in the comic, particularly where it concerns implications of Persephoni disguising herself as her multiple times, but that’s a topic I won’t discuss here.

-In general, all the characters in the reboot carried over from the original are written to be as dislikable as possible; Peter, Seth, Chelsea…about the only one who is as he was, is Iggy and Theodore (aka Skin), and even then!

To top it all off, and arguably this is the most damning aspect of the reboot, you got the shoehorning of Whitney which starts the “first crush arc” that pretty much takes up most of the plot in the first comic and extends into Peter and Whitney to make his relationship look like it was some sort of destiny, making it seem more inspiring and romantic than it really is. It has as much depth as Bradley Bell’s in-your-face “destiny story” between Ridge Forrester and Brooke Logan (Trust me when I say Brad’s favorites are very unpopular for a very good reason; soap writing is garbage). It’s even worse than having no plot or direction at all; It might as well just be called “Peter and Whitney: The childhood years”.

Basically, what I’m trying to say is that it’s honestly a mistake that Jon gave only one continuity for readers; If he had not tried to deliberately hide the original comic and had just let it remain, this could have all been avoided. It’s a clear sign he really doesn’t know how the internet works and that at the end of the day, no matter how anyone feels about TJ’s actions (and I have my own mixed feelings on that matter), Jon can’t force the internet to abide by his terms as it ultimately never forgets whether he wants it to or not. I personally think he should throw his hands in the air and just be like “Fuck it” and repost the entirety of the original comic on his own website while explaining it’s no longer canon and then go on about why he discontinued it. It would be a hit with a lot more people than he thinks!

Sorry for the harsh long-winded speech, I just needed to get that off my chest. It honestly gets annoying to watch him create his own problems like that.

Fair point. This is an interesting point to make, because I got the idea that the original comic was abhorrent and even downright offensive, what with how it has been treated by both Jon and people who want me to riff it. I got some big “smoking gun” wibes out of it, personally.

It’s also surprising, because I absolutely dislike Jon’s wacky attempts at meaningless comedy. And I sort of get the idea Peter and Company Original Ver is full of that.

0 notes

alchemicalterror · 4 years

Photo

[ 2/4/ 2000 ]

Part 1: Abduction

[ Part 2 ]

[ Part 3 ]

[ Part 4 ]

[ Part 5 ]

[ Part 6 ]

#Bad Mood Jon Plot #Offscreen #Abduction #Malicious Whistling #Part 1 #Mod Art #Jonathan's Day off #Jonathan Crane #Scarecrow #DC Askblog #Imprisonment

42 notes · View notes

bibliocratic · 3 years

Text

clear the area jonmartin, post-MAG200 content warnings in the tags

They earn their ending. A happy-ever-after beyond the gaze of any eyes.

Jon endures his abdication. This world has no Archivists, has need of none, the thankless crown of Knowing finally unburdened from his shoulders. The blood washes off Martin’s hands with soap and scrubbing and scalding water. They live.

The end. In conclusion. Fin.

Jon’s new scar, the packaging of his skin split ragged from collarbone to sternum, fades like sun-caught paint. A maw of red pursing to a gummy primrose pink, settling into a rough cartography of white.

The first few months are hard. Brimstone flare-up silences and ice-pick shouting, open-handed forgiveness and closed-fist weeping. They drain themselves to husks with anger and worry and grief until there is enough space for better things to grow there in their stead. Jon’s nightmares were a nightly stormfront to bear, sweated sheets and dawn fanfares of panic and dread, but he is learning now, with the space for his ribs to expand, that it is ok for them to breathe here.

Jon digs up the garden with a rusty trowel until it is a bumpy canvas of mulch and soil, dirt tucked under his fingernails and decorated with smudges up to his elbows. He hums while he irons their shirts in front of the television, thoughtless and senseless with tune.

Martin has tried to, but the sound goes down the wrong way.

Martin is happy.

It isn’t the sight as such, that might sit as a film over his vision to tinge his waking sepia. The reddest thing they own is a terracotta plant plot brimming with raggedy thyme that lives a precarious cliff-top existence on the kitchen windowsill. He observes Jon’s face in all its variations, even pained – when he snags splinters in his fingers, when he stubs his toe on the stone front step and swears damnation – and his response is sympathy tempered by admonishment.

It’s not the sensation, not really, that might tremble on his skin. Martin’s palms tend to dryness inside their homely bubble of creaky central heating, hemmed in by boisterous coastal winds. He handles bread knives and butter knives and steak knives and carving knives without the muscle memory of other blades, and he thinks he might be getting pretty handy with his oven experimentation.

It’s the sound. It wakes him, the noise lingering like the echo of a slap.

The slick punch of metal into muscle. A tooth-bared, tense-jawed gasp.

Resurfacing to shocked consciousness, he would be seized by a frenzy, to know, to check. His scattering hand scrabbling for the lamp with such force he hit it off the nightstand to roll in a giddy clatter, throwing off the covers to rapidly pollute both of them with the outside air. Jon would be rocked from sleep, groggy, panicked, and Martin’s words would not come, a train of thought trying to race full steam where no one had laid tracks, so it would be just the two of them, exhausted and upset and amping the other up in misery.

Now, upon his rousing, Martin knows not to turn on the light. He does not check. The aftermath of punch-gasp curls in his ear, and he inhale-exhale-inhales with the ferocity of mantra, and clamps the threatened tears in the clench of his teeth.

He does not wake Jon.

“How did you sleep?”

“Oh, you know me. Like a log.”

He is happy. He is. Why wouldn’t he be?

Jon rumbles like a rusty mechanism with snoring whenever he drops off on his back, and he mumbles accusatory when Martin coaxes him to his side. Martin finds black hairs on his pillowcase, in the shower plug. Jon is a vista of experience since the Eye left him, who gets hungry and tired and grumpy and drunk and silly and fed-up and giggly. Jon searches him out with the surety of magnets, and loves him, loves him, loves him. He seals kisses to Martin’s new landscape of extensive scars. Their disagreements, when they surface, are as meaningful and lasting as stones skipped on water.

Martin wanted this. He wants this. The rhythms of domesticity fading to foam on an untroubled shore.

He is out of practise with happiness, that’s all. It doesn’t come to him like breathing. He needs to till the earth of it, shelter its seeds from a thousand circling crows until it bears harvest.

He just has to try harder.

Night-time.

An episode or two of something simple, Jon nodding off like a capsizing ship before the credits. Encouraging him up in grousing, unwilling increments, rubbing out the nettle sting of pins and needles up his own arm. Check the locks, the light switches. Brush teeth. Pyjamas. Put his phone to charge, read until Jon succumbs to sleep. Click the light off, pushing Jon onto his side so his mouth doesn’t dry. Jon squirming around like a fastidious octopus until he has at least half his limbs hooked over Martin.

The dark creating shadow play. In the absence, Martin colouring in the gaps with lurid shades of disaster.

A creak – the rattle of a door downstairs, an intruder unfastening the back door, transferring their weight upon the staircase. A unfamiliar scent – the recollection of smoke-stench in his nostrils, the acrid promise of gas, the ferrous pungency of blood. The rain will flood their house to drown them. The wind will blow their roof in. Jon hooks his leg around Martin, the skin void of hair where Daisy’s mouth had almost torn it off, and all he can envision is the ways this could be destroyed as he watches.

Bundle Jon close. Ignore the rain, the itch at the bottom of his stomach, the queasy roil of his fear. Drift into unkind sleep populated with its garden of earthly terrors.

Martin is… not happy. Not exactly. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

Jon is happy.

Jon, rubbing at the compression lines around his hips, the accusatory splay of the top button refusing to budge closed:

“I can’t fit into my jeans.”

Martin enfolds him from behind, planting his palms over the slight paunch of Jon’s stomach, filled out through sensible eating and small indulgences and a hunger that will never be ravenous but has restored its human qualities.

“Hmm. It’s a good look on you. Healthier.”

“Or it’s middle age.”

“Or it’s eating things that aren’t tea and meal-deal sandwiches.”

“Or other people’s terror.”

“Oh yes, you’re right, I completely forgot about your subsistence diet of eldritch and unbidden horrors in a luscious wholegrain wrap, forgive me.”

Jon laughs at that. The sound has not yet lost its novelty for either of them.

He shifts, turns, his arms a buoy around Martin’s stomach.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Must be all the clean air,” Martin quips. “All that healthy living.”

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

When his heart has wound down from the pace of its gallop, he extricates himself from Jon’s grip. It is a laborious task to find the places where they’ve joined in the night and pull them apart, like separating fabric snagged on rosebushes.

He gets some water from the cold tap in the kitchen. Sits heavily on the sofa, the room cossetted by the gloom.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

His hands shake.

He doesn’t go back to bed.

He isn’t happy, but he could grow to be. He could. He could. He just isn’t trying hard enough.

Some days, he feels like he’s waiting for the ice to give under them.

Check the passers-by as they walk. Anyone familiar, any teeth filed too sharp, anything animal or blood-shot, any eyes that glance too deep.

Check the oven. The gas knobs are angled to off but a leak is not impossible in a house this old, their alarm might malfunction, they might fall asleep and some spark from a plug socket could catch and incite a conflagration.

Check the window latches. The opening wide enough for a body to squirm through, the claws of a Hunter marring the sill. Wriggling infestations that invade through the letter box, the keyhole, the gap under the door where the wind can whistle through.

Check. Check. Check.

Jon is happy. Jon has a job, work friends, a hundred small luxuries that he has struggled to earn. Jon is happy, so why can’t he be? He went through so much less, the blood washed off easily with soap, what the fuck does he have to cry over –

Martin has always crafted his masks from scrap, tongue out in concentration, piecing things together in low light, a make-do-and-mend of his own devising. His early efforts, the paper mâché and glue easily cracked before he learned to shore up his constructions. He has a small collection garnered over years.

The quiet-voiced, muffled-stepped, muted-smiled creation of a Good Son.

The zipped-mouth, no-refusals-no-complaints-yes-of-course-how-high earnestness of the Good Employee, the desperation sanded off the edges so no one could see.

The I’ll-get-the-first-round friendliness, the open-handed, open-hearted, too-naïve Good Colleague.

This new mask forms in increments, in the same way a rising mound of dirt marks the extent of a grave being dug.

He doesn’t mean to. It’s just he’s better at not talking about things. He always has been. And it is an ugly, easy comfort, to slip back into bad habits.

And Jon is happy.

All the things Martin does not wish to permit the light to touch he compresses inside like shaken soda. The rot in him deepens structural, the places where he papers over moulds and fungal speckles with the distraction of their new life. His smile parades simple, contented, cheeky, teasing, and there is a meticulous artistry in each. He sketches interest, paints joy, manufactures irritation out of the clay of nothingness that he allows himself to feel instead of the overwhelming rush of everything else.

I love you, his mouth murmurs, laughs, sighs, groans, and that at least is always true.

The mask of a Good Partner slips on tailor-made.

