#i am inflicting this onto as few people as possible

[chelseeebe]

promise, part 2.

eddie is all too familiar with angry men and their incessant need to destroy. but can he put a stop to it this time?

read part one here.

okkk so this took so long and for literally no good reason other than that i am a lazy bastard! i really really enjoyed this n i hope you do too even if it is three weeks late

18+. mdni!! smut. heavy themes, references to domestic violence throughout. mentions of guns and other violent themes. i understand this is not suitable for everyone so please read ahead at your own risk.

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

the last two weeks have been fucking torturous for eddie. you won’t speak to him, won’t even look at him and at some point, you’d obviously requested to move your shifts so you didn’t have to see him.

he feels like a failure, helpless as he watches you groan as you walk, a shell of the woman he shared such tender moments with.

today must be his lucky day, james had called in to tell graham he couldn’t get in to work so it’d just be you two behind the bar. you disappear into the back the second graham leaves, not uttering a word to eddie as you go.

greg, eddie had now learned the assholes name, regularly sat in the bar. watching as you worked like some fucking stalker. jumping up from his seat the second you finished and rushing you out of the bar. that or he’d sit outside the minute you finished, obnoxiously honking his horn to signal that he was there.

eddie wants to kill him. there’s no forgiveness for these people, he knows that better than anyone. the man most definitely didn’t deserve you or your kind soul. he didn’t deserve a pardon for his crimes and eddie feels the need to be the one to inflict justice on this smug asshole.

he peers around the bar, there are a few regulars scattered around but your delightful boyfriend seems to be absent so he takes that as his opportunity. ducking out the back and into the cellar where he can hear you rummaging around.

‘are you okay?’ he asks, not meaning to alarm you but it obviously does as the box comes clattering down to the floor, clutching onto your chest for dramatic effect.

you don’t reply, instead choosing to pick up the box and continue with whatever pointless task you’d anointed yourself. he grits his teeth and takes a step closer, he really doesn’t want to box you in but fuck, all he wants is for you to acknowledge him.

‘just look at me,’ he pleads, reeking of desperation, yet he’s willing to go lower.

you pause and eddie can’t see your face but he’s sure you’re contemplating it. it’s safe here, greg’s nowhere to be seen and it’s not like eddie’d be quick to run and tell him.

‘please.’

the absolute anguish in his voice must be enough to get you to turn, albeit painfully slow. making eye contact with him after a long and lonely two weeks of nothing. he immediately feels a hundred pounds lighter, confirmation that you don’t hate him. he knows that. knows that you’re being manipulated but it’s nice either way.

‘eddie-,’ you warn, closing your eyes. there’s pain and confusion written across your face and it’s tearing his heart apart just to see. he wants to just scoop you up, get away from this wretched place and not look back.

‘don’t,’ he breathes, rushing forward, hands gently holding onto your arms as he gets a proper look. there are no new visible bruises but who’s to know what’s actually been happening. ‘don’t apologise i just- are you okay?’ rushing all of the words out at once.

you look up at him with wide eyes, brimming with tears as your bottom lip quivers. and then you do something he’d never expect, lunging forward and planting your lips on his with a haste. knocking the air from his lungs.

there’s a brief moment of hesitation, contemplating if this was a bad idea. but even if it was, he doesn’t care. kissing you back with an urgency he didn’t know possible. you’re like water, he needed you to feel alive. feeling whole again as your bodies connect once more.

it doesn’t feel real. having you here in his arms once more, and maybe he hadn’t realised quite how empty he’d felt without you until he feels your arms loop around his neck. you’re pressed against him and yet it’s still not close enough.

eddie’s tentative, moving with caution as he’s not sure just that what’s happening is even real but his hands are needy, gripping onto your hips as he backs you into the rickety old shelving unit. hoisting your body onto the wood, slipping into the space between your legs.

it’s not enough and at the same time too much. feeling your tongue slide between his lips as you move your hips toward him, hand sliding down to lazily unbutton his jeans. a deep groan vibrating in his throat as your delicate fingers brush against his already strained cock.

he has to remind himself to be careful, he has no idea what you’d actually endured, what injuries hid beneath your clothes. but his fingers brush against your ribcage as he lifts your shirt, pulling a harsh gasp from your mouth into his, head jerking back with an almighty force.

his mouth hangs open as he peers down between your bodies, ‘what the fuck?’ forcing it’s way out as his fingers reveal the deep violet bruise painting your rib. grip tightening on the worn cotton as you shy away, swallowing the rising anger as he lets go of your shirt.

eddie will wring his neck right now, with zero hesitation. he feels sick just picturing the horrific things he’d done to you. you duck your head, tears spilling over onto your warm cheeks. his hand flies up, cradling your cheek in his palm as his thumb extends to wipe away the salty tears.

‘let’s go, right now- anywhere you want, we’ll go,’ eddie jabbers, tilting your chin upwards so you’re forced to look at him. in this moment, he knows that he’d do anything if you just asked him too. hell, he’d do it without you asking too. and he needed you to know that, he really meant anything.

‘and go where? i can’t leave, eddie, why don’t you understand that?’ you bark, shifting on the creaky cabinet.

he knows your anger is misplaced, you don’t mean it. at least not towards him. eddie was just the easy target, at the right place at the right time. weirdly, it settles something in him. knowing that you know that you can shout at him, you can kick and scream and cry and yet he’d still never lay a finger on you.

‘anywhere,’ his eyes desperately search yours, ‘out of hawkins.. away, forever,’ pleading with you.

‘i.. can’t,’ you sob, shoulders shaking, ‘he’ll find me and he’ll kill me.. kill you too,’ your palm rests atop of his on your cheek, lashes sodden and stuck together with tears.

‘we can,’ he nods, ‘i promise you he won’t find us.. he’s not going to hurt you ever again,’ eddie’s thumb still strokes your cheek, trying his all to assure that he’s right, that you can trust him.

you pause for a moment, blinking away the forming tears as you hiccup, ‘where will we go?’

eddie doesn’t care where you end up just as long as it’s away from this hell hole. away from that maniac.

he herds the disgruntled regulars from their seats and out of the door, telling them to take their drinks with them, he’d close out their tabs for them. it’s not like he really gave a shit. he’s sure that graham would understand eventually, a couple of glasses and a few measly dollars were worth far less than your life.

-

‘just wait here, okay? i’ll be right back,’ squeezing your hand before he hops out of the van. wayne would be here somewhere, he just has to figure out where.

a couple of the guys he recognises point him in the right direction, walking into the warehouse on a mission. he wanted to get in and get the fuck out before anyone else realised the two of you were gone. he just couldn’t go without at least telling wayne.

‘what the hell are you doing here?’ wayne looks up at his nephew, wiping his hands with a dusty old rag as he gets up. he looks concerned rather than angry, and for that, eddie is grateful. wayne knows that he wouldn’t dare bother him at work unless it was serious.

eddie doesn’t really know how to start, how are you supposed to tell you’re uncle that you’re running away with the same girl you’d harboured in your trailer for weeks?

‘hey.. wayne,’ eddie swallows, feeling like a small child, ‘look, i gotta go for a bit.. it won’t be long, just a few weeks ‘til this all blows over,’ babbling to get the words out quicker.

‘woah, what? is it that girl again?’ wayne asks, one eyebrow raised.

eddie nods, glancing back towards his van though it was out of eye sight. he’s eager to get back, not keen on leaving you alone for too long.

wayne sighs, glancing towards the ground before he gives eddie an approving nod. it means more than eddie could ever imagine.

he had never forgotten the deep regret wayne had held for his mother. not that wayne would ever say, but eddie knows it still kills him inside, knowing that he couldn’t help his sister. it’s not something he’d ever be able to let go of, guilt wracking his bones until the day he died.

eddie smiles slightly before going to head off back to the van, ‘wait.. hold on,’ wayne calls out, hand dug into his pocket.

he pulls out his wallet, shoving a wad of cash into eddie’s shaking hand. he looks to his uncle with a bewildered expression, there must be at least a hundred bucks here. far too much for him to accept.

‘take it,’ wayne asserts, holding his hands in the air, ‘take her up to fort wayne.. it’s quiet, no one’ll even look at you.’

eddie smiles, a genuine smile that makes him feel a hundred times more guilty for what he’s about to do.

he says a quick goodbye to wayne before slipping back out of the door but instead of making his way back to his van, he slips off to where wayne parks his car. he is a terrible nephew and he’s sure he’ll pay the price for this but he has to.

wayne would understand. eventually.

a quick look around the empty lot before he tries the handle, knowing wayne rarely locked it. ain’t no point in stealing this old thing, he’d echo when eddie would remind him.

he leans over, opening the glove compartment to reveal the pistol. he’d known it’d been there for years, since his dad had been in prison at least. before that, it was kept in the drawer beside wayne’s bed. just in case.

sliding the cold metal into the back of his jeans, making sure his denim jacket covered the bulging handle and slamming the door shut again. he’s not expecting to use it, but he wants to make sure that if he has to, he can.

you perk up when you see him approach, confused as to why he’s headed to the back of the van instead of the front. but he can’t have you see it, shoving it into his duffel bag before sliding into the drivers seat.

‘you ready?’ he asks, blowing the air out of his cheeks, relief washing over his face.

you nod, smiling slightly. he can tell you’re worried and until you get the hell out of here, there’s not much he can do.

well, he had contemplated just driving straight to that asshole’s house and shooting him at point blank range but had ultimately decided that probably wasn’t the best idea. a life in prison could never compare to a life on the run with you.

-

the drive up is quiet and eddie can see your shoulders visibly relax the second you near the motel. as if an invisible weight had been lifted and you could finally be yourself again. the second hand relief makes eddie feel light, you were you again with miles of land between you and that prick.

it’s not exactly the ritz but it’ll do for a week or so until eddie can figure out what to do next. he figured he’ll call wayne on friday, ask him to do some snooping to see if coming back is an option.

you’re sprawled out on the bed, quietly watching the flickering tv. eddie glances over at you, he reckons he’d do just about anything for you. if it were possible, he’d fly you both to some faraway island where no one could ever hurt you again.

‘what?’ you ask, realising that he’d probably been staring a little too long.

instead of replying, he makes his way over to the bed, sitting down in the tiny space between you and the edge of the bed. he so badly wants to touch you but after earlier, he’s reluctant to accidentally hurt you again. seeing you wince and pull away like that had shattered his heart.

‘nothin’, i just like looking at you,’ placing his hand on your knee, it seemed a safe spot.

‘shut up,’ you smirk, shying away from him as your cheeks flush. you’re not helping him one single bit. adoring when you let the tough girl persona down a little, but only if it’s around him.

his hand slides down your leg. he’d like to revisit your moment earlier but only if you want to. it sounded sad really, but he’d felt rather touch starved the last two weeks.

your eyes slide back to him, a glimpse of a smirk on your lips. eddie has a better idea. now he’s never done it before but how hard can it actually be? maybe he’d seen it in one of those magazines wayne definitely shouldn’t have left lying around.

he fully gets onto the bed, perched on his knees just by your legs, spreading them open with a gentle touch to your thigh. you oblige, looking down at him with twinkling eyes.

‘i don’t wanna hurt you..’ he sighs, remembering the harsh bruise that adorned your ribcage. he’s not sure what else is hiding under your clothes, reminding himself to be gentle.

‘you won’t,’ you whisper into the air, reaching down to entangle your fingers into his hair.

you’re a work of art from this angle, from all angles really, but the way your lashes cascaded shadows over your cheeks and your lips wet with anticipation staring down at him made him appreciate it so much more.

his hand creeps up, gently lifting your shirt just enough for the dark bruises to peek out of the bottom. his breath hitches in his throat, moving upwards to place a single small kiss to the surely sore area. your eyes flutter closed, fingernails scratching his scalp as he descends back between your legs.

eddie is sure to be tender, unbuttoning your jeans with trembling fingers, your hips bucking up to allow him to slide them down. the ferocity of your earlier encounter had been lost in exchange of this soft, gentler approach. it makes him feel all the more closer to you, knowing that you trust him wholeheartedly to see the broken parts of you.

he discards your jeans off the side of the bed, your bare thighs now warming his ears as wraps his arms around them. peppering kisses to the faint markings of past bruises, the low sighs coming from your mouth sent shivers down his spine.

stopping just before he gets to your underwear, sending one last look upward while his fingers hook around the lacy waistband. ‘you’re so beautiful,’ it comes out unprompted, marvelling at your features in the dim light.

you shy away, hiding your face in the pillow as his lips twitch into a smile, tugging your underwear down as you move for him, thrown somewhere on the floor while his lips continue to move lower, dotting kisses as he goes.

he’s slow at first, tongue circling around your sensitive clit, your jaw hanging slack as your fingers pull gently at his hair. his mouth laps eagerly at your sopping cunt, hoping to god that he was doing this right.

if the noises tumbling out of your mouth were anything to go by, he thinks he is. strangled moans just barely audible as you continue to hide in the pillow, your legs becoming restless around his shoulders.

eddie’s eyes don’t dip, tapping your thigh in an attempt to get you to look down at him. he wants to see how good he’s making you feel, relishing every second you weren’t in pain and instead moaning under his influence.

‘holy shit,’ you gasp, hips writhing against his mouth. his mouth vibrates against your cunt when you finally allow him to see your face, moaning into the space between your legs.

you are all over him, dripping down his chin, spread across the tip of his nose, even wetting the collar of his t-shirt. his tongue darting up and down between your folds, noting exactly when you’d tighten your grip on his hair, when your eyes would roll back. that’s when he knew he was in the right spot.

eddie’s arm unwinds from your thigh, daring enough to slide two fingers into your entrance, enjoying the chorus of raspy profanities that left your mouth. he wants to be inside of you properly but he can’t, not with what he suspects is a broken rib. no amount of desperation would allow him to even think about possibly harming you again.

