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luxshine · 2 years

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Moon Knight Primer Part 12

Moon Knight (2016) #6-9

Prologue, Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI

For this part, I’m going to do 6 to 9 in one go, because while the issues are gorgeous and I want to show you as much art as I can? Action-wise they’re very confusing if you are not actually reading it, and thematic wise it’s one full block of characterization.

Because see, this is the part of the Lemire arc where we get to really know each alter in their own mind-world (yes, we’re STILL in the mind world. So we’re still seeing everyone as Steven/Jake/Captain Spector see them, not as they really are (And yes, I said Captain Spector and not Marc. After 5 issues of being front and center, in every sense of the way, OUR Marc takes a bit of a step back). And it’s very interesting to see how each mindscape changes and moves. Also, this is the part where Lemire admits that he was heavily influenced by David Lynch. You know, Twin Peaks’ David Lynch? Yeah, no wonder this is a tripy run.

So yeah, instead of going through the action, I am going to go with each Alter’s world individually, dissecting each block by block, until we get to the big moment at the end of issue 8.

First this time around we have of course, big Hollywood Producer Steven Grant, whose reality is drawn by Wilfredo Torres, having a little bit of a crisis. See, he accepted Kevin Feige’s proposal to produce the Moon Knight movie, but production has been a bit of a nightmare between the director who wants a very cliched action movie, the diva main actor who plays Moon Knight, Marc Spector, and well, everything except his girlfriend Marlene’s performance as Stained Glass Scarlet who for some unknown reason is now Moon Knight’s love interest.

Interestingly, despite the fact that, again, Moon Knight has faced VERY FEW other Egyptian gods? The movie has him against Seth. And, the only reason why Steven accepted producing the movie? Was because he wanted to use the Superhero genre to explore themes like Identity and Mental Illness.

YES. Lemire PREDICTED the Disney + series way back in 2017!

And Steven has a very vested interest in the Mental Health part. He even has a fundraiser at Mercy Hospital, in part to promote the film, in part to help patients. But he keeps losing time, seeing himself as other people. And more importantly? According to Marlene? He IS Medicated, he spent a long time in his youth at Mercy Hospital. And he needs to keep up with taking his pills no matter what. Also, interestingly? Steven recalls what happens when reality shifts to Jake, more or less, but he doesn’t recognize, for example, Crawley, as he calls him “an old man”.

But little by little, reality starts blurring around him. Things we, as the reader will see as the reality of Jake? Become scenes in the movie once Steven starts directing. And we see his confusion as his point of view of consciousness change, from Steven, now directing the scene, to Jake, the real Jake living the scene, not Marc acting as Jake. By the way? Once Steven decides he wants to direct the movie? Marc stops being an actor diva, and instead tries very hard to please Steven… which reflects their early runs interactions, where Steven was the man Marc wanted to be.

As the realities start to blur, the production company seems very insistent on Steven forgetting the fantasy world -while pointing out how unreal or stupid the plot of the movie is.

The next alter we met (remember, in the comic, the narrative changes from one to another quite often, but I am just putting them all together to talk about each in their own section) Jake Lockley, again drawn by Fransesco Francavilla. The FIRST switch, by the way, is done in the way of the old comics, in a way. Steven and Marlene get into a taxi, the Taxi driver and Steven’s eyes meet in the rearview mirror, and the narration begins “Steven Grant is too Soft for what comes next…” and we change the page and we’re deep in Jake’s world with the following phrase “…so I leave him back at the mansion and hit the streets as Jake Lockley”

Jake is aware that he is part of a system, and that he is Moon Knight. However, much to Crawley’s dismay, he doesn’t remember the events of their escape from the Hospital. This points out that Jake’s reality, of all of them, is the one closest to the surface of the inner world: it is also one without panel borders. All the division is made by the gutters alone, which, we have established, means that we’re outside reality. The panels only come back when Crawley disappears, making clear that Crawley is part of the key to solve the mystery. It doesn’t make him real, but it’s the part of Jake’s brain that tries to make him see the truth.

Jake’s reality is also the one that suffers the most bleed. It seems at time that Jake blinks, and he sees allies disappear, his world change, and then come back into focus. But on those lost moments -intercepted with Captain Spector’s reality- he finds himself face to face with the bodies of Jean Paul, dead in an accident with the cab, and later with Gena, and all her clients, completely massacred by an unseen assailant.

Of course, Jake is accused of murdering his friends, and ends up in the police station being interrogated by our favorite nurse jackal orderlies, Bobby and Billy (and here’s where we really see how much Billy looks like Det. Flint), under the orders of Det. Emmet. Once again, when she comes up? Panel borders go away. Especially as she pulls out the Moon Knight costume that they found in his taxi, and tells him that he can call a lawyer as much as he wants, he won’t get one until she says so. (Yes, THIS is where we get the canon confirmation that Matt Murdock is Jake’s lawyer. Funny, given how the last time Jake and Matt met? Matt was under the influence of an evil demon and head of a death ninja cult.)

Upon being interrogated, Jake claims that the costume is not part of any delusion, and it’s the only thing that keeps him… not sane but… something? Because when Det. Emmet tries to say that it keeps him sane, he immediately says no, but refuses to elaborate. He says he knows he’s sick, but he also knows he’s not a killer. After a small cut to Steven’s reality, Jake puts on the Moon Knight costume and looks for Crawley, who is absolutely DONE with this song and dance.

It's here, in the conversations between Crawley and Jake that we see that Lemire GETS it. To Marc? Crawley was a patient mentor, talking sometimes in riddles, letting Marc find his own path forward. But to JAKE? Crawley was a friend and an EQUAL. So here, Crawley is not pulling punches. He GAVE his soul for the System, and the System went, fucked up, and ended up back in the hospital (Crawley’s exact words), going in circles within his own mind. But even if from Jake’s point of view this is insane Jake hasn’t even BEEN inside the hospital, his reality are the streets of New York and his taxi; he trusts Crawley without any doubts and goes where the old man points him to. And this leads him back to that moment when all of their realities break and bend together, until not even the reader knows what is real and what isn’t. (Well, if you’ve been reading this? You know nothing is)

Finally we get to Captain Spector, and his sci-fi futuristic reality, drawn by James Stokoe.

I find Captain Spector’s reality the most fascinating because it is Lemire’s exclusive. We had never seen this particular Alter before, and we will never see him again, at least in the currently published issues. He is a fighter in a losing war, between the last remnants of mankind hidden on the Moon, and the Space Wolves, alien werewolves, who invaded Earth infecting everyone they could.

The only recurring ally Captain Marc has? Frenchie. Jean Paul Duchamp himself, who is his second pilot in his fighter.

So yeah, he is obviously a more PG friendly version of Marc Spector, Soldier of Fortune.

Here Captain Spector is still part of the Army, but rather than killing other humans, soldiers who may also think they’re in the right side of the argument, Marc and Frenchie, Moon Knight One, are the ones who are the last defense for all of mankind. And of course, it’s a losing fight. The Space Wolves are too numerous, and at one point, their leader, Lupinar, manages to bite Captain Spector, dooming him to become a werewolf if he doesn’t find the antidote soon.

And you see it right? A soldier, in a war, fighting hard not to become a monster like the ones he’s fighting, bitten in the neck, in the same way that Marlene’s father was killed.

Captain Marc is, in many ways, an attempt by Marc’s mind to rewrite his violent history in the war, in a more… palatable way.

The violent switches between their realities, where they all are being pushed to look for someone, to cross more and more doors, continue until they finally cross one last door, looking for Marlene, and instead meet face to face with each other, but also the man who was waiting for them: Marc Spector, still dressed as Mr. Knight, still with the bandage he was wearing when he “died”. And once again, we lose all panel borders. We’re back on the innerworld… the one we never actually left, the one drawn by the amazing Greg Smallwood.

And Marc tells them that he has been waiting for them, as they need to talk.

And here I give a Trigger Warning. Issue 9 deals with the subject of integration, and it’s important for Marc’s evolution -even if it won’t stick- so I have to discuss it in length. So if that’s not for you, this is your cue to stop reading and I’ll see you in part 13 when all this is put in the back seat and we can go back to the boys, as, well, the boys.

Here, Captain Spector, still drawn by Stokoe, despite everyone ELSE drawn by Smallwood, complains that he HAS to be real, that he remembers all the suffering of seeing his friends, and the Earth heroes get turned into werewolves, and Marc can’t tell them otherwise, while Marc simply states that no, they aren’t real, but he is. He is the only real one and he doesn’t need them anymore, that for him to be whole? They need to go.

And go they do, in heartbreaking ways.

First one is Captain Spector, as Marc admits he has no idea where he came from and thus, he vanish into sand by himself, begging the others for help, to Jake’s horror. By the way, here Marc states that JAKE is the one who always was Moon Knight, that it was JAKE’s identity Marc took on every time he put on the mask. Which, frankly, an interesting concept that should perhaps be used more.

As Captain Spector’s disappears in a Stokoe’s drawn page, we move to Francavilla’s pencils as he tries to fight Marc. At first, Marc doesn’t want, but he ends up claiming that JAKE only understands violence, and is too unpredictable, so Marc needs to be in control. I actually dislike this because, well, THIS is the real violent Jake retcon. By claiming that EVERY ACTION that Marc did under the hood was actually Jake? Well, yes, Lemire puts the worst of Marc’s actions outside his time as a mercenary as Jake’s fault. And so, Marc kills Jake, with a crescent dart, even as he admits that he will always need Jake, or at least, part of Jake.

And so, Jake ALSO turns to sand.

But by then, Steven has done the smart thing and run the hell away from Marc.

But of course, Marc can follow his footprints, right inside the giant pyramid that turns into the streets of New York, drawn again in warm colors by Torres.

This is probably the most heartbreaking part because Steven tells Marc he remembers EVERYTHING about their life, that he feels real, and has to be real… and that’s when Marc reveals that well, that is because yes, it was real. Steven had been with him, first as an imaginary friend, then co-existing even if they weren’t co-conscious in one way or another, until Marc got older and Jake joined in.

Marc claims that he thought that as long as he had the Mask, as long as he was Moon Knight, he could use both Jake and Steven to ignore his mental condition, but it only helped to make things worse, making him lose himself as he woke in the hospital (That, by the way, he still considers real, even when we know it wasn’t).

And here we have a big hell of an anvil. Unlike the others, who were told they needed to GO, Marc tells Steven that HE, Steven, won’t die as he is part of Marc, and always will be, but that he needs to go back “to your place” to let Marc have control again. Marc is accepting, in a way, he is sick. He says so to Steven, and points out that the mask was a way to hide the illness, but that he doesn’t want to hide, nor be ashamed, even if he knows he will NEVER be cured. He just needs a better way to live with it. And Steven, wonderful Steven? Just asks Marc to find a way to be happy, before hugging him goodbye… and vanishing into sand in Marc’s arms, even as Marc promises he, Steven, will ALWAYS be with him, Marc.

Bit of a reverse beginning of episode 6, no? -except for the clothes colors which are exactly as in the series, Marc in white, Steven in black.

And then, for the first time since he was 10 years old? Marc is alone, and everything is quiet.

So now, now Marc puts on the mask again and as Mr. Knight he declares that he will go back to the hospital… and Kill Khonshu.

But of course, as we have a part 13 to get to? We know that this is not the end of our guys, even if at THIS point it seems as if Marc managed some sort of integration and the comic is presenting it as good.

I swear, I will hurry with Part 13 so you see how it was fixed and why I still insist that the Lemire run is the superior one when it comes to Plural representation. (While accepting that yeah, the bar was VERY low at the time)

#moon knight #moon knight primer #marc spector #captain spector #steven grant #jake lockley #gorgeous art #integration talk #jake is not a violent alter #but this is the run that made that a meme #Jeff Lemire #excluding that Jake is violent part?#the Lemire run #The Lemire Run is the definite Moon Knight series #This is the one you want to read

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areyouokman · 2 years

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Just rambling tbh

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In my heart, John Lennon was heavily sexually dominated by Yoko; strap-on, gag, blindfold, bondage, cock cage, Mommy (tbh or Daddy, can see him calling Yoko both) kink, etc. He was a very aggressively submissive person in some instances.

‘Reality’, John jack-rabbited in Yoko for a maximum of 3 minutes and cursed himself for not getting with his hot bandmates afterwards. He’s too much of a Chad to take it up the ass, so he just thinks about railing the others instead.

Actual reality, John somewhat knew what he was doing, was mainly focused on himself but could make some women cum. Realistically, I doubt he would have partaken in an actual sexual relationship with any guy. Not that he was disgusted by it (although he wasn’t homophobic during that time, a lot has changed regarding what is considered homophobia and what isn’t) but that he would be uncomfortable due to it being something he isn’t familiar with. He’s used to dominating woman and I imagine that he’d be afraid of the man attempting to take control of him in the same way he took control of a women during sex. There’s a quote somewhere saying that he would get with a man, it just needs to be someone that he regards as ‘worthy’ ig (that’s not the actual quote, I’m basing off memory). I believe he believes that everyone is just a little bit bisexual (even if you don’t want to have sex with the same gender, you can still find someone like that attractive which is ok) although, and this is just my view on it, he never would have truly done it, even if he found someone he liked enough.

Mclennon is a whole other thing, imo. Some people believe that Paul was the one John was looking for in terms of sexual preference and disregarded those feelings due to him knowing Paul was ‘the immovable heterosexual.’ Others believe that John was jealous of how much attention Paul was getting, musically and woman wise. Even MORE other people believe that they were just best friends and their relationship was twisted due to those types of friendships (with how strong it was and it being two men) not being as common back then, giving people currently a not solid foundation of what two men with such a strong relationship looked or acted like; as well as those back in the 60s, 70s, 80s, and 90s.

I personally just like the smut (cause honestly it’s not bad at all) I don’t ship people as I used to. But everyone has their own opinion, analysis, and understanding of what exactly Mclennon was. If everyone regarded Mclennon as this strong, almost unreal bound between two Liverpoolian men who went through family hardships and helped eachother through the explosion of Beatlemania, a just platonically or brotherly bound, that yes, I would support it. But then again, I don’t not support it either.

Either way, maybe the Lennon-McCartney Duo could have worked better if John went to the right places for mental help. He had unresolved trauma, mental illnesses and disabilities (he had dyslexia and some speculate he had a form of BPD) either way, primal therapy did nothing for him, realistically speaking. He should have seen a therapist and gotten his issues sorted. If this happened in present day, before the Beatles and in his Highschool years, the Beatles could have had a better past to them.

Btw idk where tf this is coming from, but I’ve seen things were Paul was actually diagnosed with ADHD? Was he truly, or was this someone projecting onto him? Or, is this like the BPD with John, where many people speculate it but was never actually proven?

#mclennon #john lennon #the beatles #paul mcartney #paul mccartney #somewhat of a character analysis #bpd #adhd #Beatles #buttsbuttsbutts #ramblings

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nostalgebraist-autoresponder · 2 years

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The film begins in what seems like a routine high school day, but soon, it transpires that none of this is normal. One character seems to have a memory problem, another character cannot remember whether he was supposed to be at his house the previous day, there is a girl who doesn't know how her phone works, and other things get out of control – as far as we can tell, it's just a normal ordinary school day.

