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hamliet · 3 months

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am I the only one who thinks death as a redemption distasteful?

I mean, no, you’re definitely not the only one!

Honestly, the trope is oversaturated now. Everyone and their mother wants to have Darth Vader while ignoring the specific context that made Vader’s redemptive sacrifice work. I wrote about when redemptive death works in the linked meta above.

See, I tend to think the problem isn’t the trope itself, but instead treating the trope as an easy way out, or as a moral necessity when really it should serve the character, the plot, and the themes. The genre also matters. But... yeah, how it's used in 99% of stories nowadays is lame and distasteful. It's giving up, not pushing through. It's bad witing.

Like, writing a story where someone fucks up in every aspect, where they are evil, but in the end have one lone thing they love and sacrifice everything for that love—that’s beautiful. And I don’t think it’s a miserable ending either; bittersweet, but it’s hopeful. It talks about the humanity in each of us that can’t be snuffed out no matter how we try.

I dunno, man, I have loved ones who are so beyond messed up. I want to believe there is hope for them even if it’s an eleventh hour “wait, I love this one person.” Will that redeem them to the world? No. But is it enough to comfort their loved ones? Maybe. It’s not an easy answer. That’s why redemption via death can work masterfully in a story. It can give life and hope. But it’s so often misused that I also get why people hate this trope now and kinda hate it myself lol.

In stories, actions have consequences. They’re symbols, and so are the characters. If you skirt consequences for a character that’s how you get Marty Stus and such. If death is an established reality in your world, then it’s logical some characters may die. Death is a fair consequence, but consequence does NOT mean punishment. It just means that if something happens in a story there should be a reason it happens, not just “for the sads” or “because they were bad and I want to punish readers who see themselves in them.” If a character has done certain things, and the rules of the world make it clear death is likely, that’s not inherently bad writing.

But for a lot of the oversaturation of "redemptive death," it’s, frankly, cheap. Because it’s not used as a genuine way to end a characters arc with thematic weight or to honor them. It’s done to give the audience a “there there, we made you care so we won’t kill them off as a baddie but we don’t want to take responsibility for making a complex character and actually use them to add meaning to our story.” And that’s been most of the redemptive deaths post Vader, let’s be real.

But on the other hand, death is a reality people have been grappling with in stories since the beginning of time. I’m serious; the oldest stories in the world are about humans trying to understand how to live in the face of death. But death is the only thing that humans are all equal in. The only thing. I wrote about that here.

So when you have people who refuse to acknowledge death at all, and act like killing a character including in redemptive death is a moral statement that they deserved to die when it really isn’t—it’s just a different side of the same coin as the cheap “death redemption” people. Both view it as a moral thing or as an easy way of wrapping up their writing instead of letting it fester so that audiences can continue to think on it, to ponder it, to wonder what if.

Not all stories are designed to preach or teach morality, and even fewer good stories are designed to do that. (Which is not the same thing as saying good stories are inherently amoral, either.)

If a character redeems themselves via a sacrifice that costs their life, then their sacrifice needs to matter. It needs to be dealt with, to bring life or criticism, rather than being an easy hand wave away so that the story can just continue like it didn’t matter. I

Redemptive death itself is not the problem. The problem is bad writing of characters and themes and plots that leads to an oversaturation of a trope in a pale attempt to imitate a good story rather than actually write one.

#ask hamliet #redemptive death #redemption via death #writing #tropes #rambles

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wiw3 · 6 months

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Cataclysm of Victimhood

"I just need to decompress for a while" is a sentence I've been utilizing quite frequently, as of late. After nearly running out of gas on Interstate 75 today, I arrived home to find that three of my most awkward friends had finally cut their losses with me. One doesn't want to participate in the group without their pwecious widdle boyfwend, and the other doesn't want to participate if the other isn't participating. It's an expressly "all or none" attitude toward what is ultimately a complicated, nuanced relationship between a second family for those of us who have our needs neglected by our origin-families.

