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ladamedusoif · 3 months

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able

(Joel Miller x disabled F!Reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader

Summary: "I just don't think she'll be able for patrol". But then it's just you, Joel, and your trusty walking stick in the middle of nowhere...

Content/warnings: Reader is disabled (she has rheumatoid disease/arthritis in addition to panic attacks, she uses a walking stick as necessary); Reader had a sister; Reader is an art teacher; strong violence; blood; description of panic attack; references to impact of chronic illness and disability; references to medication; references to disease and death; non-canon compliant; Jackson!Joel; strong language; ableist language and abusive language

Rating: Mature; 18+ MDNI

Word Count: ~3.7k

A/N: After making a plea earlier in the week for people to actually write disabled Reader fic, as opposed to forcing writers to feel they have to tag literally everything in an able-bodied Reader story, I knew I had to put my money where my mouth was as a disabled, neurodivergent writer with various mental health things going on here and there. And this one-shot is the result.

This one is a little personal. I was diagnosed with rheumatoid disease about ten years ago, and Reader’s experiences are informed by my own (though, thankfully, I haven’t had to contend with an apocalypse that meant I couldn’t access the medication that has kept me going). She’s also inspired by @agentjackdaniels, who acted as consultant extraordinaire on walking sticks and panic attacks, and suggested the Joel picture for the moodboard. Thank you, Luce, for this, for fighting the good fight for representation in fic - and for beta-ing the story.

(A note on terminology: rheumatoid disease/arthritis are sometimes used interchangeably. ‘Arthritis’ often sounds like it’s ‘just’ osteoarthritis to people who don’t know the difference. Rheumatoid, unlike osteoarthritis (which is shitty in its own ways), is a systemic, lifelong, chronic illness and an auto-immune disorder that affects the entire body, not just bones and/or joints. So personally I use ‘rheumatoid disease’ as it conveys more of the impact of the condition. It's also often seen as an 'old person' disease but this simply isn't true - not that this stops mobility aids being modelled by people in their 80s all the time...)

Please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to stay up to date with my work.

Dividers by @saradika - moodboard by me

You weren’t supposed to make it.

Twenty-odd years in the apocalypse with your fucked-up joints and no steady supply of the meds that kept you going, pushing through the cycles of fatigue, and fighting off your own goddamned immune system as much as you were fighting clickers and raiders.

You really weren’t supposed to make it. But you had Annie.

You were sharing an apartment when the outbreak happened, a quirk of shitty personal circumstances - she’d just broken up with her long-term boyfriend - that probably helped save your life. Annie was the all-action sister - the kind of person who thinks there’s nothing weird about spending your weekends doing triathlons and “Tough Mudder” challenges, who had a perfect bill of health your entire lives, who bounced out of bed in the mornings while you cracked and creaked and stiffly manoeuvered yourself into being.

The good days generally outweighed the bad in the years between your diagnosis with rheumatoid disease and the initial outbreak - or maybe you had just gotten used to the aches and pains and the occasional flare-ups of fatigue. You invested in a walking stick to help on those days when mobility was particularly bad: solid, heavy, and carved in a pale yellow wood. It felt like a comfort in your hand, more a sign of strength, to you, than of weakness.

Annie helped you through the panic attack that consumed you on outbreak day, working with you to regulate your breathing and relax your tense muscles until you could finally say what was on your mind.

“My meds. What am I going to do without my meds?”

Nothing a quick smash and grab at the local pharmacy couldn’t fix. It was the first of many, stockpiling the little yellow tablets you relied on and taking as many packs of over-the-counter painkillers as you could carry. Useful currency in the apocalypse, as it turned out.

All-Action Annie was never going to cope with life in a QZ. She got the two of you out after months of planning, nights of whispered talk about a town out west that was normal - or something close to it, anyway. She hadn’t entertained your protestations about you slowing her down, holding her back.

“You think I’m leaving behind a girl who’s so handy with a weapon?” she’d teased, pointing to your walking stick. “Be real. We’re busting out together.”

The infection took hold in her about three days from Jackson. Fuckin’ barbed wire, tearing a jagged line through Annie’s hand and leaving behind an old-fashioned kind of threat to life, the kind penicillin had mostly dealt with. But that was then. This was now.

She died in an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, you holding her hand until the end, talking to her about your childhoods and trying to keep smiling until she closed her beautiful eyes.

It took all your strength to dig her grave. And then, somehow, you found more.

You weren’t supposed to make it. But you did.

Jackson stands before you.

He sees you for the first time in the community dining hall, talking animatedly to Maria as you hungrily devour the food set in front of you. Eyes wide, face grubby, clothes ragged. Half-wild, he thinks, like most of the new arrivals. Like him and Ellie, once upon a time. He returns to his bowl of soup and his own thoughts - at least, until he’s interrupted by Maria.

“Joel? Want to introduce a new member of the community, just arrived.”

He doesn’t quite know why he’s surprised when he realises you’re leaning on a sturdy hand-carved walking stick in a solid, light yellow wood. Maybe it’s because he knows how physically hard it is to get here. Maybe he just assumed folks who needed a stick wouldn’t have been able to manage the journey.

For a second he can hear Sarah’s voice in his head, chiding him for focusing on what a disabled person can’t do instead of what they can.

“Joel?”

He snaps out of his reverie and looks from Maria to you. “Uh, hi. Sorry, just…sorry. Forgot my manners.”

“I was just saying how glad we are to have someone who can offer some art education in the town, isn’t that right, Joel?”

Your eyes are warm and mischievous as you meet his gaze, silently conveying your amusement at Maria’s rather brusque manner. It’s all Joel can do not to laugh.

“Sure is. You’re an artist, then?”

You shake your head. “Not a real one. I was an art teacher, before. Long time since I created anything, though, so I hope I remember how.”

He smiles softly, his gruff exterior receding a little. “Bet it’s just like riding a bike,” he says, before his face falls as he looks at your walking stick. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean… Shit. Hope I didn’t offend.”

“As it happens, I can ride a bike, Joel. The apocalypse just doesn’t give me much cause to.”

You leave him with a smile and a wink as Maria ushers you to meet other townsfolk. He watches you as you walk away, the tap-tap-tapping of your stick beating out a new rhythm in the heart of Jackson.

You think of Annie every morning when you wake up in the little house you’d been assigned. Sometimes, as you potter around the kitchen, still revelling in the novelty of making yourself morning coffee for the first time in two decades, you even talk to her. You tell her about the town, the townsfolk, your work in the community vegetable garden, your art classes.

“Honestly, An, you wouldn’t believe how popular they are,” you tell the Annie who, in an alternate universe, is sitting at the kitchen table with her own mug of coffee. “I’m setting up extra sessions to cater for demand.”

There’s something uplifting in how hungry the people of Jackson are to make art, no matter their experience or existing skill level. They’ll draw stuff from memory, they’ll dutifully work on a still life, they’ll even traipse outside with you, wooden sketching boards in hand, and make rapid-fire sketches of the goings-on on Main Street.

Joel doesn’t join a class - but the teenage girl Maria refers to as “Joel’s kid” does, all potty-mouthed and enthusiastic and pretty damned talented, to boot. Ellie tells you how she’s pinned up the drawings she’s proudest of in their home, “like our own fuckin’ art gallery or some shit.”

You pull up a tall stool and sit beside her, resting your stick over your thighs. “Joel’s got his guitar and those dumbass model figures he paints,” she continues, leaning around her easel and squinting at the woman who’d volunteered to act as a life model for this week’s classes. “But this shit? This is real art.” She adds a little highlight to the woman’s sweater and leans back to assess the work.

“You probably got exempt from patrols, I’m guessing. On account of the stick, an’ all.”

“Maria asked, and I signed up happily. I got all the way here, didn’t I? I’m sure I can manage patrols. And it’s the least I can do - they’ve even found me some of the medications I need.”

Ellie nods, somewhat convinced, and returns to sketching out the contours around the model’s jaw.

The day of your first patrol arrives. You bundle up and set out early for the stables, allowing extra time to get there on account of the flare-up you’d been experiencing the day before.

You arrive early - just in time, in fact, to overhear a heated conversation between Joel and Maria.

“She’s doing enough, ain’t she? I just don’t think she’ll be able for patrol.”

“You’ve seen her out and about, Joel. She’s mobile. She’s competent. She’s good with the horses. She got all the way here, the last stretch on her own. What more proof do you need?”

“You’re seriously gonna send a woman with a walking stick out on patrol?”

“I seriously am. Sent you and your bad back out, didn’t we?”

“That ain’t the same and you know it.”

“Just saddle the horses, Joel. And, in case you’re wondering - yes, I paired you together deliberately, just until she gets settled.” You hear her footsteps recede as she leaves him.

You had misjudged how much your already-limited grip would be further impeded by the gloves you’re wearing. The stick clatters to the ground.

“Who’s there?”

You emerge from the shadows. “Me. Sorry.”

Joel rolls his eyes and gruffly points out the tack and supplies.

The first patrol passes in silence. You wonder what happened to the softer man you’d caught a glimpse of the first day you arrived.

On the second patrol, you ask him questions about himself. On the third patrol, he asks (fewer) questions about you. By the fourth, you’re having something approximating normal conversation.

“Sarah loved to make all kinds of stuff,” he ventures, leading the way on his chestnut horse. “Those beaded bracelets, that girly Lego in the pink and purple, all of that. My girl had enough Magic Markers to supply a whole elementary school. Maybe two.”

You can hear him smile, even without seeing his face. His shoulders relax a little as he recalls the memory.

“So she was a creative kid?”

“Creative, sporty… she could do anything. Made the school soccer team, she was so proud. Just a…” He pauses. “A great kid.”

There’s a few beats of silence, punctuated only by the sound of the horses snickering and the steady rhythm of their hooves on the ground.

“What about your sister, was she arty like you?”

You’d told him about Annie on the last patrol. This was the first time he’d asked about her explicitly.

“She was the sporty one. I think that’s why I survived so long, truth be told. She was so strong and fast and tough as fuck.”

He chuckles, the burr of his voice resonating in the cold air. “Sounds like a good balance, though.”

“It is - it was. Was.” Your voice grows quieter as you repeat the word to yourself, chest starting to tighten. The horse slows, responding to the tension of your body, as Joel continues to trot on, not realising you’ve come to a halt behind him.

And then the tell-tale snapping of a twig, the sound of footsteps, and the realisation there’s someone else there, emerging out of the woods. Two someones.

Raiders.

The panic attack that has been building inside you gives way. An innate fight or flight response kicks in as you roar his name.

Joel turns and charges back towards you, just in time to see you take out one raider with a crack shot from your pistol. He slows the horse and readies his rifle, staring at the other man who is now trying to haul you off your mount.

“Get the fuck off me, motherfucker!” You flail against him, desperately shifting your weight to the other side of the saddle to try to shake him off.