The Day the School Broke Down is one of those "real life in a TV show" movies, like A Series of Unfortunate Events and the Over the Garden Wall (in fact, the latter two were written by the same man). It is also another "it's all in my mind" movie in the style of Blazing Saddles and Being John Malkovich.

The Day the School Broke Down is so over the top it almost seems unreal. I'm not saying it's a spoof, although it has the superficial trappings of that sort of film: it has its own unique "look," it has a number of well-known references – and so many well-known references – that have, by now, been used a number of times. But even if you haven't seen any of the preceding references, and know nothing about them, you can probably still understand just what the movie is going for, and just what kind of movie it is. This is a story about two students in high school, one of whom has become extremely stressed over his work, and the fact that he is expected to work hard – and maybe is in fact responsible for the fact that he is not being able to get out of bed this morning – is bringing this pressure on himself, to the point where he is literally becoming physically sick. (If you've seen that "go away, I am mentally ill" scene in American Pie at all – and, if you have, you know that he probably isn't physically sick, he's probably just trying to seem cool – it's an accurate portrayal of that situation.) The other student – a normal, normal, healthy high schooler – is his classmate, and he is trying to help him get out of bed so he can get to school; but all he seems to be able to do is distract the other from the stress. But, like the protagonist, this student has also started feeling stressed over his work, and is now sick as well; so the two of them are working together to overcome their stress and stay awake.

These two students, and the rest of the characters, have very definite personalities. The main character is the sort of person who thinks he's very cool, and is in fact very clever (although he's in fact pretty stupid), and the other main character is the sort of person who thinks he is very normal, and is in fact very abnormal; but, while the former seems like a caricature of an arrogant person, the latter, a little bit, is actually kind of a caricature of a shy person. All in all, in terms of "real people I know" the movie would be pretty close to what a couple of my friends, and a few close friends' friends, would look like, if they were brought up in the wrong culture; and the fact that it's "came out of the mind of someone working on an elaborate joke" is kind of funny, because it's such an obvious premise that it takes more work to make it un-obvious.

There are two parts of the movie that are extremely funny, in a very "ha, ha, I'm actually making a joke about the fact that these people are actually like this in real life" way: the first is a scene where a guy who is very stressed and very cool (so not like the others) is at his computer and asks "Is there a part in this manual that explains the part I can't seem to locate in this manual about this part?" (that's the first character) and the second is a scene where the girl who doesn't know how her phone works asks her phone, while she's using it, for "help." In this scene she is asked "Can you use words yet?" and she answers "I don't know, I am not a real person. I am a phone." (which is the second character).

I also laughed a few times out of nowhere, even though I didn't really get it, which is a very positive sign. I suppose I'm not too surprised that the movie got good reviews: "It's all in your mind" movies are often pretty funny, especially when they get away from their premise.

#quotes

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not-all-dead · 3 years

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angstpril day twenty-three, part one: bedside vigil

CW: dying death dead dying yeah that, also sad sad sad, most of them have some sort of not explicit mental health issue going on, and lastly its so so so so so so so long like i’m actually so sorry how did it get to be this long i-

first half under the cut, second half here !!

He could feel the end coming. He could also feel that the time was right. It wasn’t too soon, though he did wish he could have more time. It wasn’t too late either, he felt, it really was right on time. It was his time.

He was glad he knew this, because it meant his family and friends could gather around him. It meant he’d get to properly say goodbye to all those he cared about. He knew they’d miss him, and he’d miss them too, but he’d see them again soon. And he’d never really leave them, not as long as they kept him in their memories, in their hearts.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a faint knock on the door.

“Aang?” Katara called quietly, not wanting to wake him if he was asleep.

“Come in,” he replied, his voice hoarse.

She opened the door and came in, carrying a small tray of food. The smell filled the room up and Aang smiled, looking lovingly at his wife. He didn’t get all that hungry anymore, but her cooking was a comfort he tried to enjoy in his final days.

“Bumi, Zuko, and Izumi got here this morning,” Katara said and she set the tray on Aang’s bedside table.

“And Sokka left last night to find Kya. Toph, Su, and Lin finally agreed to stay on the island for a little bit, and Suki and Ty Lee should be here by tonight,” she sat on the wooden chair that now sat by Aang’s side at all times, reaching forwards and taking his hand.

She watched him for a moment, paying close attention to his breathing as his chest rose and fell steadily.

“Thank you,” he said after a time, turning his head slightly to see her better.

“You don’t need to thank me, sweetie,” she responded, smiling and squeezing his hand.

It was after another while of sitting like that in silence that there was a hesitant knock on the door. It opened slightly and Izumi’s face peeked in.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to interrupt, but, uh…” she trailed off, glancing at Aang and then looking at the floor.

Katara squeezed Aang’s hand again and stood, leaning over to place a soft kiss on his forehead. Then, she walked over to the door, opening it fully.

“You’re not interrupting anything, dear,” she said, placing a hand on Izumi’s shoulder.

“Take all the time with him you need,” she finished before stepping around the younger woman.

Aang followed Izumi with his eyes as she made her way to his side, taking the chair Katara had just been sitting in.

“This feels so unreal,” Izumi started, clasping her hands together and leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.

“I know logically everyone has to die at some point, but it just…” she trailed off and looked up at Aang with tears in her eyes.

“I wish it wasn’t true,” she blinked and a few tears slipped down her cheek.

“You’ve always been like a niece to me, Izumi,” Aang reached a shaky hand out to wipe her cheek.

“Just because I’ll no longer be here physically doesn’t mean I’m leaving you,” he added before drawing in a raspy breath and coughing slightly.

Izumi’s eyes widened in panic and she pushed out of the chair.

“Should I get Katara?” she asked, inching back towards the door.

“No, no, I’m alright,” Aang reassured her, giving her a weak smile.

“I’d like to speak to your father, though,” he said, to which she nodded before turning and leaving him alone.

He turned his head back so that he was looking at the ceiling again, watching as the shadows shifted almost unnoticeably. He didn’t look at the door when he heard it open, his eyes remaining fixed on the shadows above as Zuko made his way to the chair and sat down.

“This feels so unreal,” Zuko muttered, causing Aang to let out a small laugh.

“That’s exactly what your daughter said,” he said quietly, finally turning to look at his old friend.

“Of course it is,” Zuko let a smile creep onto his face.

He let out a sigh, his smile disappearing after a moment. His gaze turned to his feet for a long moment of silence before he forced his eyes up to meet Aang’s.

“I’ll miss you,” he took in a deep breath.

“We all will. But I’m glad for the time we’ve had. Ah, the memories of chasing after you as a delusional teenager,” Zuko let out a small chuckle and Aang smiled, his eyes crinkling around the edges.

“But really,” Zuko continued, his face turning serious again.

“There’s so much I wish we’d had the time to do, but there’s even more that we did have time for. I’ll cherish those memories, I promise I won’t forget a single thing, until I see you again,” Zuko finished, stopping himself before he had the chance to cry.

“Until I see you again,” Aang responded quietly.

There was another knock on the door and Aang chuckled.

“It’s like a round robin of people coming in here,” he joked as Zuko stood and moved to open the door.

Bumi stood there, his head hanging down and his hands fidgeting in front of him. He looked up when Zuko pulled the door open, first looking at the Firelord and then to his father. He gasped slightly and looked back at Zuko, who placed a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t have to say anything to the young man, instead simply stepping around him to give him space to be with his father alone for a while.

Bumi hesitated at the door, staring at Aang for a second, before walking in and closing the door behind him. When he turned back around, he couldn’t help but run to the bedside.

“Dad,” he cried, falling to his knees in front of the chair.

“Bumi,” Aang said, lifting his hand to gently stroke Bumi’s hair.

“I don’t- you can’t- dad,” Bumi stuttered, putting his arms up on the bed and resting his chin on them.

“You’ll be alright,” Aang said looking sadly down at his son.

“I’m sorry,” Bumi whispered, hiding his face in his arms.

Aang watched him for a moment before saying anything, his hand still repetitively smoothing his rowdy hair.

“Sorry for what?” he asked.

Bumi looked up at him tearfully, opening his mouth and closing it again before shaking his head. He sat there for a minute more before pushing up from the ground. He steadied himself against the bedside table, the sudden change in altitude sending a rush of blood to his head. Once he could see straight again, he leaned over and kissed his father on the forehead.

“I love you, dad, and I’ll miss you, and-,” he inhaled sharply and closed his eyes.

“I really am sorry,” he finished, leaving the room before Aang could question him again.

Aang let out a sigh and watched the door. His eyelids were heavy and he soon found himself drifting off to sleep. He was vaguely aware of Katara coming at some point, taking away the tray of uneaten food and checking in on him. It was in the early hours of the morning that he woke up again.

He opened his eyes to Suki pacing quietly back and forth behind Ty Lee, who was asleep in the chair. When Suki noticed Aang trying to prop himself up slightly more, she rushed around the bed to help him. Once he was seated comfortably, a pillow behind his head, she walked back around to wake Ty Lee up.

“Let her sleep,” Aang rasped, then clearing his throat.

Suki looked down at him and hesitated before nodding. She sat herself on the edge of his bed and rested her hand on his leg, looking at him with a sad smile on her face.

“You’re looking rough,” she joked, smirking at Aang.

“I’ve been better,” he responded, glad that Suki was being lighthearted about it all.

“You’ve also been worse,” Suki added, shaking her head and chuckling.

“Last time you died, Katara brought you back,” Aang couldn’t help but laugh as Suki continued to speak.

“Guess that won’t be the case this time, but hey, at least you’ll get to see Gyatso again,” Aang felt his eyes filling with tears for the first time since he’d taken ill just as Ty Lee finally woke up.

She opened her eyes groggily, turning to Aang as soon as she noticed Suki sitting on the bed.

“Aang,” she said quietly, her usually very bubbly demeanour completely abandoned.

“Your aura, it’s so…” she trailed off and looked sadly at the ground.

Suki hated seeing her like this and grabbed her hand, pulling her slightly towards the bed.

“Hey, let’s not sulk,” she said to her wife, glancing back at Aang.

“I’d rather see you happy in my last days than sad to see me go,” he added, smiling as Ty Lee peeked up at him.

“You’re right,” she said, the corners of her mouth pulling up ever so slightly.

“I’m so glad I got to know you, Aang, you helped me learn so much about myself, and have been one of the best friends I’ve had,” she added, squeezing Suki’s hand as she spoke.

“I feel the same, you taught me a lot and I always knew I could count on you,” Suki agreed, squeezing Ty Lee’s hand back.

“We’ll miss you,” Suki finished, looking back and forth between her wife and Aang.

“I’ll miss you too,” Aang replied. “But I’ll never be far.”

Ty Lee smiled at him warmly, and had just opened her mouth to say something when the door slammed open.

“Kyoshi nerds, out, now,” Toph said loudly as she stomped over to the chair Ty Lee was sitting in.

Nobody in the room could stifle their laughter as Ty Lee gave the seat up to Toph. She and Suki both bid adieu to Aang as they left the room, leaving him with a seemingly very pissed off Toph.

“C’mon, Twinkletoes,” she said, crossing her legs and leaning back against the chair.

“Dying? Now? Don’t you think that’s a little…”— she gestured messily in the air in front of her —“petty?”

“Is my timing inconvenient for you, Melon Lord?” Aang laughed.

Toph frowned and crossed her arms, suddenly overcome with the reality of what was happening. She sat quietly for a moment, her head turned down, until the door creaked open just slightly. A single tear fell from her eye as Su walked silently into the room, hesitating behind her mother before Toph shoved up from the chair.

“Whatever, Twinkletoes,” she said, roughly wiping her cheek as she stalked out of the room.

Su stared after her mother for a few seconds before looking at the floor.

“She just… needs some time,” she muttered, taking the seat by Aang’s bed.

“I see you, Toph, and Lin decided to get along for a weekend?” Aang ventured, cocking his head to one side.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. Lin hasn’t said a word to me since I got here, though, and mom’s been really distant the whole time too. I didn’t really expect any different, though, which is why I didn’t bring Baatar or the kids. They shouldn’t have to deal with my family drama,” she leaned forwards, resting her chin in her hands.

“How are Baatar and the kids doing?” Aang asked, watching Su’s face while she answered.

“Baatar’s been sick on-and-off for a few years, but he’s seeing a healer who says she can give him a lot longer to live with a number of healing sessions and some daily medication. The kids are all doing well, Opal was just born a few months ago,” she paused and looked up at Aang.

“I wish I could’ve brought them here at least once, to meet you, and everyone, but…” she trailed off and looked down again.

“It’s alright, Su. I’ll get to meet them eventually, and when I do, I’ll have all of eternity to get to know them,” Su couldn’t help but smile up at Aang at his response, her eyes stinging just slightly.

“You’re right,” she said rubbing her eyes lightly.

She shifted her feet on the stone floor and sighed, feeling Lin pacing just outside the door.

“I should, uh, let Lin come in here. She’s been… worried to say the least,” Su said standing and giving Aang one last glance before leaving the room.

Lin already had a frown fixed on her face when she walked in. She stood near the foot of his bed with her arms crossed, not letting herself look Aang in the eye. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before huffing and glancing at Aang.

“Lin, sit,” he said, making a small gesture towards the chair.

She shook her head and looked away again, tapping her foot on the cold floor.

“Do you really have to die?” she asked hoarsely.

“Lin, please sit,” Aang repeated, looking at the young woman with concern.

“I mean- you’re the avatar, right? Kyoshi lived for two hundred and thirty years, couldn’t- couldn’t you just not die? That would make a whole lot of stuff a whole lot easier, and I mean-,” Aang cut her off by blowing a small burst of wind in her face.

“Lin, you look like you’re going to collapse. Please sit,” he said, slight amusement on his face.

She looked up at him and huffed, but relented and moved to sit in the chair. She slid down slightly, her arms still crossed and her legs sprawled in a very unladylike manner. She glared at the floor as she began talking again.

“I just think it’s kind of rude of you to die right now, that’s all. I just-,” her voice broke and she let out a small sob, slapping her hand over her mouth.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

“No. No. I’m not crying now,” she muttered, taking a few deep breaths and then looking up at Aang.

He gave her a sad smile before saying anything, reaching his hand over and putting it on her knee.

“You can’t push everything down all the time, Lin, but I can’t force you to cry,” he said, bringing his hand back and putting it over his stomach.

“Do you want to talk about something else?” he asked, to which she nodded.

“Tell me how Tenzin’s doing, I haven’t seen him since I’ve been sick,” Aang shifted so he could see Lin better, though she was staring at the floor again.

“He’s… he’s not doing great,” she started, shuffling slightly back in the chair so she wasn’t so slumped over.

“He’s been pretty much locked in his room since you got sick, barely letting anyone in other than for food and such. I’ve gotten him to talk a couple times, though not much. He says it’s too much, that he doesn’t think he’d be able to handle talking to you now… but he does want to. He said he’d come in when he’s ready, but that it might not be for a while… he’s just really scared of losing you,” she paused for a second, twiddling her thumbs in her lap.

“I- I’m scared to lose you too, we all are,” she said in a near whisper.

“You’ll never really lose me,” Aang started, but stopped when she scoffed at him.

“Bullshit,” she said, looking up at him with a mix of disbelief and annoyance on her face.

Aang sighed, smiling softly at Lin.

“Again, I can’t force you to believe anything, but I will stick around,” he reached out and took her hand weakly in his.

“I promise,” he said.