Hosting D&D as a hobby has become a mainstay in my 20's. At times, it feels like it's the only thing that I can rotate my week around steadily, and even then, sometimes things happen. My entire life has been about managing expectations and today reveals itself to be no exception to that rule. I trust my friends to show up on time, ready to play games with one another. I ask them to forgive me if I take it too seriously at times, because with the tunnel-vision I'm capable of having toward certain things, it can be helpful to have friends around to tell you that you're too drunk and need to sit down, when you're too incapable of seeing it, yourself, or... myself, in this case.

I need to get out of that habit, denying accountability by proxy of saying the royal You, instead of just... well, me.

One of them takes issues with the jokes I make, the things I choose to joke about, and would rather see my right to make them stripped from me than to learn to cope with the things they find unpleasant. I don't pander to my friends, I don't sugar-coat or powder-puff anything, but I'll gladly crack a joke or two just to help someone get through something. Traditional love doesn't suit me, giving or receiving.

I'd rather just make art that makes people happy. I'm far too susceptible to pressure and changing as to fit into a specific scenario. Doing so, I've forgotten who I am, which is the same magnetic polarity that has enraptured me, yet again. I let friends of a specific nature in, in an attempt to challenge my perspectives, then they try to change me too much, they keep pushing, and inevitably I snap, or they snap. It's the nature of things.

I'm personally in a perpetual cycle of self-improvement and then crashing right back down to the same (or worse) bad habits. It's my own fault, but I think we're living in one of the most self-righteous crises we've ever faced as a nation, which is the crisis of victimization.

Everyone's a victim, everyone. Doesn't matter what you've gone through, everyone I've met finds one thing or another to get them down, a woe-is-me pattern isn't particularly destitute on my own blog, either, I've come to find. Not to make it any more metatextual than it already is, but God knows I play the victim just as much, if not more than anyone else. The difference is that it's done here, and to get it out of my system. I don't think it's healthy to find victimization in every little thing, as these few I've met in recent years have.

It all stems from their "trauma", wah-wah, you're weak for not being able to move past things in your past, simple as. Things are rarely black and white, I'll admit, but there comes a point where you have to stop making your problems everyone else's problems with which to deal. I've had to grapple with people like that for my entire life, and it's getting *old*.

It's not my fault that things happened to you and that you can't handle jokes about it, especially when they aren't even directed at you. Grow up, get over yourself, stop making this shit my problem and killing the vibe because you're selfish and your feelings and comfort are more important than the enjoyment of the event. There's no such thing as perfect inclusivity. We all have to be a lot closer to being on the same page for that, which takes so much communication that it kills any attempt at humor or universal fun, unless you're finding the fun in controlling others' behavior, in which case I think that serves as more of an indictment on your issues over mine.

You show me a non-emotionally-stunted individual in North America today and I'll show you a million dollars.

I just need to decompress for a while.

#writing #ranting #angry #dentist #cheaper than I thought #that update might come next #maybe #tw #tw jokes #creative writing #sorry for the rant #blogging #post #blog post #blog #grow up #get over yourself #seriously #victimization

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unschoolhome · 2 years

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Take Me Out of This Prison

My kids and their friends were exploring a canyon and found themselves at the fence of an elementary school during recess.

A bunch of unmasked school kids staring at a group of masked up wild children, staring back.

“Take me out of this prison! Take me to freedom with you!” One of the kids jokingly (I assume) said.

A teacher came over and asked if my kids were with their parents (yes). He then warned them about snake danger in that canyon (good call).

I keep picturing that fence. The unmasked caged children. The wild masked children. There is a short film in there somewhere.

Y has been working through a lot of pre-covid memories lately. He has obviously been holding all this inside. It makes me realize how NOT there I was in those moments - what a different lens I held up to see him through.