‘oh my god eddie jesus christ,’ your voice pulls him from his thoughts as your head lols back against the pillow, chin pointed to the ceiling as you thighs begin to tremble around his head.

his fingers continue to pump in and out, merciless with his tongue on your clit, feeding off of your moans. the way your body reacted to him made his head spin, going dizzy at the feel of your walls clenching around his fingers.

‘shit,’ you whine loudly, ensuring everyone in this dump could hear how good he was, ‘right there eddie please don’t stop,’ drawing out your words as eddie carries on exactly as he was. sucking gently at your clit as his fingers curve upward.

the sounds that follow are simply unholy. whining as you come undone around him, thighs clamping around his head as you cum, your entire body practically vibrating as re-emerges from between your legs.

his mouth is shiny with your arousal, lips glossy and plump as he gazes upward. watching carefully as you float back down to earth, his palms still holding onto your fleshy thighs. he doesn’t make the effort to move, not just get. enjoying the sight of your blissed out face from here.

‘wow,’ you remark, chest heaving as you pull the blanket up around your shoulders. your hair fanned out over the pillow with warm cheeks to match.

‘what? has no one ever done that before?’ he questions, crawling up the bed to slide in next to you. he should shower but he’ll wait for you to drop off to sleep before he leaves you alone.

‘yeah but not like that,’ relaxing into the duvet.

eddie grins to himself. it’s like a badge of honour he’ll proudly wear.

-

eddie gets up from the bed with a groan, dressing himself in his discarded clothes and slipping his jacket on. you were in and out of sleep and he was really hoping to slip out when you weren’t awake, there was no need to worry you anymore.

‘what’re you doing?’ you mumble from out of the blanket, squinting over at him.

fuck. he didn’t have an excuse.

‘i’m just.. getting a drink, you want anything?’ hoping that your sleepy state would stop any further questioning.

‘mmm..’ you hum, reshuffling, ‘m&ms.’

‘m&ms?’ he repeats, stuffing his feet into his shoes with a tiny grin, pulling his jacket over his shoulders as he nears the door.

‘mhm.’

‘okay,’ he chuckles before stepping out, making sure that the door is locked not once, but three times before he slips off downstairs.

now, he would get your m&ms and a coke but that wasn’t exactly why he’d come out. shoving his hands into his pockets as he scans the parking lot. he hadn’t said anything on the drive but he was certain you were being followed.

the same black dodger had been in his mirror for the majority of the drive up and now he wanted to make sure it hadn’t followed the pair of you here.

he does a quick sweep of the parking lot but it’s mostly empty bar his van and a couple of other cars that certainly weren’t the one he was looking for. he’s not a hundred percent sure that you weren’t being followed but at least now he’ll be able to sleep tonight.

you’re still dozing when he gets back, attempting to be quiet in case you were asleep but it doesn’t work as your eyes open the second the door closes.

tossing you your bag of m&ms before shimmying out of his jeans, collapsing into the empty spot on the bed next to you.

eddie can’t help but determine how he’d get the both of you out of here if he had to. remembering the pistol that sat at the bottom of his duffel bag.

‘you okay?’ you speak up, peaking from the blanket as you shuffle towards him. you take his hand into yours, holding it with both hands, tracing lines and patterns onto his palm as your head rests on his chest. ‘can i ask you something?’

‘go ahead,’ he’s slightly confused and fighting sleep as your fingers trace nonsensical shapes on his hand.

you pause, letting out a nearly inaudible sigh, ‘what happened to your mom?’

eddie freezes, eyes forced open as he looks down at the back of your head. you don’t turn to look back at him, staring at his hand instead. he realises that this question and subsequently his answer would probably be hard for you too and as much as he doesn’t want to think about it again, it’s necessary if he doesn’t want the cycle to continue.

his teeth dig into his bottom lip almost painfully, the words struggle to form no matter how many times he told this story. people didn’t really ask, not anymore, not since he moved to hawkins. he was grateful not to be known as the kid with the dead mom anymore. always feeling like people crept around him, walking on egg shells in case they said something wrong.

‘my dad killed her,’ he squeaks, fingers clamping around yours. there’s no nice way to say it because he did.

eddie can feel you freeze, swallowing the lump from your throat, still avoiding looking at him. he can tell you’re upset but what was he supposed to do? lie?

he squeezes your hand once more, sighing softly, ‘i’m sorry.. i- i didn’t think,’ placing your intertwined hands on his chest, feeling guilty as sin.

‘no.. it’s okay, i get it, i’m just..’ you finally twist round to look up at him, eyes brimming with tears, ‘i don’t want to die,’ you sounded tiny. more of a petrified child than the brave woman he knew.

his heart pangs with utter despair, hating himself for being responsible for that thought ever entering your mind. his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, ‘you’re not going to,’ his fingers find their way into your hair, running his fingers through the strands, ‘i’ll make sure of that.’

and he will. it’s a promise that he’ll never break. not a chance in hell.

-

eddie can’t sleep, not for longer than twenty minutes anyway. he hasn’t since you guys arrived.

he can hear the clock ticking in the far corner, taunting him. accompanied by your soft snores as you lay sleeping soundly next to him. you’re something of an angel when you’re asleep and it leaves eddie questioning how anyone would dare to hurt a single hair on your head.

there’s a scuffle somewhere outside, a raised voice coming from the direction of reception. sliding his arm out from underneath your body slowly so to not wake you. peering out of the window down into the dimly lit forecourt.

that’s when he sees him. sees his car parked hastily next to his van.

his heart drops.

what’s he going to do? bang on every door until he finds the right one? wait outside until you dared to show your face?

he’s seen eddie’s van before, that’s for sure. so he knows you’re here somewhere. he just doesn’t have to know where exactly.

eddie steps into his jeans, pulling his discarded shirt over his head as he rummages through his bag for the gun. he doesn’t have to use it, it’s just a warning. a bit of backup if things went south, that’s what he keeps telling himself anyway. he slides the cold metal into the back of his jeans, hoping it’ll stay there.

he looks over at the bed again just to make sure you were still sleeping before slipping his shoes on. sending a quick nonsensical prayer to his mom before quietly unlocking the door and sliding out into the night.

the conversation is quieter now, eddie can barely hear it without straining but he knows he’s still here. sneaking down the stairs with a single clue what he’s actually going to do when he sees that prick.

as if he was summoned, greg storms out of the reception just as eddie reaches the bottom of the stairs, stood gormless as he gathers the nerve to say something.

he doesn’t have to, gregs eyes are already on him, filled with venom and vitriol. he’s an angry looking fella without knowing his vile history.

‘i fuckin’ knew it,’ greg nods to himself, ‘where is she? we don’t have to make this any harder than it already is.. i’ll take her home and we can forget about this little stunt,’ as if it was ever that simple. so he’s deluded as well as being a little bitch.

‘i don’t think so,’ eddie shakes his head, taking a step forward, keeping his composure despite his stomach twisting into knots. his hand is poised behind his back, fingers resting on the cold handle.

greg laughs, full belly laugh, like some psycho, ‘okay, i asked nicely.. you think i won’t break down every door until i find her?’ they’re almost face-to-face now, eddie can see his cheeks are flushed, sweat dripping from his forehead.

‘i told you.. it’s not happening,’ eddie swallows, fingers tightening around the handle, ‘so you can get back in your car and fuck off,’ his chin tilted slightly, greg has an obvious height advantage but that means nothing to him.

‘and i’m telling you that it is,’ his knuckles coming to shove eddie’s shoulders. eddie’s grateful for the experience, he’s been pushed around his entire life and was yet to let any of those losers win. this was no exception.

eddie’s jaw clenches, pulling the gun from the back of his pants, still hidden behind his back as he works out whether he should blow the brains out of this prick or just scare him a little. he knows that going to jail would help either of you, albeit greg deserves a fate worse than death, he can’t be the one to decide that.

instead, he keeps a somewhat rational mind, pressing the barrel against greg’s ribcage, narrowing his eyes as the other man realises what he was doing. ‘i’m gonna tell you again,’ eddie breathes shakily, ‘fuck off,’ his finger firmly on the trigger, he’s not certain that he won’t pull it.

tempted to just end this whole thing right here right now.

‘what the fuck?’ greg spits, removing his hands from eddie’s chest, ‘a gun?’ he scoffs, his features softening ever-so-slightly, ‘you’re as fucking crazy as each other.’

eddie presses the cold metal further into his skin, hoping at least to leave a sore mark if nothing else, ‘you’re gonna leave her alone,’ swallowing the rising anger in his throat before he continues, ‘you don’t talk to her, you don’t look at her- hell, you don’t even get to think about her anymore because i will kill you next time.. i promise,’ teeth gritting together as the other man trembles.

‘fine.. fucking- fine whatever,’ greg gives in, the beads of sweat now dripping down his face. he’s pale, knees shaking as eddie pulls the gun away, making sure to keep it pointed at his feet as he backs away.

eddie’s eyes don’t falter, stern and unforgiving as he watches the snivelling weasel run off. he wishes he did more. roughed him up a little, maybe even a little warning shot just to show him he was serious but then he thinks back to the image of you curled up in bed, blissfully unaware that he had tracked you down and perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

you’re safe. he’s gone, for now at least, and that’s all that matters. you never had to know this even happened, eddie could keep that secret so long as it meant you were safe. that that man couldn’t hurt you anymore.

‘you deserve each other,’ greg yells before climbing into the beat up old beemer. eddie keeps the gun raised, snarling as he pulls off, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.

the adrenaline rushes through his veins, making sure the car is truly gone before he puts the gun away. his first instinct is to rush back up the stairs to check on you, ensure that you’re still there, that you hadn’t witnessed any of that.

but he doesn’t.

rather pulling out the box of cigarettes from his pocket and lighting one up, eyes honed in on the entrance to the motel, waiting and perhaps slightly even wishing that he’d dare to come back so he could really kill him this time.

thirty minutes must pass before he sighs, deciding to give up and go back to the room. the wooden stairs creak under his weight, the sun now beginning to peek through the clouds, lighting up the dull sky.

you’re still sleeping soundly when he gets back, soft snores filling the room as he re-hides the gun. there wasn’t a need for you to ever know he’d even had it, not anymore.

peeling his jeans off and climbing back into the bed, cautious not to wake you as his arm snakes around your shoulders, pulling your body onto his. the feel of your sleeping body instinctively moving closer could fuel him for another hundred years. eddie would that again and again if it meant you woke up tomorrow with a smile on your face and healed bruises.

you stir, face scrunching up as you look up at him, ‘where’d you go?’ barely able to keep your eyes open, head nuzzling into his chest as it rises and falls.

‘for a smoke,’ thinking quickly. maybe one day he’d tell you the truth but certainly not today. ‘go back to sleep.. it’s okay,’ he soothes into the top of your hair. you do, body nestled into his side and sleep takes back over.

and for the first time in weeks, eddie lets himself feel tired. with heavy limbs, drooping eyelids as he allows himself to succumb to sleep.

-

going back to hawkins is an ordeal in itself. eddie had expected wayne to be angry over the whole stealing the gun thing, but he hadn’t quite expected him to lose his mind quite so much.

‘you’re a fuckin’ idiot,’ wayne rages and eddie is grateful that he told you to stay in the van while he went to see his uncle at work. his anger doesn’t last long before his arms are slung around his nephew, pulling him into his chest with a loud sigh. ‘i’m glad you’re okay,’ wayne nods, staring into eddie’s eyes, ‘and she’s okay.’

eddie thinks he may just be off the hook until wayne starts up again, ‘but don’t you dare ever take my shit again or i’ll shoot you. got it?’ snatching the gun from eddie’s hand, pointing the handle at his idiotic nephew.

he can’t help but smile as his uncle rambles on, ‘okay wayne.. i’m sorry.’

unsurprisingly, eddie has to make a few apologies. namely to graham after the pair of you go crawling into the bar, tails between your legs, hoping for your jobs back.

‘you are welcome to work for me whenever you want to doll,’ graham points at you, his eyes soft until they turn to a sheepish eddie, ‘but you.. absolutely not.’

he wasn’t shocked, graham was a frugal bastard and eddie had excused a couple of sizeable tabs.. he’s just grateful graham hadn’t called the police on the pair of you.

‘oh graham, please let him work here again,’ you beg, eddie’s eyes flit to you, ‘i’ll control him better this time,’ beaming at the large man, that same twinkle in your eye that eddie could never say no to.

hell, who’s he kidding? he could never say no to you, full stop.

graham sighs, pointing his sausage-like finger at eddie who ducks his head down, ‘one chance.. if you fuck up, you’re gone, ya’ understand?’

he nods, offering a small smile in response. squeezing your hand since he really did owe it all to you.

what eddie never mentions, is how graham had pulled him aside on his first shift back, clapping the boy on the back, offering a sincere thank you for being the one to get you away from that monster. his words, not eddie’s.

eddie shakes his head, refusing to take responsibility, ‘that was all her.. she’s the brave one, not me.’

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie stranger things

[aviradasa]

Love long lost Pt2

Aaravos x Fem!reader

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

{angst} @delusional-mushroom @hubba-hubba1 @jellyfishxxi

Warnings: blood, wounds, depicted Self inflicted wounds,

Hey my little goblins guess what time it is! Time for my ass to post part 2!! I am honestly loving this little mini series so I've decided a part 3 maybe 4 will be seen in the near future lol. Anyways I hop you all enjoy and thank you for your patience also I will be @ ing all the folks who ask me to!