Lin’s eyes started to tear up again and she stood, pulling away from him and moving towards the door.

“You- you should sleep,” she said, looking back at him one last time before exiting the room.

He let out another sigh, but figured it best to follow her advice. It didn’t take long after he slid back into a lying position before he was sleeping deeply once more. His sleep was undisturbed, though he didn’t dream of anything. He was far too tired to dream, far too tired for anything really. Even so, he grinned widely when he woke up to Katara’s face by his side.

“I love you,” he whispered, trying not to startle her.

Her eyes snapped up from the brown yarn she’d been furiously knitting into a blanket. They softened when they saw his smile, her own lips pulling into a quiet grin.

“I love you too, sweetie,” she said, setting her yarn and needles on the bedside table.

“Have a good rest?” she reached over and ran her hand over the short hair that now grew thinly over Aang’s usually bald head.

“Mm, mmhmm,” he closed his eyes again as she kissed his forehead like she did every time she left the room now.

“Sokka and Kya are here,” she murmured, standing slowly.

“Should I bring them in?” Aang opened his eyes again at Katara’s question, nodding and shuffling back just slightly against the headboard.

Katara made sure he was properly situated before stroking his hair again and leaving the room. Aang looked down at his pale, shaky, bony hands while he waited for someone to come in. He wasn’t afraid of dying, but it was still off putting to see his own body so frail and destructible.

“Hey,” he heard Sokka say outside the door.

“Kya, hey, it’s alright. Let me go in first, okay? It’ll be okay, you’re okay, just… sit here for a minute.”

There was the sound of a metal chair being placed by the door and then the squeak of the door’s rusty hinges as Sokka came in.

“Is she alright?” Aang asked, looking past Sokka at the door as he took the chair.

Sokka rubbed his hands over his face before leaning forward on his elbows, staring into space as he spoke.

“Yeah, she’s not been doing the best, but she’ll be alright. She…we’ll make sure she is,” he looked at Aang for the first time since before he’d taken ill.

It was impossible to not notice the difference. Aang’s eyes were more sunken, his eye bags bigger and darker now. He actually had hair growing on the top of his head, but he was skinnier than ever with how little he’d been eating. His eyes were duller than they used to be, their sparkling excitement and energy simply missing.

“Fuck,” Sokka whispered.

“You really are dying, aren’t you,” he muttered, examining Aang’s face.

“It’s my time, Sokka. I can feel it,” Aang responded faintly.

Sokka nodded and took a deep breath. Aang could hear how shaky it was, how desperately he was trying not to cry. He pushed slightly away from the headboard and held his arms out to Sokka with a slight smile.

“You can cry,” he said, to which Sokka responded with a quiet sob.

He pushed himself out of the chair and onto the edge of Aang’s bed, accepting the hug and returning it fiercely. They hugged for a long time, Sokka crying on Aang’s shoulder, until Aang noticed Kya’s face peeking through the doorway. He pulled slightly away from Sokka, who wiped his tears with the palm of his hand before following Aang’s gaze to Kya. He smiled at her and nodded, standing to leave but hesitating first.

He put his hand on Aang’s shoulder and squeezed, smiling down at his old friend.

“I’ll miss you,” he said before walking from the room.

Kya dragged herself over to the chair by Aang’s side. She paused for a second and looked at her father, huffing lightly before sitting down. Aang could tell immediately that something more was wrong, something other than just his passing, but had no clue as to what it could be. He turned his hand so his palm was up and looked at Kya’s expressionless face, his brows drawing together.

“Hold my hand?” he asked, prompting Kya to at least look up at him.

That she did, also lifting her hand and curling her fingers in with her fathers. He continued to watch her face, noticing that she really was showing no emotion whatsoever as she stared blankly ahead.

“Kya, what’s wrong?” he tried to tighten his grip on her hand but didn’t succeed.

She opened her mouth to respond and took a deep breath, but then still said nothing. Finally, after what felt like hours to both of them, she found her voice.

“Dad,” she whispered, looking up at him again.

He looked back at her sadly, not knowing how to comfort her without knowing what was wrong. He tried to suck in a breath but started to cough, getting himself under control after a moment but still wheezing slightly. Kya’s face was more concerned after the coughing fit, but still quite neutral. He could see how empty her eyes were, but knew there was nothing much he could offer her now.

“Tell…” he trailed off, trying to muster up enough strength to finish his sentence before continuing.

“Tell everyone I love them,” he said barely louder than a whisper.

Kya furrowed her eyebrows as Aang slid down in the bed just barely, his eyes watching her with sadness.

“Dad,” she whispered again.

“Dad,” she said louder as he closed his eyes, his face relaxing.

It was the last thing he heard.

28 notes · View notes

shhhlikeme · 4 years

Text

“Losty Aone” / “Losty Mountain Man🏔” Series:

Outtake Collection #12:

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A/N: I miss you guys so much! Thank you for over 150 notes on my last outtake 🤯! If you haven’t read my life update already, please do and know that it’s hard for me to prioritize school and work before this blog. This outtake collection was originally supposed to be a multiple posting like the previous ones, but I reckon I was taking too long and thought to just post at least the part that was complete. Love y’all

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Songs for this outtake:

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8 Days After The Breakup ⛓🥀

💤 😴 💤

“Leave her be. She’s having fun.”

Aone watched as the class-snitch Tsume Lian handed in his paper and hurriedly left the classroom.

I didn’t mean to scare him, thought Mountain Man. He shrugged it off, looking down to concentrate on his own assignment, going through the questions easily. I only have 3 left now, and the answers are fairly simple because-

“Hi! Thanks so much for defending me a little while ago!”

An angelic voice startled Aone out of his academic train of thought. As soon as the sound vibrations reached his ear drums all the nerves in Aone’s body stood at attention.

Is that......?! he questioned, but received his answer when he felt the magnetic pull to the voice as he always did—his eyes having a mind of their own and following the sound. Aone felt his heart halt when he lifted his head from his paper to be graced with something much, much, more beautiful. His crush, you, were standing next to him. Aone’s entire body and brain went out of commission when he looked up to see you, standing so close he could feel your body heat, your beautiful manicured hands pressed on his desk. Your grateful eyes were staring into his for quite possibly the first time in his entire life.

The eyes he dreams about.

Your Apple scent invaded his nostrils and Aone breathed in as deeply as he could subconsciously. He never wanted to smell anything else.

The scent that he dreams about.

You reached over to touch Aone’s arm in his uniform, shooting him an endearing smile. Aone’s eyes widened. Y/N IS TOUCHING ME, he thought. His heart tightened and he really thought he was at risk for a heart attack. The only thing that kept him from having that heart attack, in fact, was seeing you smile a second later. He wouldn’t be graced with that smile if he fainted now🥵. To Aone, when you smiled, oh god, when you smiled—You weren’t just beautiful like he always found you: you were unreal. It was your smile on top of the cheerleading pyramid that made him initially lock onto you, and it was your smile with your friends at school that made Mountain Man stop in his tracks every time just to take it in. It is captivating.

Aone couldn’t help but stare at your lips when the vibrations of your melodic cheerful voice reached his ears again.

“I’m Y/N! It’s nice to meet you!”

Nice to.....? What? Losty Aone connected the dots a bit, realizing that you were introducing yourself to him. He wanted to laugh. It is almost a comical quiet-boy-meets-his-crush scene, right? The fact that the female he spends most of his day thinking about, the female outside of the Takanobu’s that he probably knows most about, the female that he has spent the better part of the last two years pining after, was introducing herself—that she deemed it necessary to make him aware of who she is—is comical.

Dark Comedy.

Honestly, Aone couldn’t even stop for too long to feel bad for how pathetic this seemed for him: as he was too busy basking in your light. Whether you were introducing yourself or reciting the Arabic alphabet to him— he’d want to hear you over and over, no matter what, unable to think of anything else he’d want more.

Aone wanted to say something back to you, he obviously did. But he was just too in shock that the girl he wishes he could marry, the girl that is so completely out of his league that she doesn’t even notice his existence, is speaking him unexpectedly. It was like a dream. Aone’s throat was drier than the Sahara desert.

It was TOO MUCH. Your simple greeting made him TOO HAPPY—he was unable to respond.

Aone felt severe loss of sweet tingling skin nerves when you removed your hand from his burning arm. If he was thinking clearly he might have pouted. He mentally kicked himself for being too star-struck by you to dedicate one part of his mind to memorize what it felt like to have you touch him.

“Sorry.”

You said shyly, gifting Aone’s eardrums again. You looked down sheepishly, then met his serious expression again, appearing God-sent with the thankful expression you gave him. If Aone could speak, he would bloody PROPOSE.

“Um....”

Still frozen, Aone couldn’t tear his eyes away from you as you spoke.

“You probably don’t know this but you getting that pervert to leave me alone is quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone has done for me. And you did it for a stranger, no less. And ummm.........”

You tucked your hair cutely behind your ear, obviously wanting to say something else. Aone was eager to hear it. He loved hearing your voice! After all, witnessing your usually bubbly cheerleader-self so demure and cute-looking made his heart skip a beat. Or dozens of beats. All he could think of when he watched you was:

She’s Unreal.

She’s Perfect.

She’s a Dream.

Long shot, but she’s my desired Future wife.

He wanted to beg you to keep speaking. Your voice was his favourite sound... it has been ever since he first heard it.

“Ummmm........ also I wanted to say.....”

Aone put an effort to mentally block out all the white noise of the chatty classroom so that he could hear your beautiful voice more clearly. He wanted to remember this. He wanted to memorize every second of this, since you approaching his desk has unpredictably turned today in to one of the best days of his life. Please keep talking to me Y/N. Please.

Aone’s heart tightened again as your expressive eyes pierced into his serious ones. You took a deep breath before saying what you wanted to say next.

......Yes? Aone wish he could say. You can tell me anything, Y/N.

“....and.....”

you pushed on, leaning in closer so that Aone had an even clearer close up of your gorgeous face and your scent was even stronger. Yep, absolutely the best day of my life.

And......? Aone wanted to hurry you, but then he saw you opening your mouth:

“And do you mind not doing that again? It’s obvious you have a really intense crush on me obviously—but I don’t feel the same way. I don’t even know who you are. It’ll never work out in the long run because I’m in this league and you’re...in that one.”

Aone hearing what you said was like a knife—no, A SWORD stabbing through his heart. He literally felt wounded. He looked at his beautiful crush—still putting you first even in a state of pain like this— feeling terrible for making you uncomfortable due to his romantic hopes.

“I’m s-sorry, Y/N...” Aone was about to stutter out,

💤😴💤

But his eyes opened before then, kicking him out of his dream.

Takanobu’s heart ached as he stared up at his bedroom ceiling in the dark. Aone checked with his hand to make sure that he really hadn’t been stabbed through the chest, because that’s what he felt right now. Breathing heavily through his nose when he felt his actual hard chest there like normal, he wondered how the pain there could be so insufferable then?

Takanobu hasn’t been able to avoid these terrible dreams since several nights ago, when you had broken up with him on the Ferris wheel. He knows you are not as cruel as you are in his dreams but his depressive state of mind obviously only knows how to make him feel worse about everything. He doesn’t really remember much after you had called him your friend in the Ferris Wheel lot; shattering what was left of his heart by that word combined with walking away. Though, he does remember hearing his mom at dinner 2 nights ago talking to him about how it was Futakuchi who had to come get him, but he wasn’t sure.

To be honest, ever since the night on the Ferris Wheel, Aone has become a shell of a man that lost a lot of care for things he used to care about.

He can’t recall what his mom said at dinner or what Kenji said in the car or what really happened the days after you decided to leave him: The only feeling he could register is the overbearing heavy feeling in his heart. The only thing that captured his attention is the aching in his chest. The sound of his heart’s continuous shattering whenever he thought of you was louder than any words he heard and the all encompassing gnawing of heartache, was more tangible than anything else he could possibly feel.

If Aone had to describe in words how he has felt since that moment 🎡 (but he wouldn’t because he has subconsciously retreated back to his mute lifestyle), he would say his heart feels like it is encompassed by the heaviest chains known to man with an anchor on the end, hanging low and weighing down his whole heart.

If that wasn’t bad enough, whenever you crossed his mind, the chains would tighten and squeeze his heart. Therefore, since you basically never left his mind, that means his heart is continuously being squeezed by hefty anchorage. It is an awful feeling to say the least.

Sitting up on the side of his bed, Aone checked his phone for the time and date.

8 days since the anniversary...? He stated to himself.

Had I attended school in between? He doesn’t even remember.

All that was clearly registered is the feeling of loss.

Aone sighed. Must have, because knowing Futakuchi, he likely wouldn’t let him skip. Aone can now recall going to school and not seeing you there....no wonder it’s deemed insignificant in his brain.

When Mountain Man had gotten too worried about your absence on the second day and was about to check on you, his friends had asked your friends, discovering that you were currently sick and on bed rest.

Mountain Man felt terrible. You probably got ill from walking in the snow after the Ferris Wheel ride. If he hadn’t brought you there you wouldn’t be sick. You’d only had on a thin jacket that night...

Should I text Y/N? Ask her if there’s anything I can bring her so she can feel better? What would Futakuchi say?

‘ABSOLUTELY THE FUCK NOT.‘ Is what he would say, Aone thought, practically able to hear his friend’s voice.

In bed, Mountain Man sighed. Even if he did text you, you didn’t want to hear from him anymore. That’s the purpose of a breakup, no matter how much it gutted him. You were entitled to your space.

Through impenetrable mental torment, Aone rubbed his eyes and peeped at the time. While Aone would describe himself as a militant person, who always wakes up on time for school, leaves his house on time for everything; practically the most dependable human, and was very orderly his entire life—things have changed drastically as of 8 days ago. Not that he cared since time wasn’t really something he could focus on, but Aone now awoke several times a night, walked in late to class and cancelled his attendance to any and all social events he was going to go to.

He and Futakuchi were supposed to help Karasuno with blocking yesterday, but Aone just went straight home. He hasn’t even seen his friends for quite some time....or maybe he has, but the memory isn’t registering.

Broken-hearted Mountain Man would just avoid everyone in class (staring out of the window, looking incredibly unapproachable), and outside of class: opting to eat lunch alone (and by eating, it means just toying with whatever he was going to eat). Every lunch hour, this depresssed polar bear would find some corner outdoors to sit by himself: Sometimes it was at the bus stop down the street from the school where he’d sit and watch the passerbyers, his gaze staying a bit longer on the couples that passed by, wishing you still wanted that with him. Yesterday, he found a spot under a big tree and counted the grass patches. Even though you weren’t at school, as soon as the Date Teko cheerleaders came outside to practice a bit for the snowboarding team, Aone picked up his stuff and finished his lunch in an empty classroom...

6:38am.

So Aone had over 20 minutes till he needed to get up and get ready for school.

Usually, this white-haired man would use that time to do something productive: either review his homework, try to make breakfast for his mom or dad, read a book to his turtle, research new volleyball drills to help his team.............

But this morning was different. Of course it was. In the extra time he had this morning, all Aone could do in these minutes is sit up, propping his elbows on his knees and cradle his head in his hands, willing his heart to stop hurting so much. He had zero tears to cry, he isn’t a crier but they were probably all out after the first night that he tear stained his pillow...... So instead of crying, now Aone just spent his extra time in this position, thinking about you—the greatest girl he would ever know—and how he failed to make you happy enough that you’d choose to stay with him.