They find their nine-to-fives. Jon’s job is uneventful, boring, and nowhere near an Archive. He works in a registry office for the council, filing and organising and he’s cheerfully lied on his CV in order to get it. He gets the bus and texts Martin grumpy faces and GIFs summarising his mood when he gets suck in the commute or some idiot parks in a bus lane, he has a couple of colleagues he likes and a greater number that he tolerates, he gets a hot chocolate from this universe’s overpriced multinational chain on his lunch hour. When he gets home, he complains with delight at the mundanity of his dissatisfactions, regales Martin with tales of meagre drama.

Martin gets a cleaning job at a school. It is monotonous, dull and safe. Martin loses track of the time easily, quagmired in his musings. The children are wary of him and his visible scarring but it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. The teachers are friendly enough, as well as the other cleaning staff, but he does not make friends. They’ll have to move anyway, if anything finds them here, if the Fears emerge again.

Martin tries not to feel like he’s waiting.

He wants to have a good night’s sleep.

“I’ll have breakfast at the school, don’t worry.”

“There were some leftovers from the canteen, so I’m kind of full.”

“It was one of the teacher’s birthdays, you know, Denise? Heh, might have had a bit too much cake. I’ll pop this in the fridge for later though, it’ll keep till tomorrow.”

“I’m just not that hungry tonight, Jon.”

He feels sharper when he doesn’t eat. It is uncomfortable, a scratched-out, hollowing sensation, but things focus more. He can control nothing else but this, and it feels good, to have this mastery over himself when so much is beyond him.

He drops down notches on his belt and tells Jon it’s all the walking he’s doing.

The world continues to happen to them. He goes to the cinema with Jon and picks at popcorn and encourages Jon’s outraged opinion. He meets Jon’s mildly interesting work friends and plays nice and excels at small talk, and he drinks half a cider that he nurses over the evening because it’s making his head fuggy. His body communicates its sharpness to him and he gains grim satisfaction from ignoring it. He goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep and goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep.

Martin does his best at living, and his mask doesn’t slip.

“You seem tired,” Jon pries his words out carefully, picking them out of his teeth as one would scraps. “Is… is everything ok?”

“Yeah, sure it is. Why?”

“… you seem a bit down today. Recently. Is anything… is there anything you want to talk about?”

“I’ve just been working too hard. Been a while since I had to do double-shifts, heh, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“If you’re sure?”

Jon shifts to a different position where he’s sat on the sofa, his legs tucking up under him. Martin endures his questioning gaze with practise.

“Yeah, I’m all good.”

Martin delivers a hand-crafted smile that’s gilded heavily with guilelessness and reassurance. He watches as Jon believes him and hates himself.

“You know… You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you can – you know you can talk to me, Martin?”

Martin’s eyes focus on Jon’s chest at the point where a knife once sunk in, and doesn’t reply.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

Jon has twisted over onto his back again, rattling like a chain-smoker’s cough with his snoring. They were quiet that evening, tangled up in their own thoughts, but there is none of that distance in sleep. During the night, Jon’s wormed himself out of the covers with a single-minded determination, his restless legs squashing the duvet to the bottom of the bed on his side, encouraging Martin’s to follow suit.

He’s shirtless, his top chucked off to pile unceremoniously on the floor. The temperature is ripe with a burgeoning summer heat, and Jon tosses and complains if he’s overwarm, and Martin didn’t think he’d get to feel the drudgery of another lived summer. He’s shirtless, and the room is palled in sweltering dark that softens the vague shapes of the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, the knickknacks of the life they’re building together. He’s shirtless, and Martin cannot see where the scar is, the only scar of Jon’s he has ever thought ugly, but he knows it is there. That he put it there. That he could just as easily be waking up alone.

His body pains him to live in it. His stomach tight and bottomed out empty.

He is so so tired.

Martin’s heartbeat does not slow down. His chest constricting, and he swallows, a sharp sound hiccupping in his throat. He stifles it with a forceful sniff but more come as a painful spasming wave, and he has to sit up if any air is to dribble into his lungs.

He should get up. He has to get up, do this in the bathroom, doubled-over the sink, stifling his weakness where it cannot be witnessed. He cannot do this here.

Punch. Gasp.

His burning face is soaked as he bunches up his sleeves against his reddening eyes. A calming exhale drains out shaky, moulds itself into another loud sob. He plants his hands over his mouth, screwing his eyes closed, and this will pass, he’s fine, this will pass…

“Martin?”

I’m sorry to wake you, he thinks to say. It’s nothing, go back to sleep, stop looking at me Jon, I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing, it’s nothing…

His shoulders start to shake.

“Martin?” Jon repeats slowly. And the ice creaks and cracks and Martin gasps and then it breaks, and the force of his damned-up grief is tidal, catastrophic and he sobs into his hands.

“It’s… it’s alright – it’s… it was a nightmare, that’s all, ‘s alright…”

“It’s not!” Martin bubbles out, the words mashed to a wail in his hands. “It’s not, it’s not, it’ll ruin this…”

“Hey.” Jon brings his arm around Martin and he buries his head in the bony crook of his shoulder because he does not want to meet Jon’s eyes. “What do you mean? Martin?”

Jon rubs at his back. Martin’s body betrays him in a hundred ways as it collapses around him. His weeping wrings him out, dry-mouthed and headachy and trembling when he subsides into shivery breaths.

“Talk to me,” Jon says. “Please.”

“You’re so happy,” Martin sniffs out. “I-I want you to be happy, god, o-of course I do. Things are, they’re good, they’re good and we won, s-s-so why does it feel like I’m still holding my breath? I-I go to bed and I’m frightened of every noise, and I wake up and I’m terrified that someone somehow could take this all away, and I can’t sleep, and I-I’m tired, Jon, I’m tired of holding my breath, and it’s all – it’s all so much a-a-a-and I can’t – ”

“Oh, Martin – ”

His words fail him then. Jon holds him up and his arms do not loosen.

“We-we’re going to fix this,” Jon says after a long while. “I promise you, together, we’ll – we’ll talk to someone. You aren’t alone in this. Together, alright, we’ll do this together. We’ve survived – everything else, we can get through this too.”

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” Martin says, too drained to avoid honesty.

“…Maybe not yet,” Jon says after a pause. “That’s OK. I can wait.”

I’m sorry, Martin attempts to say but Jon presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jon says. He strokes Martin’s sweat-soaked hair.

“… Can we talk? Tomorrow? You don’t have to tell me everything, but… I’d like to be there for you, if you want me. If you’ll let me.”

Martin nods because he doesn’t trust his gummed-up throat. Jon takes that as an answer.

Dawn comes in slowly enough but they see it in together.

#tma #the magnus archives #cw racing thoughts #cw anxiety #tw eating disorder #tw ptsd #ask to tag #cw nightmares #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #jonmartin #tma spoilers

465 notes · View notes

shieldofrohan · 2 years

Note

Unpopular take but I don't know why people think Martin hates Sansa? To me, he likes her a lot. I only sympathize with Arya when I read the books for the first time and even then I didn't demonize Sansa because of her. After rereading a few times, you notice that every Sansa action is explained and it's obvious that she does nothing in bad faith, that's why I was shocked because people think she's a bad person. Now I read arya's agot chapters and I'm like: that's a jealous little girl lol. I just hope that george doesn't do another cat x lysa with then. But I agree with you when you say men help Arya meanwhile Sansa is always groomed, though I think this is because he is too fascinated by the Lolita thing and not because Arya is better than her.

Hello Anon,

Previous asks:

All Martin has ever done was saying that Tyrion is fav character and he also said that he loves Ary* the best too. His first choice is always Tyrion though. And he also makes it clear that he LOVES all POVs.

Tyrion is my favorite character. Okay? OKAY? Can we PLEASE put that one to rest?? I love all my viewpoint characters, Arya and Sansa and Bran, Jon Snow and Brienne, Arianne and Cersei and Jaime, Theon, even Victarion and the Damphair, ALL of them, but I love Tyrion the bestest. Tyrion son of Tywin, the Imp, second son of Casterly Rock. How many bloody times do I need to say it??

src

He loves all of them. Good ones, bad ones.

Like I said before, Sansa represents the romantic side of him and one of the main themes of the series. His writing really gets more beautiful when he writes her POVs.

Asoiaf is different from the other fantasy books because it is more of a political series in a fantastical world and guess what, which Stark kid is more in those political plots?

Sansa leaves home to become a QUEEN, she lives as a lady and a political/war prisoner in the CAPITAL of the kingdom, she meets and observes other big players, she survives KL and now she is learning about politics and ruling even more in Vale under Baelish's teaching. So she is one of the main characters for the political arc of the series and she is going to be the WINNER of this arc. For Martin, she is very important. His bad or problematic choices don't come from his hatred, he is just writing the way he likes...

We can criticize him but I can't see him hating her (but I do believe he sometimes plays with the readers to make them to dislike her... average minded readers but still..)

My Martin = Ned idea is on point. Ned loves all of his children (Robb, Jon, Sansa, Ary*, Bran, Rickon) but like all parents he has a fav one: Ary*, Cat's fav was Bran for example.

Parents having fav children is usually a very subtle thing. This doesn't affect family dynamic that much but the moment it goes too far or gets repeated too many times, the problems start and other kids get hurt and this starts to affect their mood and choices in life. It happens to Sansa in AGOT. Even in her first POV, we see her feeling cheated by her father because him favoring Ary* more:

None of which stopped Ary*, of course. One day she came back grinning her horsey grin, her hair all tangled and her clothes covered in mud, clutching a raggedy bunch of purple and green flowers for Father. Sansa kept hoping he would tell Ary* to behave herself and act like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, but he never did, he only hugged her and thanked her for the flowers. That just made her worse.

[AGOT- Sansa I]

Sansa can senses that their father is treating them differently and she feels like he gives more to Ary* when Sansa is the one who is trying to do more. Sansa's hurt doesn't get enough attention from Ned in the books:

“Ary* started it,” Sansa said quickly, anxious to have the first word. “She called me a liar and threw an orange at me and spoiled my dress, the ivory silk, the one Queen Cersei gave me when I was betrothed to Prince Joffrey. She hates that I’m going to marry the prince. She tries to spoil everything, Father, she can’t stand for anything to be beautiful or nice or splendid.”

“Enough, Sansa.” Lord Eddard’s voice was sharp with impatience.

[AGOT; Sansa]

So yeah Ned fails as a father and this shapes Sansa's choices in AGOT. BUT in the very end Ned still sacrifices his honor and his life for her. Because he LOVES her.

And Martin is the same. He favors Ary* more and while doing that Sansa suffers sometimes. Because of his writing choices average readers like Ary* more but he probably wasn't expecting this kind of hate in fandom. I am sure that he wanted to fool readers to root for Ary* and love her more than Sansa but he wasn't trying to make a statement like: Ary*-Good, Sansa-Bad.

He was just trying to put drama in the family (choosing two sisters for this was a problematic choice imo... like whole Lysa-Cat thing. But I believe that in the end they'll become closer as siblings like in the show).