Joel takes aim.

You think you’ve kicked the raider off. And that’s when you hit the ground.

He can’t take the shot now, not with her half-hidden from his view and audibly fighting off the man who’s dragged her to the ground. Joel is still a little distance away, slightly too far to see exactly what’s happening.

Why didn’t he hear her slowing? Why didn’t he realise she was further behind than she ought to be? Why did she slow in the fuckin’ first place?

Joel quickly dismounts, rifle in hand, moving closer so he can get a clearer shot at the guy who’s now standing over her. The horse’s elegant neck obscures the raider’s hands from Joel’s vision - he has no idea if he’s pointing a gun at her or not.

He thinks he has a clear sight on the guy’s head, provided he stays in the same position. He readies the rifle.

Suddenly, the raider disappears, letting out a primal roar before he hits the ground.

“You fucking cunt!”

Joel can see she’s standing now, the man prone before her. As he rounds the horse he sees her lift her cane, hands securely gripping the pointed end of the stick.

She brings the solid, weighty handle down on the raider’s leg with a sickening crunch. Even Joel recoils a little at the sight and the sound.

“F-f-fucking…c-c-cunt!”

Thwack. The other leg.

Fuck. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

”Keep calling me that, and I’ll keep the blows coming.”

Holy fuck. Who is she?

”C-c-c-cripple.”

”Excuse me?”

The raider props himself up on his arms. “I said, cripple. Fucking crippled cunt.”

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” Joel cocks his rifle.

The stranger sneers at Joel. “Awww, he’s actin’ the big man now. Weren’t too quick gettin’ back down here to save your cripple woman, were ya?”

Before Joel can react, she swings her stick over her head and brings it down on the man’s skull with a furious scream that seems to come from the very depths of her being.

She screams and screams as she hits him, over and over, eyes wild in her blood-spattered face. Joel recognises this: in himself; hell, in Ellie. It’s the moment when the floodgates open and all those years of pain blend together and zone in on this convenient target, an avatar for everyone and everything who had forced loss and trauma upon you.

He roars at her to stop, but knows she can’t hear him. It’s just her and the raider, now: her rage and fear and grief finding their expression through a walking stick turned cudgel.

A single shot ends it. She turns sharply, as if snapped out of a trance, and sees the smoke leaving Joel’s pistol.

“Hey. Hey. You alright?” His broad hands grip your biceps as he looks into your eyes.

Yes, you tell him, yes. You’re fine. But Joel keeps asking.

“Talk to me. Are you okay? I’m worried about you. Please, just talk to me.”

You are moving your mouth, but no sound is coming out. The familiar vice is tightening around your chest. You look down at your blood-stained hands and you struggle to breathe.

“‘M dying, Joel. Can’t breathe. All the blood. So much. Why can’t I breathe?”

Oh, he realises with a pang. She gets these things too. And I know how to help.

“You’re okay, you hear?” He’s rubbing your arms gently, keeping his gaze on you. “You’re alright. Breathe along with me, okay?”

It’s difficult to find the rhythm, at first. Joel’s hands find yours and squeeze them in time with his breath.

”In through your nose, that’s it. Slow and steady. Now out through your mouth.”

He can see your muscles starting to visibly relax. A wave of relief courses over him.

”Yeah, that’s it - you got this. You got this, good girl, you’re just fine. Gonna be alright.”

When he’s confident your breathing has settled and the panic attack receded somewhat, he gently guides you away from the body of the dead raider, one hand holding your horse’s bridle and the other holding yours.

“Why don’t you have a seat for a minute, huh?” Joel gestures to a long, low tree trunk lying near the forest’s edge and opens his saddlebags, rummaging until he finds a cloth, a battered hip flask and a bag of dried apple slices.

”Here.” He wipes the blood as best he can from your hands and proffers the flask, settling his substantial frame beside you on the log. “Have a sip or two, just to relax you a little bit more. Got a snack, here, too.”

You flinch at the taste of the liquor, but take a second sip regardless. The apple slices barely taste of anything in the afterburn of the moonshine. Joel nibbles on some jerky and stares into the middle distance.

You take a break from patrol, agreed with Maria, and a few days off your art classes. It was tempting to keep going, to return to the light and airy studio and to your students. But you feared a relapse.

And your body needed to recover physically, too. You ached from head to toe, fingers and toes puffy and swollen and movement seriously restricted. You ration out the supply of medication you’ve secured since getting here, and use hot water bottles and plenty of rest to try to ride out the flare in your arthritis.

Three days after the incident, there’s a knock on the door. You hobble to answer it, leaning on your trusty stick for support.

”Came by to see how you were doing. Got you some things if you needed ‘em.”

Joel is standing on your front porch, holding a jute grocery bag. He pauses, as if waiting for you to give him permission to say more.

”That’s so very kind of you, Joel. Come in, won’t you? I was able to set a fire so it’s nice and cosy.”

He watches as you lead the way into the living room, noting how much slower you were today. Guilt laps at his conscience. He said she shouldn’t go on patrol. He knew.

”You want me to bring these into the kitchen for you?”

“That would be a great help. Thank you.” He’s glad to see you smile, after the trauma of the patrol. “If you want a drink, I’ve got some tea and coffee in the cupboard just to the left of the sink.”

He pops his head back into the living room. “What would you like?”

“A tea would be perfect. Mugs are in the cupboard to the right.”

You wrap yourself back up in your blankets on the couch, making room for Joel when he returns with the drinks and a couple of cookies, sent over by Ellie as part of his care package for you. The mug feels like a comfort in your aching hands, its heat assuaging the inflammation ravaging your joints.

He sips his coffee and you sit in silence for a little bit, watching the flames dance over the firewood.

“Have you, uh - you been okay, doing okay, since…”

Joel stares into his coffee cup and then looks at you, a little awkward. You smile, hoping to reassure him.

”I’ve been okay. Just the physical pain and exhaustion, mostly. And - well, you saw it. The panic. It can leave you drained.”

He nods and takes another swig of his drink. “I know. I - I’ve had times like that, too. Real fuckin’ scary, when you’ve never gone through it before.”

You study his face for a moment or two, noting the little scar on his temple, the lines on his face, the stern expression completely undermined by the warmth of his deep brown eyes. For an instant, he seems so vulnerable, this strong, tough man sitting on your little couch.

“I haven’t had an attack like that in a while. But then, I hadn’t done anything like that in a while.”

This time Joel turns to look at you properly. “Not your first rodeo, huh?”

You giggle at the turn of phrase. “Not quite. Let’s just say my stick did a lot of work over the last twenty years. He wasn’t the first to feel the brunt of it.”

Joel nods, and you feel strangely relieved that he doesn’t seem surprised. “Doesn’t get easier, though, does it?”

“It does not. Which is why it’s better to avoid having to do it.”

”I agree. Gotta say, though, I - I was worried you wouldn’t be able for patrol, y’know?”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “I know. I overheard you, remember?”

He blushes. “Aw, shit. Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t want anything happening to you, what with your - condition, and all.”

You sigh softly, not really noticing the affection in his voice. “Most of the time, I’m fine. Y’know? I’m slower, but I do okay. I get tired more easily, but I manage. I didn’t come here to be a drain on the community.”

”You aren’t.”

”I know, but I want to keep it that way. I want to pull my weight. I’m able, Joel.”

He huffs in agreement. “Not like I’m a perfect specimen these days, either. Knees, fuckin’ back, deaf in one ear…”

You chuckle. “And you thought I wouldn’t manage patrol? Anyway, you’re not doing so bad, are you?”

He gives you a little smile, but that constant sadness still haunts his eyes. He stares at his coffee for a moment.

“You knew what you were doing, though.”

”I did. But I didn’t feel like I could stop.” You sip your tea, swallowing hard. “And I’m scared that makes me some kinda monster. You know?”

Oh, he knows. He knows it too well.

”You aren’t a monster.” Joel resists the urge to put an arm around you. “You just… something snapped, I guess. All that - well, all that hell you’ve gone through. It… it changes you. But it doesn’t make you a monster.”

He realises you’re crying before you do, spotting the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. He finds a clean handkerchief in his jeans and offers it to you.

Fuck it.

“Can I - can I put an arm round you? Just for some support?”

Your eyes light up, tears or no tears, and you nod enthusiastically. Joel is warm and comforting, his broad chest and strong arms a kind of anchor in the emotional storm. You nuzzle against him, and he gives you a little squeeze on the arm.

”You’re a really brave woman, you know that?”

His voice is quieter, more intentional. You look at him quizzically from under your lashes, unused to praise of this kind. For an instant you think about asking him what he means. But the safety you’ve found in the broad arm draped around you is all you need right now.

You nuzzle a little against his chest, and watch the fire dancing for the rest of the night.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x disabled f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #soft joel miller #disabled f!reader #disabled reader fic #hbo the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedrostories

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yallemagne · 1 year

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Luthur (Lucy/Arthur) Propaganda

I'm writing this with all the pent-up rage of an entire year of seeing "Lucy's so dumb, she should have picked my favourite suitor" posts and "who should Lucy have chosen?" polls that always result in practically no votes for Arthur.

This is not an anti-Jack or anti-Quincey post by any means, though it may come across as defensive. It is just a pro-let-Lucy-choose-for-herself post. And yes, letting her choose for herself even includes letting her be monogamous when she has made the conscious decision to remain monogamous.

So, to the proposal descriptions--

Seward tries to hide his anxiety by putting up a front of sternness. From how Lucy describes it, it sounds like he's negotiating a contract:

He spoke to me, Mina, very straightforwardly. He told me how dear I was to him, though he had known me so little, and what his life would be with me to help and cheer him. He was going to tell me how unhappy he would be if I did not care for him, but when he saw me cry he said that he was a brute and would not add to my present trouble. Then he broke off and asked if I could love him in time; and when I shook my head his hands trembled, and then with some hesitation he asked me if I cared already for any one else. He put it very nicely, saying that he did not want to wring my confidence from me, but only to know, because if a woman's heart was free a man might have hope. And then, Mina, I felt a sort of duty to tell him that there was some one. I only told him that much, and then he stood up, and he looked very strong and very grave as he took both my hands in his and said he hoped I would be happy, and that if I ever wanted a friend I must count him one of my best.

Sounds like he hardly popped the question so much as stated: "I would be honoured to have you (I need you I need you I need you I need you) as my wife. If you don't love me back, I will die."

This proposal comes across as very neurodivergent to me. He goes into it thinking mostly about what he wants from Lucy and how good the marriage would be for his mental health, not stopping to consider if she's already seeing someone (literally the man who introduced them) or just maybe... that he's putting too much of a burden on her with this style of proposal. This approach would work better with another no-nonsense B, but Lucy is overwhelmed. He didn't think of her feelings in the matter because he was too busy schooling his own emotions so he wouldn't screw it all up. It comes across as very scripted until he sees that he's upset Lucy-- that is when we get a glimpse of his care for her. But then he's back to his bullet points of "but could you love me one day? do you love another now? on a scale from one to ten, how would you rate this interaction?"