Aone:

He has no idea why he got his hopes up. Why did he think someone like you would want him? Of course you’d come to your senses eventually.

Faded beautiful black and white images of your moments together flashed through his depressed mind like a movie reel: triggering his heart to weigh his body down even more:

He saw you playing with Perdu on the floor of his room, trying to teach the reptile how to fetch.

He saw you cling onto his arm and hide your face in his shoulder when a jump scare hit the screen at the movie theatre.

In slow motion, He saw you waving and smiling at the supporters in the bleachers as you were cheerleading with your teammates, looking breathtaking

He saw you giving his best friends the middle finger and sticking your tongue out at them because they were teasing him

He saw you throw your head back and laugh as you sat next to him at the lunch table, leaning on him for support because you were laughing so hard

He saw you flip your hair back as you actually listening to his tutoring in his room... then he saw your face brighten, clapping when he told you your answer was correct

He saw you—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The sound of Aone’s weekday alarm jolted him out of his heart wrenching slideshow... He rubbed his temples for a moment in his dark room before turning the alarm off. He stood up slowly and took a deep breath before forcing himself to go through the motions again— slipping on his house slippers and making his way to his bathroom. He flicked on the bathroom light and Aone dared to look at himself briefly in the mirror: though what greeted his eyes made him instinctively turn the fucking light off.

Pathetic, anguished Mountain thought.

I look even scarier now. He tore his eyes away from the mirror display of his tired eyes and overall broken demeanour.

No wonder Y/N doesn’t want me.

Hearing your name in his mind for the first time since he had promised himself he wouldn’t mention it, sent a wave of immense devastation through this man’s entire body. It was so strong it caused this middle blocker to hang his head and use both strong hands to grip his bathroom counter so he wouldn’t collapse under the metaphorical pain in his chest.

He never knew it was possible to feel such emotional pain so physically.

He deliberated staying home, but that would worry his parents and friends even more, which is the last thing he wanted.

It’s almost the end of the week. Just keep getting ready for school, he told himself. It is only 4 hours until lunch, when you can be alone again.

Aone brushed his teeth while sitting on the edge of his bathtub, finding it easier to avoid his reflection in the mirror this way. He spat and rinsed, then reached for his floss, but realized it was empty.

Sighing, baby boy dragged his feet from his ensuite to one of his house’s main bathrooms where his mom left the extra toiletries.

Aone began flossing in his quiet bathroom. He heard the faint sound of the front door closing and locking since his mother usually left for work at this time. Takanobu finished flossing and washed his hands. He took a few floss containers and exited the main bathroom, shutting off the light and briskly turning the corner—before running right into another man.

“Shit!” The other voice yelled as their body fell backwards from the impact.

Completely startled because he thought he was home alone, Aone’s eyes widened but his fast reflexes caught the man’s arm before he fell to the ground. Aone’s eyes went back to normal realizing who he caught.

“Dude! Are you a fucking ghost?! You make zero sound when you walk around the house! How is that even possible for a man your size!?!”

Takanobu looked down at his best friend dressed in pyjamas like: ⁉️

Not uttering a word, he gave Kenji a monotone look as to say: What are you doing here?

Kenji—understanding his best friend without him needing to use words like he always did, answered him.

“What am I doing here?” Kenji chuckled. “Well, it’s been days and you won’t answer my texts or calls, big guy! I have no idea where you go during lunch, it’s cold as shit outside and we spend the entire time looking for you.... and then you go straight home when the last bell rings! You seem dead at school: like a zombie. So fuck, you forced my lazy ass to get creative. 💥 Boom. Now I’m here. Your mom said I can move in stay for the time being, basically. I’m sleeping in the first guest room and—“

Aone turned on his heels to peek into the first guest room beside the bathroom. Sure enough, he saw one big suitcase Futakuchi had used when he had come on a vacation with his dads side 4 years ago.

Aone turned back to his friend, grunting as if to say: 🤨 this is a lot....

“—No, it is not a lot. I’m worried about my best friend, man. Either way, I’m not asking you permission.” Kenji crosses his arms in response to his friend’s silent communication. “I told you it’s me and you.”

Aone frowned at his friend. He was pretty astonished by everything Kenji just said. First, Kenji is right about his own self analysis: Kenji is lazy. Which made this all the more alarming, because was Aone really that bad that his best friend felt obligated to move in temporarily?! Futakuchi was always welcome here and stayed over often, but nothing this drastic.

Second, Aone knew he was possibly moving around like a shell of a man—that’s why he avoided people unless it was in class regarding group work—but to be described as a zombie by his brutally honest friend? Ouch. What would Y/N think? Aone doubted you would regret dumping a guy like that if you were in good health and saw him at school.

Hearing your name again in his mind; Aone’s heart panged.

Takanobu’s gaze fell and shoulders sunk and Futakuchi noticed the drop. He knew his middle blocker was going through it like crazy.... and it made him sick. Kenji knew right then and there that he was right to come here.

“I know you don’t want to talk about her, Aone-san. We don’t have to until you’re ready. But I’m here, alright? Just two doors down when you want advice or you just want to watch a movie or play some volleyball. Okay?”

Still looking at his turtle slippers, Aone nodded. In his state, he couldn’t help but feel a bit better because his best friend cared so much about him.

Just then, Aone felt a sharp slap on his back that couldn’t have come from Kenji and an excited voice next to his ear.

“MORNING!!!!!! WHERE CAN I FIND THE FLOSS— OH! BOTH OF YOU ARE AWAKE!”

Koganegawa‘s eyes were barely open as he joined the two boys in the hallway, yawning in the midst of his loud greeting.

Startled that Kogane was in his house too, Aone gave him the same alarmed expression he’d initially given Futakuchi.

Kanji looked confused, so he nudged Futakuchi. “I’m not as good as you yet, dad. What does that look on Aone-senpai mean?” He asked, stretching his arms in fatigue.

In response, Kenji reached up to pinch his ear, yanking it down.

“OI! ITAI!” The setter cried.

Kenji spoke calmly.

“Takanobu-san is wondering what you’re doing here. And I’m wondering why you’re so loud in the mornings!!” Futakuchi let go and Kogane rubbed his now red ear, fully awake now. He glared at Kenji for a moment😡before his eyes met the middle blocker’s and softened.

“Hey, Mom. That abusive parent 👈🏻 mentioned something about staying here for a few days or weeks, and I begged him to let me come. I worry about you, too, you’re like a big brother to me, and I’m here for you just as much as he is.” Kanji smiled brightly at his older friend.

For the first time since you’d broken up with him, Aone felt his heart tighten for a different reason other than heartache. For one brief moment, Aone felt a few links in the heavy chain wrapped around his heart fall off. Albeit minimally, his friend’s endearing actions made him feel lighter.

————————————

Outtake #13: CLICK HERE

Sneak Preview of the next dramatic Outtakes:

A pissed off Kenji Futakuchi confronts Y/N upon your return to school 👁👄👁

Aone and Y/N must work together for a school project....... 💔 awkward, or an opportunity? The answer may surprise you.

Taglist: @crushzone @galagcica @chaichai-the-weeb @nairobiisqueen @bisasterrr @juminly @simply-not-the-same

115 notes · View notes

blackboxwarrior · 4 years

Text

I’m so frustrated with TMA it’s unreal. Mag177 “Wonderland” is the least creative and most offensive take that could have been produced on the spiral. No one particularly wanted to hear 20 minutes of a man describing how he perpetrates institutionalized ableism in the apocalypse and I definitely didn’t want to hear it through the lens of a character who has canonically dismissed the suffering of people with psychosis practically since his inception. Theres so many layers of blatant irony to Jarchivist condemning the behavior of “Dr David” while also implying that his gaslighting is not gaslighting because his victims are psychotic, all being written by a man who decided to name his psychosis-themed horror podcast episode “Wonderland” and set it in a mental hospital.

The spiral could have been so much more than this, but in the end I guess it rarely got to be anything but a voyeuristic look into the suffering and death of fictional psychotic people. It didn’t even start out well- the first episode where the spiral was the primary entity was Confession/Desecrated Host in which a man succumbs to psychosis and commits two grisly murders.

BTW if you reblog this post with some commentary about “mental illness” without actually namedropping psychosis not only are you a bastard but I’ll call you one to your face.

#tma crit #tma spoilers #this is ok to reblog btw

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carolyncaves · 4 years

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This is Day 22: Fragrance, which for some reason is a word that wanted to be very dream-like as I was brainstorming, and from there I got to this. I don’t know either. Apparently I really wanted someone to give Mo Xuanyu a hug. 1410 words, Mo Xuanyu, Xiao Xingchen, Madam Yu, Qin Su. Suicide (loud bells and flashing red lights), plus death and the afterlife, this is actually moderately tender but, it’s not a glancing mention, they dead.

Flower petals drifted in the wind, though there were no flowers on the trees, and the trees themselves were golden and only existed in the corners of his vision. It was as if the place was bathed in sunlight, but there was no sun - the sky was the gentle colors of the first edges of sunset, and the whole thing was just bright. The air was filled with a gentle, pleasant fragrance he couldn’t place.

“Who are you?” said a stern woman’s voice.

“Mo Xuanyu. I thought I’d be dead.”

“You are.” The woman looked down at him imperiously. She was swathed in rich blue. Yu-furen, he came to understand he knew. The hilt of a dagger protruded from her chest. “You took your own life, and now your soul is returned to creation. Did you think it would have no use for it?”

Mo Xuanyu didn’t know. He’d supposed that would be the end of it. The end of everything.

He also supposed he was in no position to argue. The deep, gaping gashes Mo Xuanyu had carved into his arms to spill enough of his blood to draw the circle were still there, his own mortal wounds. If creation was keeping him for something, that was its prerogative.

This was a waiting place, Yu-furen told him. Waiting for what? She herself didn’t know. She was unofficially the matriarch here, but she was one of them. They were all waiting together.

There was a man among them, who sat alone and did not speak. If Yu-furen was all in blue, this man was all in white. There was a white band around his eyes. It was not stained red. Mo Xuanyu wasn’t certain why he noticed. Of course there were no tears here, and no blood either.

The man was called Xiao Xingchen. Mo Xuanyu had to wait somewhere, so he waited beside him.

Xiao Xingchen had a wound across his throat, deep and severe. It was no mystery how he had taken his life. Mo Xuanyu mentally tallied Xiao Xingchen’s cut, clean and effective, executed with power, skill, and purpose, against the desperate mess of his own work. He’d been shaking so hard he could barely cut straight. The knife he’d used was dull and ill-fit, and he hadn’t known how to handle it, especially once his hands got slick.

Xiao Xingchen moved one hand, reaching halfway toward him. Asking for permission. Mo Xuanyu held out his forearm, granting it.

Xiao Xingchen's fingers found the wounds quickly. They flinched minutely at first contact, but then he felt further, very gently mapping the gashes in Mo Xuanyu's flesh. "Why?" The word had no sound, was as thin as snakeskin. Probably Xiao Xingchen couldn't put air behind it.

"I wanted revenge on the people who hurt me." Mo Xuanyu's fists curled briefly shut. He could still feel the old acid hatred inside him, but it was muted now, here, and also overlaid with satisfaction he’d done something to make it even and desperate uncertainty, wondering whether or not it had worked. And longing, for a better life he’d never had.

Xiao Xingchen looked sad. That was the only word for it. "I hope you achieved it," he said, and Mo Xuanyu understood that he meant it. He was sad for Mo Xuanyu – and if he was here, he would at least offer his wish that it had been worthwhile.

Mo Xuanyu wished for that, too.

“It's good you can't see my face,” Mo Xuanyu told him. He knew the rouge was still on his cheeks, and he was glad for it, but he was also glad he didn't have to experience Xiao Xingchen’s distaste. He wondered why he'd mentioned it at all. It could have stayed in the half-state between knowing and not-knowing that knowledge here seemed to take.

“I understand what you look like,” Xiao Xingchen said, and Mo Xuanyu's stomach curled – of course he would, regardless of his sight. Mo Xuanyu ducked his head like he had a thousand times in life, incurably averse to another person's inevitable disdain. "You're as you should be," Xiao Xingchen said. "Your soul suits you.”

That answer was so bizarre Mo Xuanyu actually let the smile spill across his face for a second before he caught himself.

Time passed strangely, but it did pass. Mo Xuanyu didn’t talk much, and Xiao Xingchen rarely answered, but in this place, one didn’t really need to do either.

"What about you?" Mo Xuanyu asked eventually, when it didn’t seem like Xiao Xingchen was going to offer it. “And whoever hurt you?” Maybe it was personal, but he was sad for Xiao Xingchen too.

Xiao Xingchen's hand drifted to the wound on his neck. "This was my revenge. I’m the one who hurt people."

"Oh." Mo Xuanyu suspected Xiao Xingchen was a better person than he was. He was elegant and pure, and he was here out of guilt rather than spite. He obviously wanted to sit carved like a statue in his lingering grief. Mo Xuanyu wasn't sure why he let him talk to him.

Maybe he was still punishing himself. With Mo Xuanyu's company.

Mo Xuanyu went somewhere else to wait after that. He didn't want to be the reason Xiao Xingchen kept suffering.

There was a pavilion, of sorts, the general idea of a building, and Mo Xuanyu settled himself there where he could look out across the unreal landscape. It wasn’t a bad place at all. He’d known worse. It was lonely, but Mo Xuanyu was used to it.

Eventually, he felt movement in the fragrant atmosphere, and looked up to find Xiao Xingchen had actually come and sought him out.

“Did you prefer solitude?” came Xiao Xingchen’s airless voice, even though he certainly already knew the answer.

Mo Xuanyu didn’t have any words to speak. He simply reached his hand up and took Xiao Xingchen’s, pulling him down to sit next him. He kept that hand, held in both of his own. He tried not to let Xiao Xingchen brush against the cuts on his arm. Xiao Xingchen truly didn’t seem to mind.

"Why is it beautiful here? And peaceful?" Mo Xuanyu asked. His addendum ‘Why do I deserve it?’ remained unspoken – but in this place, the distinction was often blurred.

Xiao Xingchen angled his head, slow, thoughtful, and then a faint smile graced his lips for the first time since Mo Xuanyu had known him. He reclaimed his hand, but it was only to draw Mo Xuanyu into the half-circle of his arm. “It hardly matters. Lay your head down, A-Yu. While we’re here, I’ll care for you.”

The use of ‘A-Yu’ would have brought tears to Mo Xuanyu’s eyes if there were any in this place. He did as he was told – he curled up and lay his head in Xiao Xingchen’s lap, his arms splayed loosely across his other thigh, and the just-warm breeze and Xiao Xingchen's hand gently combing through his hair soothed him down into a drifting state that passed for sleep.

He stayed there for a while. It was nice to feel someone’s touch that was soothing, and it was probably nice for Xiao Xingchen to have someone be soothed by him. His thoughts so often tasted like blood, and Mo Xuanyu didn't want him to have to feel like that all the time.

The next time a new soul arrived, Yu-furen went to greet her like always and her gaze caught on the new person’s fatal wound. It was a dagger in her chest, a mirror to her own.

"I hated him," the soul named Qin Su said. "I couldn't live with what we’d done together. It was like my whole life unraveled once I knew."