BUT in the end, Martin loves Sansa and he cares about her. He is writing a triumphal story for her. He is believing in her and he is going to make her the queen of the place that his whole story had started. A beautiful love story when you look at it this way.

Yes he has made too many mistakes when it came to Sansa but the general feeling of love is still there.

About Lolita book, I don't know if Martin has ever said anything about that book but the "unreliable narrator" is really his thing so... possible. But in Asoiaf he gives enough narrative to tell that all those men are abusing Sansa. I don't like that subtext thing as a writing choice but at least Martin gives the clues for the REAL story, but idiot readers choose to ignore them.

Martin, sweety, most of your readers are stupid honey...

And yes Ary* suffers from rereadings while Sansa is getting better and better with every reread so people start to like her more and like their old favs less.

Thanks for the ask, have a nice day.

#mine #asoiaf #answered #anon #ask #sansa stark #anti arya stans #anti arya stark #just to be safe #grrm #grrm=ned

52 notes · View notes

enigmamuse · 2 years

Note

Your Jonathan? 1000+/10. That mans has stolen my cold dead heart. You possibly wouldn't mind answering #34, #39, and #35 from our ask meme? Thanks a bunch!

Uuu, I’m glad you enjoy him and same!!^^ 34.) Describe their ideal perfect day.

Waking up not too late, taking the time to make coffee and eat a meal that actually has sustenance. Meanwhile, reading the book he's been meaning to pick up or the day's paper while someone else does the crossword section. Experimenting in his makeshift lab and making a research breakthrough that's just challenging enough to be satisfying. Defeating Batman and making Gotham his own personal Petri dish for fear and despair. Depending on the mood... Either pulling off a successful heist and getting to have fun “experimenting” with his new products. Or staying in with Edward and discussing their day & watching a horror movie(s) or true crime show/documentary and criticizing every character/person involved. Eddie tends to talk during, so ideally they’re watching something 1) Jon has seen before 2) is bad or 3) they both can’t help but comment on.

35.) If they could give one piece of advice to anyone, about anything, what would they say?

Don't judge a book by its cover - sometimes what's inside is far worse.

39.) Random fun fact! asjkds this turned into more of an information/lore drop but!!...

Diverging from Year One's storyline, my Jonathan was successful in killing his father. Batman didn't sweep in just on time to save him from making a big mess on the city pavement, and the resulting scene that he and Dick came across (coupled with a dose of early prototype fear gas) is what allowed Jon to escape their first encounter, for the duo were too preoccupied by the horrific similarities of their own parents' deaths. This resulted in more animosity and intent to apprehend Scarecrow on Bruce's part, mirroring/bordering on Jon's obsession with revenge.

Additionally, my Jonathan had long-known about his mother, and had stalked her for a number of years before confronting her. In my version, she's more just kind of some woman who's trying to have a normal life following her disowning by her abusive family.* *I'm not a fan of her new familial situation in Year One (imo it felt kind of like a cheap way to sell/garner sympathy for what could have been an otherwise interesting character, esp in addition to how they made her look ridiculously young to fit a more blameless Young Maiden trope).

Personally, I like the idea of her biggest fear being related to her guilt about abandoning Jonathan with his great grandmother, which when revealed led to him having a deep, visceral conflict of whether she deserved what he'd been plotting for years. During that time Batman captured him, himself having to find compassion for someone who may or may not deserve it, while fighting his own personal fears of inadequacy.

#ask #museverse #museverse Scarecrow #museverse Jonathan #headcanon #fearthebadgers #Jonathan Crane #Scarecrow

19 notes · View notes

murple · 3 years

Text

jar of rebuke liveblog-ish

So I started listening to jar of rebuke and it’s very cool (and VERY gender)

I’ve been jotting down notes for each episode, some during, some after, bc I have a feeling this goes far, far deeper than Jared having movie nights after work. It’s... long, bc I binge, so it’s under the cut

spoilers up to ep 9

there’s none for ep 1 and 2 because I didn’t think to do this yet rip

Ep 3 • Pretty certain that Jared's backstory is Not Good, very dark • *martin imitating Jon voice* curse this flesh prison • Headaches are directly related to the memories arent they

Ep 4 • Gay • I refuse to be an oblivious aro this time. I ship it • Hell yeah immortality in action • But why is he immortal??? Is he a Spooky creature? • God I can't wait for the Dramatic Reveal to Darius that Jared is immortal

Ep 5 • Fuck todd • Yeah I fully ship jared with darius • Jared your job is evil (by this I mean the Enclosure, obviously not Jared. He’s too sweet to be evil)

Ep 6 • Good for him he needs a break and friends • Dog-inspired gender crisis hell yeah • Oof pls no more dog noises I hate it. Freaks me out. I have a semi-rational fear of dogs and dont like this

Ep 7 • Jared get a better therapist. I understand why you can't but. Pls. • Really jarring going from jared meaning flesh monster jock to mysterious spooky introvert who just wants friends • Once again, jared your job is evil • GET!! THIS!! LAD!! MORE!! FRIENDS!! • FUCK YEAH CANON NB PROTAG • Ngl all the Gender Talk is making me so happy it just hits so deep in my heart

Ep 8 • Wear a toque dude • He's so empathetic towards these creatures this is how he'll save the world • HEY NO BAD. Dont tell jared not to have empathy!!! • I dont trust this new doctor guy • RIP Jared you better get good at your natural scientist cover real quick • IM SORRY WHAT WAS THAT GLITCH?

Ep 9 • Jared's having a generally bad time isnt he • (Fun fact: my autocorrect wanted me to type "Jared's having a genderfluid" which uhh mood) • The fact that he's tied to the Enclosure through sheer isolation sounds uhhhh cultish • His therapists are OBVIOUSLY not acting with his best interests (making friends and being at peace with himself) in mind, I bet they're part of a larger plot • THE GLITCHING IS BACK • WHAT DOES IT MEAN

As of ep 9, I have 3 theories:

the amnesia thing is legit and jared got his abilities through the Incident

the amnesia thing is legit, but intentional, bc jared is a supernatural creature that the Enclosure is trying to control

jared was created by the Enclosure for some deeper nefarious purpose

I'm leaning towards number 2 rn, because :

it's cool

explains why no one from his past came after him, since the records are probably falsified

his therapists are sketch and arent helping him remember, which leads to

whatever they're hiding abt him is hella sketch, like, if his backstory was truly as normal as they say, they wouldn't go to such measures to hide it, which ties in with

they dont let him see his medical scans so there might be something physically up with him

he doesn't know what type of creature could make scenario 1 happen, and the only good reason they have for hiding that is bc they’re sketch af

the supernatural just REALLY likes him. maybe it senses something in him???

Anyways I'm really enjoying this, I only have 2 thoughts and they are "oooh cool mystery I can't wait to theorise" and "GET!! THIS!! LAD(?)!! MORE!! FRIENDS!!"

#jar of rebuke #jor #do ppl use this acronym??#i don't want to go in the tag until I'm caught up #I'm determined to go in blind #and stay blind #jared hel #god he's just so intriguing #what's his deal??#with the memories?? abilities?? uhhh general life???#and by god I'm a sucker for the good old #I must keep my abilities secret or I'll freak out the ones I love and they'll never see me the same again!#now that I think abt it that's a closted nb mood #so maybe that's why I'm drawn to it.......

13 notes · View notes

epiphany-of-a-madwoman · 4 years

Text

The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 9 | Toss a Coin to Your Witcher

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 4,339

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡

💕 Shout out to my Beta: @thisbreakableheaven , I always say it, but I’m going to say it again, thanks for listening to all my plot rambling as I try and piece together all my strange plot / chapter ideas! 💕

Visenya’s eyes shoot open. Her breathing is heavy and erratic with her heart beating rapidly against her chest. A cool sweat coats her forehead and brows with a slight tremble in her body, like a leaf shaking in the wind. Amber eyes dart from left to right, attempting to take in her surroundings. Everything is hazy and out of focus, like a thick fog hangs in the room, translucent enough to not be immediately noticeable, but still there. She’s in a bed, larger than the small lumpy ones in the inns she and Jaskier inhabit and certainly plusher than the hard floor she swears she fell asleep on last night.

Heavy furs cover her body, keeping out any potential chill, the hairs on her body stand up straight due to the cold air. Directly across from her is a small table pushed up against the wall with a small mirror resting on top of it. The window to her right is shut firmly, and adorned with loosely hanging curtains made from a thick navy blue fabric. On the left side of the room, a long wardrobe crafted from dark wood, and beside it a dresser crafted from similar materials. Visenya pushes the heavy furs and sits up. Her back pops at the movement, her neck and shoulders stiff from a restless sleep. In the back of her mind something feels off, but for the life of her, Visenya can’t put her finger on it. A part of her that’s buried deep in her hazy thoughts is screaming at the top of its lungs, but she doesn’t know why.

Winterfell, she’s in Winterfell. But she's always been here, so why does it seem so wrong?

She slips out of the bed, her left and then right foot touching the cold floor, it’s dark stone color matching with the rest of the room's decor. The cold air bites at her bare legs, the light nightgown doing nothing against the cold. Only silence fills the room, not even the sound of her feet lightly tapping against the stone floor is heard. For some reason, this unnerves Visenya, but once again she doesn’t know why. She approaches the vanity table, sitting in a wooden chair in front of it. the legs of the chair scrape against the ground, the sound echoing in Visenya’s mind. It’s the first noise she’s heard since she awoke. She sits in the chair, the wooden backing not soothing the stiffness she feels.

Looking into the small mirror, she stares at her reflection. Tangled silver hair delicately frames her pale skin that nearly glows in the dark room. Purple eyes glimmer in the reflection, staring at Visenya with a hint of mirth she’s familiar with but also seems almost like a distant dream. For some reason it seems wrong, the reflection staring back at her, but Visenya can’t place why. Targaryens are known to have silver hair and purple eyes, so why do her own features feel foreign? Another shiver overcomes her body, the sensation mildly confusing. She outstretches a hand towards the mirror --.

Knock. Knock.

The sound echoes around the room. Visenya turns her gaze to the heavy wooden door and her arm retracts. She stares at the source of the booming noise, not sure how to react. A moment passes and another knock, this time with a voice attached.

“My lady, I’m here to make sure you’re awake,” a voice calls out, the soft voice barely registering in Visenya’s mind. She blankly stares at the door, before remembering how to speak.

“Come in,” she replies, attempting to project her voice. A moment passes before it opens and a woman hardly younger than Visenya enters the room. Her hair is mousy brown, pulled into a tight bun without a strand out of place, a plain dress that’s as dark and dreary as the room limply hangs from her small body, the fabric drowning her. She nervously bows in Visenya’s direction before scurrying to the wardrobe. She flings open the doors and begins rifling through the dresses hanging inside. Visenya watches the woman, not sure what to make of the scene. She’s seen her before, that much she is sure of, so why doesn’t she know her name?