Ps: don't forget to leave a request! I will be linking my masterlist here please read it before requesting! Anyways have a happy read!

Pt 1 linked here

Pt three linked here

It takes a moment for my eyes to open again but when they don't see the stone walls of the storm spire, No all I see is that I am in an old Human tavern, As I look around everything has a blue tint-like that of the magic that Aarvos used on me, looking around i see large groups of human and elves sitting at tables, drinking, talking, and listening to the upbeat music, I can even smell the various foods being Cooked in the back the rich scents wafting about and mixing assisting in making the atmosphere even more warm and inviting.

I walk through the tavern and head to the front bar and take a seat in front of the barmaid. I don't know where I am, it seems familiar but I just can't place it. I need to know why Aaravos sent me here and why.

“ Hey, there miss, busy night huh?” I ask the barmaid, earning no response. Maybe she just didn't hear me over the music, I think to myself so I decided it best to possibly try and ask again. “ hey miss, it sure is a busy night huh?” I ask once more. The barmaid does not react at all and I start to wonder if she even knows it there. She has to know I’m there. I'm sitting right in front of her, maybe she just isn't in the talking mood. I think to myself as I stand up, I walk over to a human man who is sitting at a table with some other people and way my hand in front of his face earning no response. He just continues talking to the other folks at the table, and that's when the panic starts to seep in.

I run table to table seat to seat tapping, screaming, hitting everyone I see but I get no reaction each time, no one in the tavern can see me, hear me, or feel me. I am simply a phantom in this place. Once I've exhausted my options I run to the door of the tavern and try to yank it open to no avail, I tug and pull, kick, punch, and scratch at the door until my nails are shredded and bleeding alongside my knuckles, leaving bloody scratch marks on the tavern door as I weep, not just because of the pain I've inflicted upon myself in the moment, but because I am trapped in this place alone and scared. What makes it even worse is that Aaravos put me here and I still have no idea why.

A few moments pass and I wipe my tear-stained face, and take a seat at a darkened table in the back of the tavern. It almost seems like the light from the firepit in the middle of the room is too fearful to illuminate the spot . Once I take my seat the sound of the music in the tavern is changed to a more eerie circus-like sound as one of the bards step onto the stones surrounding the firepit. It appears he is a moonshadow elf mage. Suddenly he casts a spell and The room dims slightly as he begins to speak.

“My good friends old and new, We have a special show for you tonight, filled with frights, lights, and One of the most beautiful creatures of the night. You know her,you love her, she's the one and only Y/n!” he says as a black sheet appears on the floor in front of him. The mage sprinkles some sort of powder onto the sheet before grabbing the corner of it. The mage lifts the sheet spinning it elaborately, sending the purple dust into the air of the tavern giving the little light in the dim room a purple glow before he dramatically throws the sheet into the air, revealing an elven girl dressed as a dancer. Posing in the middle of the room as the whole tavern erupted into cheers.

“y/n?..” I ask myself, I'm confused in every way possible, but before I can think about what I'm witnessing I hear someone speak.

“Amature magic at its best.” I hear an oddly familiar voice say beside me, I jump in my seat turning my head so fast I could have broken my neck. I know that voice anywhere but could it be? My whole body freezes in place as I stare at the figure In the seat next to me, they are wearing a very elaborate cloak with an odd symbol on the hood. They are sipping from a tankard, with their eyes glued to the girl in the middle of the room. But just as I look back to the middle of the room the performer turns her head and everything goes black.

I awakened once more in a forest, it had the same blue haze as the tavern did but this time it was lighter than before. I spin around slowly taking in my surroundings but stop suddenly. Right in front of me is a small pond in a small clearing of the forest, it is surrounded by many types of Xadian flowers and plants being illuminated by the moonlight that is cast upon the small pond’s waters, and standing beside the pond with their back facing me is that same cloaked figure from the tavern.

Suddenly I hear a voice quite like mine call out in a whispered shout, “Aaravos is that you?” the voice says, the cloaked figure turns around and takes down their hood revealing the familiar elf, he looked nothing like he did when I saw him through the mirror, his skin is a more vibrant purple and the star freckles on his face glow brighter than they had when I saw him, his hair is neater and pulled out of his face, its held in place by a golden circlet. He looks divine and ethereal, he almost looks like he shouldn't belong to Xadia, but some far-away planet that we could never even dream of.

I turn around to see the elven performer girl from the tavern, this time I can see her face clearly she looks like me.., but I only see her for a moment as a smile creeps onto her face and she runs to him wrapping her arms around his neck, he returns the embrace and her smile as he wraps his arms around her waist and spins her around for a moment as their laughter intertwined with the wind. She shares my voice and from what I saw my face. But how can this be, Who is she? I wonder as I watch the scene play out. But once her feet touch the ground, their laughter fades and it all goes black once more.

This time I woke up in a cave. I take a moment to gather myself and let my eyes adjust to the darkened area before I feel comfortable to stand. I hastily make my way to the cave entrance and look out and see the edge of a new forest. I hear a loud crack and snap my head in the direction of the sound. I can't make out much but the light the stars provide is enough to illuminate two silhouetted figures moving through the trees in a panic. the taller one dragging the other by the wrist as they run, I have a good idea by now of who those two figures are and I am proven correct when they enter the cave.

They are both visibly disheveled with her hair being knotted with twigs leaves and mud, her clothing is freshly ripped and torn, and she has cuts, bruises, and blood scattered along her skin. His appearance is similar, but his hair is less messy and his clothing is more dirty than tattered, though they share the same amount of wounds it seems. “Aaravos…What did you do.” the girl says wiping away tears but smearing the blood and dirt on her skin more by accident. He doesn't respond to her, he just looks away avoiding eye contact. She visibly gets frustrated and shoves him with all the force she can muster as she chokes out a sob. “WHAT DID YOU DO?” She screams at him through tears.

He still doesn't look at her nor does he respond. He doesn't even seem affected by her shove or screams, he just stands there. She approaches him once more and hits his chest “YOU BASTARD TELL ME WHAT YOU DID! WHY? WHY WON’T YOU TELL ME.” she screams again, I jump back When all of a sudden he snaps back “ I DID WHAT NEEDED TO BE DONE!” he screams back at her, grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her into the cave wall behind them as she chokes out another sob. “Let go, please… Let go, it hurts.” she cries. He drops her and she collapses onto the ground as he turns his back to her slamming his fists into the cave's jaggad walls. He didn't flinch once his blood started pouring out of the wounds he just placed his head against his bloody forearm and let it bleed, as his love cried in the background.

Then once more the scene went dark. But this time i did not appear in another memory.

I feel myself being shaken awake “y/n! y/n wake up are you ok? Y/n! Guys she's waking up!” I hear Raylas voice call out as my eyes drift open. I take a sharp breath as I come to and I shoot upright. Grabbing onto Raylas shoulder for support and i take in deep rapid breaths i feel a stinging on my forehead and when i reach up to touch it,it burns my fingertips. When i get my bearings I look around at everyone with a fearful,and shocked expression.

“You guys aren't gonna believe me when I tell you what I just saw.”

#tdp #tdp rayla #tdp s1 #tdp spoilers #aaravos #tdp callum #tdp s5 #tdp claudia #aaravos the dragon prince #the dragon prince #aaravos x reader #startouched elf

[codename-adler]

my niche take (not for canon tho): i quite dislike the wildly popular hc that andrew has tons of piercings… it just doesn’t seem… right? it would fit his style (?) and personality for sure but i just can’t help feeling like he would never? do that? i think the same of tattoos but that bothers me a little less…

ah, this is gonna get me sent to sleep with da fishes...

i am of the same opinion. (i would like to stress here, opinion)

my opinion stems both from personal experience and canon characterization, and it has nothing to with aesthetics. of course, of course, tiny emo beef boy would rock tattoos and piercings. he canonically wears all-black, smokes, wields knives and listens to soul asylum. of course.

however, so much of Andrew's traumas, trauma responses and PTSD are based in physicality.

first, Andrew did not own his body, it being abused and abused and abused, by people he trusted, and people he didn't. the 'trust' part didn't matter; his body was abused. he learned the lesson and kept guard of his body rigidly, tirelessly, violently (the lesson he thought there was; there is no lesson to get from child SA).

second, Andrew took back his body in ways his psyche could understand and accept. SH and hypersexuality. both instances have him in control of every inch of his body. nobody touches, only him. nobody inflicts, only him. before; during; after. Neil is the exception confirming the pattern, the rule.

third, Andrew defends his body against whoever he must. no matter family, friends, team, Neil. his body and subconscious always remember before his consciousness does. again, even if Neil helps start his journey towards healing, trust doesn't really have a say in his defense mechanism. violence it is. violence it must be.

now. say it is a professional tattoo artist or piercer: how long before Andrew trusts them enough? how long before trust doesn't matter and the itch of the past settles into his skin? what if the eyebrow piercing feels too similar to the bottle Drake broke onto his head? what if the forearm tattoos tickle his self-inflicted scars like Drake's kisses did? what if the person ticks off a no-no box of Andrew's mid-session? there are so many variables Andrew does not control, why put himself in the situation and risk his last pebble of sanity?

i think the only way Andrew would get either piercings or tattoos would be if Neil did them. hello fic writers go fucken wild with this one.

personally i'd say it would only happen quite a few years after TRK, when Andrew has matured, possibly when his pro career is over because ouch Exy brawls and piercings don't get along well, but that's just me. maybe just studs, maybe the tattoos are very minimalists and have nothing to do with Andrew's scars, idk.

i'd like to be clear on one thing though: my believing Andrew does not ever have piercings and/or tattoos has nothing to do with believing he does not heal enough to do that, or that survivors of abuse like him are broken to the point of never getting anything done to their body. to me it's like Andreil never saying 'i love you' and never getting married. Andrew, like Neil, like the Foxes, are unconventional, difficult characters whose healing journeys are not pretty nor normalized. but it doesn't mean they don't get to a healthy place, whatever that looks for them. it does not mean they are not okay, and valid in their choices. to me, it has everything to knowing yourself so thoroughly, forgiving yourself so wholly, accepting yourself so completely, that there is no need to hide your body or prove your limits, to your own self or to others. i think it would be much more significant if Andrew one day could simply remove his armbands, and never wear them again, than to cover his scars with tattoos. to allow himself softness rather than arm his presence with more piercings.

again, it's also not that serious. Andrew can have an ice cream cone tattooed on his ass for all i care. give him a dainty little nose ring he sniffs up one time and has to go to the ER to get in unstuck. it's all shits and giggles if you wanna.

#thank you anon for that niche take #idk how niche it is just that the piercing hc is wildly WILDLY accepted in fanon #for context i do have the one (1) tattoo and plan on getting more so it's not like i'm a conservative in that regard #and i think nose piercings are p cute #aftg #all for the game #the foxhole court #andrew minyard #andreil #neil josten #aftg ask

[blinkpen]

stream of consciousness merbling about the state of things (personal level) again

another alleviation acting a salve in this awful situation is my brother, regardless of his "???" about trans identities, still came to the same conclusion about mom i did in that conversation, and it's one of those "gain 90% defense boost from all future verbal barbs bc a layer of cowardice accidentally showed its hand to you, and the person is officially too pathetic, too willfully and maliciously ignorant for you to have any reason to even value their opinion of you, draining the venom to the potency of a bratty child's squirt gun" moments:

while he is confused but open-minded and wants to learn what's up now that the concept is even on the table, having not actively hated trans people prior, just never really considered the fact they exist, or (knowingly) encountered any before

she's been willingly infected with that hot new rightwing podcast boomer batshit virus where people who are way more fashy than they want to admit react so badly to the concept of trans acceptance it makes them more and more evil about literally everything else just to get allies about it, and has been for quite some time. she's already dedicated a lot of ego into being hateful as a sustained belief held proudly and with a sense of assumed intellectual superiority over anybody being kind due to the fixation on "facts and logic" (that are all bullshit), despite multiple opportunities to bail out gracefully by me being patient and a dumbass still trying

so she has to be brick wall level stupid/stubborn on the matter and inly go increasingly scorched earth in response to the very concept now, because she has to be forever scared shitless of the possibility that "humoring" the pronouns for a few weeks could yield swift, visible, and positive results

he agrees with my assessment that she is terrified of the possibility that if anybody plays along, even just out of token gesture... and i suddenly become less anxious, more confident, my cognitive decline ceases to be so much more rapid as it had been getting, if i am more 'present' more often, if the constantly on-edge chihuaha syndrome vanishes as a result

she would then have to think about The Implications of that

and The Implications of "this is what we could have gotten the first time they asked. imagine where they could have been by now, if you had let them be a person, and not define them by a coin flip of their organs"

my brother is not scared of a positive outcome; that'd be ridiculous

but mom? she now has to be (and having to fear positive outcomes is another reason people like her are so fucking miserable and doing it to themselves)

that's the true fear of a lot of them, i think. to face a level of culpability for totally asinine harm inflicted willingly upon their children while claiming they were doing the most noble protections of all.

and she'd be among them. proof in front of her, rubberstamped by the golden child, that she's has been resisting the medicine i needed all along, with every ounce of strength she has, for a decade.

to face a level of guilt she's never had to face before, a buck she cannot pass onto any of the shitty now ex-husbands she brought into our house, that she has actively hurt me, not just by accident or neglect or in fallout of obliviously poor choices made in a moment, but chosen actively, to hurt me, as much as the worst of them, but they were horrible flickers and splinters in our lives, i won't ever have to put up with them again,

but she was the only world i had as a child and then as a disabled person who was reliably bullied (partly For Being Queer!) out of developing in-person support networks... and she became a hostile world, willingly, proudly,

that she has been The Most Wrong She's Ever Been, for Years, and she looks not only cruel and evil, but like an arrogant stupid jackass clown as well, and she played a much greater role in my mental trauma than she thought even possible of herself

that's not just an ego bruise. that is the entire perception of herself as a good wise moral person getting oblitered into motes of ash, and she has to strike the match herself on top of that

-inhales-

like yeah. that would suck to face that, wouldn't it. it'd probably suck so bad you'd be tempted to just lean in and start tearing everything around you to shreds than humble yourself as painfully as that

but uh. Tough Shit that was Hard Earned, maam

#sporadic warbling #hoooooogh discussions of transphobia and abuse but not in the dire sense #we're now at the 'looking at the abuser like a tantrum toddler thatd just be embarassing if not for all the very real destruction' stage

[maaarshieee]

Is it possible could you write

Pantalone x reader

Where the reader is very calm and polite, but looses their cool one day and out of anger they punch the wall and hurt themselves. And blood is on their knuckles?