Lucy gets through Seward's entire proposal without getting carried away and writing about Arthur instead, but with Quincey--

I suppose that we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him. I know now what I would do if I were a man and wanted to make a girl love me. No, I don't, for there was Mr. Morris telling us his stories, and Arthur never told any, and yet—— My dear, I am somewhat previous.

She certainly finds Quincey charming, but she cuts herself off to talk about Arthur. While she momentarily thinks that telling adventurous tales would win a woman's heart, she says that it didn't win her own. There's a sort of peacocking going on with Quincey prefacing his proposal with tales of his adventures. It's very much like Seward's stoic attempt but with far more confidence and pizzazz.

Mr. Quincey P. Morris found me alone. It seems that a man always does find a girl alone. No, he doesn't, for Arthur tried twice to make a chance, and I helping him all I could; I am not ashamed to say it now.

Quincey "found [her] alone". Now, before, she said "Mr. Morris was telling us his stories"-- who is us? I am guessing that perhaps Lucy's mother or someone else was sitting in as a chaperone? And then Quincey found an opportunity to talk to her in private?

Again, she drifts off talking about Arthur while she's trying to explain Quincey. "Arthur tried twice to make a chance"-- my best guess for what this means is that Arthur has tried to have un-chaperoned time with Lucy twice before in order to propose to her, but he never succeeded despite her attempts to aid him.

Which makes this all so much funnier? Some joke that the Suitors probably arranged it all, but this hints that Arthur has been trying his damndest to propose, but the one day he actually gets a chance to, he finds out his two friends proposed to her first! Those dogs!!

I do not know myself if I shall ever speak slang; I do not know if Arthur likes it, as I have never heard him use any as yet.

Lucy interrupts her "haha the silly American talks silly American gibberish" with "would Arthur like it if I spoke this way?" Gah, she's so in love with him. It's funny that she says she's never heard him use slang considering she's already mentioned "Dress is a bore." which she even called slang.

Well, he did look so good-humoured and so jolly that it didn't seem half so hard to refuse him as it did poor Dr. Seward; so I said, as lightly as I could, that I did not know anything of hitching, and that I wasn't broken to harness at all yet. Then he said that he had spoken in a light manner, and he hoped that if he had made a mistake in doing so on so grave, so momentous, an occasion for him, I would forgive him. [...] And then, my dear, before I could say a word he began pouring out a perfect torrent of love-making, laying his very heart and soul at my feet. He looked so earnest over it that I shall never again think that a man must be playful always, and never earnest, because he is merry at times. I suppose he saw something in my face which checked him, for he suddenly stopped, and said with a sort of manly fervour that I could have loved him for if I had been free...

She remarks that Quincey's more light-hearted nature makes him easier to refuse than Seward. However, she finds it harder to reject him when he drops the act and starts behaving more earnestly. She finds it easier to imagine loving him when he's being sincere. She doesn't have this same thought with Seward because, unfortunately, even when he snapped out of his legal negotiation of the potential marriage, he still kept himself emotionally guarded through the rest of the interaction.

Why can't they let a girl marry three men, or as many as want her, and save all this trouble? But this is heresy, and I must not say it.

I must say... Lucy here is not saying "I want a harem of men.". Stop. Just stop saying that she is. That interpretation has led to every single adaptation that brands her an insincere cheater who strings along men and deserves to be punished by the narrative. Just stop. What she is expressing here is guilt at not having an option that would please all parties involved. She's been raised as a people-pleaser, but in this scenario, there is no choice she could make that wouldn't lead to someone being hurt. So, she makes the decision to follow her heart rather than her guilty conscience.

And think, just earlier, Jack planted this seed of insecurity by saying that he'll be upset if she does not love him. And then goes even further to imply her loving another robs him of his hope. It makes it so that, even when Quincey is more gracious in accepting her refusal, she can't help but beat herself up for practically destroying these men's lives (hyperbole, of course) all for her own happiness!!

Lucy clearly displays polyamorous traits. She laments that, if she did not love Arthur so much, she could love Quincey (rip Seward). But she has chosen not to explore those feelings. Part of her cutting herself off while writing about Quincey to talk about Arthur could be subconsciously reminding herself: "nope, there is no chance with him, I want Arthur". She compares the two constantly as if to remind herself she made the right choice. There's also her love for Mina, but she has plausible deniability in this era and can claim that as just classic girl love.

But when she considers a woman marrying "as many men as want her" it is not reflective of her being polyamorous because she doesn't have this thought out of "I love these three men enough to marry them" but "I feel guilty about being loved by three men at once, and I have to repay the favour somehow, but I can't". She does not say "as many men as she wants" because it's not about the woman's feelings but about the feelings of the men that surround her. But you know what? She showed agency when she picked the man she wanted and didn't bow and pick the man who would be the most devastated upon being rejected, and I'm proud of her.

Lucy is incredibly brief when describing Arthur's proposal, but let's. just. think about this. Previously, she has tried to hold back her overwhelming love for Arthur in her writing to Mina (she failed, lol). Other than wanting to be discreet, she explains:

My dear, this quite upset me, and I feel I cannot write of happiness just at once, after telling you of it; and I don't wish to tell of the number three until it can be all happy.

She doesn't want to taint her happy feelings with bitterness about how "oh, I'm so horrible and selfish for picking the man I love! I don't deserve to be loved by anyone!" And even then, she goes into a bit more detail in her post-script:

P.S.—Oh, about number Three—I needn't tell you of number Three, need I? Besides, it was all so confused; it seemed only a moment from his coming into the room till both his arms were round me, and he was kissing me. I am very, very happy, and I don't know what I have done to deserve it. I must only try in the future to show that I am not ungrateful to God for all His goodness to me in sending to me such a lover, such a husband, and such a friend.

Such a friend. Before this, Seward and Quincey were not friends of Lucy's. They were acquaintances that knew her through Arthur (though she does not explicitly state this about Quincey, so she could have met him somewhere else?), and upon being rejected romantically, they swore friendship to her. Before then, they saw her as a potential bride.

But Arthur was already a friend to Lucy. They have been close for longer than she's known either of her other suitors, and while they'd never said the L-word (love) to each other before, I think what wins Lucy's heart is that Arthur is genuine with her. We don't get to see it (she teases us!! how dare!!), but that feels like the most plausible thing that would set him apart from Seward and Quincey. Now, the other two are honest men (we see it when they comfort her), but they both initially put up a front to impress/entertain Lucy. Meanwhile, Arthur doesn't bother with that. He comes into the room, and she's practically already in his arms! It's so effortless with him. She doesn't have to imagine herself being happy and in love with him because she already is.

#dracula #dracula daily #re: dracula #lucy westenra #john seward #jack seward #quincey p morris #quincey morris #lucy x arthur #arthur x lucy #luthur #may 24 #wrote this like a few nights ago lol #just had to

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writingquestionsanswered · 6 months

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Writing with Chronic Illness

strigiformthunderstorm asked: Could you advise on forming a writing routine with a chronic illness? I have several conditions that cause a lot of pain and fatigue, and working part-time takes up nearly all of my energy. I used to write daily but stopped while I was in "survival mode", and now getting in my head about the quality prevents me from writing. I've had success with creating multiple routines to accommodate my fluctuating symptoms, so instead of writing out a schedule, I'm kind of choreographing a dance. For example, right now I'm coming out of a flare up so I'm trying to think of adaptations like writing in bed, taking naps between writing sessions, and being less hard on myself about smoking for my pain while writing + just doing brain dumps if that's what I need to get into the flow of things. I'm also neurodivergent. I'm trying to get to the point I'm actually writing the book (instead of world building/planning) and am making consistent progress.

[Ask edited for length]

A few things that might help:

1 - Don't worry about writing daily or hitting specific word counts. Doing things to "move the needle" are just as important, even if that is doing brain dumps, researching, or looking for inspiration photos.

2 - Try to avoid making writing feel like a stressful activity that your brain will automatically want to avoid. The things you're doing are already on the right track, so continue to give yourself grace, give yourself positive reinforcement for anything that moves the needle, and doing what you can to make writing relaxing and rewarding.

3 - Many writers find that writing sprints are a productive way for them to get words on the page. So, for example, try setting a timer for 10 or 20 minutes (or whatever increment works for you) and write as much as you can during that time. Don't worry about quality (we'll get to that in a minute), just get the words down. Do this a few times a day, and it starts to add up quickly. You may also find that you gather momentum and are able to write more per sprint, sprint for longer periods, and/or include more sprints into your day.

4 - Focusing overly much on quality is probably a bigger obstacle for you right now than anything else. This is by far and away the biggest pitfall writers fall into. Remember: writing is a process that requires editing and revision. No one writes a perfect first draft. There's a reason we call them "rough drafts" and "zero drafts." There's a reason we self-edit and revise. There's a reason we use beta readers, critique partners, and editors. It isn't supposed to be perfect at the beginning. Imagine being a sculptor, taking out a lump of clay, squeezing it to shape it a few times, and then being livid because it isn't a beautiful sculpture. That's what you're doing when you allow your brain to be frustrated about the quality of your writing when you're writing a first draft. You're getting mad because your lump of clay didn't instantly become a beautiful sculpture. If you never let your lump of clay be a lump of clay, and something that looks more like a misshapen whatever rather than the thing you're trying to make, then you'll never get it to the point of actually becoming the beautiful sculpture. You have to let the words on the page be ugly before you can shape them into something beautiful when it's time to edit and revise. Have a look at the following posts for more:

Concentrate on Quantity at First, Not Quality Overcoming Embarrassment Over Own Writing Delaying Writing Out of Fear Worried About Writing Style

5 - As far as routine goes, you're actually already doing what I would have suggested, which is to utilize a variety of different routines that are catered to meet your needs in the moment. Doing the things you're already doing, plus what is mentioned above, will hopefully be enough to get you over this hurdle.

Sending you lots of happy thoughts and hope for progress! ♥

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urfavoritesecretadmirer · 2 months

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Stuff that would get us fake claimed bc this trend is so amazing in my eyes

(And no I'm not asking to get fake claimed bc apparently I'm not allowed to make jokes)

High alter count

We don’t have an exact number, but our overall estimation is pretty high (not in the thousands but yk 100-150).

Not being able to control switches

We can’t control when we switch but it’s usually in stressful/negative situations. We also can’t control who takes front.

Alter variety

Istg, people are weird when it comes to alter variety. It’s always “oh your alters are all similar? Fake!!” Or “oh your alters are all very different? Fake!!” Our system has a lot of variety.