She pulls out a pale blue, with delicate embroidery near the bottom, a garment much more intricate than the one she is wearing herself, and yet she turns to Visenya with a satisfied expression on her otherwise somber face. The woman turns to Visenya, a satisfied expression on her otherwise somber face. The dress is familiar and evokes an emotional response, her eyes dampening, a sharp pain in her heart. And she’s confused, more so than before.

“This dress Lady Sansa made for you will look lovely.” the woman remarks. She begins rifling through the drawers, pulling out various pieces of fabric. Visenya turns her gaze back to her mirror, staring at her reflection with a blank expression.

Flashes of Visenya in that dress, hair braided back as she stands in line with Theon and Jon, uncomfortably waiting for the King and Queen, along with their company to arrive. But that can’t be right, Robert Baratheon hasn’t been to Winterfell since she was eight years old.

The woman begins humming a soft tune under her breath. The sound amplifies in Visenya’s mind until the melody is all she can hear and it clouds her thoughts and further muffles the distant screaming in her head. It intoxicates her like a strong northern ale, pulling her further and further away from sober thoughts and into a dream-like state. Soon the humming turns into outright singing, the hauntingly sweet words dancing around Visenya’s mind and while the woman’s voice is lovely and soft, something about it’s grating, like scraping a knife against a plate.

Visenya continues to stare at her reflection, her expression unchanging and eyes unmoving as they stare into the mirror. All the while, the woman continues singing the eerily beautiful song while rifling through the drawers filled with clothes. Everything is unchanging in the room, feeling as though time itself is still until Visenya notices a few slight changes. The metal framing around the mirror begins to rust, the once bright metal turning dark. The mirror portion starts to discolor and is blotched with dark spots and the entirety of the mirror covered in a hazy fog, obscuring Visenya from her own reflection. The vanity table shows signs of aging as well, no longing feeling as sturdy as it was a moment ago with random parts of it looking rotted. But the most obvious change is the air. The crisp morning air that’s normal in the North turns stale, the cold in the air burning deep in Visenya’s bones rather than leaving her skin cold. But the woman continues singing, weaving her hands through Visenya hair like it’s threads of silver, either not noticing the sudden change or unbothered by it.

“You seem warm, My Lady. Shall I get a maester to check on your health?” the woman says, pausing her singing.

“N-no I’m fine, just a bad dream is all,” Visenya says, staring at her reflection in the old mirror.

“Did you dream of fire and dragons?” she asks. Visenya’s heart stops as all the thoughts in her mind cease. She whips around to face the woman, the hair she previously held pulling Visenya’s scalp.

“Wha - what did you just say?” Visenya asks, her eyes piercing into the woman. She doesn’t look startled by Visenya’s sudden change in mood, in fact, her face is completely emotionless. Rather than a real, breathing, living person, she looks like a life-sized doll, eyes dull and dead, with nothing behind them.

“There’s no need to be afraid, my lady. The Lord of Light smiles down upon his chosen champions. From fire and ash you were reborn, to bring a world thrust into darkness into the light.” she says, speaking as if she were a dead person brought to life - monotone with no inflection - weaving her hands into the locks of Visenya hair, meticulously braiding each strand.

“What are you talking about? I demand you tell me.” Visenya says, her voice getting louder with each word spoken as her temper begins to flare. She stands from the chair, pushing the woman’s hands away from her face.

“Remember the words, remember what was said. With Fire and Blood.” the woman speaks, this time her tone has a sense of urgency in it, but for the life of her, Visenya can’t think why. But before she can question her further, the ground beneath Visenya is ripped away, and she feels herself free-falling in darkness, unable to make heads or tails of her surroundings. All she knows is it’s cold and dark. She tries to scream but nothing comes out, leaving her mouth open with silent screams. Her hair whips around her face and she watches the silver locks darkening until the shining silver is a dull brown.

Then she hits the ground. It’s sudden, unexpected, and very painful. But feeling solid ground around her is somewhat comforting.

And when her eyes flutter open, apprehensive and scared of what she might see, she breathes out a sigh of relief. Tall trees, emerald leaves, a fire that’s been smothered, and a sleeping figure. She’s in the camp again, if she ever even left. She places a hand over her chest as she sits up, the other one reaching to wipe away the dampness on her face. Birds softly chirp high on the branches, singing in tune with the gentle breeze that rustles the forest. The sun is rising, the faint rays of morning light hitting the trees, the leaves fanning the light out below them, and with a final heavy breath, Visenya pushes her body up to stand.

Stumbling through the small camp, past the sleeping bard, she breaks into the thick of the forest. Her hand rests on one of her silver daggers, eyes keenly looking around the thick greenery for any movement. She crouches low to the ground in an attempt to obscure herself from future prey and stalks forward. To her left, she notices the tall grass shifting, and with the grace of a cat pouncing onto its prey, she pulls out her dagger and flings it. The dagger flies through the air but instead of striking her target, it embeds itself into the tree nearby. A moment later, a fat rabbit with beady black eyes rushes out of the grass and disappears into the forest. A frustrated groan leaves Visenya’s mouth and she trudges towards her dagger and pulls it out of the wood with just enough force.

Absentmindedly wandering through the forest, her thoughts return to the dream. It’s odd, she’s had dreams before but never so...life like. She’d felt every emotion, smell every scent, and feel every surface as she would’ve in reality. The phantom feeling of ash clinging to her skin is still there and she catches herself shaking her head, attempting to get the ash out before remembering it’s not actually there. Perhaps it’s merely her mind playing games, a trick the mind was playing on itself to coax out her best-kept and well hidden fears, even the ones that had been buried so deep that she'd forgotten about them. However, the chill in her body as she remembers the madness buried in the eyes of her reflection makes it difficult to convince herself.

And that second...dream, if it was even that. The woman’s words echo in her head, on repeat over and over, growing louder each time she hears them again.

Fire and Blood.

She knows the words well, the words of House Targaryen. The only comfort she had during her darkest nights. An assurance that even if she was physically by herself, isolated from her only chance of ever knowing her family, she was never truly alone. And some nights she’d even convince herself Queen Visenya I was with her, watching over her, guiding her every step of the way. That she was there, when Visenya first started training to fight, guiding her swings with the wooden sword, coaxing her into a proper battle stance. And even though they were foolish tales and fantasies dreamed up by a small child too sad for her age, they were comforting as she maneuvered through this new strange world.

With a huff, she sinks down to the ground, leaning her back against the tree. A hysterical laugh escapes her mouth, the sound dancing away in the mellow breeze rushing through the forest.

“I’m going insane,” she mutters to herself, and she rests her forehead against the palms of her hands. Her thoughts wander as she absentmindedly scapes her hairline with the tips of her fingers. Her nails are unkempt and longer than preferred, strands of hair getting stuck in the corners of her nails.

“There you are!” Jaskier’s voice breaks Visenya from her thoughts. Her head snaps up in his direction, watching as his form swiftly approaches her spot. He’s wearing the same ensemble from the night before and his floppy brown hair is as well managed as it can be on the road. Her face twists into a look of confusion, her eyes following his nonchalant movements. However, Jaskier doesn’t acknowledge her and instead opts to sit on her left, only part of his body resting against the tree.

“Now I was going to leave you to do your…well whatever it is you were doing,” Jaskier continues waving his hand vaguely in Visenya direction. “But, then it sounded like you were having a real crisis. So I thought to myself ‘Oh better make sure she’s okay.’ You are my source of protection after all.” Jaskier muses, a lopsided grin resting on his face. The teasing tone in his voice is a stark contrast to the worry swirling in his eyes. A small grin creeps its way up onto Visenya's mouth, a warm feeling filling her chest. The harsh lines that were forming on her forehead immediately softened, the anxiety and hint of fear barely hidden behind her eyes swiftly disappearing.

“I’m fine,” she replies. Jaskier raises his eyebrows at her response, clearly not buying the lie. “Well, I’m not fine, but I will be,” she corrects herself before Jaskier has a chance to verbalize his doubts. Seemingly satisfied, he nods once at her words but makes no move to stand. Instead, he wiggles towards Visenya until their legs are touching and leans his head closer towards hers so it’s resting against the tree. Always one for personal space, Visenya normally would’ve either physically or verbally lashed at him - demanding the bard keep his distance. However, the scathing remarks never come. Instead, Visenya moves over slightly to allow Jaskier more room, watching the leaves delicately blow in the wind, the faint sound of birds singing echoing in the distance.

“If you ever need to talk to someone...” Jaskier’s voice interrupts the quiet atmosphere surrounding them. Visenya turns to face him, raising a single brow with her lips tilted upwards.

“You’ll be the first person who knows. Considering you’re the only person I talk to.” Visenya replies. At her reply the serious expression that Jaskier wore immediately dissipated. His eyes sparkling with mischief and his lips were pulling into an amused smirk.

“And what about our mighty Witcher! How would our dastardly hero feel about not being included in this list?” Jaskier exclaims, dramatically emphasizes his words. Visenya simply rolls her eyes at him.

Everything with him always comes back to Geralt.

Jaskier then leans forward, eyebrows raised so high they nearly touch his hairline. When he quickly moistens his lips with his tongue, Jaskier more closely resembles a cat that got into the canary rather than a man.

“Could it possibly be because you and Geralt don’t do much…” his eyes flit to the left and right before landing on Visenya again. “Talking?” he asks. Visenya brings a hand up and smacks Jaskier on his left shoulder. He immediately moves away from her, rubbing the spot she’d struck. “That’s not very nice!” he exclaims, moving until there is sufficient space in between them.

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” Visenya replies. She stands from her sitting position and holds a hand out for Jaskier to take. Always one for theatrics, Jaskier moves backward and throws one of his hands across his forehead. He leans his head back and closes his eyes, an exaggerated gasp escaping his mouth.

“Time and time again, my fair maiden has abused and used me. When will this insanity end, giving me sweet release from her beguiling aura? I pray to the gods every night that it will change” Jaskier exclaims. After he finishes his words, he waits a moment and then opens one of his eyes only to quickly close it and sigh again, louder than the first time and far more dramatic.

“Ha ha ha, very funny. Now let's go before the sun is gone, we’ve got places to go.” Visenya says, her expression hiding any amusement she got from his antics. A defeated sigh leaves Jaskier's mouth, and a moment later he places his hand in Visenya’s as she pulls his body from the ground.

“As my lady commands,” he says. And with a single bump against his shoulder from Visenya, the two of them begin walking back to camp.

o0o0o0o0o

“When are you going to finally admit that you enjoy those novels more than you let on?” Jaskier asks, pulling out one of his quills, scratching it against a piece of parchment. Two tankards full of ale rest in front of them, neither of them drunk from. The ale here is watery and weak, yet still managing to taste worse than rotting fungus.

Flick, the thin parchment page of the book nearly rips from how quickly it’s flipped. Visenya glances at him out of the corner of her eyes, raising a single brow at him before returning her gaze to the trashy romance novel. It’s sickeningly sweet, the dialogue almost as unrealistic as the premise of the book itself, but it’s something to read when she needs to stave off boredom.