Tonight, Y asked me about an incident from the past. He was recovering from an illness and I tried to convince him to attend a school event. He put his foot down and I relented. But obviously for him it was not over. Two and a half years later, he asked me why I insisted like that. His feelings were still hurt - he had gotten his way, but not my real, heart-felt acceptance of his decision.

I told him the truth. Before pandemic life and homeschooling, I cared a lot about meeting (and exceeding) the expectation of the school and the teachers. I cared about fitting in. I pushed my kids to do what felt right to me, not to them. Not only for the sake of appearances - I supplanted their comfort level for my own. I apologized. I told him this is my first time parenting and that I am doing my best and learning all the time.

I shared with him how much I learn from him. Y is a shining star. He is so bright and bold and never, ever going to fit into a round hole like everyone else. He doesn’t care about fitting in with a group if it means going against his inner voice. Yet he can fit in with - and lead - a group if it is in line with his inner drive. He has tremendous energy for the things he wants to do and no time to waste on the things that don’t interest him. Yet he can and does do things that must be done, even if he doesn’t like them, provided he understands the reasons behind it. He is a kind, sweet, caring, funny, energetic, imaginative, creative person who can lead himself - he does not need or want others to hold his reins or tamper with his power in any way.

He said he likes spending so much time with his family. He likes that the life we have now is not rushing everywhere. He feels that his life is good.

As we talked, I felt so proud of him, so grateful that this person is in my life. I felt doubly honored to parent him respectfully because my husband is so like Y and was not listened to or treated with due care and together we break that pattern for our children.

And I felt immense gratitude and relief that I have gone through this pandemic experience, so that I can be the kind of parent that I am now. Please god, let me continue to be a person who listens, who works alongside, who respects. What was I missing, trying to get to school on time? What was I missing, feeling embarrassed that he was too loud or always had his clothes on backward? What was I missing when I didn’t listen, I told. Thank god I have arrived here at this moment, seeing the changes I have made for the better - a child who is empowered, who is healing himself, who is doing this in partnership with me because I opened that door. Tonight I think: how can I ever doubt myself? How can I every doubt my child? How can I every doubt homeschooling, unschooling, like this? And could school have been better, more satisfying, and less stressful for Y if I had approached it with this mindset: an advocate for my child rather than an overgrown student ready to please?

The most important person in MY homeschooling journey is ME. The person who needs to deschool the most - me. The person who needed to read all of those books and blogs and grapple with the ideas about unschooling - me. My kids are not me. They have had 3.75 years in school; I have had 27. And my journey in education is ever unfolding, always beginning.

I am filled with gratitude tonight at the education I have received this past two years and three months. What began as lockdown has begun to set all of us free in ways we never thought possible. The work is not over; it’s not done being hard. But I will acknowledge all I have done to get myself, and subsequently, us, “out of this prison.”

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capricorn-stark · 3 years

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Protégé

pairing: red hood!jason todd x robin!reader, slow burn

warning: swearing

a/n: for context, this is somewhat loosely based off of Battle for the Cowl (2009) which I definitely recommend as a read!

There was something about falling that you would never, ever get tired of.

Ever.

Probably.

With the wind whistling in your ears, your hair floating up in a million directions, and your limbs seemingly weightless as the buildings and lights blurred into one endless streak of color, the rush of adrenaline that ran through your body right before your grappling hook shot out and you landed quietly on the concrete was about a million times better than any sparring session back at the cave.

You grinned as you straightened, rather proud of the fact that you had actually managed to land so smoothly without nearly paralyzing yourself. Again.The landing was something you had been working on for a while now.

You could practically hear Bruce’s voice ringing through your head after your little stunt, lamenting on and on about how you had more important things to focus on during patrols, and you let out a sigh as you ran down the backway of the nearly empty streets.

The heavy man who had been bound up with a decently made gag and one of Bruce’s fancy tech pieces (Batcuffs, maybe? Something else with Bat smacked in front of it?) grunted beside you.

“What? Not like you had someplace to be.” You grabbed the back of his rather tacky-looking spandex suit to drag him along back to where your mentor was supposed to be.