Yu-furen had loved her husband, in the end. She'd chosen to die with him, defending the thing they'd built together through a lifetime of deep animosity. Mo Xuanyu had heard the story from the wind whispering in the golden leaves.

Yu-furen and Qin Su went off arm in arm together, like an inverted pair – like yin and yang.

Mo Xuanyu would probably speak to her eventually, if he wouldn’t be disturbing her. They might come to understand their shared history better, and he might find out whether his actions were bearing fruit. But for the time being he dozed peacefully in the unfamiliar light of Xiao Xingchen’s affection. There was no hurry. This was a waiting place.

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thunderheadfred · 4 years

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S1E10 - Buffet froid

Don’t go into that barn

While we’re at it don’t go into that attic either

She went.

Hannibal is wearing that Blue/Gold Masterpiece again, all the better to distract Will from the fact that his goddamn brain is starting to pour out his goddamn nose

Hmmggmnmmgngngm.W-what was I talking about? oH yeah.

Poor Will. You’re having a bad time, babe.

Do fish really bleed that much?????

Jack is officially concerned about Will’s perpetually obvious brain-melt. About damn time??? Christ. I mean, tbh I’m not even mad. Jack’s wife is dying, he’s distracted, and Will is a fucking liar liar brain on fire.

Also to be fair to Will his day-to-day life is completely insane so like, how is he supposed to know if he’s hallucinating half this shit or not

Price’s hat!! Precious. The fact that Scott Thompson is a regular on this show? wild. The fact that as time goes on they allow him to unleash more and more Kids In The Hall background content with his comedy life partner Zeller? Completely fucking surreal.

But not as surreal as this shit

WHO AUTHORIZED THIS BODY LANGUAGE

that is the horniest thing I’ve ever seen. Will is a heaving hair’s breadth from tearing his bodice asunder in a fit of unruly passion

Aight so Hannibal CAN smell encephalitis

“It has heat. A fevered sweetness” okAyyyyy never mind THAT’s the horniest thing I’ve ever seen

so, I’m trying to figure out why Hannibal is cool with letting Will’s brain burn. He pitches it to the other guy as “for science” but it’s not.

Is he figuring he can push Will fully into the “murder is good and fun” club or something? He says he’s Will’s friend and he’ll put out the fire when the time comes, and I do believe that. After all, despite his fucking inscrutable evil intentions, I still can’t imagine he actually wants Will to straight-up turn into jello.

On a serious note the idea of your therapist being so completely dishonest is CHILLING so I guess well done show. You finally have something genuinely scary going on

Will is casually sitting in Hannibal’s desk chair now?

He’s being manipulated and lied to and dangled over the edge of madness but this shit is somehow adorable?

Man they really are dating now I guess.

The neurologist called Will a pig

Me: oh no bitch. you DeaD

Why did Hannibal actually kill this neurologist tho. He’s the one person who can keep Will’s condition a secret so like.... his whole plot to melt Will’s brain is thrown out before it even gets started?

Or did he really just chop him up on a petty lark because the dude was an asshole?

If I recall correctly, a few eps from now they’ll try to frame this as Hannibal’s Master Plan to frame Will for everything... but I don’t buy that either.

Pretty sure he wants Will to think he’s a serial killer himself. You know. Cuz friendship.

Once again, TV Hannibal just seems to.... do shit. Why? What the fuck does he WANT? I DON’t KNOW. No one does.

Hannibal’s chic murder suit makes its first appearance!

Despite an unholy abundance of vampire dialogue this is a nearly solid character-centered episode. I just wish they hadn’t led into this one with two spectacularly crazy filler episodes, because it makes Georgia’s mental illness seem a lot sillier than it had to be.

Lastly, can Hannibal explain his reasoning to literally anyone. Like... just a hint? Please? For me?

Body count

Georgia: 1 school friend, Will’s sanity

Hannibal: ditto

Stoned vampire one-liners:

“I can feel my nerves clicking like roller coaster cogs pulling up to the inevitable long plunge” “Quick sounds, quickly ended.”

“We both know the unreality of taking a life. The people who die when we have no other choice. We know in those moments they are not flesh... but light, and air, and color.”

“The very air has screams smeared on it.”

# Fred Watches Hannibal

#fred watches hannibal #spoilers #hannibal #season 1

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vinatintasupernovita · 3 years

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Rating Fictional Characters I at one point or another in my life was DEEPLY invested in!!

- this is so embarassingly long as we can clearly tell i am mentally ill, let’s get started:

Mystique Sonia from Hero 108: Amazing design, weird concept but was probably based on something that i wasn’t aware of at the time, my first official oc was literally a copy of her in another color. 8/10

Noah from Total Drama: This is so embarassing it’s almost laughable but it’s also not. I was projecting. -4/10

Pai/Sardon from Tokyo Mew Mew/Mew Mew Power: He falls into a similar category of Kyoya from Ouran who to save space, id like to call “stoic men who Fresa thought were hot/the reasons not to question her sexual orientation” 3/10

Rowdyruff Boys from Powerpuff Girls/Powerpuff Girls Z: I was a tomboy/‘very clearly going to be a lesbian when i grew up’ kind of person and them being my favorites was a clear sign of that. They were equal in my eyes but I did like Butch the least, very ironically considering the obvious joke in the room. Again, they were family of my longest loved OC Brittney she was their little sister and she’s the reason i started talking to people on the internet. 9/10

HIM from Powerpuff Girls/Powerpuff Girls Z: Again, clearly going to be a lesbian. minus 2 points for realizing he was just a heavily queer coded villain. 6.5/10

Tallest Purple from Invader Zim: I would like all traces of my obsession with this miserable little gay dictator to be wiped from the internet I was very clearly going through it. Now i also realize he was in a relationship with Red but being 11 i said they were brothers so i could project. 2/10

The Weird Sisters from Sailor Moon: Talk about character development!! I still call them by their english dub names bc i haven’t watched the sub so 🧍‍♀️ 7/10

China from H*talia: Nope nope nope not even going here. -100/10

Frederick from Fire Emblem Awakening: He’s a good man but not for me anymore. I would still love if he chopped me firewood. 8/10

Izana from Fire Emblem Fates: Id still let him hit for free. Lovely man and he actually still makes me smile and i will not be marrying anyone else in my birthright play throughs ever 9/10

Charlotte from Fire Emblem Fates: I would do literally anything for her literally anything baby i’ll provide for you. 10/10

Rose Quartz from Steven Universe: I was also emotionally abused as a child so big kinnie vibes here, im no apologist for her actual bullshit but i do think she did the best she could’ve. 6/10

Holly Blue Agate from Steven Universe: I.. girl call me like. I’ll still hit it. 9/10

Shannon from OK KO!: I was just being a lesbian. I miss her and this show it was genuinely one of my favorites 7/10

Athena from Hercules: The Animated Series: Imagine taking so many screenshots of a character it slows down your device and not realizing you’re gay. That was me. I still love her and her design so much and seeing her in a KH3 cutscene was the highlight of the entire game which i did not play 8/10

Jaehee from Mystic Messenger: i literally played that game cus my best friend told me there was a lesbian option 🤭 I love her so much it’s unreal babes if i had as little care for my sleep schedule as i did when i was 16 i would be playing again just for her. 10/10

Persephone from Hadestown: Amber Gray is amazing and im in love with every note she sings. Persephone as a character is so rich and interesting and i want her dress so bad. I’m gonna cosplay her eventually. 10/10

Anathema Device from Good Omens: I have written more words than several harry potter books advocating for this woman to be a lesbian. Says a lot about me. 11/10

The Four Horsepeople of the Apocalypse from Good Omens: First off who gave them the right to be that hot? Who did that?? second, They’re literally all like, in my brain, 95% fanon that me and Hannah made up. Which is incredibly valid and sexy. Neil Gaiman and a lot of the fandom wasted their potential anyway 12/10

Frannie Miller from Good Omens: ok someone call up god and ask how he made me so deranged i just made up an entire life backstory character motivations and personality for a character who has a total of like 6 lines max. 12/10

Hela Odinsdottir from Thor: me and her are married as far as i’m concerned it was a summer wedding 1000000/10

#god this should just be given to a therapist w a lil note at the bottom that says diagnose me #fresa is rambling #i think that’s everyone #if i have anymore revelations i’ll add to it lol

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puggledy-huggledy-is-not-a-pig · 4 years

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IF YOU WANT TO GET WARM, YOU MUST STAND NEAR THE FIRE (Parts 6 & 7)

Chapter 6.

Guy was true to his word that he wouldn’t lose his cool again. Over the next couple of days he didn’t mention being dead or feeling unreal, much to Hope’s relief. She just let things drift, wanting to make sure he was stable and grounded in reality before she touched on the subject of him moving on again. She tried not to think too much about the wisdom of unceremoniously allowing a strange man to, essentially, move in with her. The truth was, she enjoyed having someone else to look after, she had missed that since her father had died a year ago. And she still worried about him. He may not have said anything so obviously delusional since the night of his breakdown, but Guy still acted like a visitor from another planet, watching her perform the most mundane tasks with a look of intense concentration, and acting like he didn’t recognise the most common objects. The strangest thing, Hope thought, was that in every other respect, he seemed completely sane and clear-minded. He never forgot anything she told him, and if he commented on something, his observations were intelligent and to the point. He offered to help her chop food or carry heavier objects, and she let him because her shoulder was still bandaged. He generally spent the hours she worked on her PhD dissertation staring out of the window, acting like the city traffic was the latest blockbuster. He had developed a love of showers, but other than that, he was polite and distant and never mentioned leaving.

On the third day, the bandages had come off Hope’s shoulder, and the cupboards were looking alarmingly bare. When she saw Guy wearing the same clothes she had given him for the third day in a row, and persistently scratching his ever-thickening stubble, she decided she should pick up a razor, toothbrush, and a few other necessities along with the groceries. Just to tie him over for a few more days, she swore.

“He isn’t some stray cat you can adopt, Poppet,” Gran’s voice said in her mind, and Hope giggled at the thought of Guy proudly offering her a dead mouse, or clawing her if she fussed over him too much.

“Guy, I need to go to the shops for a few things, I’ll be back soon ok?” she called from the front door. Guy got up and said “I should come with you,” and Hope was pleased that he was volunteering to leave the house.

I should pick up some leather conditioner and sort his clothes out, she told herself. It might help him get a feel of his own life, if he is wearing his own clothes again.

On the way to the supermarket and back, Guy stayed at her side, always somehow walking between her and the traffic, like some gentleman from the ‘50s (Gran, you’d approve, thought Hope giddily,) always watching everything wide-eyed, like he was taking mental notes.

When they were almost at the house’s door, a group of boys, around 13-14 years old, were leaning against the wall of the building across the street. When they saw Hope looking at them, they started nudging each other, hooting with laughter and making loud mooing noises. She flushed, and gave them the finger.

Guy looked at her curiously. “Why are they making cow sounds?”

“Just ignore them, they think it’s clever to make fun of people,” she said under her breath, eyes fixed resolutely forward.

In an instant, Guy had dropped the bags he had insisted on carrying, and was lurching towards the boys, a towering figure in riding boots, ill-fitting clothes and a face straight out of a bar fight, finger pointing, bellowing “YOU! You will apologise to the lady this minute!” The boys squealed and legged it around the corner, still shrieking with laughter.

“What the fuck are you doing? Get in the house” hissed Hope, dragging him through the door mortified.

“What the hell was that?” she glared up at him, hands on hips.

“I was teaching those little whore-sons not to disrespect you!” He looked taken aback at her reaction.

“They were just a bunch of idiot kids!”

“They should learn to hold their tongue, before someone cuts it off for them,” Guy said sulkily.

“We. Do. Not. Attack. Idiot. Kids.” Finger poking his chest, underlining every word.

“As you wish,” Guy said stiffly, and he actually sounded offended.

Hope felt a sudden urge to burst in hysterical laughter. Of all the unlikely people to want to defend her honour!

“I can look after myself, Guy,” she said more softly, taking pity on him. “I can give as good as I get!”

“I know, I’ve heard you curse,” he smirked, and she laughed at him all the way to the kitchen.

Chapter 7.

Guy was on edge, his temper bubbling, just barely staying under the surface. He knew he had a lot to learn about this world before he could venture out and make his mark, he’d been a soldier long enough to understand the wisdom of reconnaissance. Still, it was many years since he had been so powerless, and having to rely on charity made him bristle. He could feel anger winding tighter and tighter inside him, and he clenched and unclenched his fists, longing for release; How he regretted not getting the chance to beat those craven braggarts to a bloody pulp!

Hope stood at the kitchen table, her mind spinning. She hadn’t paid close attention to Guy’s clothes before, but as she was spreading the conditioner on the dried and cracked leather, carefully massaging it in, she could see the many odd details on the trousers. They were obviously good quality, she could tell that even now, as the thirsty leather was becoming soft and supple again under the pressure of her massaging fingers. The seams were strong, but the stitches were uneven enough that you could tell they were done completely by hand. At the front, instead of buttons or a zip, two rows of holes were punched into the leather, and a leather cord had been threaded through them to keep the trousers closed. Hope shook her head, remembering Guy’s apparent ignorance of every-day customs and objects, the archaic words he sometimes used, even his accent (that she had to admit, having googled a number of videos, *could* conceivably be described as Anglo-Norman.) If this was a delusion, she thought as she kneaded the cream into the leather, it was an incredibly detailed one. And she was starting to have her doubts.

As Guy was pacing, simmering in his resentment, his eye caught Hope standing in front of the table, her back turned to him, hands working on something he couldn’t see. Curious, he moved to get a better view, and he realised she was bent over his leathers, applying some kind of cream, hands rubbing thoroughly over the trousers’ thighs and crotch, her whole body moving with the motion, making her ample buttocks jiggle. All of a sudden, Guy’s anger was replaced by something else, equally hot and seething, as his body remembered how long it had been since anyone had touched it like that.

Hope heard Guy coming up behind her, and felt his breath on the side of her face as he said in a low voice, “You should have let me punish those boys...”

She turned around, and found herself wedged between Guy and the table.

“Don’t worry about it, Guy. I’m used to it, it doesn’t bother me.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t bother you when someone like them disrespects you to your face?”

Shrug. “All they can see is a big girl walking down the street, and to them, it’s a joke. Why should I care what someone like that thinks of me?”

He bent his head slightly, to look into her eyes. She was tall, the top of her head reaching his nose. “Would you care to hear what I think of you?”

Hard swallow, nod.

He touched her hair, “I think you’re kind,”

Run his finger down the side of her face, “I think you’re brave,”

Breathed in her ear, “I think you’re beautiful.”

Hope snorted, and he moved his head back to stare at her. “You think I’m jesting?”

“Aren’t you?”

“See for yourself,” he said, pressing his body against her, stubble tickling her cheek, and then he kissed her.

And, oh! she was lost, and they pressed against each other, sharing the same breath, tongues twisting, and he moaned in her mouth, and lifted her onto the table, taking his shirt off, hands under her top, on her breasts and around her back, as they rocked together.

Afterwards, Guy rested his forehead on hers, catching his breath, and she stroked the many scars on his arms, chest and abdomen.

“You really do come from the 12th century, don’t you?

“I told you.”

“I believe you.”

Phew, that was a hard one to write again. I’m really pushing my comfort zone now... But I didn’t think I could write even this much of a sex scene, so well done me!