⎯⎯ ୨ Losing Cool ୧ ⎯⎯

ੈ♡˳ Pantalone x Gn!Reader *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ 0.9k words ┊ Hurt/comfort-ish *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ Masterlist *ೃ༄

author's note ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

mayhaps projected in this... i pride myself into having good patience but when shit gets too tough i just,, 💥, ty for requesting this anon!! have a good day/night! i think this was kinda bad but i promise ill do better at other fics BYE DAHDSAHD

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ cw: canon typical violence, self inflicted injury (unintentional), blood

Blood dripped down your cracked knuckles as you stares down at the soldier before you. Face engulfed with unfamiliar frostiness, darkness overshadowed your features, only further accentuating the overwhelming rage swirling inside of you. Pulling away your first from the crater you've created, sparing a nonchalant glance at your bleeding wound before further instilling shock to the people present inside the room with the sharp words that pierce through the silence like a blade. 

"Just how stupid can you be to fail such trivial tasks?" Spat by you with such a venomous tone, the words you spoke emphasizing your immense disappointment and rage. "Useless! All of you! I should just kill you where you stand!" The soldiers that knelt before you trembled, eyes darting towards the other Harbingers for help, but they merely ignored them, too amused, too entertained by your uncharacteristic lashing. They just had to report right before the meeting and worsen your already ruined mood. 

Pantalone, for one, was concerned for you. He has never seen you so enraged before. It was as if all the frustration you'd bottled inside your heart finally exploded at this moment, and without a proper outlet, you'd ultimately hurt yourself by punching the wall. Pantalone had noticed that for the past few days, you'd grown quiet and stiff, a twitch on your brow here and there, but he never thought it meant anything else other than stress. For you've always handled situations better than anyone, ever so gentle towards the people working under you and keen on giving them a second chance. Other Harbingers often called you out for being too soft, but you were the complete opposite of their former image of you right at this moment. 

Once you dismissed them, Pierro finally entered the room. All the Harbingers stood, waiting for Pierro to speak and commence today's meeting. Though Pantalone could give less a damn about the meeting, his eyes glued to your bruised, bleeding hand. You didn't give it much concern, but Pantalone has been itching to care for it, to clean the blood dripping down your hand and onto the table, to wrap it in bandages and kiss the aching pain away. 

When your eyes met, he saw your idle anger quickly dissipate into nothing and turn into guilt, and when you clenched your hand into a fist, you winced. It was as if the pain finally processed to your brain and only now you're aware of what had happened, glancing at the crater you'd punched onto the wall. The fact that these meetings usually took hours didn't quell any of Pantalone's worries and by the time the meeting has ended, you could barely feel your hand through the tingling sensations, and the blood as been dried onto your skin.

Pantalone wiped off the blood that caked your knuckles and your fingers with a wet piece of cloth, paying no attention to how his gloves were beginning to soak despite you insisting that you could clean it yourself. "Nonsense," He huffed through his nose, brows creased ever so slightly as he began to patch up knuckles, relieved nothing was broken. "Am I not allowed to care for my darling?" You flushed at the pet name, rubbing the back of your neck as you shook your head.

"No, but you don't have to dirty your hands for me..." You tried once more, wriggling your hand away from his, but you only hissed at the pain that struck your knuckles, and Pantalone huffed at your stubbornness, finally finishing up patching your hand up. "There, avoid using this hand too much."

Slipping off his gloves, his hands reached up to your face and cupped your cheeks, letting you lean against his touch as he pulled you close. He pressed his forehead against yours, your uninjured hand resting on his hip as his fingers caressed your face, a small smile on his lips. "Next time, please don't bottle up your emotions for too long, or something like this will happen..." Feeling you nod against him, he continued, "At least let it be in a different way if you don't want to talk about it..."

You raised a brow at his suggestion, your hand reaching to his back, nails grazing up to his spine and playing at the ends of his hair, leaning back to press a kiss onto his cheek. "How so?"

At that, Pantalone smiled widely, pulling away from you and taking both your hands into his, "Let's go shopping." You could only roll your eyes at his words, suppressing back a smile. "That's just an excuse to spoil me, dear." But Pantalone didn't let up, a pout now protruding from his bottom lip.

"But it would help you forget your worries, even for a single moment." He pleaded, tilting his head to the side, his eyes glittering as he placed kisses on your knuckles. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you half-heartedly glared at Pantalone and his ways of persuading you, but you could only sigh and give in. "I suppose you're right..."

Pantalone visibly brightened and stood up, lacing his arm around yours as he walked you towards your shared private chambers to get you dressed, listing down multiple stores he's been dying to bring you to, and all the things he wanted to buy for you. With a smile on your face, you listened to him with a nod of your head, the ache of your injured hand long forgotten.

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[celticcrossanon]

BRF Reading - 28th of June 2023

I have para-influenza and I am high as a kite on fever, cough medicine, paracetamol, and other assorted medicines right now, so I thought I would do a reading on something that has been bugging me for the last few weeks. This may or may not be a bad idea when the drugs wear off. We shall see (apologies in advance if this is a bad idea and I have inflicted nonsense onto all of you).

This is speculation only

Cards drawn on the 28th of June, 2023

Question: What are King Charles's top three priorities right now?

I asked for three cards, each one representing one priority.

Usual disclaimer: I am not a fan of King Charles, and his wife has gone right down in my esteem, so keep that in mind as you read this. I try to read the energy from the cards as clearly as possible, but my bias may cross over into my interpretation, as much as I try to keep it out.

Interpretation: There are lots of sub energies in these cards that give me more than three areas of priority for Charles. Camilla, Catherine, popularity, Harry, a forced decision - he has a lot on his mind at the moment.

Card One: The Page of Pentacles, Reversed.

The Page of Pentacles is my card for Great Britain, so in reverse it could be Great Britain saying No to Charles, or it could be some sort of bad news from the British public or about Great Britain itself (pages upright are good news, reversed are bad news).

Pentacles are the suit of material things, wealth, status, and also the material world, land, environmental issues etc, so the message (a rejection or bad news) could be about a number of things. It could be Charles's continuing low popularity in the UK (general public not warming up to him even after the coronation), so his status with the general public has not changed that much, even though his social status has recently changed. It could be that he dislikes his sudden change in social status, i.e. he is realising that he had it much better as Prince of Wales than he has as King. It could be some sort of bad news about the earth of the UK, i.e. environmental issues that have to be fixed right now, or something about the earth/land/environment that has gone wrong in some way (this could be some sort of deal concerning the environment, as Pentacles is the suit of money).

Finally, Pages are children, and the Page of Pentacles is an earth sign child (Harry). In reverse this means bad news coming from Harry or about Harry, news that could be a further drain on his finances (Pentacles as money). It could also mean that he wants to try and turn around the negative opinion the people in the UK have of Harry.

The three lasting impressions from this card are: 1) not enjoying his time as King/wanting to be more popular, 2) Something about the earth/environment going wrong, maybe a deal of some sort, and 3) trying to get the general public to be positive about Harry (possibly with the end goal of welcoming Harry back to the UK).

Card Two: The Queen of Pentacles, reversed.

This card has two energies. The first relates to the card's general meaning of 'the good wife'. The good wife in Charles's eyes is his wife Camilla. The card in reverse says that he is worried about Camilla. The reversal can mean that Camilla is no longer being 'the good wife', but I am not getting that energy from the card. Instead I am getting an energy of unhappiness and decline. Camilla is not happy, in fact she is very unhappy. When I pick up this card my stomach clenches and my throat aches like it does when I am unhappy.

Given the suit of the card is Pentacles, then this unhappiness is related to the things associated with this suit. It could be that Camilla does not like her new status and she does not like being Queen. It could be that she thought she would be more popular by now, and her low popularity upsets her. These may both be true, however, when I focus on the card and think of Camilla, I hear one word very clearly in my head: Money. As bizarre as it sounds, there are some sort of money issues that are making Camilla very unhappy. The upright Queen of Pentacles takes care of her family financially, so maybe Camilla wants to funnel more money to her children and grandchildren and she can't do this. Maybe she is unhappy about Charles's 'cash in a bag' money scandals. As I typed that, I heard in my head "more money' but I don't know if that means Camilla wants more more money, or there are more money scandals, or both. Whatever the reason is, Camilla is unhappy and her unhappiness at this point in time is due to issues around money and the lack of money (not assets, but cold hard cash).

The second energy of this card is that of the Princess of Wales, who is a sun sign Capricorn and who is represented by this card (the way I read the cards, Queen of Pentacles = Capricorn and King of Pentacles = Taurus, other readers may reverse these two associations).

Having the card in reverse means that Charles (and Camilla, her energy is also there) want The Princess of Wales to be diminished in some way. This is not because they dislike her; in fact I feel a genuine affection from them towards her. It is because she shines so brightly just by being herself that she makes them feel overshadowed, and neither of them enjoy that. They want to dim her light so that they can shine brighter by contrast. This energy relates to status and popularity. The overall feeling is that as far as Charles and Camilla are concerned, the Monarch and the Queen Consort should be more popular than the Princess of Wales. They like Catherine, but they do see her as a rival to them (more the Queen Consort) in the area of popularity, and the feeling is definitely "she needs to have less so I can have more" instead of, for example, 'How can I boost myself without trying to pull her down".

Card Three: The Two of Swords, reversed.

The Two of Swords is a decision card, one where you have to decide between two less than ideal choices - no path is the 'right' or 'good' path but you have to pick one anyway. In the reverse, this is telling me that a decision has to be made between two bad outcomes, and Charles is not happy about it. This is a different energy to the other two cards, it is less personal and more concerned with state matters.

The energy says that a decision was made and Charles was not happy with the outcome, because he did not get his way. At that time he was not able to insist on doing things his way, so this decision may have been taken back when Her Late Majesty was alive, or Charles may have been forced to bend to the advice of outside parties (his advisors, the government, MI5 etc). Charles feels like the decision was taken out of his hands and made by other people. Now he wants to reverse/undo that decision (the word 'undo' comes across very strongly here), but in doing so there will be what I can only call 'yukky' or 'less than ideal' consequences, and Charles does not want to have these consequences stick to him (he is quite happy to have them stick to someone else, based on his past behaviour). So he is stuck. He is looking for a way to get the result that he wants without facing the consequences' of having that result, and so far he has not found a way to do this.

One of the key words for the Two of Swords reversed that resonates strongly with this card is 'revealing the truth', but I don't know what truth will be revealed and where it comes in the decision process (i.e. was something covered up that should be revealed, or will the act of undoing the decision reveal uncomfortable truths, either advertently or inadvertently).

There is a nagging energy to this card. This decision, and the unresolved matter of how to reverse it without harm to himself, is nagging away at the back of Charles's mind. He wants to undo the decision but he doesn't see how he can without taking some hits himself, which he does not want to do.

Underlying Energy: The King of Swords.

The King of Swords is coming across as strategy, cold, rational thought, and professional expertise. I think that King Charles is coldly and rationally plotting a strategy with the aid of professionals that he thinks will help him achieve his aims with respect to the priorities above. The warning here is that the King of Swords is all about logic and ignores emotions and emotional ties. When you ignore the emotional side of things in strategy, people get hurt, and that has consequences. At the moment, I don't think Charles is thinking of the feelings of others or how his strategy will impact them, as long as he achieves his aims, and I think that focus on only the rational will come back to haunt him - either his plans will fail, or they will succeed and he will be seen as a cold hearted bitch for implementing them. The warning energy from this card is to consider the emotional impact of his actions as well as the rational path to his goals.

Reversals: Three reversed cards in the body of the reading is not a happy reading.

Dominant Suits: Pentacles and Swords - money, status, the land, making decisions, strategy, and trying to change how people think.

Conclusion:

There are several priorities for Charles at this point in time. He is devising strategies to deal with them, and those strategies are based on cold logical thought and the advice of experts.

The priorities that Charles is developing strategies for at this point in time are:

His lack of popularity and/or his unhappiness at being King

Some sort of bad news to do with the UK land/the environment or some sort of deal about this

Getting the general public of the UK to change their opinion on Harry and welcome him back to the UK.

Making Camilla happy, which involves more money somehow (either giving her more money to spend on her family, or covering up more money scandals, or both)

Diminishing Catherine, The Princess of Wales, somehow as a way of making himself and Camilla more popular (despite the fact that both of them are quite fond of Catherine).

How to undo a decision where he was overruled without having the less than ideal consequences of that undoing come back to him.

The warning from the cards about this is that people have feelings, and if you push them about like pawns and forget they have feelings/ignore the emotional damage your actions may cause, then your plans will not work as you expected because people will be upset that their own or others' feeling were not considered, and then those people will turn against you, whereas they may have been allies before you treated them or others like pawns.