Despite your (many) disagreements and his (many) criticisms of your hand-to-hand combat skills, attitude issues, and pretty much everything else relating to you, Bruce had actually still allowed you to go off on your own tonight. It might’ve been because he wanted a few hours of nothing but beating up petty criminals by himself for stress-relief, it might’ve been because he had started trying out that whole independence thing with you a little more (even though you were still only permitted to be about five blocks or so away), it might’ve been plot-convenience - but either way, you appreciated the gesture.

It didn’t take long for you to pull your new friend over to what should’ve been your rendezvous point with Batman, letting the man drop with a dull thud and a grunt of protest against the concrete as you glanced around for the other man. You weren’t particularly concerned by the fact that the Bat himself wasn’t there yet - after all, he was the goddamn Batman. He’d show up eventually. In the meanwhile, you decided to go over the information you had gotten on the criminal with you.

Just for the sake of it. Bruce would make you go over it anyways.

“Drury Walker, thirty-two years old, found him trying to mug someone in a back alley and make an escape. Called himself…” you paused, looking down at his sorry-looking outfit for a few moments while he looked up at you with murder and vengence in his eyes. “...Killer Moth.”

“Killer Moth?” A completely new voice repeated in disbelief, causing you to immediately whirl around to face them in a fight stance, heart racing at a million miles per hour. The guy in front of you had his hands up in the air, his face concealed with some sort of red knock-off Iron Man helmet. He was gonna get copyrighted by Marvel Studios. “Shit, sorry,” he started at the sight of you, still leaning up against one of the walls. “I was supposed to make a wholeass dramatic entrance, but you said his name was Killer Moth and that-” The man made a noise that was either a sharp cough or a laugh of some kind. “-sounded so fucking lame I couldn’t help myself.”

Despite the fact that you were definitely in some sort of major trouble with this new guy, he really did have a point. Even Killer Moth himself would’ve been embarrassed by how trash his name was, if not for the fact that he looked like he was on the verge of an aneurysm - understandably so, since the new guy had produced not one, but two guns out of apparently nowhere.

“And let me guess,” he continued, pointing one of them at your head, his tone still all-too light and easy. “You must be the Bat’s brand-new Robin.”

Now this is where most people would've shut up and proceeded to be complicit with the dude holding two guns. But Batman hadn’t seen reason and made you his (sort of) partner because you were like other people. Hell no.

“Do I look like a traffic signal to you?” It had been the very first of your amendments with Bruce. You would not be fighting crime looking like a literal traffic signal or, at best, a clown from Haly’s Circus. And the tiny green shorts had to go. “Or Robin Hood?” The guy had a rather awkward pause where his gun sort of dipped. Killer Moth was looking between you with wide eyes. “Do I?”

“I guess you kinda got a point.” You huffed and he raised his gun again, getting more in-your-face as his already angry-looking helmet somehow managed to look angrier. You weren’t exactly sure how a helmet could convey so much emotion. “But you work with Batman. And I heard you went by Robin.”

Okay, so you couldn’t make him change the name, but you had agreed it would be more of an honorary thing.

“It’s complicated.”

Using such a phrase as an excuse to escape from situations you didn’t want to go into was one of the many things you had learned from Bruce in your five months of training. Somehow, that seemed to trigger the guy further.

“So you do work with Batman.”

Before he could do something actually insane, you had managed to push the gun pointed at your head away from you, using his brief second of surprise to take it out of his hands, kick him in the chest, and round back on him with it in hand.

“And what about it?”

As cool as you thought you might’ve sounded didn’t cover for the fact that you were still nerve-wracked about what was happening right then. Especially after the guy started to dramatically slow-clap like some sort of evil thespian in a high school drama.

“Not bad, Robin. Not bad.” He looked at the gun in your hands and grinned. “If you weren’t Batman’s new replacement sidekick, I might’ve believed you had the balls to use that thing.”