“Do you want me to hit you? Because I will hit you.”

Flick, another page. The heroine of the story finally meets up with the main love interest, practically throwing herself into his arms, that the author took time to describe every detail of. Visenya's face crunches up into a grimace, quickly turning the page.

“I’d rather you didn’t, if you don’t mind. I think I’m still bruised from where you hit me when we first met.” He runs his hand over the spot on his abdomen she elbowed him all those months ago, after the whole situation with elves resolved itself. And she can’t help the small self satisfied smirk that slowly creeps onto her face.

Flick.

The soft sun rays of dawn creep through the windows, the thick layer of dirt and grime that covers them dispersing the light. The rays shoot through the tavern, randomly choosing the next victim to blind with their radiance. The room is loud with town folk who gather around the old creaky tables, with drinks in hand, muttering quietly amongst themselves. Tension is thick in the air, everyone seemingly on edge, and it has nothing to do with the newcomers. This tension is different, almost like the whole village is slowly sinking into their fears with only the tops of their heads above the water.

“Why can’t you be nice to me, Jane? I really thought after our conversation around the fire three nights ago we were growing closer?” Jaskier asks, feigning offense in his tone, placing his hand over his heart with eyes wide and innocent looking.

Visenya snorts.

“Maybe you should try--”

The front door swings open, silencing any noise in the room. A figure rushes through them, it’s an older man, chubbier than most with a short beard and balding hair. His clothes are nicer than most other people in the room, besides the putrid smelling goo that clings to it, seemingly a mixture of blood and black ooze. His whole body is trembling like a leaf in a storm, clutching a fabric hat in his hands as he rushes towards the center of the tavern.

“Eustace, what is this?” the barkeep calls out, scrunching his nose as he passes.

“I-I saw it!” he exclaims as he drops his hat on a table, the room gasping at his proclamation. Visenya glances at him for a second before looking back to her book, scanning the words with mild interest. It seems the author is still going on and on about the hero’s rippling muscles.

Like a swarm of rats skittering towards their next meal, the entirety of the room gravitates towards him and by association, Visenya and Jaskier, since he stands closest to their table. Jaskier flips his journal to a blank page, eagerly waiting for his next grand tale.

“I tell you no lie, it swallowed the whole village it did. Not a bone to be found,” he starts, making sure his uneven and shaky voice carries throughout the entire room.

“Oh don’t give me that look, shitling. That’s why we had to call him…” he pauses, allowing the words to ring in the air before continuing, “The White Wolf.” Everyone around them dramatically gasps, completely enraptured by the story. Visenya eyes flick up from the book in her hand, leveling a hard stare at Jaskier, her gaze enough to turn him into stone if he dares to look in her direction. Noticeably, he does everything to not look at her.

The White Wolf, of course Geralt is here. No wonder Jaskier was so eager to settle in this tavern for the day.

“And he stood in the middle of that frozen lake like he knew it was coming for him. The ice cracked open and a selkimore shot out! Oh you’ve never seen one, but it’d take down a ship with its cavernous mouth full of devil's teeth!” the man exclaims, waving his arms around like a mad man. “And it… swallowed… that Witcher...whole!” he finishes.

Visenya’s head shoots up like a bolt of lightning, narrowing her eyes at the man.

‘No, there’s no way Geralt’s dead, he wouldn’t just...let himself get eaten like that.’

The words do little to comfort the small bit of anxiety inside her. Witchers hunt monsters and monsters are deadly, tearing apart people and destroying their homes as easily as Visenya breathes air. But Geralt isn’t normal, this is what he’s trained to do. She dares to glance at Jaskier out of the corner of her eyes, seeing him nonchalantly scribbling away and that does more to quell her worries than any half assed words she could concoct.

“Oh, this is brilliant!” Jaskier says, quickly diffusing the tight and tense atmosphere that surrounds the inn. In perfect synch, the patrons snap their attention towards Jaskier, staring at him in disbelief, as an amused smirk plays on Visenya’s face. Feeling a million glares piercing his skin like knives, Jaskier looks up from his writings, eyes wide and his mouth open. “Oh sorry. It’s just Geralt is usually so stingy with the details.”

“For good reason,” Visenya mutters under her breath.

Flick. Now the hero is dueling his rival so he can marry the heroine.

“Uh- and then what happened?” Jaskier asks.

“He died.”

“Eh...he’s fine.” Jaskier replies, his voice nonchalant and relaxed.

“Look, I was there. I know what I saw with my own--” heat builds in his voice, face as red as a ripe tomato, aggressively shoving a pudgy finger towards Jaskier. Visenya slowly rises from the chair, hand ghosting over the pommel of the dagger strapped to her leg, eyes in slits as they level a glare on the man.

Before he gets the chance to escalate the situation and force Visenya to end it entirely, the door slams open, metal handle clashing against the wooden walls.

In walks a hulking figure that is drenched head to toe in the same grotesque smelling foreign goo the pudgy man is coated in. Everyone’s attention turns towards the door, frantically covering their noses as the stench is stronger and fouler than what the rounder man emanates. With his sword in hand, Geralt walks towards Jaskier and Visenya, eyes set on the man before them and the people part, granting him a wide berth.

“See,” Jaskier says, nonchalantly writing in his book.

“What’s that stench?” the man asks Geralt as he approaches the table.

“Selkimore guts. Had to get it from the inside. I’ll take what I’m owed.” Geralt says, his voice rougher than it usually is. Jaskier immediately jumps up, quill still in hand and begins singing that gods awful song.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher oh valley of plenty oh oh oh.” The man tosses a coin pouch as the entire tavern begins singing along, hesitantly at first, but as the song continues, people grow more enthusiastic. Geralt side steps the crowd and moves straight for the bar, bag of gold in hand. Jaskier rushes after him, rambling on about one thing or another. A sigh of exasperation and mild relief leaves Visenya's mouth as she thumbs through the book again, despite having completely lost interest in it by this point.

‘It keeps my muse fresh and exciting!’ Jaskier always says about his large collection of frilly books, but to Visenya they’re just dead weight only useful to pass the time. But it doesn’t even do that.

“Food, woman, and wine, Geralt!” Visenya hears Jaskier exclaim. She looks up to find Geralt a few steps away from their table, still covered in guts with no drink in hand.

Wordlessly, Visenya grabs her waterskin that’s filled with Cintran ale and tosses it to Geralt. She then returns her attention back to the romance novel.

“The drinks here are shit,” she said.

o0o0o0o0o

Tags: If your name is crossed out, it means I wasn’t able to tag you. Also I’m not 100% sure if most of y’all still want to be tagged, since it’s been so long since I posted a new chapter, so feel free to message me if you no longer want to be!

#geralt x reader #the witcher fanfiction #geralt imagine #geralt one shot #geralt fanfic #geralt of rivia #Geralt #the witcher imagine #the witcher #the last dragon #the witcher one shot #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones imagine #house targaryen #targaryen!reader #targaryen!oc #CrossOver

102 notes · View notes

crowdvscritic · 3 years

Text

round up // MARCH + APRIL 21

March and April were a whirlwind of vaccines and awards shows! A full year after we starting staying at home, the end of this weird chapter in recent history seems like it might finally be coming to a close, and this pop culture awards season—typically a time full of fun and glamour—captured our moment weirdly well. (Emphasis on the weird.) This month’s recommendations is filled with more Critic Picks than usual, so without further delay, let’s dive right in...

March + April Crowd-Pleasers

Double Feature — 2018 Action Thrillers: Bad Times at the El Royale + Den of Thieves

In Bad Times at the El Royale (Crowd: 9/10, // Critic: 8/10), Jeff Bridges, Cynthia Erivo, Jon Hamm, Chris Hemsworth, and Dakota Johnson are staying at a motel on the California-Nevada state line full of money, murder, and mystery. In Den of Thieves (Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 6.5/10), Gerard Butler takes on some of the best bank robbers in the world. Whether you like your action with a dose of mystery or the thrills of plot twists, these will fit the bill.

Double Feature — ‘80s Comedies: Caddyshack (1980) + Splash (1984)

In the mood for pure silliness? Take your pick between a mermaid and a gopher! Five years before The Little Mermaid, Tom Hanks fell for Daryl Hannah’s blonde hair and scaly tail, and John Candy was his goofy brother in Splash (Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 7/10). And four years before Ghostbusters, Bill Murray was the goof on a golf course full of funny people like Chevy Chase, Rodney Dangerfield, and Ted Knight in Caddyshack (Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 6.5/10).

Double Feature — 1980s Coming-of-Age Films Starring Corey Feldman, Kiefer Sutherland, and Challenging Brother Relationships That Influenced Stranger Things: Stand by Me (1986) + The Lost Boys (1987)

Believe it or not, I had no idea these two ‘80s classics had so much in common when I chose to watch them back-to-back. In Rob Reiner’s adaptation of Stephen King’s Stand by Me (Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 9/10), four kids (Feldman, Jerry O’Connell, River Phoenix, and Wil Wheaton) are following train tracks to find a missing body. In The Lost Boys (Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 7/10), Corey Haim and Jason Patric move to a small California town and discover it’s full of ‘80s movie star cameos and…vampires? One is a thoughtful coming-of-age story and one is just bonkers, but both are a great time.

Spaceman by Nick Jonas (2021)

My love for the Jonas Brothers is well-documented, so instead of going down the rabbit hole I started digging at 15, I’ll talk about how Nick Jonas’s latest solo album will likely appeal to a wider audience than just the fans of the brothers’ bombastic pop records. It’s full of catchy tunes you’ll play on repeat and an R&B-influenced album experience about the loneliness we’ve experienced in the last year and how we try to make long-term relationships work.

Ted Lasso (2020- )

I love stories about nice people crushing cruelty and cynicism with relentless kindness, and Ted Lasso (Jason Sudeikis) is the warmest, most dedicated leader this side of Leslie Knope. Be sure to catch up on these witty and sweet 10 episodes before season 2 drops later this summer.

Double Feature — Tony Scott Action Flicks: Enemy of the State (1998) + The Taking of Pelham 123 (2009)

Tony Scott’s movies have got explosions and excitement in spades. I love a good man-on-the-run movie, and in Enemy of the State (Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 8/10), Will Smith is running through the streets of D.C. after getting evidence of a politician’s (Jon Voight) part in a murder. I also love a tense story set in a confined space, which is what Denzel Washington is dealing with in The Taking of Pelham 123 (Crowd: 9.5/10 // Critic: 7/10) after a hammy John Travolta takes a New York subway train hostage.

Double Feature — Baseball Movies: The Natural (1984) + Trouble With the Curve (2012)

Sue me—I love baseball movies. Robert Redford plays a fictional all-time great in the early days of the MLB in The Natural (Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 9/10), and Clint Eastwood plays a fictional all-time great scout in his late career in Trouble With the Curve (Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 7.5/10). If you love baseball or actors like Amy Adams, Glenn Close, Robert Duvall, and Justin Timberlake, these movies are just right here waiting for you.

youtube

Nate Bargatze: The Greatest Average American (2021)

Sue me—I enjoy Netflix standup comedy specials that are safe enough to watch with your whole family. That’s exactly the crowd I laughed with over Easter weekend, and while the trailer captures Bargatze’s relaxed vibe, it doesn’t capture how funny he really is.