In My News

Ok, that is it, as best as I can express everything. I am going to totter back to bed and continue trying to cough up a lung. I'm not back to daily posts just yet. This is a one off because this question has been nagging at me for weeks, and now it is out and I feel all peaceful again.

[telelsie]

GAY SPOCK REAL OR FAKE PLEASE READ

i haven’t been an active tumblr user in about 3 years but SNW and the whole gay spock debate has been occupying enough space in my mind that i felt the need to inflict my opinion onto you all.

as a spirker myself, i’m not at all denying that the het romance arcs SNW is pushing for jim and spock are by no means my favorite. i dearly dearly wish that we would’ve gotten at least SOME queercoding from SNW this season, but i’m also not as disappointed as some of you are with the choices the SNW team has made for spock’s character. i’ve seen quite a few people begging for gay spock (bless u all) and canon spirk from SNW, which is unquestionably the ideal outcome for the series — and given the way both the writers and actors have reacted to and welcomed fan opinions and questions about where the jim/spock dynamic is heading, i don’t think it’s unreasonable at all for us to be optimistic about the show’s direction. if sybok can be in a queer relationship, then we’ve already gone miles past existing TOS canon in terms of queer rep.

admittedly, SNW has issues (ortegas show us ur girlfriend and the lesbian flag hanging in ur quarters!!! we all know it’s there!!), but i struggle to believe that the het romance arcs for jim and spock were written with the intention of convincing fans to ~let go of spirk~ or anything along those lines. in fact, i think the biggest issue that trek fans are having with SNW is wanting it to deliver on all the subtext and queercoding that existed in TOS on an implicit level explicitly and immediately. SNW is a prequel. it’s whole job is to set up and develop the relationships that appear in TOS; and it does an amazing job of this for the most part, especially in giving the female characters like una, christine, and t’pring traits other than crippling gene roddenberry syndrome. what i’m trying to say is that the SNW writers are doing a good job. yes, even (ESPECIALLY) with spock.

i get why people are protective of his character, i am too, but i don’t understand the lack of faith and, honestly, lack of viewing comprehension, that i’m seeing from self proclaimed spock fans. if you were expecting SNW to give us fully formed Nimoy-Spock within the first two seasons, then i’m sorry, but you’re a little bit of an idiot. a lot of you both don’t understand the purpose of the show (in general and in relation to spock’s development) and don’t value the importance of long form storytelling. in fact, in my ideal world, spirk wouldn’t even be together by the end of SNW. part of the value of the k/s dynamic in TOS was spock’s internal struggle with his feelings for jim, a struggle that defines his character, actions, and life throughout TOS and the movies. this is a struggle that isn’t resolved until midway through the movies, and it wouldn’t be doing justice to the canon that created spirk to have their relationship evolve into romance before the events of TOS.

spirk is, and always will be a long form story which derives its value from the fact that it is a Very Very slow burn. for the relationship to retain its value without being watered down by reinterpretation, it needs to have all the turns, pitfalls, and pining that it did in the original canon. although it’s entirely possible that the SNW writers have no plans of canonizing spirk, it’s also entirely possible that their plans are just a little more long term than what most of the community wants right now. i would far prefer a spirk that begins in 3 seasons of steadily evolving homoerotic friendship than one that jumps the gun and results in an unsatisfying and underbaked depiction of a relationship that deserves to be done justice.

TLDR: be patient!!! stop acting like SNW is actively taking spirk out behind the shed and shooting it!! SNW is already the best new trek to come out of the revival — give it a little more time and slack to build momentum and solidify its position within paramount and the fan community and you’ll be happy you waited.

#star trek #star trek snw #strange new worlds #spirk

[angstylittleguy]

Introduction: Bennett Haltiwanger

The first official meeting between Bennett and Rory. Bennett is stuck in a time loop and Rory discovers his abilities and vice versa. She agrees to help him find a way to end the loop.

tw: implied death

character context: Rory is a mind reader that is unable to control her ability. The voices in her head are constant and the emotions of the people around her are often inflicted onto her. Bennett frequently gets stuck in time loops and the only way to get the loop to end is for him to survive the day.

word count: 2.7k

-> In Which Everything Goes Wonderfully Wrong masterpost link: Here

-> character introductions and moodboards: Here

Rory’s alarm went off and she blindly reached for her nightstand to find her phone. The bright screen was a stark contrast to the dark room, and she squinted against the sudden light as she turned off the alarm. It was early. Too early. Why she thought an 8 a.m. class was a good idea, she hadn’t the slightest clue. All she knew was that this late in the semester, she still hadn’t gotten used to it. 

With a groan, she removed her headphones. The loud, heavy music ceasing in her ears and being replaced by the demanding thoughts and dreams of the people who were awake at this ungodly hour and the people who had the luxury to sleep in. 

Her roommate was still asleep, so Rory did her best to be as quiet as possible as she got dressed for class.

It was a humid morning, petrichor thick in the air. The humidity did not help Rory’s hair. 

There were few people out and about this early in the morning. Rory could hear someone worrying about an upcoming assignment, thinking that they were going to fail. Another was on the phone with their father, who they thought was being unreasonable about some sort of family drama. 

The sound of plastic wheels on concrete made Rory turn, seeing a boy on a skateboard racing towards her. He had wild, untamed, blond curly hair and was still dressed in plaid pajama pants. 

His thoughts were rapid and all over the place. Rory couldn’t quite pinpoint what he was thinking.

There’s the purple-haired girl, he thought as he sped past her, barely acknowledging her. Late to class yet again.

Rory furrowed her brows before she checked the time on her phone. 7:48 a.m. She most certainly was not late.

She watched the boy dismount his skateboard and kick it into his hands. He tucked it under his arm and disappeared into the university building.

He was sitting on the stairs when she walked through the glass doors of the building. Rory, not bothering to walk past him, headed for the elevator. She waited for it to arrive at the ground floor, and before the doors were able to close, the boy slid into the elevator next to her. 

She pressed the button for the fourth floor with an exhale through her nose, trying to ignore the stare she was getting from the blond. 

“Hey, Aurora, right?” The boy said to her, as he pressed the button of the elevator for the second floor and then the one to close it. “Haven’t seen you in a bit.”

She raised a brow, lifting a side of the headphones from one of her ears so she could hear him more clearly. “It’s Rory,” she corrected him, “and we’ve never met.”

A wave of disappointment rushed over her, the emotions from this boy strong enough that she could feel them in her chest. “Oh yeah, you’re right,” he responded, running a sheepish hand up the back of his neck. “I’m Bennett, then.”

She continued to stare at him, more confused than anything. She took her headphones off completely, draping them around her neck. “How do you know who I am?”

Because we’ve met before, he thought. “It’s, uh, it’s a long story.”

Rory hummed. The elevator dinged to signal they were at the next floor. The doors slid open, but neither of them got off. Bennett held his hand over the door to keep them from shutting. 

“What are you doing?” Rory asked him, a little impatiently. 

“Listen, the elevator’s going to get stuck between the third and fourth floor. It’s going to take almost two hours to get you out, and you’re already cutting it close timewise for your eight o’clock class.”

“Yeah right,” Rory almost laughed. “There’s no way you could know that.”

No one ever believes me when it really counts. Bennett rolled his eyes.  “Fine,” he said. “You’re the one running late, not me.”

He allowed the door to close, and the elevator began to rise. 

Rory felt static building on the back of her neck, an unfamiliar sensation that she had never experienced before. It was like TV static, crawling up and down her spine and filling her head with a haze. 

The elevator creaked, then lurched to a stop. Rory swayed on her feet as the lights blinked out. She pressed the open doors button frantically as Bennett stood unphased. 

“No way this is happening,” Rory muttered, now pounding on the buttons to try and get the doors to open. 

She tried to pry open the doors with her hands, but to no avail. 

“I told you this would happen,” Bennett said.

“If you knew then why didn’t you get off?”

He shrugged, his hands in his pajama pants pockets. “So that you wouldn’t be stuck in here alone.”

“Oh, how noble of you. Tell me how you knew this was going to happen.”

It happens every day without fail.

“Gut-feeling,” he responded.

Rory banged her fist against the doors, demanding they be opened. Bennett put his hands up at her outburst. “Woah, hey. Calm down. That’s not going to help anyone.”

“It’ll help me,” she shot back. “I can’t just sit in here and wait around with you.”

“Tough luck, because that’s exactly what we’re going to be doing for the next two hours and forty-eight seconds. You should have gotten out of the elevator when I warned you.”

She whirled around to look at him, putting an accusing finger in his face. “Did you do this? Was this some kind of elaborate scheme to—what? —get me alone with you? Are you some kind of stalker? Is that why you know who I am?”

Bennett looked shocked, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She was not this angry the first time it happened. “I am not a stalker,” he said to her, “and no, I did not do this. It was some freak malfunction. Maintenance didn’t do their monthly check like they should have.”

Rory frowned. The first time it happened? What did Bennett mean by that?

“How do you know all of this?” She asked.

Because it happens every day. Every day for the past… Bennett looked down at his forearm. It was covered in tally marks …Twenty-nine days. 

“I just know,” he responded, exasperated. He sounded totally defeated.

Rory looked down, his despair creeping across her skin. Feelings of loneliness and fear and uncertainty crashing into her like waves. He was miserable, a stark contrast to the confident act he had been putting on. She wrapped her own arms around herself to offer some form of comfort.

“Your socks are inside out,” Rory found herself saying after a long moment of silence. 

Bennett followed her gaze to his feet. “Yeah,” he chuckled. “I find that things seem less bad when I put them on inside out.”

She let out an airy ha. “That’s very… odd.”

To be honest, everything about this was odd. Bennett knowing her name, her getting trapped in the elevator with him, him knowing it was going to happen.

Was he…? Could he be a mind reader, too?

It was possible, she guessed. If she had woken up one day with the ability to hear people’s thoughts, then what were the odds that she was the only one?

Rory stared into his brown eyes, seeing the freckles that dotted his face and a faint scar on his left eyebrow. The static feeling on the back of her neck began to build the longer they looked at each other, and a wave of apprehension spread through her chest. 

Why is she looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face? Does my breath stink?

Bennett awkwardly coughed, trying to break the intense gaze she had fixed on him.

Well, Rory concluded that he wasn’t a mind reader. 

She glanced at the time on her phone. 8:12 a.m.

“I’m not going to be able to take my psych exam,” Rory groaned. She buried her head in her hands.

“You can always take it tomorrow,” Bennett responded. 

The relief he felt at a topic change sunk into Rory’s mind.

“No, I can’t. My professor doesn’t do make-up days.”

You’ll be able to take it tomorrow, Bennet thought. Well, tomorrow for me. Today again for you.

Rory furrowed her brows. “What are you going on about?”

Now it was Bennett’s turn to look confused. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You keep saying that it happens every day. What does that mean?”

I didn’t say that out loud, did I? How did she—?

“Bennett,” Rory called his name to get him back on track. He stared at her uncertainly. “What is really going on?”

He sighed, sliding his back down the wall of the elevator so he was sitting. He rested his arms on his knees. “It’s not like you’re going to remember this anyway,” he muttered before raising his voice. “I’m stuck in a time loop.” 

The static that had been building on the nape of Rory’s neck dissipated.

Bennett’s eyes met hers. “It’ll be one month tomorrow. That’s how I knew your name, how I knew the elevator was going to break, and how I know you won’t remember any of this tomorrow. The day will reset and so will your memories.”

“I…” Rory didn’t feel any inkling of a lie in his words. “I believe you.”

How could she not? If reading minds was something that’s possible, then why not time loops?

“Really?” Bennett seemed surprised. “That’s all it took to convince you of something that should be impossible?”

“I’m just as surprised as you are. But I’m more familiar with the impossible than you’d think.” Rory sat down against the opposite wall so they were facing each other. 

He gave a forced laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re also stuck in a time loop.”

“Ah, no. Not quite.”

“Shame,” Bennett shrugged. “We could have helped each other get out of this mess.”

He was miserable, Rory realized. One month of repeating the same day over and over again had to have a toll on his mental health. 

“Maybe I can still help,” she offered, hoping some of her optimism was infectious.

“Not today,” he said sadly. “Maybe tomorrow’s today, though.”

“Why not?”

The time is going to reset soon. I won’t even make it out of the elevator.

Rory checked the time again. Bennett said it would take about two hours for them to be rescued. That should put them at close to ten o’clock. Why would the time restart so early in the morning? In all of the movies Rory had seen about time loops, the time restarted at midnight. What was so significant about ten in the morning?

“Doesn’t matter,” Bennett answered. 

The static on Rory’s neck returned.

“What’s going to happen at ten o’clock?” she asked him.

“The time restarts.” Bennett made a counterclockwise motion with his finger. 

“And what triggers that reset?”

Despair hit Rory’s chest, cold and thick. Bennett looked away from her.

“Why won’t you make it out of the elevator?” she pressed.

This grabbed his attention, and their eyes met. Confusion and realization hit them both. Rory didn’t need to hear his answer, the dread and anguish he harbored was answer enough.

“You… you die?”

Bennett’s lips parted, his eyes going wide. “How do you—?”

“I can read minds,” Rory blurted. “Not on command and not at my own will, but I can read them.”

“Oh.”

“There’s like this static on my neck.” Rory wiggled her fingers like they were spider legs. “Something I’ve never felt before. It only started when I was around you.”

Could she be sensing that we’re the same? Bennett thought. Something about me reads different because of my powers?

“This time loop isn’t a one-time thing?” Rory asked him based on what he was thinking. “You’ve been in more than one?”

Bennett nodded sadly. “They started almost a year ago. The first one lasted a few weeks before it finally ended.”