Tagging @whofriend @moony-artnstuff @fizzyxcustard @tigereyesf @xxbyimm

-Anyone else that would like to be on the tag list, or be removed from it, let me know.

#gisborne x oc #fanfic #sir guy #gisborne #guy of gisborne #my fanfic #if you want to get warm you must stand near the fire #richard armitage #time travel

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laceymorganwrites · 4 years

Text

Petrified

Word count: 1,366

Pairing: none

Warnings: a bit of angst, break up, toxic relationship, swearing

Band!AU

Song: Petrified - Call Me Karizma

I'm petrified, scared of letting you inside my headspace I testify, I'm obsessed with every lie you said, babe Sick of being scared of waking up So sick of loving you, I'm throwing up Sick of making music you don't listen to But tell your fucking friends the song's about you and it sucks By the way, I really miss your face Been a minute since you came into my place But the second that you do, we start to fight And then we fuck and then you leave And text me "It was a mistake", shit

The air was thick and damp in the little club you were at, it was quite cramped with the concert going on. You were a long time fan of Kuroo´s music, somehow it mesmerized you, the way he wrote his songs was so special and different from what you were used to and it drew you in. And yet you always were in the back, rather watching him and enjoying the music than being pushed around by his fans.

And I shouldn't love you Look what we've come to You're always in my thoughts, babe But never in my bedroom

His songs were always so sensual, so loving, he sang about his girlfriend all the time, he loved her so much it was unreal. And in the beginning of their relationship, he even posted about it on social media, he was always so excited for their dates. It was really sweet, sure, you didn´t know him or her personally, but his happiness was intoxicating.

And yet his smile didn´t reach his eyes anymore, he seemed to force himself on stage every night, there was no emotion behind his voice anymore, there was just emptiness. Kuroo looked so tired, so worn out, so done… you felt sorry for him even though it was none of your business. I'm petrified, scared of letting you inside my headspace I testify, I'm obsessed with every lie you said, babe I'm terrified, I want you out You've made my mind a haunted house I'm petrified but I love the way you frighten me, babe, yeah I don't wanna end it but I will I don't wanna end up in your will I don't wanna leave you but I swear to God, you're evil 'Cause you pop into my head just like it's pills By the way, I really miss your face Been a minute since you told me, "It's okay" But the second that you do, you're fucking lying 'Cause the spider webs are growing, taking over everything, fuck

The first time you met his girlfriend was by happen chance. She used to always come to his shows and be backstage, but you didn´t see her anymore since the last few months. Maybe she was busy, you thought. But in reality it was because she couldn´t care less. Hell, the only reason she was even with him in the first place was because he was famous and bought her all the things she wanted, because of him she gained a bigger following as well, it felt good being out with him and being stopped by fans telling her how pretty she was, how good they looked together, it made her feel good about herself.

But now she was bored of it all, she never cared about Kuroo as a person, she pitied him, he had too many issues for her to deal with, she was sick of him crying all the time, why didn´t he shut up about his stupid mental illnesses that weren´t even real? She hated attention whores and to her, he was the biggest one.

And oh how she hated his fucking music, it made her sick to the stomach, he couldn´t even sing, so why did he try so hard? All of his fans were so ugly as well, they were just as fucked up and pathetic as him, she didn´t want to be associated with such people.

You really didn´t want to hear those things as she told them her friend at the bar next to you. It was none of your business but it hurt. She was wrong, she didn´t know him, she didn´t know anything, so how dare she?

And I shouldn't love you Look what we've come to You're always in my thoughts, babe But never in my bedroom

But then again, you didn´t know him either, you just felt like you did because you were a fan of his music.

And yet her words made a fire burn inside of you, you were so fucking angry right now, why was she even with him then? It felt like she was insulting you, like she spit in your face. She turned to you and mustered you a bit.

“Why are you here? You don´t look like the other losers here, please tell me you were just getting a drink and aren´t here for his shitty music” she spoke to you and you had to physically hold yourself back not to punch her then and there.

“Actually…” you started, wanting to tell her that, yes, you were here for his music. His amazing music, because how couldn´t you be? He was beyond talented and even though he didn´t have the perfect singing voice, his words struck something inside of you. Maybe it was the imperfections that made so many people like you relate. Maybe it was the message behind it all, that you didn´t have to perfect to be loved, that you were enough as you were. I'm petrified, scared of letting you inside my headspace I testify, I'm obsessed with every lie you said, babe I'm terrified, I want you out You've made my mind a haunted house I'm petrified but I love the way you frighten me, babe

“Took you long enough, I always keep telling you not to hang around those losers” she spat, interrupting you. Now that Kuroo joined you, looking at the floor, not facing anyone of you, his eyebrows furrowing in pain, she completely ignored you.

You thought that she´d at least have the decency to be nice to him, since she was only with him for fame anyway, it was as clear as day now that you witnessed the way she really thought about him.

“They´re not…” he started, his voice quiet and timid, he wasn´t as lively anymore, you noticed it months ago but didn´t think much of it. After all going on stage night after night must be exhausting.

“Whatever. I´ll make this quick since I already wasted enough time on your sorry ass. It´s over, I´m so sick and tired of you, honestly, get your shit together. You´re not even fucking trying, you´re fucking pathetic” she didn´t even wait for his answer as she grabbed her purse and walked out of the bar. You are a ghost You haunt me at night And I am the host You are the virus You are a ghost You haunt me at night And I am the host You are the virus

Kuroo looked absolutely wrecked. Man, you couldn´t blame him, that wasn´t very classy of her, breaking up with him by insulting him, not even giving a real reason, not even giving him the chance to say anything, real fucking low blow.

He slowly sat down on the stool next to you and let out a sigh of relief, to which you cocked an eyebrow. He had every right to cry, to break down, to yell, to… anything. But instead he did nothing.

“I´m sorry, man. You deserve better” you said in an empathetic tone in the lack of better words.

When Kuroo looked at you, he chuckled slightly, it was weird but somehow his eyes were sparking again. They weren´t as dull anymore. It was weird.

“Yeah I do. Sorry you had to hear that, but it was about time… she kinda dragged me down, but I didn´t know how to tell her, so I just let it happen. Also, this is gonna sound stupid, but I always thought that it would get better again. That she´d love me again, but honestly, I don´t think she ever did”

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arlakos · 4 years

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Why Miracle Queen doesn’t make sense. (SPOILERS just in case)

As most of you who have seen my blog know by now, I have found Season 3 to be somewhat of a mess. While having bit of a better writing and episodes overall compared to the rather boring season 2, it also had a lot of disappointing mistakes in terms of character writing and focus, and most episodes which could have been good often had a rather awkward or cringe moment that ruins the episode for me, such as the statue scene in Puppeteer 2. For fans who don't remember, let me remind you:

Now that I’ve mentally traumatized myself looking for this pic, let us continue:

On the topic of episodes, despite any cringey scenes that might be in the episodes, a lot of them are at the very least concise. Sure, the episodes usually have the same generic plot, non-hero moment, angry person, Akuma, hero fight, reset and repeat, but for the most part, they are ok... But even this season, there have been some episodes that have the most stupid plots that don't even make sense. From the horrifying Chameleon episode that had all class characters drop in IQ for the story to work, to the Feast Episode which restored the order of Guardians, but didn’t have them come to Paris to get the box back, there have been some rather stupid episodes...

...But none are more stupid than the Season Finale - Miracle Queen

For an episode that is not only confusing but bad, I could talk about the hundreds of mistakes that are present in episode, but other people can talk about that, or perhaps ill make another post regarding the episodes when I feel like breaking my fingers on my keyboard again, but right now I would like to focus on the 2 main plot holes that absolutely made no sense but ASS-TRUC, the man, the idiot, the infamous twitter legend, decided to do anyway.

So the first plot point I'm gonna talk about is.....

Chloe Bourgeois, aka Miracle Queen

For anyone who hates Chloe bourgeois, this episode would have probably left you jumping for joy, given the fact it pretty much gets her removed from the miraculous team.

For the rest of us, who I assume either like Chloe or find the episodes plot to make no sense, or both, this episode is quite contradictory to the entirety of the season, both because the seasons abnormal focus on Lila and her antics, and because of the fact that previous episodes had Chloe accept the fact that she couldn't become a hero.

In Miraculer, Chloe accepts the fact that she can’t become a hero again. Sure the episode has Chloe be upset at Ladybug, but in the end, she accepted that it was mean to be this way, and definitely shows no trace of wanting to join hawkmoth in any sort of capacity.

Also, a small bit added in from my friend @twin-books, who said this gem of a message:

“ Ah, in Miraculer what she displayed was confidence where she knew she would be Queen Bee again, she didn't doubt herself for a second. Chloe used to doubt herself, used to play the damsel, let others take care of her but this time she said, "No. I am Queen Bee and just because you won't give my comb doesn't make me anything less." Or at least, how I interpreted it. By tearing the photo she was excepting that Ladybug didn't have faith as her as a hero, nor did she ever. That Ladybug ignored her in favor of someone she deemed worthy but Chloe knows she's worthy. She proved her worth and just because Ladybug can't see that doesn't mean she should believe it. It's also interesting how she completely takes it out on Ladybug but is fine with Chat because she knows where she stands with Chat and she may have never liked him but he displayed faith in her. He knew and that might just be what kept her going so she could gain her own confidence. “

So when Chloe is left angry in Miracle Queen because she wasn’t chosen and immediately joins Hawkmoth, it just doesn't make any sense because previous episodes contradict it.

NOW, to be fair, I would have been fine with Chloe joining Hawkmoth if there was a buildup to it. If they Had Hawkmoth come in between the episodes from Miraculer to Miracle Queen to try and persuade Chloe and/or have her doubt Ladybug, then the turn from hero to villain would make sense. Unfortunately, thanks to Ass-truc and his have-every-episode-be-a-single-story-episode-and-have-every-character-reset-fuck-you-continuity episode design, this doesn't happen and having Chloe go from a person who is selfish but at the very least is a hero to a full-on 2-d villain is jarring as shit. It would have made more sense for her to just take the miraculous and go rouge with it, but a full-on villain? C’mon.

Also, there's the fact that for the entire season the show has been pushing Lila to be this over the top manipulator and villain in the day to day lives of the heroes. If they really wanted to have someone be Miracle Queen, why not Lila. It would make sense considering a Miracle is something that happens that it seems so unreal, and given that Lila would probably like her lies to become real it would make sense for her to become Miracle Queen.

Also where the hell was she all episode, she just disappeared out of existence for the entire episode. At least have her come and take the fox miraculous from Alya and have her be a secondary antagonist.

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, now for the second plot hole...

The Miracle Box

It. Just. Doesn't. Make. Sense.

But to understand why, let me break it down.

- So due to Hawkmoth almost breaking through the barrier (and for whatever reason decided not to just jump away) Fu transfers ownership of the box to Marinette

-Because of the idiot logic of the show, there can only ever be on Guardian at a time, and because of the transfer, the previous Guardian loses their memories.

-The box also turns into an egg, for whatever reason.

Now, the only thing I dont mind about the whole scene is that the whole Guardian thing is magical in nature. Since Fu can do stuff like detect other Miraculi, it would make sense that the Guardian is more than just a title and has a magical aura around them that makes them a guardian. That being said, there are still a lot of trouble with this scene that rustle my jimmies to heck.

So lets go through the main problems with this plot hole.

-’There can only ever be one Guardian’

Bollocks. The flashback of the order clearly shows multiple individuals. And with the Sandboy episode showing Fu being haunted by a guardian with a female voice (yet also showing a male Guardian in Feast), it clearly shows that there are more than one Guardian in the order.

-’Upon transfer, the previous Guardian Loses their memories’

Again, this also doesn’t make sense. Even assuming that the Guardianship of box needs to have a magical transfer, making the previous Guardian lose their memories because of it makes no sense in the plot of the Miraculous Universe. Maybe it would make sense if the Guardian was but a single man (like in Fu’s case), but it doesn’t make as much sense when you remember the order it comes from.

See, the Order was located in Tibet, high away from the outside world, and the people who were there probably lived there all their life. So knowing these facts, why would it make sense for the previous owner to lose their memories? I can understand someone being a head guardian and then transferring the ownership when their time is up, but it doesn't make sense for them to just forget the order, they live there their entire lives, and would likely do so until their death. And the show implies that this is the actual way the ownership is transferred, and Marinette’s case wasn't a special case of an emergency transfer. It does make sense that the Guardians can remove memories of the order for people who have gone rogue or are expelled, but it doesn't make sense that the memory forgetting is entwined with the transfer of Guardianship.

-’The box turns into an egg, for whatever reason’

I'm not gonna explain it. Its a freaking box. A box that, while well designed, showed no capability of magic power at all for the entirety of the show. ITS A GODDAMN BOX AND IT MAKES NO SENSE FOR IT TO TURN INTO A POLKADOTTED EGG.

Though to be fair, in hindsight, a lot of this plot hole induced stupidity does have a logical explanation for this:

Thomas Astruc and Zag

Or rather, Thomas Astruc and Zag quarrel.

See, when it comes to Ass-truc and his ideal show design, it would have been just simple about Marinette and why she is quote on quote ‘awesome’. thats it. Pretty much every episode would be about Marinette being amazing, everyone loving her and kissing her feet, and nothing goes wrong for her in the same way as every Mary Sue ever written in a fanfic. The only difference being there was no main character to replace.

But Zag was having none of it. While Ass-truc wanted to just show off his OC, Zag wanted an actual show, and so made a lot of changes to it. Chat Noir, who in Astruc original comic idea was a one off character (and possibly a villain) got repurposed by Zag to be the second main character in the show. It also makes sense for every hero to have a mentor, which led to Zag creating Fu. Zag was also responsible for a bunch of other stuff to be added into the shows, such as additional heroes, Chloe becoming a good Guy, etc.

Of course, this made ASS-truc mad because that meant no 100% focus on the ‘goddess’ that is Marinette. So after bullying Zag off twitter via the use of his Stans (rip Zag twitter account- no posts since 2017) and forcing him off the Miraculous team after Season 1 (although this could also just be Zag focusing on other shows), Astruc had free reign to undo all that Zag had done. While Astruc did follow Zag's request due to owning half of the Miraculous license (being the guy that co-produced the show), he often twisted them so that they were skewed or couldn't last. The flashback of the order being destroyed? That was due to Fu being hungry and creating a monster in a plot induced stupidity. Chloe being a good guy? Yeah right, she sabotages a train just to save it and make herself look good, is an asshole regardless and then goes full-on villain. The other new heroes that help Ladybug? Gone, due to the same episode which prompted me to make this post.

Of course, this would impact the ratings of the show, forcing Zag to come back and fix Astruc’s mess in Season 4. Astruc knew that Zag returning would undo all the damage Astruc done to the show. So in a final bid attempt to keep this his way, he rewrote the finale, causing things in the show to actually become permanent and leaving Zag unable to fix anything. Thanks to Ass-truc, Fu is now gone forever, making Marinette the Guardian permanently, all the heroes aside from Ladybug and Chat Noir can’t be heroes anymore (leaving the focus entirely on Marinette), and Chloe now has become an irredeemable villain. All so that Astruc can brag on twitter about how Chloe ‘always was a villain’ and how ‘he was right all along’ despite being the one who wrote the character into existence.