Has a TikTok account

“Omg, a system with social media?! Fake!!” Believe it or not, we only started our TikTok in late June of last year. We’ve known we are a system since way before that. So yes, systems can have TikTok accounts. Because I guarantee there are thousands of systems on TikTok who are not open to being a system that you will never know about.

Posts about system stuff

Damn, I didn’t know it was illegal for systems to be open about being a system. I didn’t know my literal existence, labels I choose to use, etc were taking away from the “real systems”. My apologies, Mr/ms high and mighty ceo of Reddit moderation as your 9-5.

Has simply plural

“Omg an app for systems?! And you’re using it?! As a system?! Fake!!” I’m not allowed to use one of the few useful apps that can log switches, keep track of members, send messages, help you meet other systems, make polls, make your layout look pretty if you want, etc without getting fakeclaimed. It’s almost like it’s an app for systems, and systems use it. Shocker.

Uses pluralkit

“A system using a meaningful way of communication and another good way to keep track of members?! Fake!!” Apparently redditors think that pluralkit worsens amnesia barriers and derealization. Is this true?? If so tell me, but it doesn’t happen for us. Because obviously, I’m not fronting all the time. How am I supposed to feel derealization if I’m not there?? Also it’s not like our main account profile is by default the host. Our user has <3 and our systag in the name for christs sake.

Goes to school

I know, shocker, I have a life. I’m not physically incapable of having an education as a system. And believe it or not, I have decent grades too. Systems are traumatized, not stupid (directed at that one boy at my old school).

Doesn’t want final fusion

Excuse you, but this system has been here for me and has been around since I was five (I think). I’ve only now fully accepted the fact I’m a system. I think it’d be a bit rude to just say “alr you can go now” like I don’t wanna be alone tf.

Introjects

We ain’t Introject heavy, but ig even having two introjects makes you fake. This may be a shocker, but it’s more common to have other disorders alongside DID/OSDD than to not. This, and again, this may be a shocker, but it includes ADHD and autism.

In sys relationships

Me, the host, has personally never been in an in-sys relationship. But I think in our system there’s like, two? And then there’s a lot of ‘it’s complicated’ or ‘situationship’.

Decent communication

Obviously, it could be better, but we overall have decent and healthy ways of communicating with each other. Usually it’s talking out loud or leaving little notes.

Alter intros

Because apparently it’s a crime against being neurodivergent to share about your alters. We obviously can’t share everything for obvious reasons but we want yall to get to know us.

DNI alters

This may be a hard pill to swallow, but DNI doesn’t always mean the alter is some dangerous monster. It can mean that alter is too little to be online, it could mean that alter is a social anxiety symptom holder, it could mean that alter just doesn’t like talking to people outside the system/at all. These are just a few examples. Or maybe, that alter just doesn’t wanna be fuckin interacted with. But these alters should still be acknowledged. Why? Because healing is a thing. Locking them away isn’t healthy. Maybe they want people to know not to interact with them. But noooo, all DNI alters are awful people apparently.

Other mental health disorders

We have anxiety and depression (diagnosed and genetic), medically recognized ADHD, and tics. And yes, all of our alters have tics because it's caused by your brain and we share the same brain.

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deadmenandthedivine · 9 months

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DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter eight: dead flowers and garden bugs

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 3838

Everything around her seemed so calm. The gentle breeze barely disturbed the gardens and branches above. The birds sang their songs. Even the sounds of hustle and bustle of King’s Landing seemed quieter, more peaceful than usual. Her sisters breathed calmly and spoke softly as they flanked her sides. They hadn’t stopped holding each of her hands since they had grabbed them and led them out of the Great Hall. The princess shook like a leaf. The casual air that radiated from her sisters disturbed her suspicions. Had they seen someone die so gruesomely before? It had been their kin after all. They had known him far better than she had. Did they not like him? Were they relieved? Whenever she blinked, she could see the insides of his head. His tongue limply falling out of it to rest on the floor. She could not remember such a horrific sight since Lucerys took Aemond’s eye. The cut was horrific, but to the point where she did not want to peel her eyes away. What was left of Vaemond was abominable, and she was frozen in shock at the sight of it. The image of it was imprinted on the backs of her eyelids. Her father had been so swift, so nimble, and so very silent. It happened so fast she questioned if she had actually seen it. But she most certainly had, it replayed over in her mind in a constant loop.

If it weren’t for her two sisters, she knew she would have completely left her own body. It had all been too much. If it were not for their interference, she would have caused quite the scene. Yet the princess could hardly think of anything beyond how the two seemed to be acting so normal. Her mind was stuck on it. Yes, they had seen violent deaths bring the end to proud men from the time they were small girls. Tourneys, executions, duels for one’s honor. She had seen such deaths too. But this one had been different. They had to have felt something. He had watched over them at Driftmark while their grandfather was off at his many wars. They had known him far better than she ever had. She felt guilty for it. Her emotions. She cursed her own audacity to put herself above them in such a manner. I am fine. What I saw was fine. It was nothing. I am fine. I am fine. It was nothing. Everything is fine. It will all be fine. With the inner mantra and steady breaths, the princess fought to regain control of herself. She knew she needed to check in on them. She was their older sister and she was not acting like it.

“How are you both? Are you well?” She finally forced out.

Baela scoffed out a dry laugh.

“Are you well?” Rhaena asked.

The princess nodded stiffly, unable to answer the question verbally. Her sisters stared at her unconvinced, “Congratulations on your engagements.”

Baela laughed again, a bit more incredulously.

“Thank you, Til.” Rhaena smiled.

“Jace and Luke have always been very good brothers to me over these years.” The eldest stated, “It gives me no doubt that they shall make even better husbands. I hope you will let me know if they ever upset you. I swear I will straighten them both out — promptly.”

“I fear no husband.” Baela stated proudly.

“Good, they are not worth your fear. You’ll see once we eventually go riding.”

“I believe that we have been suitably matched.” Rhaena smiled, “Our future titles are quite fitting too.”

“Lady of Driftmark and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. They suit you very much. You will make a good queen someday, Baela,” The princess nodded, “Did you know ahead of time?”

“Yes.” Baela shrugged.

“Grandmother told us of the offer late in the night, but she did not tell us that she had accepted it.” Rhaena clarified, “But I am sure you have had plenty of proposals. Any pretty ones?”

The eldest sister shrugged. Her chest tightened again at the reminder of her perpetual solitude and shame. It seemed to be the only topic of discussion amongst the Seven Kingdoms. Soon, she would undoubtedly be considered a laughingstock. The proposals would surely slow over the next few years, if she was lucky they hadn’t already stopped. With every question, it seemed her days were dwindling. How long until she was referred to as the Spinster of Runestone? A dry, ugly hag? She would be mocked at every tourney, feast, or social gathering, perhaps even in songs. The sneers and taunts already echoed in her ears. Who would wed her after that? Certainly no one the those of Runestone would be pleased with. From how her knights spoke of other lords when they thought she couldn’t hear, she was sure of it. Would they even let her in her own castle if they didn’t approve? Hopefully Shrykos would be enough to convince them. But what if she wasn’t? What if the proud men of the Vale would rather see death by fire than an unwed spinster as their Lady? Like Vaemond would rather commit treason than see Rhaenyra’s son rule his family seat. It was a rigidly noble stance to take. Yet she could not blame them. Especially those of Runestone. They did not know her. They only knew of her parents, one they cherished and the other they wholeheartedly condemned. She had been cursed at conception perhaps. Parents such as hers should have never been given a child.

“No, uhh,” Maetilda answered quickly after realizing how long she had been lost in her thinking, “If there are, I do not know of a single one.”

Clutching her necklaces, Baela gasped, “That’s not true.”

“Certainly you have suitors, sister. Lining up all the way from the Iron Islands to Yi Ti.” Rhaena’s brows were furrowed as she looked at the princess with suspicion.

“Very sweet of you both. But there is not much that I can do about any of it.”

“I will have a word with Grandmother.” Rhaena disagreed.

“Grandmother can’t fix everything, Rhaena.” Baela retorted.

“If she cannot fix it, she will show us what to do.”

“No need, it is fine. I will be fine.”

“Maetilda, you do not look like you will be fine.” Rhaena stated matter of factly.

“What are you insinuating?”

“The way you looked at father in the Throne Room. You were terrified of him.” Baela crossed her arms.

“He was— It is fine. I was just shaken up from what happened. There is nothing to worry about.”

“I take offense to how stupid you must think we are.” Baela scoffed.

“Baela!” Rhaena scolded.

“I am not going to apologize! She is the one who called us stupid.”

“I made no such accusation!”

“You deem me a liar now? The gall on this one, Rhaena! Can you believe her?”

“I could call you worse things, if you would prefer.” The princess smirked, not being able to pass up the opportunity to make such a threat.

“I could call your mother worse things!” Baela stuck out her tongue childishly.

“I am sure your mother would be very pleased to hear what you have to say.”

“You may call for my mother all you like, she will not answer.”

“Do not underestimate her!”

“Pardon my lapse of judgment, your mother did call for me just the other day.”

“That is enough! Both of you.” Rhaena finally butted in.

“Now the fun is dead too.” Baela rolled her eyes.

“Since when were you the responsible one?” Maetilda teased.

“Since I was stranded in a Keep with grandmother and this one for years on end.” Rhaena smiled smugly as she gestured toward her older twin sister.

“My deepest apologies.” The princess grinned genuinely as her two sisters giggled alongside her.

The three seemed significantly more relaxed as they continued to pace about the gardens together. There was something so delightfully soothing about reuniting after so long. Like she could breath without any residual tightness in her chest. The last time they had seen each other had been the twins’ last nameday, their seven and tenth. The girls had gone riding over Driftmark together on their dragons. Their father had hired Pentoshi street performers and Norvosi bell dancers to entertain them as a reminder of their shared youth. The festivities and celebration lasted for days. By the end of it, the bell dancers had taught the girls a few moves and they had started to develop a tolerance to Dornish wine. Each night, they would drink more cups than the last until they would end up dancing up and down the corridors. It had been one of the best nameday celebrations the princess could remember. Their father was always a lot more generous with his pocketbooks when it came to the twins. Despite the fact that the two had never been left wanting in the care of their grandparents. Before the girls had dragons of their own, their parents would take them riding on Vhagar and Caraxes. The twins would normally ride together, either with their father or mother. Maetilda would ride with whoever they didn’t, which meant that she frequently rode Vhagar. Despite being the biggest most famous dragon in the whole world, the twins would almost always choose to ride with their father. The alone time with Laena had always felt a bit off to the princess. Her late stepmother had never been short of kind and loving, always spending extra time to help her with her stitching and calligraphy. She always made sure to hear the princess’s side of the story when the three girls fought. Yet atop Vhagar, all she could think about was her own mother. They would never ride dragons together. She was jealous that her sisters got to choose who to ride with. She was jealous of their engagement status. She was jealous of their caretaker and the elegance they inherited from her. She was jealous of the fact that they could keep their sanity in front of everyone. The jealousy had a tendency to eat at her insides whenever she was around them. She felt guilty for it. Such matters were not their fault.