Rory glimpsed a fleeting memory from Bennett. Shattered glass, a seatbelt tight against his chest, headlights in the dark.

“I can never tell when the next one will be.” Bennett continued, “They’ll be random. A few days, few weeks, or a few months between each one.”

Rory swallowed and tried to shake off the emotions she was picking up from him. They stuck to her skin like persistent glitter. Impossible to wipe away while stuck in such a small space next to him.

“And how did you get those loops to end?” she asked. “There must have been something that caused time to continue.”

Bennett pulled his knees closer to his chest. “I, uh, have to survive the day.”

Passing moments that Rory didn’t understand invaded her mind. Memories from the month he spent reliving today over and over, all the small, significant moments that stuck with him, the people he’s spoken to, the deaths that piled up one after the other.

“You’re not going to survive the elevator ride,” Rory said, more to herself than to him. “And you got in anyway.”

“If not me, then it was going to be someone else.”

Rory didn’t like the tinge of sadness in his voice. “Do I…” her voice trailed off, not quite sure how to ask her question. “Do I get in the elevator every time?” 

Bennett nodded. “I think so. If I don’t interfere, at least. I’ve only spoken to you a couple of times before now.”

It was weird to think that Bennett had interacted with Rory before. An interaction that she could not remember because to her it never happened. “Don’t worry,” he smiled, as if he knew what she was thinking. “You didn’t do anything embarrassing.”

Rory checked the time again before asking her next question. “If you don’t get in the elevator, what causes the loop to start over?”

Bennett’s eyes darkened and he swallowed. He mulled over the answer before finally muttering, “guilt.”

This was what made everything click into place for Rory. Someone was going to die in this elevator. Whether it be Bennett, herself, or some random student. Bennett saw himself as the only one able to save this life, and he wouldn’t allow time to restart until that life was saved.

Rory sighed. Any information that she was able to learn would be worthless because time would reset and she would forget it entirely. She couldn’t help Bennett. Not today. 

“When time resets,” Rory said carefully, “I won’t remember any of this.”

“Yeah, that’s usually how it works.”

“You have to convince me to help you. Tell me about your ability and tell me you know about mine. Anything to get me to understand what’s going on.”

Bennett’s hope pricked at Rory’s spine. “You really mean it?” he asked. “You’re gonna help me get out of this?”

“If you can convince me tomorrow, I’m going to try.”

The pair chatted for the remainder of the short time they had together. Bennett spent most of it cracking terrible jokes and anxiously checking the time. At 9:53 a.m, Rory looked up at the ceiling of the elevator. “Maintenance is here.”

Bennett released a shaky breath. “Let’s get this over with.”

As maintenance pried the door open, Rory looked up at Bennett’s nervous features. “What if you got out of the elevator first? Then maybe—”

“No,” he cut her off. “If not me, then you.”

The door opened and the maintenance guy looked relieved to see everyone unharmed. He held out a hand to Rory.

“I'll see you tomorrow?”

Bennett looked sad, but there was hope brimming behind his eyes.

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

Rory climbed out of the elevator and looked back to Bennett, holding out a hand to him. Maybe if they were quick—

The elevator made a horrible noise, and Rory didn’t think she could ever forget the look on Bennett’s face as it plummeted. 

Part 2

#wip: in which everything goes wonderfully wrong #aurora estrada #Bennett haltiwanger #superpower whump #writeblr #abilities #angst #mindreader #size shifter #mind reading #time loop #g/t #angst writing #light angst #tropes #whump scenario #whump writing #whump tropes

[greatwyrmgold]

The more I think about it, the less I like the shard-inflicted conflict drive in parahumans lore. First off, though perhaps least imortantly, it's another reason people use to discount the importance of characters' personality traits and agency. In a fandom where Aura Theory was as popular as it was, we really don't need another reason for people to do that.

But I also feel like it undermines the way Wildbow was trying to deconstruct superheroes.

Alright, what am I talking about? There are a few ways you can look at how Wildbow handles classic superhero tropes, even beyond the deconstruction/reconstruction dichotomy. For starters: One thing that strongly influenced Worm's worldbuilding was a desire to explain as many quirks of classic superhero settings as possible.

For instance, why does supertechnology so rarely trickle down from superheroes/villains to affect normal people? Wildbow posits that, however slick this supertechnology might look, on the inside it's a bodged-together mess that only keeps functioning if the tinker keeps actively bodging patches together, which nobody without a superhuman understanding of that technology can practically accomplish.

The conflict drive was probably designed to address one of the obvious questions raised by superhero worlds: Why does (almost) everyone with superpowers use them to either commit or fight crimes? Why don't more people just use them for normal work, or new kinds of "super-work," or just to mess around without any responsibilities? Because an alien in their head told them to.

But I don't think this is necessary. Wildbow provides plenty of capes with motivations for fighting/doing crime that aren't narrowly applicable to that character's situation. Look at the Undersiders: Brian needs the money, Lisa was coerced, Taylor's going through a self-destructive spiral of trying to make a difference the only way she can, Rachel's psyche was so ruined by her trigger event that she couldn't pass a job interview if she tried, and Alec...well, okay, superpowered abusive dads are pretty specific.

Beyond that, he does a passable job (especially in Ward) of establishing systemic motivations for going into crime-fighting. (I mean, beyond systematic failures that encourage large numbers of individual motivations.) The most dramatic, I'd argue, is the implicit duty parahumans have to do something about S-class threats. Parahumans who fail to live up to that expectation, who settle for being rogues with normal jobs, are looked down upon. That's a pretty neat setting detail!

But it's weakened with the conflict drive being the apparently biggest reason so many capes get into conflict. And it doesn't just weaken those other explanations for the same idea, it weakens other aspects of Worm's deconstruction.

I'm going to steal a conclusion from Blastweave:

Worm says, needing superheroes would be terrible.

And I feel like that's very true. Earth Bet is a world that undeniably needs superheroes, needs larger-than-life people with the power to stop threats on an inhuman scale. Wildbow then frames that world in a way that makes it clear what the effects of that would be—both the direct effects of living in a world where Endbringers trash a city every three months, and the consequences of institutions constructed to address those threats.

Needing superheroes would be terrible. But what if we dropped the conflict drive?

The conflict drive is an external factor, stapled onto the superhero formula to make it work better. Its presence implies that it is necessary, that things wouldn't be this bad without such an alien space bat.

The conflict drive weakens anything you could say about superheroes by giving you an out to those conclusions. Oh, there's nothing inherent to the premise of superhumans regularly coming to blows that makes the setting more perilous for the average man, worsens standards of living, or encourages the growth of callous institutions; it's probably just the conflict-creating alien worm in every superhero's head.

The conflict drive doesn't add nothing to Worm, but I don't think it's a net good for the narrative. Imagine another version of Worm which emphasizes human reasons people turn to capedom while dropping the shardsy ones; what is lost?

...

Also, it gives the anti-parahuman bigotry subplot in Ward an unfortunate wrinkle, but "the bigots are actually right about one of the Bad Things they say" is far from the worst problem with that subplot.

#parahumans #wildbow #worldbuilding #meta #worm meta

[mintacle]

I’d also like to add, Jason being a survivor for survivors in general.

Obviously everything you and others have posted on this matter is valid but I wanted to add that you don’t have to have a history of abuse to feel worthy of living.

To me (someone who fortunately hasn’t struggled with abuse in my life) I find Jason inspirational because if we look at Jason and strip him of everything that makes him him. He will always fundamentally be a survivor. A survivor of yes abuse, but also a survivor of being a child born from low income background/ poverty. A survivor of familial issues. He is a survivor of everything that’s happened in his life and that’s what I think is so real.

I am in no way trying to invalidate those who have suffered from forms of abuse. I just wanted to add that whether you have survived a traumatic experience or simply difficult circumstances, you continue to survive and endure just like Jason has.

That to me is what makes Jason so special and relatable. Idk even without a traumatic childhood/history of abuse I still tend to feel lost in this world. I am a part of a low income family, and I have experienced trauma in my life, but I feel like it can’t compare to the hardships so many others face. I try to tell myself that despite everything I am a survivor. I don’t know of what specifically but I am surviving despite my mental health.

It’s just nice to know that this character exists and continues to exist despite his challenges. Just. Like. Me. And that other people who grew up feeling alone or thinking they were worthless (despite having a “normal” childhood) can also exist and survive like him.

I tell myself that Jason’s form of justice by eradicating the worst criminals and protecting the vulnerable is beautiful. That his revenge against the worst of Gothams criminals is empowering and right. But my circumstances are different. I’m angry and there’s no one to take my revenge on. So, I tell myself to survive because isn’t living just taking revenge on the possibility of death?

Anyway, I am a survivor like Jason and I’m proud to say it.

This is gonna be a loaded topic and I know some people feel strongly about it, and I'm not 100% sure on the tone of your message anon, but I'm gonna go ahead and assume it's in good faith. The first thing I have to say is that there are very few situations in which comparing misfortunes and difficulties is warranted. They do exist (such as abusers claiming their misfortune is more relevant than the pain they are inflicting onto others) but anon, when you say you feel proud for overcoming odds and for surviving and that you feel like identifying with Jason, there is absolutely no need to justify yourself. If you see yourself in a character, then that is yours to feel and identify with.

Jason Todd also came from poverty. His rejection by most vigilantes and alienation is easy to identify with for many different reasons, including living with mental health problems. Finally you mentioned that you have had hardships but don't feel you can compare it to other's hardships... and I don't know about you or your life, but either way, you don't have to compare it. For what? For who? Comparing and ranking severity of trauma serves no purpose but to silence people. Whatever it is you've experienced, you don't have to justify yourself in front of anyone to take it seriously.

On a personal note, I can, and I have, been stuck in denying my own pain because "other people have had it worse". My advice is, just don't go there with your thoughts. Even if you're just feeling sad cuz you dropped your fries and can't eat them anymore. If you're sad, you're sad. You're allowed to have your feelings.

I am honestly a bit confused about your repeated mentioning that you don't have it bad (because no one has claimed that Jason is only for those to enjoy who "qualify" with "severe enough" trauma, so the message reads kinda defensive to me?). I don't know you or your situation. And I'm really struggling to read the tone of the message O.O But uh, hm, Jason Todd is for everyone. I don't think anyone is gate-keeping him, but he is singular in how he attracts people who face discrimination or have experienced trauma.

#ask answered #very confused about the intent of this message mmm anon if you feel like dropping in again to let me know how you meant this #that would be appreciated #I'm a bit weary of posting this reply but I also have no impulse control so

[alphagirl404]

Hylia to me is, and will always be a tragic figure.

Put yourselves in Hylia’s place...

You’re the most powerful being in the known world. Very few to match your power. Fewer are above. Your makers have tasked you to protect the world they created, along with a powerful relic to keep the world stable. You fall in love with the world you've sworn to protect during that time. Peace lasts for years, perhaps centuries.

Until one day, this peace shatters when a Demonic Horde appears from the ground, led by a Demon King whose power seems to equal yours. They destroy everything in their path, including senselessly murdering every living being in your world. One race is decimated so severely they’re on the brink of extinction. The Demons do all this to steal the powerful relic you must protect. You put that group of people in the safety of the sky, along with that relic beyond the Demon Tribe’s reach. But you know that would not be enough to stop them.

You then gather the remaining races to fight back against Demon Tribe. Soon it comes down between you and the Demon King himself. The battle is long and bloody, but you manage to seal him away, but not before he wounds you. You discover that the seal you put on him won’t hold him forever, and he’ll break free and destroy the world one day. To make matters worse, the wound he inflicted is killing you, meaning you won’t be around to stop him.

With limited time you have left, you think of a plan to help stop him once and for all. You look through many possibilities. Ultimately, there was only one option: A teenage boy with an unbreakable spirit that could rival nobody’s. Strong enough to defeat The Demon King. The only way to set him on this path is for you to reincarnate as his lifelong best friend in the form of a teenage girl so you could place herself in peril so that he could follow.

Putting two innocent children through traumatizing events hurts you more than the pain of your wound that’s deteriorating your body. The mere thought of it makes you tear up.

“What kind of powerful, loving goddess am I to manipulate children to fight my battles?” You ask yourself over and over

Unfortunately it's either go through that plan or you do nothing, and those two teenagers and everyone else in the world suffers & die at the hands of the Demon King. 

You put together your plan but not without a heavy heart. During that time and until you succumbed to your wounds you know by putting your burden onto those teenagers they will never be the same people they were before. The mission will have negative effects on them more likely for the rest of their lives. They could forever hate & curse you for it. 

But if that means keeping them and their world safe for future generations, then that's a price you’re willing to pay because that is your duty. Because you love this world and the people residing in it that much. You’ll sacrifice yourself to protect it. You think that as you take your final breath.

Unknown to you that when the Demon King is finally vanquished, he had one more trick up his sleeve you could not have foreseen...

#legend of zelda #skyward sword #sksw #hylia #zelda #sksw zelda #look i absolutely refuse to see hylia as a villian #i see her as much as victim to demise's doing just as much as link & zelda are #hylia was put in a difficult position and shes fully aware of the consequences of her actions #hence why as zelda she apologizes to link #meaning she more than likely NEVER WANTED to put them both through this plan #but she had no choice #and another reminder that hylia is technically dead so she has no control to whatever happens after sksw

[gorouverse]

Homesick; the ugly-ness.