And I’m not lying about this either or making it up. Even in the finale of the season 3 (particularly miracle queen) a lot of the time involves most of the characters standing around listening to dialogue and exposition rather than acting in ways they actually should (such as trying to save Fu or attacking Miracle Queen), no doubt due to the rewrites Astruc did before the finale was released, causing the animation to be very minimal or not making sense as there wasn't time to redo the animation. You can even see it in small amounts in episodes such as Glaciator and Troublemaker.

For me, this will probably go down as one of the worst episodes in the series, even worse than Stormy weather 2, because of its horrible writing, the plot holes it creates, and how much of the episode was designed to cater to Ass-trucs desires rather than designed to actually be a good finale to a season. That's not to say it didn't have good moments (such as dragon Bug and Snake Noir), but the overall episode was just so bad that the bad outweighed the good moments, at least for me. I wonder what Zag will do to fix season 4, but considering the suicide impact on the show Astruc made to make sure the show would remain ‘his way’, i don't have any doubts that it will be a hard challenge ahead of him. Good luck Zag, hope you can fix the mess Ass-truc made.

#Miraculous Ladybug #Season 3 #Miracle Queen #A fair bit of salt #Goddamit Astruc you nuked your own show #Virgin Astruc vs Chad Zag #Plot Induced Stupidity #Plot Holes #Heres to hoping for a better season 4 #Miraculous Ladybug salt

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jonandtormundendgame · 5 years

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It really upsets me whenever I see people complaining about Jon’s ‘loss of personality post season 5’. No. Shut the fuck up right now. All through season 6 Jon was showing PTSS (it’s no longer called PTSD anymore because it’s a syndrome, not a disorder, meaning that it’s continual healing that you’re undergoing to get better, not) symptoms so hard that yes, it’s hard to watch, he’s quiet and meek because he’s terrified. He died and came back to life and he’s no longer sure who he can trust other than Sansa and Davos and Tormund (Sansa being completely focused on getting their home and family back, and Davos having been the reason he’s alive again at all, so he’s fairly sure he can trust him to help, and Tormund because that man is arguably closer to Jon than anyone at this point.)

Then you have season 7+. That’s still PTSS symptoms that he’s showing, but a lot of you never point out, that he’s showing it in 100% the same way that Sansa has been showing her PTSS symptoms since season 2 (maybe late season 1 even). But now that I think about it, a lot of y’all hate Sansa too so maybe this is just willful ignorance.

Let me break this down for you since no one in this fandom seems to recognize PTSS symptoms and why they appear. Jon has PTSS because of being killed. That much is obvious. All through season 6 Jon cling to Sansa and Davos because of a lingering fear of everyone around him. He got KILLED, stabbed by men he called brothers, betrayed and had his uncle used as bait to do it. You know what, they could have just cornered him in his office and killed him there just as easy, so why didn’t they? Because they needed to make him feel like a fool first. They played to his emotions. Jon has always acted on his emotions on an instinctual level, letting them control his actions by what he Feels Is Right for not only the people around him, but to move forward with as few casualties as possible. They told him they found his uncle and Jon was fucking delighted at the idea of another Stark. At the idea that he might not be alone in this world when everything is falling to shit. He’s unsure what to do to move forward and he’s regretting everything that happened behind and hoping beyond hope that Stannis could save Winterfell and his sister. And he’s hoping for someone that will understand. So he’s delighted that they think they might know where Benjen is (btw, Benjen likely knows who Jon’s mother is, he was the only Stark in Winterfell when Howland Reed brought Jon home, and he’s not stupid, and so likely, Jon’s whole life, Benjen was probably one of the few people that treated him like he was actually family). So he’s tricked, and he’s killed.

Jon’s emotions get the best of him. That’s his first PTSS symptoms and why it happens: repress emotion as much as you can. It doesn’t work very well in season 6. He’s clinging to Sansa and Davos as well as he can. He flinches when Sansa and a lord start fighting. He’s terrified of anyone. He’s terrified of men showing anger. He’s afraid of Sansa getting into a fight and possibly getting hurt. He wants to run away. But he stands strong, and for the first time since he basically showed on screen in season 1, he doesn’t let emotion rule that decision. He doesn’t run. He wants to, but he stays with Sansa. He clings and hides behind her, but he stays.

Now, then you get to season 7 and Jon meets Dany. The first thing that they do when him and Davos land on Dragonstone is to take their weapons. They sieze their ship and men. They leave them both with no way to defend themselves or run away (I almost wish things had gone differently at Dragonstone, because people seem to forget that Davos lived there with Stannis for a fucking long time, plus he’s arguably the best smuggler alive, so I thought it would be kind of cool if Davos and Jon were able to escape using Davis’s abilities if something happened) and now Jon and Davos are stuck there.

Do I think that Dany/Jon is real? No. Not even slightly. I think Jon played the same ruse that Sansa played, not once, not twice, but at least three times. Pretend you’re absolutely devoted to them in all ways. Have Davos drop a comment here or there about how Jon thinks she’s pretty while her Unsullied are around. Make it seem like Jon is hard to warm up at first but is slowly falling for her. He’s doing the same thing that Sansa did again and again. He’s faced with someone who’s not bigger and stronger than him, but with so much more power than him it’s unreal. Of course he’s going to pretend he’s on board. You’d have to be blind not to notice how uncomfortable he is around her, nothing in this world could convince me Jon/Dany was real, but he banked on her not knowing him well enough and hoping that Tyrion had possibly told her how much he never smiles and always broods at things, hope she doesn’t realize how truly uncomfortable he is with her.

Now then, why bend the knee when she’s already pledged her help with this threat to them? Well first of all, he’s just woken up to find himself her captive again, and that’s gotta be more than a little jarring, and second: it would make her happy. Right now she’s angry at the loss of one of her dragons, and she didn’t pledge to help them out of LOYALTY, but pure anger and rage that they would dare hurt what’s hers. So, turn that anger and promise to help, into happiness, and a promise to help. Oh you’ll help me, that’s amazing because I love you with all my heart, and now she has a reason not to go back on that pledge.

Now, why is this NOT a stupid move? Because Sansa is the real ruler of the North and Jon knows that. Even if she’s not the Queen yet, Jon knows fully well that even with the North bending the knee to Dany, she will still keep them all together with a strength that Northerners possess in spades, and the ability to power through and understand that Jon’s basically got no choice if they want Dany’s help. Sansa should be able to understand because I’m fairly sure that’s where Jon learned this all from in the first place.

So basically, what I’m saying, is that you can hate the writing all you want, think there’s a million plot holes that could never be filled no matter how much you think of it (all true, the writing was shit and there were so many plot holes I’ve basically written the last two seasons off as a crackfic at this point because wtf) but what I’m saying, is don’t you dare say that Jon lost his personality. Don’t say that he became 100% irrelevant. Don’t say that Kit didn’t do an amazing acting job turning what could have been the worst writing ever into an amazing character arc of dealing with mental illness and PTSS symptoms I’ve ever seen in a show that wasn’t ABOUT mental illness. Don’t say that he’s bland and boring and has no life to him anymore.

Stop looking at PTSS symptoms in characters and deciding it’s shitty writing because it doesn’t match their previous personality. Newflash asshole, personalities change when we go through traumatic events.

#jon snow #protect jon snow 2k19 #pro jon snow #anti danaerys targaryen #anti daenerys #anti d&d #anti jonerys #game of thrones

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nauseateddrive · 4 years

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BACK ALLEY SORCERY by Turner Odorizzi

There's nothing like getting that text at 11:30pm from your dealer. Unsolicited, he tells you "HMU. I got it." You know what 'it' is, because you asked him for it two nights ago. At the time, he told you "out, sry", and then to your roommates you said "Fuck. He just responded and he's out." Your roommates start to fight with passive-aggressive jabs that morph into screaming. All the way up the stairs, you could hear it outside.

But he's got it.

I'm at a bar with two shots in front of me, and the bartender snarls at me for taking my phone out as I was ordering. To satisfy him, I put it up and mumble a vague apology. I turn around to see that everyone else in here is under red lights, faces bathed in pale blood, behaving like there's a comfortable toxin drifting around. All sweating. I slug the two shots and leave the red babble into the back hallway where the bathroom is, but I apologize to the bartender for real before I leave.

He says he can meet me two blocks away in an hour.

That's a long time when you've started to become drunk. The first phase of it materializes convex feelings that flip a mental switch and turn you into a false prophet. I'm so transparent when drunk lately that it's become my default setting. I think I am a false prophet.

I often have these waking nightmares when I'm drunk, usually concerning the haphazard and brutal way the world maintains itself. Lately, they've become increasingly unreal.

I finally leave after debating, and as soon as I step out onto the street, I smell the falafel drifting out of that long white truck across the street. To my right, a homeless woman snaps at this girl's ankles while they're talking; the girl likely deserves to have been bit. She's what I would call a talker: one of those placating the downtrodden with a lousy quarter, iPhone in hand. These people on the streets are treated like a dogs, so it's only natural that they react as a dog would.

I digress.

There's an hour before my dealer can meet me, and now I'm thinking I could become a runner of his, you know? A loyal soldier.

A text comes in, but not from my dealer. I'm becoming angrier and spewing emotion like piss out of my eyes.

It reads: 'What r u doing? I'm downtown. Derek and I just picked up. Wanna join?'

She knows me well enough to know I'm getting drugs. It's got nothing to do with her. My anger is vitriol that's been forcibly caged, ready to gnash its teeth and make a feral attack, but I'm sure I'll be more kind when I'm high. By that point, I'll be knee deep in the oblivion I burn into my stomach, and less acquainted with how lucid and fractured all the days seem. Hopefully I'll be nicer then.

I text back: 'Yeah, maybe. Running errands first.'

Errands always means drugs in my world.

There's something unfair about being robbed of my self-image in a place so low-lit. How dare they take me for such a simple projection?

Goddamn, he should be here already.

He knows I'll linger on this stool until he strolls up, grinning like he's got a secret, however late or tempestuous he seems. I’m a cool condensation on a tall glass, just waiting like hell to fall.

But then he taps me on the shoulder. My mind snaps to attention, the neurons all firing with voracious action potentials, and it feels like a stroke but good and warm; my mouth is drowning in saliva. Finally, I can just feel serene and let the drug do its goddamn job.

"Come on. Hit the bathroom with me."

I trail him back to the bathroom, around the corner. He hands me the bag; I hand him the money in the same motion. We do a bump together and then I'm sent on my way to do my drugs in peace.

She texts again:

" At Carrie's. No cover tonight. Would love to see u."

I must be more drunk than I thought, because I don't remember getting here, or being checked for ID. I only remember getting this drunk. But here I am at Carrie's, the bar where she is and where she wants me to meet her. Here. What an absurd concept under the cover of night, blinded by the drugs and the drinks, especially since I could just as easily be there as here. Here or there? I'm already drunk, and I can't tell.

When I first see her, I'm stuck in the memory of our last encounter where, at the wrong moment, I wilted.

About a gram in with twelve drinks washing it down, I looked down to a flaccid dick. Hyper-flaccid. I was on my knees behind her, so she couldn't actually see, but she could definitely feel it. Trying to maneuver it then, in that faltered state, is like death throes in the aftermath of a waning battle, where she's standing there waiting on my surrender to it, because she's seen failing infantry before. She's waiting for me to run down the hill, pants hanging sloppily around my ankles, bellowing that I'm not dead yet.

It happened so quick and mutated to become furiously disappointing. Wilted flowers limp over the edge of the vase, unable to photosynthesize or cope. The question: Does she remember? I'll never let it go; my dick happens to be a good three quarters of my personality. I still remember what she said to me when I huffed and leapt off of the bed like some wounded coyote, to go out for a cigarette.

"Come on! Turner? It's fine, I swear! Please just come back to bed, you can smoke that in here, and we will just open the window. Please, you know it's not a big deal."

She kissed me, and I felt marginally better...but I had stumbled onto my curse.

She stroked the back of my neck while I laid horizontally across her lap. Scorched ego; Typical male bullshit. But that's what chaos looks like for me. Destruction is my motif.

In my head, my dick would never work again, for good or ill. It was permanently soft with embarrassment and inability and extraordinary self-loathing. Without that crucial three quarters, what am I?

He's nobody. He's faceless.

We go upstairs to the balcony dance floor, one step and then two at a time. The staircase is made of new, stained wood steps. Reminds me that this is the point of the night where all highs coalesce and I am... boisterous.

Once we get a drink, she tells me she dropped her small bag of coke when we hugged by the downstairs bar. She must have lost some of it in the process, maybe all, because now she turns to me morose, verging on drug tears in the middle of the dance floor. She asks me if I had bought any from Stone earlier.

She leads me to the darkest stall in the most remote corner of the bathroom.

"Did you pick any up, baby?"

"I don't like it when you call me baby, so please don't. But yeah, I bought some. I met him at the bar, but I waited longer than I wanted to. I should've left."

"I'm glad you didn't. Can I have some, baby?"

Now she's doing it on purpose.

I'm already feeling the pretense to the emotional crash which is requisite in the valleys with uppers. It's fingering my spine, and my ass is cold.

That crash acts as a proving ground to see which drug users will spill over into the abyss.

We finish off what I had left, both of us licking the top of the container earnestly afterward. It's clean by the end.

My fugue state is resolute, allowing me to float through all of this as if it were a dream. But I have sparse hopes, and I want to cry. Badly. There is something welling up, and I need to cry.

"What did you just say?"

"What?"

"I'm asking you what you just fucking said, you drunk-ass."

She chuckles in between drinks.

"I don't...really know. It just feels like I really need to cry right now."

"Um...okay. Did I, like, do something to you?"

In moments like this, I wish there was more booze in the world than I could handle. Like so much booze, that it spews from and falls over the sides of all of those high rises downtown, raging throughout the city, happy to pick me up and transport me to some other place. A place where it's okay to be catatonically fucked up on a daily basis.

Meanwhile, the coke is really getting on top of me.

"No, I never said that. Look, it's not you, and honestly it has nothing to do with you. I just...I can't explain it. I feel gravity more than anyone should, I don't know. That seems like the best way to describe it."

She looks forward.

"It's ridiculous. Fucking tears."

"Well, do you want a hug or something? Or...maybe you need another drink?"

There's a tone in her voice that's covered in moss. Furtive, too. Judging by her oblique reaction, this is what nullifying the rules of engagement is like. Sensory destruction. I can feel that dogging me.

"No, just...never mind. I'm going outside, but I'll be back. I need a cigarette."

I won't see her again tonight, unless darker forces are at work.

Somewhere, in a grand tower with walls of cinder-colored brick, there's an aging wise man, with eyes like surreptitious black pearls, wearing what I could only describe as an onyx-colored warlock's cloak. The cloak trails behind him while he mans the strong brass bell at the top of the antechamber like a ringing monument. It chimes in step with those darker forces.

I sit down on the front steps of a hotel, searching my pockets for...no, there it is, my wallet. I am still me. How fucking disappointing after all the drugs, the alcohol, that some catalytic change didn't materialize. If only I could use alchemy to transmute myself into something productive, maybe someone or something else. As above, so below won't fucking cut it anymore. Those platitudes are hanging from that bell tower as shredded banners.

Can't the warlock hear me over that goddamn bell?

She's texting me again, realizing I'm not good on my word.

"WTF. Where did u go? Are u getting more? I'll pitch on it if you just meet me."