The Mighty Ducks (1992)

I thought somewhere in my childhood I’d seen at least one of The Mighty Ducks movies, but after watching all three, I think my memories must’ve come from previews on the VHS tapes for other Disney movies I watched over and over again. The original still holds up as an grown-ups, which is why even my parents got sucked in to this family movie while just passing through the living room. Bonus for ‘80s movies lovers: Emilio Estevez is basically continuing Andrew Clark’s story from The Breakfast Club as an adult. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 6.5/10

Double Feature — New, Dumb Action on Streaming: Godzilla vs. Kong + Thunder Force (2021)

If you want something intelligent, go ahead and skip to the next recommendation, but if you’re looking for something stupid fun, these are ready for you on HBO Max and Netflix. Thunder Force (Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 6/10) follows Melissa McCarthy and Octavia Spencer as they train to become superheroes who take on superhuman sociopaths wreaking havoc on Chicago, and alongside Jason Bateman, they do it with a lot of laughs. Godzilla vs. Kong (Crowd: 9.5/10 // Critic: 5/10) is, um, exactly what it sounds like, so I’ll skip a plot summary and just say it’s exactly what you want from this kind of movie. #TeamKong

3:10 to Yuma (2007)

All you need to know is Russell Crowe is an outlaw, and Christian Bale is the guy who’s got to get him on the train to prison. I also watched the 1957 version, which is also a solid watch if you love classic Westerns. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 8/10

Falcon and the Winter Soldier (2021)

Marvel’s newest series isn’t nearly as inventive as WandaVision, and it may not land every beat, but it’s worth a watch for the fun new gadgets, Sebastian Stan’s dry joke delivery, and its exploration into themes of what makes a hero and what governments owe their citizens. It’s a pretty satisfying entry in the MCU canon, but I’d also recommend re-watching Captain America: Winter Soldier and Civil War—the canon is getting expansive, and it’s getting trickier every year to keep up with all the backstory.

March + April Critic Picks

Best of 2020 Picks

As per usual, the months leading up to the Oscars becomes a binge period for potential Oscar nominees. In March and April, I watched many of the films that made my Top 20 of 2020, including Boys State, The Father, Judas and the Black Messiah, Let Them All Talk, Minari, Nomadland, On the Rocks, One Night in Miami…, Promising Young Woman, Soul, and Sound of Metal. You can read how I ranked them on my list for ZekeFilm, plus reviews of The Father, Minari, Promising Young Woman, and Soul.

Bonus: If you loved On the Rocks, don’t miss this feature and beautiful photography starring Sofia Coppola, Kirsten Dunst, Elle Fanning, and Rashida Jones for W Magazine.

Stranger Than Fiction (2006)

What would you do if you started hearing a voice who narrated your every thought and move? If you’re Will Ferrell, you’ll seek out a literary professor (Dustin Hoffman), fall in love (with Maggie Gyllenhaal), and track down the voice (Emma Thompson) who’s making ominous predictions about your future. Stranger Than Fiction is funny thought-provoking, and an unusual but welcome role for Ferrell. Crowd: 9.5/10 // Critic: 9/10

All the Royal Family News

Speaking of stranger than fiction, it’s been a busy few months for the Royal Family. We’ve celebrated 95th birthday of Queen Elizabeth, the 3rd birthday of Prince Louis, and the 10th anniversary of Will and Kate’s marriage. We also lost Prince Philip, and we watched the drama of Harry and Meaghan’s interview with Oprah. No matter what happens to their Crown, I don’t think we’ll ever get over our fascination with the Windsor family. A few pieces worth reading from the last few months:

“In Meghan and Harry’s Interview, Two TV Worlds Collided,” Vulture.com

“The Queen’s Man: Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, Dies,” TIME.com

“Obituary: HRH The Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh,” BBC.com

Goodfellas (1990)

One of my film opinions that makes me feel like a phony is that Martin Scorsese just isn’t my cup of tea. He’s brilliant, but his films tend to be long and dark, two qualities that are never my first choice…and somehow Goodfellas still worked for me? Maybe it was the TV edit graciously toning down the violence or maybe it was that Ray Liotta and Joe Pesci were firing on all cylinders, but for some reason this ‘90s classic didn’t suck the joy out of my evening like Scorsese often does. (Bonus: For a Martin Scorsese/Robert De Niro I don’t really recommend, head to the last section of this Round Up.)

youtube

Fearless (Taylor’s Version) (2021)

Her voice has only matured, so Taylor Swift revisiting her old albums is like upgrading a blast to the past. Plus, the six new tracks make me feel like 15 crushing on that boy in Spanish class again, and her Grammys performance (just before her third Album of the Year win) was magical and folklore-tastic.

Double Feature — ‘60s Action Classics: The Guns of Navarone (1961) + Planet of the Apes (1968)

The Guns of Navarone (Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 8.5/10) follows Gregory Peck and David Niven as they destroy Nazi weapons in the Mediterranean. Planet of the Apes (Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 8.5/10) follows Charlton Heston as he attempts to escape from, well, a planet full of apes. The pacing of ‘60s films doesn’t always hold up, but that’s not the case with this pair. Both are still full of suspense, and you can’t go wrong hanging with casts like these.

Let Him Go (2020)

Kevin Costner and Diane Lane play a farming couple who unexpectedly help raise a boy who lost his biological father—sound familiar? But instead of a superhero origin story, they’re part of a thrilling Western with performances nuanced (Costner and Lane) and showy (Lesley Manville). If I’d watched this before completing my Best of 2020 piece, it likely would’ve been on my list. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 8.5/10

youtube

The Oscars

I’m a ride-or-die fan of the Academy Awards, but I’ll admit even I found this year’s ceremony odd. Instead of focusing on what wasn’t so hot, I’ll recommend a few moments you don’t want to miss:

Emerald Fennell giving a shout-out to Saved by the Bell

Daniel Kaluuya acknowledging his parents’ sex life during his acceptance speech (??)

Yuh-Jung Yoon flirting with Brad Pitt and acknowledging she’s just “luckier” than her fellow nominees

Glenn Close dancing to…”Da Butt”?

You can also read about the historic wins and nominations from this year’s Oscar class and why the Golden Globes were an even stranger production weeks earlier.

youtube

Trailer-palooza!

Movies are on their way back, y’all! I’m counting down the days until I can get back to a theatre, and even if some of these movies are duds, I’m planning to see all of them on a big screen if possible:

Those Who Wish Me Dead (May 14)

Cruella (May 28)

In the Heights (June 11)

Space Jam 2 (July 16)

Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings (September 3)

West Side Story (December 10)

Also in March + April…

To add to the Oscars love, you can listen to a conversation about what we learn about family, community, and society in some of the year’s biggest nominees on the Uncommon Voices podcast. I join regular hosts Michael and Kenneth in this episode, and I recommend all of their thoughtful discussions on their “What’s Streaming” episodes.

I’ve previously recommended the Do You Like Apples weekly newsletter, so I’m proud to share I contributed twice in March! I wrote about Love and Basketball, directed by Gina Prince-Bythewood, and one of my all-time favorite Julia Roberts rom-coms, Notting Hill. (I also tied to win their Oscars pool, but I suppose that’s less exciting for you than me.)

It was a busy couple of months on SO IT’S A SHOW! New logo, new email list, new Instagram, and a host of new episodes about a flop of a Madonna flick, a Swedish children’s TV show, an urban legend turned into a horror movie, one of the best films about journalism ever, and a Martin Scorsese movie about a real boxer.

Most of what I wrote for ZekeFilm in March and April was mentioned in Best of 2020 recommendations…except for The Nest, a film that couldn’t figure out what genre it wanted to be.

Photo credits: Nick Jonas, Royal Family. All others IMDb.com.

13 notes · View notes

alchemicalterror · 4 years

Photo

[ 2/4/2000 ]

[ Part 1 ]

[ Part 2 ]

Part 3: Autopsy

[ Part 4 ]

[ Part 5 ]

[ Part 6 ]

#Jonathan Crane #Scarecrow #Batman Villains #Offscreen #Bad Mood Jon Plot #Blood #Murder #Death #Corpse #Scalpel #Knife #Eye Horror #Restraint #Medical #Part 3

39 notes · View notes

musical-chick-13 · 3 years

Note

And Theon bc I love him

WHAT A COINCIDENCE I LOVE HIM TOO (this answer is gonna be a combination of books and show)

Send me a character and I’ll tell you the following:

• Did they live up to their potential? / In what ways was their potential unachieved?

-I would say yes. The only negative I have about his general arc is his death (which, see below). But Theon from the very beginning was, though not a particularly nice person, still relatable. Feeling othered, wanting to be accepted by an immediate environment that doesn’t accept you, isolated from and ostracized by your family, and the tension that comes between serving the different types of familial relationships in your life. Theon has no idea who he is, tossed aside by his blood family for not growing up with them and being “soft,” aka sort-of moral and having emotions that aren’t selfish rage or smugness (which, yep, that second part is a mood, see: my entire childhood and how no one wanted to be around an “emotional” “soft” child). And from there, he spirals out of control in a way that, while certainly not admirable by any stretch of the imagination, is still understandable in the context of the narrative and his characterization. And from there, after going through hell and quite literally losing himself (even to the point of straight-up denying rescue), he builds himself back up gradually, to the point where he expressed extreme regret for what he’s done, helps an innocent woman escape a truly horrifying situation, acknowledges that his family is generally garbage, and (in-show b/c again books aren’t finished), helping to restore his sister to power, rescuing her after his PTSD relapses while confronting Euron, and ultimately opting to protect the Starks come hell or high water in order to genuinely atone for what he’s done. He is no longer conflicted because he wants to do the right thing, and that right thing is defending the kingdom from the White Walkers and making sure Sansa and Bran are safe. And it’s no longer about fulfilling a duty or finding a family to fill the void. Because now he has found himself. I will contend that Theon has one of the best, most nuanced, most organic redemption arcs of all time. I will forever be grateful that I got to see that piece of storytelling unfold.

Although, I would love to know what he thought of Dany. A missed opportunity, that.

• How they negatively and positively affected the story.

-Positive: His arc of identity and finding where your loyalties lie ties into the overall theme of “How do you find yourself in a world where goodness, authenticity, and honesty are often punished and increasingly rare?” And it proves that governmental politics aren’t the only defining factors in decisions: familial politics can be just as difficult and dangerous, which adds yet another rich, complicated layer to the overall story. He has a genuine, honest-to-Drowned-God redemption arc, which is...not really present anywhere else in the story (no, Jaime is not on a Redemption Quest, I will die on this hill). But I think the biggest draw of Theon’s presence is that it deconstructs the whole “Character Revenge Fantasy” idea. He does bad things. We want him to be punished. But not like that. No one deserves that. How far is too far? What does retribution really look like? Given how easily that idea can be abused and go off the rails, is retribution even something to strive for? What is the point of using extreme violence/torture/mutilation/breaking someone’s psyche when it doesn’t really accomplish anything? Isn’t atonement and genuine justice a better option? It certainly was for Theon. He could only piece himself back together and do anything meaningful once he was out of his abusive environment. All of these are imporant questions that are posed by his existence in the narrative.