After their legs grew tired, the three sisters took a seat on some shaded cushions that overlooked the waves. The sea mist was humid, but familiar. They talked for what felt like hours about books they’d read, frivolous gossip, and if they thought Rhaenyra was carrying a prince or princess. In reality, time moved differently in the warmth of each others’ presence. Eventually servants brought them tea and snacks, after seeing that they had ceased their walk. Apple fritters with honey and syrup. Different cuts of quail sandwiches, the perfect size to be eaten with one’s fingers. Assorted freshly cut fruit. Breads and cheeses galore. The tea was ginger, wheatgrass, and lemon. Maetilda added sugar to hers and they all dug in. The twins even ate as if their grandmother meticulously coached every movement. She tried not to gawk at her sisters for it. Especially Baela, who had always been the more rambunctious. Little to no crumbs fell. They fell silent while they ate, enjoying the food. Their lack of chatter allowed for them to take in the sounds around them. The crashing of the waves, the hum of life from the city, the chirping of birds, the passing bits of conversations from working servants. Even the buzzing of wings from the garden bugs that caught a whiff of the elaborately prepared cuisine. It was all broken by the sound of footsteps approaching, heard long before their owner’s identity was revealed due to the weaving of the garden paths. They were distinct, just like any knight’s. The armor was quieter at the joints. The crunching gravel from boots meeting the ground suggested they were made of a different material, almost sounding heavier. All three girls tensed as they passed looks of inquiry and speculation amongst themselves. Emerging from a path lined with browning bushes, one of the Cargyll twins approached and bowed. Ser Wyllam stood at attention and looked to his princess for direction.

“Ser Cargyll, good day,” Maetilda greeted, not entirely sure which twin it was.

“Good day, Princess, Ladies. You may call me Ser Arryk, less confusing.”

The logic would be sound, if she could actually tell them apart in the first place. She suspected she would lose that game the minute the brothers stood side by side again. Telling her sisters apart had never been hard. Even when they were babes.

“Pardon me for being forward, but what brings you here?” She asked.

“Not forward at all, I have been sent for a reason.”

“Yes, and that reason is?” Baela inquired suspiciously.

“My prince has sent me to see to your good health, Princess Maetilda. We are all quite shaken by today’s events.”

Her cheeks grew red as she felt herself sinking into her seat. Had she made a scene? Her father would undoubtedly have a word with her about it later. Especially if it was dramatic enough for others to take notice. Her sisters’ eyes bore into her worse than the sun on a hot summer day, “… which prince, Ser Arryk?”

“He did not want me to say.” The knight muttered.

“Yes, but I want you to say.” Maetilda smiled sweetly.

“Forgive me, princess. I do believe his order outweighs yours.”

“Whether that is true or not, we are certainly nicer to talk to, prettier, and some of those among us will be the future Queen, you know.” Baela shrugged as she glanced around inconspicuously and checked her nail beds.

“This is very true, Ser Arryk, you should tell us regardless.” Maetilda tried, “A strong, skilled, and valiant knight such as yourself should be able to get away with it.”

“I truly hope you can forgive me, princess, lady, and future Queen. If my head was not the wager, I would’ve already told you.”

Rhaena leaned forward like a lord over a war table, “Tell us this, knight. If that is even what you are. Why is this alleged prince not seeing after the princess’s health himself?”

The other two sisters dissolved into held-back giggles at the youngest’s genius. Even the Cargyll brother smirked. He sat his weight back on one of his feet and glanced up at the sky in thought.

“His grace is seeing to his brother.”

“Forgive me, Ser Cargyll. Your lack of answers is insufferable.” Baela grumbled.

“Truly! Do Kingsguard have no fun?” Rhaena teased.

“Not when under orders, unfortunately.” Ser Arryk bowed his head.

“Simply miserable.” Maetilda sighed, “You may fulfill your orders however you like, Ser Arryk. Tell the prince what you see fit. But if he wants to know the truth of my health, he must come find me himself.”

“I shall pass along the message,” The knight bowed, “Good day, princess, lady, future Queen.”

As quiet as a kitchen mouse, Ser Arryk turned on the balls of his feet and left the same way he came. The princess replayed the conversation in her head over and over again, milling over each person’s words. Her heart fluttered and sank at the same time. One of the princes had sent after her. The options were numbered, exactly five. Aegon, Jacaerys, Aemond, Lucerys, or Daeron. Six, if her father was to be counted, but he would not have sent a Kingsguard. By the same logic, Jace and Luke were unlikely to be culprits. Ser Arryk was not their knight, and they would have asked themselves. Neither of them were thoughtful enough to send someone after her. Daeron was not a strong candidate either. He was older than Joffrey, and likely at the age where he would have crushes on girls. A disturbing notion for the princess to think about. However, the King’s youngest son was also in Oldtowne with his great uncle as a ward. That left Aegon or Aemond. She really did not want the former to come looking for her. Something that she had just invited via the Kingsguard. The thought alone made her nauseous. Her stomach boiled and bubbled. He was married to Helaena, but she knew such bindings would not be enough to stop him from his pursuits. He could have laid the trap.

“Gods be damned, what did I just do!” She groaned as soon as the coast was clear.

“You took the reins, sister!” Baela proudly giggled.

“I cannot have the King’s drunken son harassing me in the corridors.” The princess snapped quietly.

“It wasn’t the drunk one. That’s who is being looked after.” Rhaena smirked, “Aemond is not subtle.”

“Aemond?” Baela sneered with disgust.

“Aemond?!” Maetilda simultaneously gasped.

“Baela, you cannot still hold a grudge against him. He was a wounded boy who wanted the world’s largest dragon for himself.” Rhaena sighed.

“Of course I can! I do not forget.”

“Sisters, we do not need to get into this. We don’t know it was him.” Maetilda attempted.

“He called Jace and Luke slurs. I would wager all the jewelry in my possession that he still uses them.” Baela ignored her.

“They both do. Yet one of them seems to have his eyes on our sister and would be politically advantageous.” Rhaena hissed.

“Politically advantageous or not, he’s not a good match. I will not see it happen.” Baela crossed her arms again.

“Father would never marry me to a Hightower.” Maetilda pointed out.

Rhaena frowned in agreement. Baela smiled as she threw her hands up in relief, “There’s always the Manderly Lord! Part of me thinks he has not yet taken a wife because he waits for you.”

The twins giggled until they cried at the shared memory from their nameday some years ago. But the princess felt knots in her stomach build at her sisters’ increasing interest in her engagement status. Briefly, she wondered if they could have an ulterior motive. They could work together to ensure her disgrace, yet their betrothal to the most sought after bachelors in the Kingdom took away all need to compete. They were no longer in the same race as her. They were promised. Soon, all of the Realm would know. It would be a disgrace for them should they not follow through with marriage. Neither Rhaenys nor Rhaenyra were the type to change their mind. In a perfect world, Rhaenyra would have a say over Maetilda’s marriage arrangements as well.

“Sometimes I wonder if father will ever have me marry.” She whispered barely loud enough for the two to hear, “Sometimes I wonder if he— what lengths he would go to keep my castle.”

It was as if all sound throughout King’s Landing and Blackwater Bay ceased for the span of a few breaths. The twins looked at their older sister with wide and shell shocked eyes. Their expressions were identical. The same sort of face that Laena would have made. It made the princess want to pause. The blood in her veins changed temperature.

“You think father would do something nefarious in order to keep possession of an old castle in the Vale? When he is to be King Consort?” Rhaena attempted to piece together the puzzle.

“Father does not want to be left without a contingency plan.” The princess pointed out.

“He has always been one to plot.” Baela nodded in agreement, “And brood.”

As the princess’s hands rubbed up and down the outsides of her thighs, they brushed past the bumps in her waist pocket. The stones were still in there. She had not moved them. They had all collected to one corner throughout her day. She could not tell her sisters. They would only run to tell their grandmother. She needed more time to find the caster and undo the binds. Princess Rhaenys would only put a stop to that. Panic flooded Maetilda’s every sense at the very thought of her losing such an opportunity to prove herself.

“Father is getting older, but he has time to change his mind.” Rhaena stated with a sigh.

Maetilda was not so confident. She pursed her lips to keep her dissent at bay.

“We shall convince him.” Baela agreed.

“We should go riding tomorrow.” Maetilda changed the subject.

“I have missed Shrykos!” Baela gasped happily.

“I do as well. She is not here. We all traveled by boat for Princess Rhaenyra’s sake.” The princess frowned softly.

“You must ride with one of us!” Rhaena insisted, “We could leave after breaking our fast. You could eat with us! We must ask grandmother.”

“Must ask me what?”

The regal woman appeared silently out of nowhere. Perhaps the bushes around them had disguised her footsteps. Their knights should have announced her arrival. Rhaenys must have told them not to. Each of the girls bowed their heads respectfully at her presence.

“We wish to go riding tomorrow, like on our birthday. May we please?” Rhaena replied sweetly.

“Grandmother, the skies call our name!” Baela interjected dramatically.

The Queen that Never Was smiled. There was a hint of a nostalgic gleam in her eye. Her hands that were neatly tucked behind her back moved to tuck in front of her.

“I may allow it. First, you both must come with me to ready for dinner.” Rhaenys sighed, “Princess Maetilda, I am certain you should be expected at dinner soon as well.”

All three of the younger girls nodded. The twins slowly and solemnly rose. Their arms hung limply at their sides as they glanced over to their sister. The three girls all shared goodbyes, with promises to reconvene in the morning. The twins' grandmother watched the girls with an unreadable expression. She was clearly deep in thought. Her eyes were staring forward, but she did not seem to be actively observing with them — at least for a moment.

Before officially turning to leave, Rhaenys lingered in her place, “There will be a family dinner tomorrow night. With all of you.”

Once more, the three nodded in acknowledgment. There was not much to be said. There was no room for argument or question. Only obedience. The twins began to follow the path out of the gardens. The same one Ser Arryk had followed. But Rhaenys did not move to follow them. She remained in the same place she lingered. Maetilda was almost too scared to look at her, to see what kept the elder princess from leaving with her granddaughters. Thoughts of what the next day would bring began to overwhelm her senses. A family dinner could only mean tension and trouble. Of which, she was already feeling overwhelmed by. Instead of looking up at her elder, she dropped her gaze to her lap in defeat.

“Keep your head up, Princess. Feel your fear on the inside, do not let them see it… lest they use it against you. And they will — do not for a moment think they won’t. They are jealous of you.”