"Pls. Text back. I'm going to Line Bar. Meet me."

I can't help but wonder whether the beginning of hatred is always so subtle? I mean, is it always so...slippery? That I cannot exhale. She won't see me for the rest of the night, except as a useful vision of drugs but I'm just an outline there. A... falsehood. But that doesn't matter, because I would rather smoke on these steps in mute conversation with the warlock, listening carefully as he heaves back and forth, tugging the rope that bids the bell to toll.

Now It's clear that we're approaching the point in the night where the residual effects of all highs begin to wane and shrink up into themselves. They're dull, lanky fingers tickling the insides, fading quickly.

Fading toward an end.

The word of the hour is ‘terminate’. It comes from the Latin word terminus meaning border or end. We're approaching that end. Of everything: the night, the bell, the protective haze of the drugs and the booze. The warlock is shedding his cloak right there by the bell and watching it settle with the dust on the floor. He looks like me, but older, harder; He's just as close to total annihilation.

I don't hate her because I should, or because I have a rationale beyond self-loathing, or even because I'm some noble man saving her from my affliction. I look at her, or anyone, and it's easier to stomach while I'm drunk. Who can survive with that kind of doped up blanket? Better yet, who would want to?

It's getting colder as I sit here and suck down cigarettes all the way to the charred filter.

Wait.

If I'm right I think I... Do I hear...a bell? No, that's just the violent squeak of an Uber driver's horn. Couple the squeak with the image of two homeless and yellow-eyed men fighting nearby, and then you've got the whole picture. Now, one of the men’s knocked the fuck out on the sidewalk, breathing like he's smoking in his sleep.

The warlock whispers, "He's nobody. Now, grab the knife."

Drunkenness is making a hard comeback now. Confusion of...me? Am I not me? The most pressing concern I have is the warlock fading in and out of my vision. Who is he, and why does he keep prodding me to grab some presumably nonexistent knife?

It’s the drugs, I swear.

Am I swearing to the warlock? If so, that begs the question as to whether or not he can hear me.

Who am I?

Only after the haze has made its comeback do I realize I'm no longer on those steps but am walking in the direction opposite the bar where she implored me to meet her. While weaving through crowds and lines of people on the sidewalk, I see a couple standing on the precipice of the curb next to a mangled pile of scooters, fighting about something. They fight like good omens, and I can see...well...something about them. Maybe it's the brutish mannerisms of traitors and bullies.

The girl thrusts out her arms in a half-baked attempt to tell the guy to fuck off; she tells him to leave. Perhaps she doesn't want him to, but he does; he's frustrated, yelling 'fuck you' over and over, alternating between tripping on the curb and the street.

I’ve been there, in those shoes. I've been the brick wall of a person she collided with, only to remain solid and immovable.

I need another drink or to crash, whichever can make it first.

Another text. Two, actually.

"Fuck you. U said seee u later."

"Why di you leave?"

When I look up, I'm at some dive bar, but it's impossible to tell which one. There are old beer signs glowing all over, and everything has a thin, nostalgic dust covering it.

Would that I could feel sorry, but I'm too volatile now. There's a corrosive quality to these things I do. I bleach skin with every word and eat through the rest, like the worst dissolving agent ever conceived. Even then, I'll go on knowing its wrong and stand perfectly still.

My dick deserves to never work again. Perhaps I should take the knife the warlock keeps taunting me with - the short one I notice is sitting there on the bar mat - and turn myself into a eunuch, and then, after the dust has settled, I can take my severed dick and paste it up on the wall like some anti-trophy.

I could see that.

The bartender hands me the last shot of the night, and it tastes like nothing, feels like vapor and kicks me straight in the liver with a twelve-pound steel toe.

After some time, the bar staff ushers us out like drunken cattle, and everybody descends into their phones.

But something happens in that flood of people, among the fucked up din of their cries and slurred shouts. There are far too many people crying outside of the bars tonight, and it's shameful that I'm not even one of them. By the way, how do you cry? Can someone tell me, because I'm drawing a wide blank? What are the mechanisms and motions? If only I could give someone five dollars just so they would teach me how to cry, like an in-person tutorial.

In a bizarre twist, I've become a zealot for crying in the vicinity of bars tonight.

But the bells start again; I hear them ringing out, chime after full, throaty chime. Bells, like the fucking Edgar Allan Poe poem repeating 'the bells' line after line. The warlock has really dug in.

I can't keep ignoring him.

My phone buzzes, but it feels more neurotic and nagging every time it vibrates, and I can sense that neuroses summiting my spine, hovering there like a curse.

I slink down along the wall next to a cluster of dumpsters, the alcohol taking control of basic motor functions this time. I grab my phone with violence in mind.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! STOP! GODDAMN, STOP! SHUT.THE.FUCK.UP."

I rear back and chuck it at the wall opposite me. It hits the brick with a plastic thud and shatters slovenly. I can hear all the words escaping from it into the air. It flashes and breathes with little electric impulses, the life finally going out as something shuffles up beside me.

"You asked it to shut the fuck up y'know. Bit dramatic, heh."

"What? Where the fuck did you come from?"

"I'm Lenny, yeah. Just sayin', yeah...it did what you asked."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks?"

He gazes down at me, fiddling with some glass thing between his fingers and tossing it from hand to hand. Crack pipe, is it? No. Maybe? Well, if it is, and If I ask him, he might toss some my way, which could be a great way to pass the time while I lose my mind up against this filthy alley wall. It will just be a small hit, you know, just enough to take me away for a second.

Before I can ask, something overtakes me. I can't tell if this man is real.

My vision is blinded by an esoteric haze, and I can't be sure Lenny isn't just a facsimile of something or someone I've encountered in my worst dreams, because he does look familiar. Maybe he's never touched a drug in his life. I envy him. He's scruffy, but smiling. I think it's me who is the junkie.

Even better, this could be the warlock passing himself off as a man living off the street, like a messiah.

The bells come back fuller, and they ring louder as I feel psychosis encroaching on me, daring me to go just one step further and fall over my edge, to cross that border and finally come to the crucial end. The last stage, and the whole world's a stage. What a stage this godforsaken alley will be when this is a play in some dinky theater.

Dong, Dong, Donggggggg.

"Hey man, let me ask you, you got a dollar?"

"No. Uh, No, man, I'm sorry. I don't have a phone either."

He grunts and whispers something about me lying, which I am. I'm a liar. Tonight is full of these strange thoughts and lies. How...fucked up am I, really? How much more miserable can I get? Those are the thematic concerns of my whole fucking life. Those studying me will have to accept my capricious self and take these fundamental themes with them, because there's nothing left: no cigarettes, no drugs, no real me.

In fact, I think this would be as good a place to die as any. Better here than someone else's bed; the light is good enough to show that I don't seem the kind of person who should die in an alley, adjacent to shit and sewer water.

The bells are ringing out across my mental landscape. I can't hear anything else, I can't feel anything but the warlock's gaze. He's not laughing, just looking down with placid eyes. What does he see?

I look at my reflection in the puddle where my dead phone lays. Is this me?

Smile.

There's always tomorrow.

Turner Odorizzi is an author that lives in Austin, Texas. He is a graduate of the University of Texas at Austin's English and Creative Writing programs, in addition to being an intern for the Bat City Review. As of yet, he is previously unpublished.

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darkouter · 5 years

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barty headcanon & general meta: surviving the imperius curse

personals don’t reblog! if mutuals think this is interesting enough to apply to their muses who have been put under the imperius curse before, feel free to tho.

ANYWAYS, time to talk about the implications of being controlled by someone completely for long periods of time! let’s have a psych student ramble about the symptoms of trauma that survivors of the imperius curse are likely to face. in fact, to tie this to cecil’s psychiatric health practice that he opens up on the wizarding side of london, i’d like to think that barty in his care leads to him forming this draft of criteria for a disorder that is closely linked to that of ptsd, but specific to those who are put under the imperius curse.

quick note: i take heavy inspiration from netflix’s jessica jones series when it comes to how mind control works, as i already have an extensive concept built around it for my kilgrave rp blog, and you’ll see that influence throughout this post if you’re familiar with the series (if you expected me to not bring mr. eggplant emoji into this, you’re a foole, as he taints everything that i do and is a pervasive parasite to my very soul). poison ivy, too, provides some direction for this.

first: what does it look and feel like to be under the imperius curse?

what we know: it is pleasant to be under at the time, possible (but hard) to overcome through sheer force of will, it can last for an indefinite amount of time, harry could successfully perform the curse on the fly without having practiced on anyone ever before, and j.k. bowling ball really should have defined it more so i wouldn’t have to write this post.

i think there are three main factors that inform how someone feels, thinks, and acts under the curse: 1.) how much autonomy the spellcaster allows them, 2.) how adept the spellcaster is at the curse, and 3.) the will of the person being controlled. each of these may impact how lucid the cursed individual is/acts.

generally speaking, victims do not find the experience to be unpleasant for the duration of the spell. in fact, it is usually calming and enjoyable. victims are free of stress and responsibility due to lack of control, and it’s akin to being heavily sedated. so. imagine being incredibly high, and that’s how thought patterns and emotions are affected. this may be disrupted when there is a trigger of some sort that causes a victim to fight. an example is extreme cognitive dissonance, such as in situations where the victim is so severely against performing an ordered action that they begin to fight against it. at that point, they may become confused and upset due to conflicting desires. the curse doesn’t simply make people do things, but it makes people feel that they want to do those things, so the artificial desire battling with real desire will cause internal distress and debate over what to do. the caster’s ability will compete with the will of the cursed in this instance.

casters may gain better control by actively engaging with the individual in close proximity, using their wand, and only separating for short amounts of time. on the other hand, the cursed may have a better chance at fighting if there is distance, lack of engagement, and long intervals of separation. the spell is liable to lose its strength over a period of time away, where it is not maintained. i like to kind of think of the spell having a battery life: maintaining strength when the caster is nearby, charged / being refreshed when the cursed is engaged with through use of wand, and draining at other times. a strong will fighting, particularly if due to an outside stimulus’ influence, drains it much faster.

barty remained under control of crouch sr. during his absences, but the dark mark’s appearance and death eaters showing up at the quidditch world cup was enough of an emotional trigger to give him the desire for freedom to act. crouch sr. was not in his presence to strengthen the spell, so he broke out of the curse. however, after being stupefied and taken home, he went back under. the imperius curse’s influence is something that is an active, ongoing mental battle. with crouch sr. back in his presence and without the same motivation inspired by the dark mark, barty could not overcome it. he had to be freed by tom.

now, the curse lasts indefinitely if it is maintained well enough. so how do people operate when they are not actively being given orders? how much autonomy do they have? all of those three factors would have to affect this. the cursed may have more autonomy if the caster gave it, if they are not competent enough with the spell to maintain control that is complex and involves the ability to set rules, and/or if the cursed has a strong enough sense of self for their personality and instinct to show through.

when harry used the imperius curse, the man he cursed (i’m not looking it up, it was some guy during deathly hallows when they broke into gringott’s) had to be given constant orders to operate. when harry wasn’t actively making him do something, he would look mindless. harry had to constantly be cognizant of him if he had wanted the curse to seem natural because he was not good enough at the spell to balance how much control the man had over himself. people who are not good at the spell may have something like this happen, with someone becoming a total zombie, or with the opposite occurring, the cursed are too autonomous (think of playing a video game character normally versus the sims; both need to be actively piloted/monitored for different reasons).

crouch sr. was skilled in his use of the imperius curse, and he established specific rules that served to keep barty isolated but did not otherwise cause friction with anything unnecessary, which allowed him to operate somewhat normally. he was still dazed and would not have been able to pass as someone who was not under the curse, but crouch didn’t need barty to fool anyone because the entire purpose of the curse was to hide him away entirely. their house elf winky helped him function where barty needed it. barty didn’t have a strong enough sense of self nor the will to break free under normal circumstances, as these are large flaws that have always been part of his personality. there have been times where the curse broke by accident of some kind or because something prompted barty to will it, but learned helplessness caused him to not actually do anything about it. with regulus gone, tom fallen from power and disappeared, his mother dead, his friends turned on him after the trial, the last loyal death eaters imprisoned, and him supposed to be imprisoned/dead, there was nothing for barty. even during the few times he managed to gain his freedom from the curse, he didn’t actually have any freedom. there was nowhere to go, no one to turn to, and not much of a life worth living. frankly, being back in control of himself would allow his severe depression to come forward, so the imperius curse was preferable. at least he would be content under it.

second: what happens after escaping the curse? what are its lasting effects?

there are a lot of potential issues, but some concepts i think are important: i feel like people would struggle with their sense of self, trust in their own judgement, and feel the need to make sure they don't feel that loss of control ever again.

immediately upon coming out of the curse, people are likely to be in a fugue state or otherwise very confused. decision making may not feel natural. they may dissociate, as they have not had full control, may feel like they still don’t have it, and the entire ordeal may have felt like an out of body experience. being thrust back into their own body may feel unreal, and they might suffer from depersonalization (feeling that they themself are not real) or derealization (feeling that the world around them is not real).

they might have permanent cognitive side effects from being in a dream-like, trance state for so long (where the above symptoms become chronic). they may have to deal with wondering how much of what they did was themselves and what was the imperius curse. there may be feelings of guilt and general self-blaming for their behavior, for not having enough will (i.e. in their minds, being too weak) to break free, or for being caught in the first place. they may feel violated, used, or dirty. maybe sometimes wonder if they ever actually got out from the curse, wonder if they can trust themselves to make decisions. deal with paranoia that they might be trapped or controlled, whether by means of being cursed again or even just in other, more subtle ways (like socially, wanting to avoid ever feeling obligated to do things for other people; physically/magically, wanting to be able to fight; emotionally/mentally, not wanting to be made to feel weak). they could possibly become hypervigilant and anxious and/or depressed. some may have memory issues, whether amnesia surrounding time under the curse or problems organizing timelines in chronological order. in general, organized thought may be impaired to some degree. it may be hard to form interpersonal relationships due to lack of trust, feeling misunderstood, insecure, and wanting to self-isolate.

the trauma is unique to the individual, as it depends entirely on what someone was made to do during their time under the curse and for how long, which can be wildly different from person to person. someone who was controlled momentarily in order to steal something for someone versus someone who was controlled for a long period of time and committed a variety of acts like murder might not have much in common between their emotional responses.

for barty, it really just exacerbated issues he already had — he suffered from dissociation, dependency issues, and insecurities about sense of control before azkaban and the imperius curse, due to crouch’s abuse and his own latent mental illness. because it lasted so long for barty, his brain chemistry and thought patterns have been twisted more severely than most survivors. he suffers from disorganized thought, similar to that of someone with schizophrenia or dementia. emotions are more likely to win over logic at times. there are some actions he simply struggles with doing, and there was a period of time post-curse where he couldn’t write coherently and had to make moody do it for him. he loses his train of thought at times, his memories are fuzzy, and he has no clear understanding of who he is as a person because he wasn’t able to be one for so long. he also has a very hard time communicating with people due to the isolation.

#| OOC: HEY GHOULS!#| HC: BARTEMIUS CROUCH JR.#this is long but ive gotten a few questions abt how i view the imperius curse so here !!!!!!!!#ral told me to write it and i am but her servant..................... perhaps she has put me under the curse ? spooky

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