Now, you were an excellent fighter. You had to be, after your excessive training with the guy who had literally mastered about every martial art in existence during his (give or take) five year-long mission to find himself. Plus, some personal experience. But fighting someone like this guy? Built like a tank and padded up in a whole lot of armor and packing an assortment of knives, guns, and even a damn taser you got a first-hand taste of?

You fought hard, but about five minutes and another round of the taser later, you saw the knock-off Iron Man helmet staring down at you before the world went black.

~*~

You woke up in what you assumed was the self-dubbed Red Hood’s safehouse of sorts.

“How the hell did he rope you into this shit?” he demanded with what you could only assume was him glaring at you through the helmet. Probably some expression that made someone look all angsty and annoyed - which was fair, since he had been trying to drill you for information you straight up refused to give while bound (way too tightly) to a chair for quite some time now. Rather rude. “Let me guess. You watched your parents die.” You stared at him before shrugging.

“Nope.”

“Oh, so they just went ahead and died somehow. Untimely accident caused by some psycho bitch in a Spirit Halloween costume.”

“…nope.”

“They abandoned you as a child.”

“No, they didn’t - does divorce count?”

Red Hoodlum’s hands kept clenching and unclenching while he stood there, staring at the wall behind you in silence. From the way his chest kept rising and falling, you were tempted to believe he was practicing breathing exercises amidst his rather violent twitching.

“Divorce - what the hell is your trauma supposed to be? Why did he pick you?!”

“Hey, just because my trauma doesn’t include people dying doesn’t make it any less traumatic,” you scoffed in response, knowing you were absolutely right about that. Your middle school guidance counselor had said so (and it’s true, ladies and gentlemen, trauma comes in many forms!). “Kinda rude to assume it didn’t affect me somehow.”

He seemed rather abashed at that and you heard him clear his throat a little.

“...right, yeah. Sorry.”

“Apology accepted - can you loosen these ropes a little? It’s starting to kinda hurt.”

“Do I look ten? That’s the oldest trick in the book, I’m not gonna-”

“I’m not going to run, just loosen the ropes a little.” He still looked like he didn’t believe you. “Come on, I don’t think I can outrun your guns.” As in his literal array of guns tacked up to the wall behind him, not his gigantic biceps.

And you weren’t too worried about being held hostage by him, either. You figured you had ten minutes tops before Batman burst in through the doorway, ready to give you a lecture on why straying from the specifically designated parts of Gotham he had let you traipse around was a terribly stupid idea.

“No.” He was already walking towards the door, because apparently, he had enough of trying to interrogate you.

“Hold on, I feel like my wrists are actually about to start bleeding or something - where are you going?”

“Keep talking and I’m gonna get the duct tape.”

“Is that a threat?” Sounding more confident than you actually felt should eventually make you more confident. Eventually.

The Red Hood sucked in a breath, stopping by the doorway and turning to face you, reaching into his pockets to get what you assumed was either a gun or duct tape when you both startled from a sudden crash. The man in front of you was already whirling around with two guns positioned to shoot when you heard the familiar voice of someone else.

“Hold your fire, soldier. I’m not here for you.” A pause. “Or I wasn’t, but now I kind of am.”

Apparently, Batman was too busy to save you. Now, you got Nightwing.

And as much as you liked Nightwing, that still kinda stung.

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interact-if · 3 years

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Day 2 of Pride Month interviews! You know them, you love them…. give it up for Ames!

Ames, author of Attollo and Metamorphosis

Pride Month Featured Authors

“…and it was a singular, terrible thought, which burrowed itself into your mind like an engorged maggot. This was not a man nor a monster. This was a concept, an ideology, a terrible myth, which had personified itself to stand before you now.You were, to put it simply, screwed.”

After several years of radio silence, you receive a message from your younger sibling that carries a strange sense of urgency to it. Either out of familial concern or boredom, you embark on a journey from your residence to your sibling’s apartment in New Hampshire to see what’s going on and, hopefully, be home before the weekend.