A/N: i love a little sisters moment :P hope y’all do too!! i love baela and rhaena so much. the younger generation girl are all so precious imo.

also, thank you @marvelescvpe for your comment on my last chapter. this blog is linked to my other one and i couldn’t figure out how to reply from this blog on my phone! 😂 shoutout to you!! i’m so glad you’re enjoying!

xoxo messy

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the-head-ancho-chilli · 1 year

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Giyu General Headcannons

I'm back! I celebrated my birthday this Saturday and now I have second degree burns when I just wanted breakfast this morning… and I was supposed to have a midterm tomorrow…….. and now I am typing everything with one hand while writing in pain…………

But for now here's some Giyu Headcannons! Requests and asks are still open ^^

Word count: 1k~

So let's talk about Giyu

Everyone is so quick to judge this man and label him as "boring" or "stoic" and while those claims aren't necessarily false, I think we need to give Giyu a bit more credit

He's just really fucking tired, like all the time

Shinobu often teases Giyu and encourages him to lighten up a bit in hopes that he's seen as more open or approachable to his peers, but his efforts don't necessarily work the way that he intends

He's awkward in a where where he just has no clue what he's doing, ever

Giyu is the epitome of waving back at someone only to realize that they were greeting the person behind you

Like you could tell him about your awful morning and end it off by thanking him for listening, but the phrases "your welcome" and "no problem" will get jumbled in his head and he'll just stutter out a "your problem" instead

What's even worse about it is he'll just walk away in embarrassment

It's not an understatement by any means to say that Giyu is an introvert, but he really does value his personal time

A lot of it he spends self-regulating, and he doesn't usually want anyone around while he's doing that

Giyu doesn't talk about it but he keeps a mental checklist of things that he should do throughout the day to retain himself

He actually gets pretty upset if they go wrong

For an example. Giyu developed a routine where he makes tea in the comfort of his engawa and he knocked the cup over, spilling it onto the soil below

He was pretty harsh on himself all day because of it, even walking away from Rengoku wordlessly when he tired to incite Giyu our to eat with him

Giyu's not emotional, rather than he has a lot going on mentally and even the smallest mistake he makes can incapacitate him for the rest of the day

He would rather self-isolate until he feels better instead of bringing down his friend's moods just because he's not in a good mindset

He also journals, paints, reads, and goes on walks to help cheer himself up

Giyu doesn't really advertise that he does any of this because as I mentioned, he really values that time to himself

Would happily join someone if they invited him to do any of these activities though

Usually on his good days, he'll spend time with Shinobu, Sanemi or Rengoku and might even crack a smile or two if they're lucky

He especially likes hanging around Sanemi's estate, listening intently as Sanemi shares about the rhino-beetles he's been raising

Giyu and Shinobu find it very fascinating

What sucks is that Giyu's bad days are really incapacitating, sometimes he just spirals at the end of the day because he reaches an "I did what I supposed to, why am I still feeling like this?" mentality

I wasn't kidding when I said he can be really harsh on himself

The best way to offer help to Giyu is to offer to sit with him

His love language isn't quality time, but he really does appreciate the opportunity to just exist in a space with someone without the expectation that the two of you need to talk or anything

If he does talk, really take the time to listen

Giyu rarely enjoys speaking for a long time, and usually just communicates by sharing the most impactful or practical information in the shortest sentence possible

Really think about what he's saying and respond accordingly

But now would be a really good time to reassure him that he's not wasting time or anything, as words of affirmation is his love language

Giyu is most definitely neurodivergent, and usually copes with his depression by trying to reaffirm a sense of control in his life

Although most people would do this by assuring that they have a choice at any given opportunity, Giyu on the other hand accomplishes this by organizing himself as much as he can

This doesn't always mean that his home is spotless or his hair is brushed, but it does usually mean that he schedules his day so that he rarely has anything incomplete

But there are those times where everything hits too hard and all he can do is lie in bed all day, watching the shadow of the leaves outside swaying in the breeze, creating a kaleidoscope of light on the ceiling of his room

If you noticed that you haven't seen Giyu in a day or two, try visiting his home with some food

He won't always let you in because there's probably a mess that he's putting off to clean

But he will remember that for a long time, and most likely return the favour if he has the opportunity to

Stepping away a bit from the angst, Giyu's journal looks super cool

His handwriting isn't usually legible so it's a bit hard to read, but he likes doodling stuff about the things that happened that day or keeping objects in between the pages

Like when he and Shinobu both spent time with Sanemi to see his rhino beetles, Giyu tried drawing Sanemi's favourite one

He even gave it a little leaf as an umbrella in his drawing since it was raining that day

Giyu also asked Shinobu to teach him flower pressing so he can preserve the daises Mitsuri gave him

So there it's kept, in between the pages of his overflowing journal with several other memorabilia

Also speaking of flowers, Giyu is shockingly good at taking care of plants

He actually can't fathom why because he often forgets to water them and doesn't exactly keep them in an optimal spot in his house

Rarely checks up on them due to all the missions Giyu's on

But not only are those plants alive, but they're thriving

Shinobu's actually jealous about how healthy his plants are, and when she tries to interrogate Giyu on what secret method he's using on them he just shrugs and says "I don't know, maybe it's because of the season? I have no clue"

He will admit that they should've died so long ago

But they do bring hope to Giyu, on those days where he can't seem to do anything he remembers his plants and that because they've lasted this long, then maybe he will be okay after all :)

꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦˚ ꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦˚ ꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦˚

I am itching for some requests to fill so someone pls send something in , don’t be shy!

Also I have a Valentine’s Day post planned so stay tuned ;)

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cdragons · 7 months

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Truce Part 2

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 Pairing(s): Ikaris x Persephone!Reader Word Count: 1.8k Prompt/Summary: Part 2 of Truce Miniseries! Warning: Neurodivergent reader is neurodivergent, Hecate!Reader bestie is her own warning, Ikaris was kind of a douche Note: Thank you to everyone who takes the times to read my writing even through it is likely way too self-indulgent to be considered in-character! Special thank you to the most amazing and incredible beta editor in the world, @valeskafics! If you have not, please go check her works! She mostly does HOTD, GOT, anything Ewan Mitchell, and literally EVERYTHING she writes is incredible! Also a HUGE shoutout and thank you to @ethereal-athalia, who is literally my psychic soulmate when it came to thinking of literally ANYTHING for this AU! She was a major part in figuring out the plot and events of this world, and provided me so many ideas that I would not have been able to create any of these works for Sephia and Kaetlyn if it weren't for her help.

As moments passed since Kaetlyn and Druig left together, hand-in-hand, Ikaris was caught up in the sudden realization that he was now alone in a very public courtyard of the Hanging Gardens with you.

And with each moment passing, it was brought to his attention that he hadn’t even the slightest clue of how to act around you, let alone what to say.

“Fuck,” he thought, “this is getting awkward.”

Noticing your friend’s shift in demeanor, you immediately assumed that his discomfort must have been caused by your sudden appearance. So, you attempted to remove yourself from his company so to not cause him any further distress.

“Um, Ikaris,” you started, “if you had other engagements, I really don’t mind walking back to the Domo myself. I know that Kaety sort of pushed me to you, and I don’t want to make you uncom-”

But Ikaris quickly interjected with so much panic that his voice actually cracked, “NO!” Upon hearing his own voice, he flushed in embarrassment before clearing his throat before continuing, “I mean – no – I don’t mind at all.” Not wanting to further embarrass himself in front of the women who held his heart, he shut himself up before he could continue to stammer like an idiot.

“Thank Arishem that Druig and Kaetlyn are not here to witness me in my current state,” he thought to himself, “I would never be able to live with the humiliation.”

Staring at the man before you, you took advantage of the silence to take in all his features. It was a rare sight to see Ikaris so flustered, especially when one considered the sheer number of Deviants he’s killed is only rivaled by Thena and Kaet. You ended up letting out a very unattractive snort as a small grin crept up the corners of your mouth, and upon seeing Ikaris’ perplexed reaction, you couldn’t help continuing to laugh at his very evident confusion.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” you tried to explain, “I am not laughing at you-well, I suppose I am laughing at you, but it is not so much you that I am laughing at, but the situation.” You could hardly breathe with how hard your body shook in hysterics, leaving your explanation much to be desired by the Eternal whose confusion only increased at your reasoning.

Raising a singular eyebrow, Ikaris’ expression was a mixture of equal measures of distress and incredulity as he was forced to witness to the love of his immortal life laugh at him. Scoffing in response, he couldn’t help but comment with a slightly bitter tone, “Forgive me if I find that very hard to believe at the moment.”

“No, no, no- I promise,” you tried to explain. Taking a deep breath, you finally stopped laughing while still maintaining a bright smile that cause Ikaris’ body to flush for a very different reason, “Alright, I’m very sorry, that was rude of me. It’s just that- I’m not so used to you being so…not you?”

With a deadpan expression, mouth lines pursed together to further showcase his lack of amusement, he decided to at least hear you out, “Go on?”

“It’s just that,” you paused to find your voice, “I’m not used to seeing you act so different from yourself. You’re usually so overly confident and can be a bit arrogant. So, seeing you flustered and a bit vulnerable, it’s nice! It makes me feel closer to you. And it makes me so happy seeing this way now, compared to how you were at the beginning.”

Ikaris let out a massive groan while pinching his nose bridge. He knew that you had no intention of offending him, but it pained him in hearing your early opinion of him several millennia ago. Despite your shy personality, you were brutally honest and straightforward. A lesson he learned the hard way and a little late to his embarrassment.

He could still feel the sting on his face after you slapped him for his insensitive comments toward your powers, and the role you played in humanity. Ikaris was immediately struck dumb by your temper. Despite being a thinker, you had the ferocity of a fighter. The events that followed the uproar caused an immediate shift in dynamics amongst the fighters. Kaetlyn practically made it her life’s mission to make Ikaris’ life beyond insufferable. She and her shadows played a number of cruel pranks that would scare the life of any human. If it weren’t for his superior physical durability and strength, Ikaris was sure that he would be knocking on death’s door with each passing day. Ashamed to admit it, it took several attempts for you to truly forgive him.

The first could at best be described as a reluctant admission of harsh words that were exchanged, along with the guilt of how Ikaris’ words made you feel. It goes without saying that you were less than pleased, and refused to even pretend that his meager words were sufficient enough to even qualify as an apology.

The second time was when Ikaris approached you whilst you were instructing the humans on how to properly harvest and store the crops as food storage in preparation for the off-seasons. Try as he did, you refused to even spare him a glance as you remained steadfast in your work to prepare the Earth for the bountiful gifts it provided to humans as a result of your tender care.