-Negative: Idk if I have much to say here. My biggest problem is his death (see below), but that’s not really a negative story effect so much as...being disappointing and narratively irrelevant. I gotta say, his introduction via his sister was...really weird. I genuinely have no idea why GRRM wrote that. It never came up again or had any kind of narrative ramifications and kind of cast a strange, uncomfortable light on his relationship with Asha/Yara for the remainder of the story. I can ignore and enjoy their later relationship it if I don’t think about it too hard, though, so I guess I’ll chalk it up to GRRM having a Bad Idea.

• What my favorite arc for them is.

-All of it?? Theon’s journey is kind of...one big arc, which is why I think it works so well. He has this overarching redemption plot which spans the entire series and informs every decision he makes (for good or for bad, depending on where in the aforementioned journey he is). The redemption arc isn’t bogged down with side plots or other pieces of narrative clutter, meaning it has time to grow and, thus, be gradual and realistic. If I had to choose a specific point, it’s probably when he tries to reintegrate back into society via supporting Yara. Gaining the Iron Islands’ support for her ruling, spiriting away with Euron’s fleet, and ultimately rescuing his sister after her capture. He can’t just go back into society. He’s scared. He has really bad PTSD. But he recognizes that putting his home in good hands is something bigger than just him because it’s Yara’s home, too. I just...I really love family relationships, y’all.

• What I think of their ending.

-I’m not really sure how I feel about this one. I get that the series is GrimDark™ and that people who make the right choice and fight for good die all the time, but Theon dying just felt...wrong. To me.

And, like...I get it. It makes sense to parallel his original descent into villainy (cemented by executing those two boys and pretending they were Bran and Rickon) with him dying to protect Bran himself. It ties into the whole very common trope of completing a full redemption arc by committing a completely selfless act at great personal cost. It’s kind of like the whole Missy thing in Doctor Who (which...hoo boy, that post is coming, make no mistake), where selfishness is directly opposed by making the ultimate sacrifice with no motivation for personal gain. And the fact that the last words he ever heard were “You’re a good man?” I cannot even begin to describe how much that makes me sob. But...honestly, I’m really tired of this idea that redemption has to end in death in order to be achieved or “complete.” I think it’s much more poignant to have a redeemed character live to help build a better world. Because what’s the point of telling people to be better if the “reward” is death? No one’s going to want to reform themselves if they think that’ll be the result.

I think the thing that Bugs Me™ the most is that Theon never really got to have a moment of peace when he was alive. Sansa gained the North’s love and at least had a secure childhood. Ned and Cat were happily married for years. Arya had parents who loved her and a good relationship with Jon. Jon fell in love with Ygritte and found his Night Watch Bros, and Robb (in show verse) had some very happy moments with Talisa. Davos put great stock in what he considered fulfilling friendships with Stannis and Shireen; Brienne was treated respectfully by Renly, Catelyn, and Sansa; Missandei and Grey Worm had each other and their friendship with Dany, who herself had many personal successes in her quest for the Iron Throne and saw the death of her abusive brother. Cersei even had moments with Jaime (who himself had several notable military victories and at least some time with Myrcella, as well as being gladly and deeply in love, however dysfunctional that love was), times when she successfully fought off enemies (including her dad), and some sweet moments with Tommen, as well as a huge victory via blown-up sept at the end of season 6. Theon was treated as a second-class family member by the Starks his whole life by being “traded” to them as a condition of war resolution AS A BABY, is immediately disparaged and mistreated by his immediate family when he tries to return to them, makes terrible decisions that almost cost him his conscience completely, is brutally tortured by Ramsay, is on the run with his sister from Euron almost immediately after, and has a PTSD attack that ultimatly results in him having to launch a rescue mission. And then he fights ice zombies. And then he dies. He never really...got to be happy at all? There was never any kind of “win” for him. Not even survival. The narrative couldn’t even give him that.

TLDR: Theon’s death seemed less shock-value-y than others (like, for example, Shireen or Missandei or, heck, Melisandre even), and it isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever seen. It’s narratively-informed and it makes sense as an emotional through-line, but, ultimately, Redemption Cemented By Selfless Death is a tired trope, and I honestly thought this story (which...you know...serves as a deconstruction of common fantasy tropes/book tropes in general) was better than that.

• When I wish they had died. / If I think they should’ve died.

-So here’s where we get personal™ kids.

So, it’s no secret that I am...severely mentally ill. I’ve talked about expression/presentation of mental illness in regard to Cersei a lot on this blog, and how that (as paradoxical as it may seem) helped bring a sense of comfort and emotional resonance to me. Theon, post-Ramsay, has, I think, a very clear case of PTSD. Theon is one of the few characters I’ve seen where his mental illness isn’t the cause of the bad, violent, dangerous choices he makes. It only takes root after he has made the decision and conscious effort to better himself, and it, rather than demonizing him, serve to humanize him. His trauma didn’t define him. And although a PTSD attack led to him unintentionally losing Yara to Euron’s capture, he makes every effort to rescue her, a goal he does end up achieving. It is so rare I get to see a character who goes through these things, successfully fight them and come out with positive qualities at the end. Like...switching topics a bit here, Jaime going back to King’s Landing to (try to) escape and ultimately die with Cersei made sense to me because, as Jaime says, he is a hateful man. He never made much of an honest effort to be anything else. And he never truly wanted to be good; he just wanted to be liked. He wanted to adopt some personality that would make him feel less disconnected from the rest of the world. But Theon...genuinely feels remorse for everything he’s done. He makes a concerted effort to do everything in his power to improve the lives of people he believes are good and deserve to be safe. So, just...killing him off in a Completely Selfless Sacrifice (like...you know how a lot of mentally ill people put themselves through suffering-like OCD rituals, bottling feelings, self-harm, even suicide-in a misplaced attempt to “help” or “protect other people”) seemed antithetical to everything we saw of his arc.

Ultimately, with such a humanizing, empathetic portrayal of trauma and mental health struggles, seeing Theon be killed off just...pissed me off. I am so tired of seeing mentally ill characters die. I really want to believe that I can live through and thrive in spite of the things that afflict me, and I get example after example of characters not being allowed to do that. It feels awful, quite frankly. And it makes hope that much harder.

I also just feel like...there was nothing the story gained from his death? I get the thematic parallels as mentioned earlier, but it didn’t really move the story forward in any significant way. It didn’t motivate other characters to do anything, it had no political ramifications, it didn’t serve to contribute to any kind of happy ending or commentary on society, it just...was sad. Again, I thought this story was better than that.

#theon greyjoy #got #my son #mental illness in media #meta #redemption arcs #tw: self harm mention #tw: suicide mention

11 notes · View notes

composereggwrites · 4 years

Text

Oh hold me close, there’s nothing here which Chokes

Fandom: The Magnus Archives Rating: T Characters/Ships: Alice “Daisy “Tonner & Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims Additional: Non-Sexual Intimacy, Shower Sharing, Hurt/Comfort, brief panic attack, Fluff, sharing a bed Author’s note: Written for a gift exchange! This is for @osirisjones!

Summary:

It starts after the coffin. After the nightmare of TooCloseICannotBreathe. Finding yourself pressed against another is far more comforting than the rough rock and stone, or grime of dirt.

Showers remind Jon a bit too much of what it's like to not be able to breathe.

Daisy understands. Martin has his own issues with the feeling of mist in his lungs.

Ao3 or Below!

It starts after the coffin. After the nightmare of TooCloseICannotBreathe. Finding yourself pressed against another is far more comforting than the rough rock and stone, or grime of dirt.

It starts with Daisy declaring that she's going home to shower now because it's been a week since she's done so, and the sensation building up on her skin is a bit too much like being buried. It starts when she looks at Jon and says, "You look like you could use a shower too."

He grimaces, looking at her from his seat at his desk. "Probably. Hard to take one at the institute, though, and I haven't gotten around to getting a new place. I got uh... Evicted, during the whole six-month coma thing," he says, sheepish smile on his face as an explanation.

An eyebrow raises, as she gives him a Look. Which is probably fair, considering she’s got her stuff and a place already, even though she was gone longer than he was. Jon never claimed to be functional. “Yeah, and what have you been doing all this time, then?”

“It’s remarkable how well you can keep clean, given some no-wash shampoo, body wipes, and time alone in a bathroom here. Plus, there’s a laundromat not too far away,” he says. It’s true, he can manage just fine like this. He has to, as his life spirals ever more out of control, less time and mental energy able to be dedicated toward tasks such as cleaning. Even if he prefers it that way.

A familiar hand joins his as Daisy rolls her eyes, and pulls him out of the chair. “Well, that won’t do. You’re coming back to my place and taking a proper shower, Jon.”

She doesn’t give him a choice. No chance to protest as she drags him out of the institute. In a way, that’s easier than having to confront the idea that he wants this.

Everything is fine. He keeps repeating that in his head with each step. Daisy’s warmth bleeds into him from their connected pinkies, a pinpoint prick of security as they walk to her apartment.

(Neither of them take the trains through the tunnels nowadays, if they have the choice to avoid it.)

It’s a silent walk. Jon keeps his eyes on Daisy, and she keeps hers on the path they follow. The hunter knows the way home, and the watcher knows better than to let his eyes stray to targets, to food, with her so close by.

“Order some food while I take my shower. You’re crashing here tonight, and don’t think about trying to argue your way out of that,” Daisy says, as she unlocks the door and bustles around. He diverts his eyes as she grabs fresh clothes and steps into the bathroom of her single-bedroom apartment.

It’s…

Not as utilitarian as he expected, in all honesty. Photos of her and Basira hang on the wall, blankets draped over the couch. It’s not warm or cozy, but neither is it barren of signs of life. He can hear sounds of the Archers coming from the bathroom, indistinct through the walls.

Jon sits on the couch, and orders pizza. Tries desperately to distract himself with mindless phone games. Tries to ignore the lure of the owner of a shop they passed on the way here, who has a statement fresh for the picking. Tries not to Know about anything in this apartment, what stories and fears might lie under the false comfort of a quilt. What the pictures might hide.

When Daisy emerges precisely ten minutes later, hair still damp and looking far more refreshed--though she still has bags under her eyes, like all those who work in the archives--she’s wearing casual sweatpants and an old t-shirt for the Archers.

“Got us pizza, since I know what you like on it. Half and half, because you refuse to accept pineapple on it.” A grin flickers on his face, and he gets one on return.

“What blasphemy, putting fruit on a pizza! I’ll stick to my pepperoni and extra cheese, thank you.” She rolls her eyes as she speaks, and steps into her room, door left open so they can continue speaking.