Dear Diary,  Yes, I’m calling this a diary. I don’t tend to get embarrassed often, and a measly word will never be as mortifying as the feelings I’m about to pour out onto this page.  I, Kaedehara Kazuha, solemnly swear to never fall for someone without absolute guarantee that they’ll fall for me as well, because it cuts my heart way too deeply for me to heal again.  As I’ve written before, I don’t get lonely. While Beidou and the rest who board the Crux are great company, I am able to sleep wherever and not crave the sense of others around me, but I’ve always been alone. I’m sure you know this. The entirety of the Kaedehara clan was slaughtered but me. And if you’ll ask, I used to crave revenge, and I used to feel survivor’s guilt, but now I’ve finally realized none of those feelings are worth holding on to, just like loneliness.  People come and go, and yes it’s true none of my other relatives will come back, but their souls will, and their presence will.  They wouldn’t want me to get revenge, nor do I want it anymore. I’ve forgiven what’s happened to me, and healed those deep wounds inflicted on me.  So, when I first felt loneliness you could probably think of the amount of shock that was mixed with it.  Me and Beidou were visiting Liyue since that is where she is from, and she wanted to show me around. The colors there are beautiful. The atmosphere is so noticeable, and I could feel the wind graze my skin with such strength, unmoving strength. It’s a beautiful city and land I wish to visit and wander again, but I’m afraid it reminds me of my loneliness that I feel now.  When me and Beidou first arrived, we strolled through the city of Liyue, and wandered the land after it, and eventually spent the night at the Wangshu Inn. They have great service, I wish to spend more time there, but only after I’ve healed from these cuts I have now, because, I saw you. My beautiful love. Well, I guess I shouldn’t say “my” anymore. Or perhaps I’m assuming? Overthinking possibly, I tend to do that, but you were with the famous Conqueror of Demons. Beidou told me about him, he sounds great, I hope he protects you. You seem happy with him, at home and that made me very happy to see. It really did, because I know what it’s like to be homesick. And possibly, the times you were with me, you got homesick. You never told me you loved me, or made it exclusive or anything, so I can’t be mad, or wish you respected my feelings because you simply didn’t know. I am good at hiding them. But, for the times we spent together I guess I didn’t realize that you are my home, and every time you left I got sick without you. And for the first time, in forever, I got lonely knowing that my home, was never mine to begin with. I was shocked, because of my own guilt, my own stupidity stopped me from telling you just how much my heart engraved your name directly in the middle of the “people I love” section.  But, that section only consists of you, because those that I love have died, and now they are souls I love and no longer people. Is that cold hearted? Rude to say? Perhaps I’m letting my emotions get the best of me. I promised I wouldn’t let that happen, but I guess I can’t keep my calmness intact every day as I go through things I’m terrified of. I was terrified of losing you like everyone else, but there was never anything to lose.  This is one of the few times you’ll catch me never thinking about anything. But here between these pages, is the only place I will pour my heart out about this. Everywhere else, I’ll think about you and him and smile, because you deserve to be given a warm home, just like the one you gave me.  So, to his beautiful love,  I wish that you never feel homesick again. 

#kaedehara x reader #kazuha x reader #xiao x reader #kazuha x you #xiao x you #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #beidou #genshin x reader #oneshot #angst #genshin angst #hurt no comfort #short read #video games #kaedehara kazuha #kazuha #superache #conan grey #is #rotting #my #brain #love #ily #sad

[alvamuirinnemorningstar]

Hello to anyone that reads this and relates. I decided to make this blog about my experiences figuring out I have autism. This is my personal experience and understanding of ASD and how I got to where I am through trauma that was inflicted and the masking I was forced to learn to make me “normal”. I am in no way a medical professional and cannot diagnose anyone. I simply want to share my experience in the hopes that it helps someone out there realize they aren't alone and they are valid. So allow me to tell you my backstory.

My journey started when I was younger. I was always weird to everyone around me. I was picked on a lot when I was younger for my imagination and carefree nature. I had a hard time fitting in with the regular crowd as well so friends were hard to find for me because I wasn't into what most girls liked. I preferred playing pretend with action figures and role-playing. So I usually had male friends.

My family is a bit dysfunctional so I was sheltered and not allowed to have a normal childhood. My mother was very cold to me emotionally. I would have outbursts and tantrums when she left anywhere without me. There were a lot of days while in school she couldn't even be bothered to give me lunch money or make my lunch so I went hungry at school until I came home. Even then I learned to make my meals and not rely on her. If I acted a way she didn't like or had a fit she would punish me or threaten me with the good old “do you want me to give you something to cry about?” which made things worse.

As I got older I learned how not to be and how to repress who I am inside. I also made up excuses for her abuse of me. I use to think that it was because she blamed me for ruining her life by having me at a young age. I know now that she deserves no excuse. Abuse is abuse. So I have her to thank for my heavy masking. Once I got to high school I learned how to mimic others' social behavior accents and all so I had a few friends by that time. Some social cues were still a bit hard for me to pick up so I lost many friends along the way. That didn't bother me though. I rather preferred to be alone because people just seemed to exhaust me.

Eventually, I became content to be alone and just let people come and go from my life and accepted it as a normal part of the whole experience. Jobs came and went due to my managers or superiors not feeling as though I was productive enough and needed to be told exactly what they expected me to do each day. I was always considered resourceful and a jack of all trades because I could envision how something worked or how it would turn out. Everything was a bit of a movie playing in my head when I needed to navigate the best course of action. I always thought everyone did this.

After meeting my now spouse and having some very hard conversations and some warzone-sized issues with communication we began some individual therapy. I was then diagnosed with ADHD and my spouse started getting coping techniques on how to communicate with me. After a lot of advice that was ineffective from a therapist and a fair share of blow-ups, her therapist eventually suggested I had autism and not ADHD, or at least not just ADHD. Before this I had already been watching people with my diagnosis vlog about it and soon figured out I related to them. The occasional ASD video would come up in my fyp and I hardcore related to them and attempted to point out similarities and now it could be causing my issue with communication. Of course with the stigma around autism, no one wanted to see it as a possibility.

After the therapist suggested I had autism they started to give my spouse coping methods on how to help me communicate what I'm feeling or how to say something I might take wrongly. With the trauma that I was holding onto and the lack of emotional intelligence, I would constantly think I'd angered someone or did something wrong. I had a very hard time when I thought I did something wrong or that someone was angry with me. I almost made the situation worse every time. I also struggled with explaining my feelings inside because they felt gigantic and chaotic and I couldn't pinpoint what emotion it was. Everything was just so difficult for me and I didn't understand why.

After jumping through therapists and reading self-help articles everything started to come together. I took the certified ASD tests and came away with an idea of what was going on with me and why nothing worked. The test concluded I was on the spectrum and I was very high masking. I had my answers finally. I started to peel that mask off and learned to be comfortable with who I am. We started implementing coping and communication techniques you would use with a child that was autistic and it worked. Why didn't I know this sooner?

I eventually tried to ask my mother about my childhood and what kind of child I was. She is of course road me off and told me the therapist was uneducated and that I wasn't an r-word. This upset me. She completely invalidated me when I finally feel like I can be myself on the outside and not keep it locked in. I didn't let her get me down or change my mind. This made sense to me so who was she to do that to me? She isn't a doctor how would she know better? I continued with coping and unmasking. Knowing I could unmask when I feel safe was hard. It's still a task and it's still exhausting but I'm doing it. I'm finally starting to feel free and I am much happier in my skin so far. I don't know why anyone would ever try to force someone to be normal when we're beautiful just as we are.

#actually autistic #autism #autism spectrum #girls with autism #women with autism #asd

[wind-becomes-lightning]

We Looked like Giants (11)

Uh. oh! Hi! I am, still here! I guess this has a two week delay, sorry for that! I have had a little falling out of love with the Naruto fandom and could not motivate myself to write, but I worked hard to get this out today (so this was not beta'ed, im sorry for possible typos). The next chapter is fully written i just need to go over it again, so next week should also not get a delay. Beyond that.. who knows?

Sayuri looks like this.

Hatake Kakashi x OC

Rated E

9086 words.

On the cusp of an all out war between the big villages and the Akatsuki Uchiha Sayuri suddenly returns to her hometown of Konoha after over ten years of absence. Her return throws Kakashis life out of order. Or- If Hatake Kakashi had a ryo for everytime a childhood friend he thought was dead came back to life he would have two ryo, which isn’t much, but it is weird that it happened twice.

11. What the heart wants.

Not that fighting Kakashi and losing wasn’t already embarrassing enough, his comment that the wound he had inflicted on her would yield a scar had been correct. Mei applied creme carefully over where it was healing, but it was clear that the mark would remain forever, with all the ache that deep knife scars brought onto someone, always just sitting there reminding Sayuri of her first job failure. “You know, he could have done much worse things to you if he wanted to, at least from what I hear,” Mei said softly, but Sayuri just huffed in reply. Certainly, the Copy-Nin could have easily killed her if he had felt like it, but apparently he’d been in a forgiving mood, which just pissed Sayuri off even more when she thought too much about it.  Mei let the creme sink and put her head to the side: “Look, I will only mention it once more…” “Yes,yes,” Sayuri waved with her hand. As sweet as Mei was when she was speaking softly, almost pleading with her, Sayuri was tired of the same old conversation every time. “I won’t stop doing this,” she said with determination. “It might be dangerous, but it's good money.” It was always the same explanation. Mei wanted Sayuri to stop her assassin work for fear one of her S-class bingo book criminals would one day kill her, but Sayuri felt strong when she got jobs done and until recently, she had also had a flawless record, which netted her her own entry in the bingo book.

//

Her feet were already burning violently, but she kept running forward. It had been hours since Sayuri had taken a look behind her, hours since she’d stopped for a rest and taken a breath and never for more than a few seconds until she was heading out again. She would eventually collapse from exhaustion, she was aware of that, but the inner force in her that pushed her forward was not satisfied until Konoha and with it Kakashi was nothing but a distant memory. Logically, she was aware of the fact that running away like this would never help her reach the decision she was hoping for. Nothing could turn back the time to before she had spoken to Madara, before she had heard the truth of the matter about the Uchiha massacre from him and with that had shaken her world, nothing could take back Kakashi’s blank stare when she had made the request for help to him and his refusal to comply for one reason or another. Sayuri couldn’t even pinpoint why that bothered her so much. She had rarely relied on others and only on herself, plus, Madara had warned her that Konoha would not be willing to cooperate. Still. It was odd that the fate of the Uchiha suddenly mattered so much to her, when for the biggest time in her life she had wanted that thorn in her side gone. When she heard about the massacre from some ANBU members in Kirigakure, she hadn’t even batted an eye. Yes, walking through the ruins of the old district had been heart wrenching, but she hadn’t shed a single tear either. None of the people mattered in general to her. So why was it now that she suddenly felt strongly about their retribution? Maybe it was because they hadn’t been honest about what was going on, that they had made an Uchiha take the fall for the other Uchiha they had wanted to take out. The reason was obvious of course, had the Konoha ANBU just taken out a few of the Uchiha higher ups then the children would have sought revenge, so they could not have been left alive. It’s not like Sayuri didn’t understand the practice of cutting something rotten off at the root, but it didn’t make it any less cruel.

[Read more on Ao3]

#fanfiction things #oc: sayuri #hatake kakashi #hatake kakashi x oc #wllg #whateverr

[luthientinu]

“We need to stop meeting like this.”- Scarlet Strange One Shot 10- Stephen Strange x Wanda Maximoff

Written for day 2 of the ScarletStrange shipping week!

Prompt: “We need to stop meeting like this.”

A/N- Here's my submission for Day 2 of the Scarletstrange week. I know I am late. Anyways Enjoy!

Wanda felt numb. Here she was trapped under the rubble of Mount Wundagore unable to die due to her magic powering her on. The gravity of her actions, the sins she had committed hit her like a wrecking ball. The people killed during the mission in Lagos, people she was supposed to save. Unleashing a hex at Westview, callously mind controlling the inhabitants for her own selfishness. Murdering the innocents at Kamar Taj without batting an eye. Almost killing an innocent child. Killing and creating havoc in another universe.

"I would never hurt anyone. I am not a monster’….the realisation she felt when she had become the very same thing she denied she was. The hurt she had inflicted on this little family of three…

 Oh Wanda, What have you done…. she could finally hear her conscience now that the influence of the Darkhold has disappeared leaving her broken and guilt ridden.

  She cried. She cried for her parents, Pietro, Vision, Natasha, Tony, her children and for all the lives she’d taken needlessly

Guilt was weighing heavily on Stephen’s shoulders. Wanda’s expression just before she destroyed Mount Wundagore haunted him. Behind the Scarlet Witch persona, Stephen saw a broken woman who had lost everything that she held dear. It reminded him how he was after the accident that cost his hands. 

  He really could have approached her after the battle with Thanos and asked her to join him at Kamar-Taj. She could have had a place to heal and train if she wished for it. Heck, he could have approached her after the incident at Westview. Thinking about the possibilities seemed irrelevant now. 

  Stephen held onto the inkling she had survived the ordeal and he hoped with all his heart it was not too late.

Wanda had uprooted and torn the Darkhold Castle down to the very foundation. Even with the magic aiding him, the task of shifting the rubble was extremely tedious. The sight in front of him broke his heart. 

  “Oh Wanda, we need to stop meeting like this…”

  All hell seemed to break loose when they meet or at the very least see each other. He had seen her bring Thanos down single handedly before he had given the order to fire. When they finally met, it was not in any way peaceful save for the first few minutes.

  She was unconscious and looked extremely worn down. Dried tear tracks painted her face. Her face was hollow and gaunt and looked very much dead except for the faint pulse. Stephen gently lifted her from the rubble and stepped through the portal into the Sanctum.