The third time could not really qualify as an apology, as Ikaris was fed up with your attitude despite his multiple attempts of reconciliation. Outright demanding that you stop your childish behavior, he was struck dumb by your cool composure. In a steady voice, you explained that he had never once showed genuine remorse for his behavior, only how you felt. As a result, he made no action to change his actions, and continued to behave as if he were superior to you. Even when Ajak tried to conciliate, she was promptly stopped by Kaetlyn physically stepping in front of her; and in a low tone, she warned their leader of the unspoken consequences should she intervene. You proceeded to express your displeasure with him by further announcing that you had no interest in being forced to endure the company of someone whose only interest in her work was so that he would have an easier time to seduce Sersi. When you were done, you swiftly turned away to your quarters, eager to put as much distance as possible between you and him.

Kaetlyn followed after you, but not before snickering at the stupefied expression on Ikaris’ face. She certainly lived for the moments where the man’s overwhelming hubris got him in trouble.

It was the most mortifying experience in Ikaris’ existence. Being Ajak’s second-in-command, he was unused to the idea of being questioned, let alone outright dismissed. To bear witness to your fire, you both humbled and ensnared him with your words. And on that day, he was determined to make a true effort in gaining your loyalty and friendship. Upon changing his ways, you graciously gave him another chance, albeit still keeping him at arm’s length. But he had never been so grateful for his decision, as it marked the start of a friendship between mutual respect. And if he dared to hope, perhaps it could possibly lead to more.

Taking in his embarrassment, you decided that you’ve teased Ikaris enough, and wanted to make amends.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” you quickly apologized- hoping to keep the atmosphere light and not spiraling to depressing, “Please, let me make it up to you! I packed a picnic for me and Kaety to share, but since she’s- OH NO!” Your sweet tone shifted to distress as the realization that the basket that carried all the products of your labor and research was carried by your friend, who was now long gone to who knows where with her telepathic lover.

Seeing your afflicted expression sent warning signs to flash across Ikaris’ mind, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The picnic basket! I forgot that Kaety was the one carrying it! She wanted to test out a new spell she learned from Lady Frigga!” Your eyes were filled with agony at your absent-mindfulness, now how were you to make it up to Ikaris?

“Sephia, I don’t understand. Why is the basket so important?” Ikaris was sure that there was nothing dangerous enough that would possibly cause so much worry, but he never knew with you and Kaetlyn.

“That basket was filled with crops that I personally cultivated in my lab at the Domo! I was planning to show them to Kaety so that she could taste them, and we would discuss how to possibly integrate them into their lifestyle! I even had Gilgamesh’s help in preparing some of the dishes with the new herbs and spices I developed to be paired with the vegetation!”

Taking a slight pause to gather your thoughts, Ikaris was enthralled at the pink tint blooming on your cheeks as you stammered out your next words, “And- well- I figured that since Kaety would now be spending the day with Druig, I thought that it would be nice if I could share them with you as an apology for laughing earlier. And, I figured that it would be a good idea for you to taste them. Since- well, I do value your opinion- since that- you are my friend.”

Touched that you trusted his opinion of all people on a matter so important to you, Ikaris immediately softened his tone as he walked forward to grasp your shoulders, and lowered himself to face you at eye-level.

“Sephia,” he whispered out- his rich accent was so warm but somehow leaving you with chills- “you have no idea how honored it would make me to try your creations. But you don’t need to apologize for anything. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” Tracing his hands from your shoulders, down your arms, and stopping to grasp your hands, “Whether you like to believe it or not, I do know you enough to know that you aren’t the kind of person to intentionally ridicule others at their own expense.”

Despite melting at your Ikaris’ comforting statement, you still felt a twinge of guilt stubbornly creeping into your heart. Summoning all the courage in your heart, you stood on the tips of your toes to ask something a bit forward for your standards.

“Ikaris,” you breathily purred out, “come with me to my room.”

Taken back, Ikaris thought that his mind had conjured up your voice. Jumping back to look into your eyes, only to see that you were completely serious.

“Sweet Sephia,” he thought out, “you will be the death of me.”

Tagging: @valeskafics, @ethereal-athalia, @aphroditesmoon, @asa-do-your-thing, @vikingqueen28, @justmymindandstuff, @spacetalbot, @beananacake, @grimbunnie, @bellamys-girls, @lex-g-t, @mimireaken, @futureartpresaon, @spacetalbot, @beananacake, @its-actually-minicika, @junopur, @vikingqueen28, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @allisonoops12, @bibissparkles, @karimac

ps: if I bolded your name, I couldn't find the link (sorry)

Please like, comment, and/or reblog if you liked reading it or please share to someone that you think might like reading this!

#marvel eternals #marvel x reader #eternals x reader #ikaris imagine #ikaris x reader #ikaris x oc #ikaris x female reader #ikaris x eternal!reader #Richard madden #richard madden x reader

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loathsome-sickness · 1 month

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at which point does the power shift with fear

men are expected to simply accpet that people are afraid of them, and frankly often that they are culpable in that fear

but we know that that fear can often be motivated (and maliciously weilded by) bigotry. racism and ableism come to the forefront of my mind here but this can and has been weilded against pretty much any minority you can think of

so when does the power shift. when someone decides the object of their fear doesnt count as a minority? how many autistic and schizospec people exactly have the experience of being correctly identified as neurodivergent rather than just a threat?

transitioning and being read as a man has been gender affirming, for sure, but i've developed entire new compulsions, intrusive thoughts and paranoias devoted to the how i am being percieved as a threat, as being harm just by existing around people

because im a man, because im visibly weird

i am not a threat to other people, statisticly im at much higher risk of violence even from the women that are afraid of me

but as many people say, how are the women supposed to know that, because statisticly they are at constant threat of any man around them

at what point, i ask again, does the power shift

at what point am i allowed to just exist without having to mind whether or not someone will hurt me because i was too weird, too threatening. at what point do i get to stop thinking im hurting people just by sharing their space

will i ever be allowed to exist

#of; dmitri #intersectional feminism at least seems to grapple with these concepts #its unfortunate how uncommon feminism is intersectional #cw for discourse i suppose #cw for me waxing poetic about how fucking impossible it is to even leave the house right now #all i did was stand somewhere in public waiting to be picked up by my mother from therapy #thats all #maybe i did it weird #maybe i read too much into people walking past me #maybe maybe maybe #im tired #i know theres typos i did this on my phone

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oscillating-fan-whore3 · 1 month

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First day back from school and I think I actually want to die. I feel so gross I don't know what to do.

(Vent/rant under cut. Mentions of sa but like I'm not even sure if it counts)

No 18+ DNI but some NFSW-ish stuff does come up domt be a weirdo

He touched me again- its not that unusual he does it everyday- but today was so much fucking worse. He actually brushed against like the spot you know? Like The Spot . He rubbed his thumb against it, he knew where he was. It was over clothes ofc but I still felt it and I think I can still feel it. I think I'm losing my mind. But how could I blame him? I've never rlly directly said to completely stop and he's neurodivergent (ADHD not autism) and I know that can complicate things. Plus we're both dumb teens yk? How can I rlly blame him when we're both just kids with no real direction in life? I wothunk the worst part was the fact that I felt myself react. I felt myself get wet and I think that's the most disgusting thing of all. Ik having a reaction doesn't mean I liked or enjoyed it, but what else am I supposed to go off of? I just want it to end.

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misscloudiedays · 8 months

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Twitter is NOT made for neurodivergent people how am I suppose to ramble about my newest obsession when I slowly see my available word count go down so so fast!

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theroamingtrashcan · 3 months

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Which Percy Jackson adaptation is best? (tw opinions)

I am going to rate them all based on several things, casting, dialogue, entertainment value, how accurate it is to the source material (story, characterization of the characters, etc) and finally, does it capture the spirit and nostalgia of the og series.

The Movies

Casting - By far the worst of the three. These are supposed to the 12 year olds? Why are they like 20?

Dialogue - Not the worst here. You can tell they were written by someone who understands how story’s play out on a screen vs a script.

Entertainment Value - Also not the worst here. These two movies are actually pretty fun and funny, if you can look past the inaccuracies.

How accurate is it to the source material? - This is what kills it. These two movies couldn’t be further if they tried. It actually upsets me how they butchered the story. WHY THE HELL DID THEY FIGHT CRONOS IN THE SEA OF MONSTERS?!? WHY EVEN CALL IT THAT IF YOU WERE JUST GONNA RUIN THE ENTIRE PLOTLINE OF THE FRANCHISE?!? As for the characters, where did Grover’s insecurities go? Where is Annabeth’s… literal entire personality? Ig they did Percy alright, could’ve been more angry (when it counts) and sarcastic.

Does it capture the spirit of the og series? - In the most minute way possible, kinda. It has some funny moments, some attempts at heart felt ones, kinda.

Final rating - A solid 4/10, actually entertaining, butchered the plot and most of the characters, kinda feels Percy Jackson ish.

The Musical

Casting - This one is tricky. This, unlike the others, is a stage musical, so you cannot be too picky on the casting, nor can you easily cast children. However, this musical was written with the intention of being an age appropriate musical for youth theater programs, because of that I will say the casting is well done.

Dialogue - Again tricky but I’ll just interpret dialogue as the songs and well dialogue that happens in between. This has the best dialogue in the list, it’s goofy, funny, but also hits those emotional beats very well.

Entertainment Value - This one really depends on the person, because a lot of people don’t like musicals. For me personally, it’s fantastic. The music bops and the story is interesting.

How accurate is it to the source material? - Best on the list. Considering the options they have, as a stage musical, and what they were able to achieve, easily the best here. It has the monster battles, the pen, an actual sizable Bianca and Nico mention, best on the list. The characters are so well done, each of the og three having their own struggles and challenges that they overcome in the span of the play. Best on the list.

Does it capture the spirit of the og series? - 100% It’s funny. It’s heartfelt. It connects to the issues faced by neurodivergent kids, as well as kids who grew up missing a parent.

Final Rating - 8/10, entertaining, follows the books, only reason I give it an 8 is because a lot of people don’t like musicals.

The Show

Casting - Best on the list. Actual preteens? They all act very well? Crazy. But yeah easily the best here, I mean that right there is Percy, Annabeth, and Grover, no argument. I will say however, this is unfortunately the only thing the show wins at here.

Dialogue - Listen, Rick, you’re a book writer. Not a script writer. And it painfully shows. It’s bland, there are a lot of useless lines (as in characters are often saying things rather than ever showing them). Not to even mention how horrendously rushed the entire thing is. I thought it would slow down as it went on, so the big story moments could have the time they deserved, but no. If I am being completely honest it makes the entire show feel cheap.

Entertainment Value - Worst on the list. It is actually boring. The fights they took out, the fact that you never see riptide transform, the whole thing just feels so so cheap.

How accurate is it to the source material? - It’s… weird? It is but with some changes I just don’t understand, it’s a lot like the dialogue, kinda small yet useless changes that I believe make the show suffer a bit. The characters are, kinda accurate? Why does Percy know so much? Grover is… off. Much like the movies, but in a different way. He doesn’t have most of his insecurities and honestly he doesn’t have much of a personality. Same with Annabeth. The both of them were never really given time to have one.