“It’s really quite good. You just can’t grasp the intricacies of it!” he shoots back. An argument they’ve had a hundred times before flowing freely from his lips. He knows all the lines, like they’ve rehearsed.

The fun in arguing dies on his lips.

She tosses some old clothes at him, and he knows (not Knows) that they’ll be slightly too big and baggy, because he’s stolen clothing from all his assistants at this point. The resident laundry thief’s work is never done.

(It’s grounding, having pieces of the others to carry with him. His favorite is Martin’s hoodie).

“Go shower, Jon.” Daisy slides down onto the couch as he stands. No doubt she’s tasted the shift in his mood in the air, bitter on her tongue.

He takes the clothes and walks into the bathroom. Small, yellow walls. There’s a fresh towel on the rack already, so he sets the clothes on the counter and slips in.

The spray of water is a blessed relief compared to the days of rubbing and scrubbing away at the dirt building against his skin. Heat seeps into his aching muscles and world-wracked soul. Washing away the damage wrought. The layers of soil walls crumbling down.

It’s humid. It’s hot. The room is small. The steam makes breathing hard.

Jon huffs, and focuses. He just. He needs to ignore the unsettling feeling growing in his stomach, the fear that lingers like mint, there no matter how hard you try to kill it. Invading where it is not meant to be.

The mist coils around his lungs. Damp skin sticks as he bumps against walls. The shower is so small, how does Daisy survive it all?

A knock at the door is what makes Jon realize he’s knocked over the bottles, crouched on the floor. Hands embedded in his half-shampooed hair.

“I think I might actually get in trouble if you die in my shower. You alright in there?” she calls, door opened a crack so he can hear, though the curtain is still solidly in place.

Daisy’s voice washes away the suffocating anxiety better than any water could, and he takes a breath. “Yeah, I-- Ah. It felt… small. Difficult to breathe. You know…”

And she does know. She must, because she slips into the bathroom, and he can hear the toilet lid being set down so she can sit. “It’s why I play sounds on my phone.”

He snorts, and manages to get his legs back under himself, standing again. “Harder to lose yourself to the fear of choking when there’s a soap opera to listen to?” he asks, tone wry.

“Oh hush. You ought to try it.” She’s laughing, and he can picture the roll of her eyes as he washes out the shampoo. It’s easier, with another presence here. The heat is less oppressive, not trying to pierce his skin. Instead, it simmers and soaks, driving out the icy cold.

“I--I think I’m good now.” It slips out of his mouth, even as he wishes to swallow the words, to beg for company until he’s done.

“Well, I think it’s rather fitting. Soap opera for when you’re all… soapy. So I’m going to start the next episode you were on, since you’re so woefully behind.”

It’s hard to not laugh when Daisy makes a bad pun, and he doesn’t try to hold it back. Doesn’t stop himself from listening to the absurdity, talking with her about the drama and plot as he works to scrub his body clean.

When he steps out of the shower, smelling of her lavender products, Daisy politely averts her eyes until he’s dressed. Then she links their fingers together once more, and they trot out in time to catch the pizza man.

Jon Knows later, as they sit and eat their pizza with dramatic flair, held loftily above their mouths sprawled out on the couch and each other, that the delivery person thought they were a couple. When he mentions it to Daisy, she cracks up, and he joins her, pausing the episode they were on.

“Us? A couple?” she repeats, for the tenth time. “Like, no offense Jon, but even if I were into guys, you’re not my type.”

“Some offense taken,” he replies, free hand held to his chest. “Oh how scorned I am by your rejection! You like Basira well enough, and she’s good at being a stuffy academic.” The air quotes are audible, dripping from his tongue as he takes another bite.

“She’s an academic who knows how to shoot a gun. Got more muscle than you could ever dream of, bone boy,” she shoots back, elbowing him in the side. Taking care to hit where there’s still ribs.

“Ah, I see. With my bountiful eyes.” She snorts, because if he actually had extra eyes, she’d be the first to know. “You like someone who you have a chance of losing to in an arm wrestle. No wonder I’m so woefully disqualified.”

“I’d let her do more to me than win an arm wrestle.” Daisy waggles her eyebrows.

When he processes what she means, Jon lets out a long, drawn out sigh. “Every day. Every single day I am bombarded by innuendo. When shall I be freed from this curse?”

“Whoa there, no need to bring the Sahara into my apartment with that dry tone, Mr. Sandman.”

“Wrong entity. How dare you accuse me of being aligned with the Dark?” He has to set his paper plate down, or risk dropping his food at this point, with the amount of laughter going on.

“Whatever, eye guy. Let me braid your hair once we’re done eating. Maybe now that you’re cleaned up, your prettyboy looks will lure your man out of the fog. I bet he’d love to win an arm wrestle against you. He totally could, too.” She gestures at him with the pizza slice, smirk across her lips.

Jon stammers, hiding the blush creeping up his cheeks behind his hand. “I--uh. Ah. Daisy-- Even if... Even if you’re right, I--”

She softens into a smile, and puts a hand on his arm. “I’m sure you can ace your way into his heart.”

Two seconds of silence.

Then giggles, as he covers his mouth with a hand. “That was-- That was awful. That’s the type of joke I’d be making in uni!”

“Unless my puns are bad enough to drive you out of my apartment, I stand by the offer. The only condition is that you’ve gotta braid mine, too.”

He takes another bite as he ponders it. Really, the answer he wants to give is on the tip of his tongue, but-- Denying himself what he wants is habit, ingrained in himself by now.

Still, it’d be nice.

“Sure, why not,” he says. “Hair braiding and listening to The Archers. Sounds like the perfect night.”

The couch is comfier than the Archives, that night. Daisy’s apartment warmed with the small spark of vanilla candle friendship.

In the coming months, it’s easy to make a habit out of this.

----

Collapsing into bed at the safehouse the night they arrive is one of the easiest things Jon has ever done, and that’s counting the amount of time it takes to get Martin to join him. They both still smell of sea salt and taste of fog, but he pulls Martin into bed with him despite the ever-constant protests.

“Martin, it’s fine,” he murmurs. “We’re both tired, we can share the bed. Hell, Daisy and I have shared a bed before, at her place.” It’s out of his mouth before he can think to stop it, and one hand goes up to the messy braid of his hair, from just two days before.

“O-oh. You and-- and Daisy?” Martin asks, paling a bit in the moonlight. Eyebrows scrunched together in the most adorable way that makes Jon want to reach out and run his fingers through Martin’s hair. “I didn’t know?”

“Because there’s nothing to know.” It dawns on him that he can do that. So he reaches up, and cards his fingers through the messy strands of reddish brown. “It was-- it was a friend thing, nothing more. A couple times a week she’d drag me to her place, and really, it was-- It was easier in the end, to just share the bed. Rather than have me sleep on the couch. Helps me deal with the nightmares, if I have someone there. I figure… If you have any, it might be the same.”

It’s enough for Martin to soften, and stop looking so jealous (which, now that Jon can recognize that, he finds it touching). He slides into bed without any more fuss, and soon enough Jon finds himself wrapped up in Martin’s arms. All pretenses of pretending to not want to cling immediately dropped.

Sharing a bed with Martin is different from sharing one with Daisy, he discovers that night.

With Daisy, they link hands, arms intertwined, and lay back to back. Neither of them were inclined to spoon, and he knows suggesting it would’ve gotten a joking threat with a knife (nothing like before, no real danger in her words, and she would’ve grumbled but wrapped him in her arms like she did when the nightmares got too bad, and they needed more contact).

But with Martin…

Martin is full of warmth, despite the wisps of fog that still want to encroach. At some point in the night, between becoming an octopus and clinging right back, Martin rolls over on top of him in his sleep, and Jon melts.

Martin is a solid, heavy weight against him. Grounding him to the mattress. Jon still catches bits and pieces of nightmares, but the pressure isn’t oppressive, not near as much as he feared. A spark of terror in his heart, at first, but all he has to do is open his eyes and see Martin there. Another person, not the dark-dirt pressing-walls of Choke. He thinks, perhaps, that the fear has receded, if he can handle this.

It’s only on his way to shower the next morning, that the terror comes roaring back. Gripping his heart and making him pause outside the bathroom door. He can hear Martin singing in the kitchen as he bustles around, cleaning up the breakfast mess.

But will it be enough?

He takes a breath, steels himself and turns the handle. Prepares to face this.

And then stops, turns his head, and calls, “Martin?”

Martin must hear the waver in his voice, sense the way Jon is a rubber band pulled taut, because he immediately drops what he’s doing and comes to Jon’s side. Sees the way he’s shaking, ever so slightly in his skin (skin that still doesn’t feel like his after what Nikola did), and places a hand on his shoulder. Soft, tentative, as he asks, “Are you alright?”

“I-- I’ll be fine, it’s just…” He could still turn back, say it’s nothing, though Martin would still worry. And…

He’s safe with Martin. Just like he was safe with Daisy.

Safe enough to ask for help.

“The uh-- The reason I went to Daisy’s so often was because I needed to shower, but the feeling. I hate cold showers, but the steam made it harder to breathe. And I needed-- It helped if someone was there, with me?”

He looks up at Martin, and confusion-fear bubbles in his stomach when Martin laughs a little, but it’s quickly abated by his words. “I was actually thinking of asking you for the same thing? It’s just, for me… Being alone in a room full of mist doesn’t seem like a good idea?”

Jon chuckles, though it’s quickly cut off when he slaps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, sorry, that was-- You’re right. I’d be glad to be there for you, Martin,” he says, and it’s amazing how a few simple works make Martin light up. The blush against his cheeks is something Jon feels he can be proud to put there, now.

“Might be best to take one at the same time. I don’t know how much hot water this place has,” Martin says, before immediately backtracking. “If you don’t want to though, I understand!”

He shakes his head, and pulls Martin along with him into the bathroom. “It’s fine with me. It makes sense. Amazingly, this place has a bigger shower than Daisy’s apartment. And I’m thankful to find that there are no bloodstains on the tub here, either.”

Martin snorts, and Jon smiles. He takes out the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash from his bag of toiletries as Martin undresses, making sure that there’s a clean washcloth as well.

It’s a bit cramped, but they have enough space to navigate. The bump of their bodies against each other is reassuring too. Silent moments of I’m here and you’re not alone, you’re not going to choke on your own fear.

At some point, he finds himself helping Martin clean his back. Slow, methodical scrubbing. At another, Martin’s hands are in his hair, combing through the strands as the conditioner makes it silky. When Jon starts to sing a song, Martin grins, and sings along. As they sing loud and offkey--which is part of the fun--Jon thinks there’s no place he’d rather be.

(Later, curled up in Martin’s lap, in front of the lit hearth, he’ll have that thought again, as he presses a kiss to Martin’s lips.)

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #daisy tonner #alice tonner #alice daisy tonner #johnathan sims #Jonathon Sims #jon archivist #the archivist #listen to the quiet #jondaisy #magpod #MagnusPod #my writing #egg writes #fanfic

267 notes · View notes