Wanda’s eyes flew open and she immediately winced at the sunlight pouring in through a nearby window. Window? She was supposed to be buried under the rubble. Debris is not supposed to feel soft right? She breathed in and out, trying to regain her bearings. She felt extremely sore and painful. She slowly opened her eyes and tried to sit up on the bed…she noticed she had an IV attached to her arm, the fluid steadily dripping down…

  “Hello Wanda.”

  Wanda almost gave herself a whiplash when she turned around towards Stephen’s voice. She opened her mouth…

  “Here, drink some water. Take very slow sips.” Stephen handed her a glass.

  She took the water gratefully, mindful enough to take small sips. The water felt heavenly on her parched throat. 

  Here she was with the man who she had tried to kill a few days or months ago (she lost her sense of time). The guilt hit her and she felt the tears fall uncontrollably.

  “Why am I here Stephen? After everything I’ve done? After all the people I’ve killed…” she whispered hoarsely. “....I am a monster…”

  Stephen sat on a nearby chair and took her hand. Wanda began talking. She poured her heart out and Stephen just listened. His heart ached for this woman who had to go through so much during her short life. Fate had dealt a very unfair deck to Wanda Maximoff. He sincerely hoped from this moment onwards she would have a chance to heal from all her trauma and pain. 

  Once she had told him everything, Stephen began. “You can still have a second chance Wanda…the road may not be easy but I would like to help you with every step if you’d like.”

  “Yes...yes please!” she nodded. Wanda had enough of the pain. She wanted to heal and she would gladly take any help.

  “Take some rest first.”

  Wanda settled back on the pillow. For once she felt a sliver of hope and she was not going to let it go any time sooner…for once she felt she was not waking up to a nightmare.

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A/N- I am sorry if this is a bit wonky...I wrote this in the middle of a terrible migraine (still having it) so please forgive me if there are any mistakes. I started with a totally different idea and ended it in a totally different way....yikes I am rambling. Hope I did okay though. Would really love to know what you all think. This posted on Ao3 and on Fanfiction.net too

#mcu #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #stephen strange #wanda maximoff #doctor strange #scarlet witch #scarletstrange #scarletstrangeweek #scarletstrangeshippingweek #stephen x wanda #wanda x stephen #luthientinuwrites

[thecrushheb]

Just finished Pathfinder Wrath of the Righteous and I need to get some thoughts down about it. I mean, 130 hours is so much to dedicate to something, of course I have thoughts. *SPOILERS*

A few things to premise my thoughts:

1. I played a Chaotic Good, Half-Orc, Barbarian (Invulnerable Rager) w/ 9 levels of Dragon Disciple. Full tanky strength build (could get to like 48 str when fully buffed. Probably could have gone higher had I understood mechanics a bit better, more on that later).

2. I played the Azata mythic path

3. I romanced Wenduag

4. Had to put the crusade on auto because it was unbearable

*Mechanics*

Okay so I’ll start by talking about the mechanics. I really enjoyed building my character, and even spent a bunch of time in the respec screen without saving just seeing what I could make of my guy and my companions (Wenduag Rough Rowdy double throwing axes is ludicrous), it was fun. My issue was that I felt like if I didn’t min max as hard as I possibly could I would be completely left out to die against some of the games many wild difficulty spikes. I started by just dropping the difficulty a bit, but then realized I really had to just look at some build guides for certain characters because we were still getting wrecked. It helped a lot (again, Wenduag could get ridiculous, also had a good nenio build I liked), but I don’t like that to even play at .8 damage against and slightly weaker enemies I had to optimize like a champ. 

And I mentioned the difficulty spikes, my goodness. There were a bunch of random fights that I had to look up strats or just see if people found them as crazy hard as I did, then just drop the difficulty to get through the extra tough ones. I know that this is sort of a “git gud” situation, but like, it’s just not why I play crpgs. At least not to that degree. I loved Neverwinter Nights 2 and never messed with the difficulty, even turned the difficulty on Divinity Original Sin 2 higher because I enjoyed it so much, but the combat just felt less strategic and more tedious, to the point that I realized if I tried a couple things and still couldn’t get it, I was just going to enjoy myself more turning the difficulty down rather than trying to puzzle the fight out like I would in Divinity. Couldn’t beat it with all my summons and buffs and positioning my guys right? Well, not worth trying again adjusting my strategy incrementally, easy mode it goes.

I think this partially stems just from the pathfinder system and how much randomness is in a d20, but also they really went full power gamer for this game, so it was completely self inflicted. The mystic paths gave such a ludicrous power jump that to keep up with that there had to be power spikes for enemies, and if you didn’t optimize all choices and understand every buff system and spell system, there was stuff that was just going to be too hard. I mean, there was a point where I looked up a guide for a quest and it mentioned that one of the only ways to really have a good chance against a certain mini boss was to debuff it in a particular way that I just would never have thought of, and didn’t have the spell for. So like, what am I even doing right? I did end up completing the game on .8 damage against and slightly weaker enemies, but, the occasional mini boss had to be nuked on easy just to get the story, which I didn’t feel good doing. It also made you really consider party makeup mechanically which I don’t want to do with so many good competing personalities. Sure I was the only tank, but I wasn’t about to lug Seelah around just to not die when that slot could be taken by a character with a personality. 

Verdict: really fun character building system, characters got too powerful and power spikey to handle in a fun way eventually.

*Main story*

Kinda ass. Okay I’ll be more thorough. I did not give even half a shit about the main story until... Minhago? and even with her and staunton I was really just reaching for things to hang onto, then wasn’t engaged again until mid act 4. The biggest issue was that there was no characters to attach to anything and generic fighting demons on a crusade against evil just had nothing that hooked me in; until they put character to the plots. Once Areelu was an actual character involved, and the demon lords (minor as well, looking at you minhago) showed up, actually making the conflict personal, I got into it, but that was like 90 some odd hours in except the small Minhago and Staunton thread. Everything else having to do with the main story until then felt like a complete drag and time sink. Galfrey might have been able to save it a bit if she had a stronger personality early on, but even then, meh. 

It didn’t help that it starts with absolutely no context, you don’t know who you are (horrible trope), and have no relationships. I compare here to Neverwinter Nights 2 that starts you in town with friends and everyone knows you and talks to you letting you in on who you are, it made the next bits of story actually hold weight. Here it does not. It throws you into a conflict, kills a dragon you don’t know, then tells you to make your way to the surface with Seelah, who has the personality of a bud light. But I’m getting ahead of myself, this is about the main plot. I’ll wrap it up though: Put faces to your main plot movers and I’ll care. Baphomet’s portion of plot in act 5 felt entirely like a side quest (maybe it was, it’s hard to tell what you actually had to do and what was skippable), but I also wanted desperately to face him because he had personality and weight (and maybe the best portrait).

Areelu’s lab was terrible and not engaging until I viewed it in retrospect. Everything Areelu in the 5th act was amazingly done and engaging, but context was left too late. All the Demon lords were awesome, loved Noctula, what a well written and performed character. in fact

Voice Acting: A+ the best I've ever heard in a game, and from so much of the cast.

Alushinyrra was so frustrating to navigate I almost quit on multiple occasions, and like everything in the game, I spent 70% of it just trying to knock out quests, then was really engaged in the final bits of all the quests. This was the section with the best quests, and had it not been for the infuriating navigation would have been the best section of the game. Great characters and good writing in here, but too much running around spinning the camera to build into those quests. 

The final revelations, where you leave each major player from Galfrey to the demon lords to Areelu, was all phenomenal. What a way to wrap up an enormous game and made it all feel worth it in the end (despite all the bitching). Incredibly well tied up, but the good writing was entirely back loaded (likely they wrote out the very intricate story beforehand and then when parceling out revelations couldn’t figure out how to evenly spread it without spoiling parts or wrapping up some things but not others in a way they wanted. I can see the dilemma as a writer, but it doesn’t make it work).

*Azata (short section)*

This was fine, it lent cool gameplay moments throughout the rest of the game being able to drop in songs and heal parts of the land, interactions with beings from Elysium, allowing me to be the paragon of chaotic good with a love of nature I so love to be (and sort of am irl). However the actual story parts that were azata story missions were really mid. Nothing particularly interesting happened there (”a floating island!” doesn’t really feel too crazy in Golarion, idk why everyone there treated it like it was nuts, like we’re in the worldwound guys). Also, the characters were the most irritatingly written. I really don’t want to meet the person who wrote the dragon companion’s dialog and wasn’t embarrassed to put that shit out to the world. 

*Characters (finally)*

I spent most of the game with: Wenduag, Daeron, Ember, Nenio, and Arueshalae. I also did quite a bit of Camellia’s quest. I know I missed out on so many companions and this is the biggest driver of any future replay I might do. 

Imagine a paladin who drinks, that’s Seelah. And that’s why I didn’t bring her as soon as I had enough companions to make choices. Game was too long for her decent personality to not get old way too fast as it was way too one note and she doesn’t react much to your choices. Flat.

Something I did absolutely love: “Choose between two for your next companion” is awesome! And a little almost self contained module to lead you to your decision, it just was so engaging and made me so much more attached to my choice that they were the companion I cared about most, and the only one I cared about really, for the next 30-40 hours, until the rest of them had some time to make half the impression that the choice gave you. Great writing.

I went with Wenduag. I knew nothing about the story or world yet except that there was a demon lord upstairs who just killed a dragon everyone told me was powerful. Did Wendu seem evil? Sure. But she also had a really good point about Lann’s weakness, and he didn’t do anything to dispel that notion. I needed her, and knew that if it came to it I could ditch her later too. But then she lied to me and I was captivated. I was captivated because in her lie, she also was clearly lying to herself. And the voice actor, my lord, what a performance. Without the acting and subtle writing I might have missed her lying to herself, but it was there for sure. She *did* care about her tribe like she’d initially said, just maybe not too much, but also why would she lie and say she didn’t at all when she was confessing to lying about saying she did? Immediately she showed an insecurity that made her interesting. As a chaotic good I just kept poking and prodding her toward goodness and showing her I cared, that she belonged, and exploring her insecurities, and her arc was brilliant. There were definitely a few writing blunders where I think she came off a little too uncaring and evil a little too late in her arc, but how it ended and the times it got it right along the way were next level good. The actor’s performance for her final questline, voice shaking and choked with emotion, was the best (I ran out of superlatives). Immediately makes it onto my s tier character writing and performance all time.

Ember... She was alright. I think finding her warranted more build, more story, like Wenduag had. She’s too bizarre to just drop in like the others. Once I did feel like I got what her deal was (as much as you can with what you’re given), I liked having her in the party. Her banter was good (they all had good banter tbh), her quest was compelling but felt very obvious and without nuance. I liked getting an end slide that she made Noctula become the redeemer queen, like that was seriously awesome, but she didn’t have many facets to her (also her quest glitched at like, the last moment and I never technically completed it. though, getting that Noctula end slide tells me I did enough. her being sad at the end though because a quest wouldnt complete when i completed it made me sad). 

Camellia, what a creep. Interesting plot to her story, delightfully nasty, but being even a little good made it almost impossible to go along with anything she wanted lol. She’s evil as hell, so it could be better with an evil playthrough, but I didn’t get the sense she would really arc at all. Basically you just find new levels of perversion, which is interesting and engaging, but I didn’t finish her questline so I don’t want to say too much. 

Nenio’s quest was so compelling but lacked personality. It was very spotty too picking up bits of it randomly and again with no real story to it. And that megadungeon to finish her quest was damn near unbearable. She was annoying but it made for good banter, especially with NPCs and enemies, loved having her in the party, spent entirely too much time on a quest with no narrative for her though. I felt like it had the potential to be more fleshed out.

Daeron had a fantastic personality, great banter, great quest to meet him, great personal quest too. Only issue I had, which takes him down a half a notch, is that the end to his quest was really lackluster. It was such a cool premise and then you don’t interact with it for ages and when it finally comes back its just a small confrontation where you’re forced to kill Liotr, for what? Can’t see myself playing through without him, or at least if I do to make room for other companions on a new playthrough I will definitely miss him. I was disappointed that despite seemingly not really being truly evil, just fronting to keep face as an aristocrat since he came with me and just did good acts for the entirety of the game, he was just regular evil for the closing slides. 

Arueshalae had the most satisfying change in her character (except maybe Wenduag), redeeming herself from being a succubus. As an azata, this might have been the most fitting romance for me, but just going through her quest platonically was so satisfying. Going into her dreams and watching her learn to have feelings like a human was well done. My one gripe was that she seemed so naïve for someone who had apparently ruined tons of lives eating souls as a succubus. She should have been a lot more mature, and I feel like she was made kind of clueless just for “Born Sexy Yesterday” trope’s sake. Her parts of her quest where she was dealing with things she genuinely wouldn’t understand, or dealing with her past where she had to acknowledge the things she’d done were the best bits because they forced her into the character she should have been. Coincidentally her banter was poor because of her unfathomable childishness outside of those. 

Overall I enjoyed the game a ton, but the strength of the ending really rose tints what was a slog for a huge portion. The fact that I’m saying I’d consider replaying would have sounded insane to me between hours 40 and 90. The biggest thing holding it back was that it just had so much fucking stuff. So much breadth that it took ages to get to the depth of any piece of it, and so little was self contained until you started wrapping things up at the end. I started out thinking the characters were super weak, and ended up considering Wenduag, Arueshalae, and Daeron(’s personality only), among the best companion writing, maybe straight up the best companion writing I’ve ever played. I also consider the strength of the personalities in the game, from many companions to the many demon lords, the guy that ran the battlebliss, areelu, some of the most compelling personalities I’ve ever had the pleasure of playing. 

#pathfinder: wrath of the righteous #pathfinder #wenduag #prince daeron #arueshalae #nenio #an ember in the ashes #camellia #azata