Does it capture the spirit of the og series? - Not really. The funny moments don’t land and the serious ones are too rushed. It never really felt like Percy Jackson.

Final Rating - 5/10, the only reason it’s 5 is because I feel like the internet would crucify me if I rated it the same as the movies.

Final Conclusion

Listen to the musical if you haven’t already! The movies aren’t good but are entertaining. The show is a disappointment. Before you come at me saying how Rick was there blah blah blah, I don’t care. Rick being there doesn’t make it good.

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson series #percy jackson movies #the lightening thief musical #percy jackson musical #annabeth chase #grover underwood

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realmermaid333 · 6 months

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AO3 Fic Tag Game :)

I was tagged by: @burntblueberrywaffles @suchaladyy @cosmic-lullaby and @nonamemanga

20 questions beneath the cut 😛

How many works do you have on ao3?

26!

What is your ao3 word count?

125,134

What fandoms do you write for?

I write for Wednesday, The Hunger Games, and I'm thinking of maybe writing some Walking Dead fics, we will see! Right now I am focusing on my Wednesday fics though till I finish them.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

His Little Bedbug

Tipsy Truth Telling

I'll See You Around

Take You Like A Drug

Can't Keep Quiet

Do you respond to comments?

Always! I love responding to comments

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

This is hard to say, so I guess I will list three LOL. Well, I think first place is definitely A Hyde Only Knows One Thing: Pain. But the runner-ups are Don't Let Go of Me, and Nowhere to Go.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my fics have happy endings because I love happy endings! I love peace and love and joy! But I guess the happiest ending would be Smoke Signals as it is a growing-back-together/reconciliation fics that carries over to Say Yes to Heaven. And I also wanna throw in This Would Have Happened Anyway, which is an old Hunger Games fic I wrote that I plan to go in and re-edit soon haha.

Do you get hate on fics?

Rarely, but yes. I think the only fic I got hate on has been A Burning Hill. Luckily most people are wonderful!

Do you write smut? What kind?

Yes, LOL. Idk what the different kinds of smut are? but I tend to write established relationship smut, it is my fav. I write it pretty graphically, but I like to make it really sweet and comforting. I love romance!

Do you write crossovers?

No, but I think they are neat

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes!!! Smoke Signals was translated into Thai by the amazing @adogfrmhell :)

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! I co-wrote Take You Like A Drug with my bestie @suchaladyy, and also Wash Away Your Woes with @nonamemanga @suchaladyy and @averyaddamsromance ! it is so fun to cowrite with friends : D

What WIP would you like to finish but doubt you ever will?

I know I will finish it, but A Burning Hill! it is just on the backburner for a while longer.

What's your all time favorite ship?

I guess I'd say everlark because they were my first ever ship! they are just so cozy and forever in my heart.

What are your writing strengths?

I'd say showing emotion and imagery! I have been told I am able to make eyes water and hearts swoon hehe

What are your writing weaknesses?

I just wont shut up sometimes LOL, i tend to give almost too many details and too much imagery. Which I know is not inherently a bad thing, but it makes all my writing pieces so goddamn long lol! I start to feel like Bram Stoker writing Dracula XD. And sometimes I feel like my dialogue can be awkward, which I suppose makes it more realistic, so once again not always bad! i am just best at writing neurodivergent characters maybe hahah

thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I have done this very briefly before, but it was just two words in Spanish for a ritual scene! I would not write tons of dialogue in another language unless I had a beta who spoke that language fluently and who could translate and make sure the translation made sense.

First fandom you ever wrote for?

The Walking Dead! when i was like 12 I wrote TWD fanfic on wattpad LOL.

Favorite fanfic you've ever written?

How could you ask me this? What is wrong with you?

What fic would you want to rewrite one day?

I will be rewriting my Hunger Games one-shots series and reposting each one-shot as its own fic!

tagging: @therulerofallpotatos @wincestation @katwitchwriting @lovepoison9 @thesweetnessofspring and anyone who wants to join in!

#tag game #writing game #20 questions #fic tag game #the hunger games #wednesday 2022

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tobiasdrake · 7 months

Text

Well, that was an unmitigated disaster. What else have you got for me?

YES. Is it a murder? Kidnapping? Missing persons? All of the above?

Oh. Well, I guess that technically counts as a missing persons case. Hey, maybe they're dead and I'll get to find their killer!

Either way, it gets me out of the sub for a bit and, finally, away from Yakou.

That's... an interesting question, actually. We still know nothing about how this shinigami contract even came to be a thing we would know about and perform. One over there is supposed to be the greatest detective ever and Shinigami has a slant towards mysteries so maybe they do--

Okay yeah, she definitely knows One. My guess is he's responsible for our contract in some way.

Oh good, a collect-a-thon. Well, at least it has narrative rewards. I always like narrative rewards for collectibles. Makes me motivated to give a shit.

I mean, I'm going to wind up collecting them either way because I'm neurodivergent and like to collect things. But I'll be less sour about it if I get story stuff in payment!

Though she goes on to clarify that I can't have the memories I sold her back; These just let me see hangout moments with the other Detectives that I inexplicably forgot. So these basically function like the Free Time Events, letting us see moments of chilling with the other characters, shooting the shit and learning about them.

Well, guess that means I can check out my first big social event and spend some more time with....

Yakou....

*sigh* I cannot get away from this man for five minutes.

You know, Yakou's actually making some sense here. I've been (and will likely continue to be) pretty critical of him for being so adamantly against the work we're here to do.

But his point here isn't wrong. All work is work. Dividing people into classes based on whose work is superior will cause you to break out in business executives.

At the end of the day, Yakou's freaking out because this just isn't the work for him. He's happy tailing cheaters and finding lost puppies. And if that makes him feel fulfilled, then who am I to judge?

You do you, man. I gotta admit, I've gained a little bit of respect for you from--

I was gonna make a joke here but actually, nah. This is only a punchline due to a cultural philosophy of nigh-fetishistic reverence for the act of working as if it is virtuous in and of itself. This is, itself, one of the nasty hooks that capitalism wriggles into its peasant class to wring labor out of them.

Teaching you that Work = Virtue is a way to get you to undervalue your own labor. "You should want to work, you should do it just to do it, the act of labor is its own reward!" No. Fuck you. Pay me.

So. No. I'm not going to make fun of Yakou for this (even though the writing definitely wants me to). He is absolutely right. A good drink that you worked hard to earn tastes pretty sweet, and a good drink you didn't need to work for tastes even sweeter. The drink is the reward. The labor is just a means to an end.

#master detective archives: rain code #drake plays rain code #yakou furio

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thechaseofspades · 10 months

Note

For the ask game

First off, I love the image you chose for this. I can always count on you to come up with something new and unique.

Anyway, on with the answerings. Long post incoming.

11: Link your three favorite fics right now

Alright, let's get this out of the way first. My cardinal sin is not reading enough of other people's work. I'm going to fandom hell after I fandom die sadly but I have already made fandom peace with it. -- I swear I really want to read you guys' stuff I just don't have the time and/or attention span a lot of the time!

[Dear Fellow Traveller by justaboot]

I know, recency bias and all. But hush. The first chapter of this story could have been a story all on its own. I'm going to elaborate on what I like so much about this story in a comment here soon but long story short, I love how Huey is portrayed. Della too. Also Jamie has mentioned that her stories can be traced back to experiences she's had, and I can feel that going through this one. So much vivid detail that takes an experience I've never even touched and makes me feel like I'm living it. Not to mention how Huey feels relatable to me personally (thanks, neurodivergence!). Anyway, get your peepers out for this one, and your reading glasses if you've got em. It'll be a good one.

[Complementary Colors by Korkorali and tsundereanubis]

Come to think of it, this fic might have been a huge inflection point for me. It was probably the first time I ever realized that Violet Sabrewing is Literally Me (TM) because she's autistic and ace and plays chess what is there not to love. But also going through it again, I feel like this at least indirectly inspired "My Head is an Animal". Specifically, the part where Violet has a breakdown and Lena consoles her. Also also, not really related to anything I've done yet, but it got me to take May Duck seriously as a character. One of those moments where I realized that fanfiction could take a one-off clone of somebody else and give them depth, personality, etc. Not that she didn't have that in the show, but I think anybody would tell you that we didn't get very much May Duck content in DT17. Without this fic, we would have never been May'd. Send this to your friends to totally May them.

Pretty much any of the Weblena picks from TerminalMiraculosis but I'm gonna go with three because I cheat:

[Stitched Through Time]

[Crossing the Streams]

[When In Rome]

This was my genesis in the DuckTales 2017 brain rot. I don't care if these end up aging terribly and turns out there's a trillion typos and also it was written in Gaelic so I can't even read it and actually it was all a dream and none of it ever happened. These three are still going to have a special place because they opened me up to being a fan of something. I was just ranging out of that age where you were supposed to hide if you liked stuff, especially anything for kids. My nostalgic pandemic-era binge of Phineas and Ferb, for example, was something to feel shameful of, not enjoy every second of like I ended up doing. But watching DuckTales, and then immersing myself into this fandom shortly thereafter, taught me how to enjoy things. How to love things. How to love myself. Since 2021, I've spent a lot of time embracing who I am and learning to love myself. I'm not gonna say that DT17 taught me how to do all of that, but I will say that it showed me how doing so could make me so much happier in life. And here I am now, being happy in life. Funny how that works.

41: Do you tend to reread fics or are you a one-and-done kind of person?

This answer applies to pretty much everything. Movies, tv shows, and yes, reading stuff. I don't rewatch/reread stuff unless I have a reason to do so. It's nothing against the concept or anything, just that I always feel like I need a reason for doing whatever I do. Usually if I rewatch/reread something, it's because I want to check a specific part of it, like quoting a line properly or what have you. Even the fics that I linked up top, I haven't reread them in the two years since I found them. That's just how my brain works I guess.

62: Thoughts on cliffhangers?

I'm fine with cliffhangers as long as they're eventually resolved. I used a few in "Groundhog Day", and that was fun to do. I'll also say that as a writer, cliffhangers in actively updated fics are a neat little trick to get people talking. Want some free feedback? Just have Lena Sabrewing wake up in a void outside of time and space. And then just end the chapter. Comments go wild for that.

As a reader, cliffhangers are alright but it comes with a big caveat: I'm not the best at remembering what I last read. So if it's been a few days or a week since the cliffhanger, I might have some trouble remembering where we are in the story. It might be a smooth transition where we pick up exactly where we left off, but that might not click in my brain. Idk it's weird. And like I said I tend not to reread stuff that often so that complicates things.

#thanks for the ask!#sorry for the long answer!#ask game #writer ask

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