Too bad it’s never so simple.

Demo: Attollo, Metamorphosis (TBA)

Tags: cybernoir, thriller

(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!)

Q1: Tell us a little bit about your project(s)!

Attollo is a cyber-noir horror set in a walled city off the coast of the Atlantic that’s been a victim of a nuclear disaster. After several years of radio silence, you receive a message from your younger sibling that carries a strange sense of urgency to it. Either out of familial concern or boredom, you embark on a journey from your residence to your sibling’s apartment in New Hampshire to see what’s going on and, hopefully, be home before the weekend. Too bad it’s never so simple. Attollo is a 17+ game that deals with heavy topics and a lot of moral questioning; from cults to corrupt government, it has no shortage of monsters in the dark—both metaphorical and literal.

Metamorphosis is a crime/horror story based in the world of crime scene cleanup, where there are three simple steps: Get the call, clean the scene, and don’t ask too many questions. These are the rules that you live by under the employment of Noctua’s Crime Scene Services, and you credit them for keeping you alive.

However, after a routine house call brings forth nightmares of memories that are not your own, you find yourself pulled deeper into Noctua—a city of both monster and man—in a bid to find out the truth behind the murder of Deirdre Callow, and better yet, how her memories came to be yours. Your job mandates that you don’t dig too deep—but could this finally be the exception?

Metamorphosis is 18+ and will have explicit content; follow the last moments of a stranger to find out not only who took her life, but how this connects to the underbelly that Noctua works so hard to hide.

Q2: Why interactive fiction? What drew you to the medium?

Lmaoo, oh man. I think it really all began last summer when I first found examples of interactive fiction. I don’t even remember how I came across it, it might’ve been that I saw it mentioned in a post or I saw it as a tag on Itch.io, but at some point, last summer I began to investigate it more. I think what really drew me in was the ability for the player to control the narrative; it was like playing an old RPG, but modernized, and the fact that I could see a story unfold that was influenced by my decisions was so fascinating to me. Not to mention that IF allows so much more character depth than regular novels, in my opinion.

I’m 99% sure my first exposure to interactive fiction was through the game Crème de la Crème (a fantastic game, by the way) and I just enjoyed it so much that I went haywire for the genre. Then Temple of the Endless Night came out (another fantastic game that I’m looking forward to!), and that was really the turning point for inspiring me to give it a go. Now, almost a year later, here I am working on my own two games!

Q3: Are your characters influenced by your identity? How?

My bisexuality doesn’t have much of a major influence on the game, but I do think it contributed to the way that I view and write relationships. I figured out my sexuality around high school (I kissed a girl in high school and found out I liked it just as much as when I kissed a boy) and since then I’ve been very involved in the LGBTQ+ community of both my hometown and uni town.

I think this involvement, like being able to hear about other people’s experiences and share my own, has made me feel a lot more comfortable writing some of the characters in the game. Although Attollo and Metamorphosis both don’t focus heavily on relationships (both have murder in them, which I feel is a bit more pressing), I do keep the option for any RO’s to be romanced by anyone, regardless of gender or preference, because that’s simply what I’ve become so attuned to. In terms of side characters relationships as well, I think my involvement and my own experiences have allowed me to write far more diverse relationships than I might have, and I think that this has also allowed a more fulfilling experience for players when reading through.

I also have incorporated some struggles that I’ve faced before because of my identity into the games. For example, I and a few others have faced issues with religion due to who we are, and I incorporate this into both games. Dreamwalker, Pariah, and Sysba from Attollo all have shadows of this experience in their character origins, and Ilali and Ariston from Metamorphosis has a major point involving identity and beliefs. Both games also have undertows of ostracization and division between groups, which is also something I’ve experienced in the past. Being able to grapple these moments and control them via a narrative has been eye opening for both myself and others involved, and I’m hoping it can be a learning experience for the readers as well.

Q4: What would you like to see more of in LGBT+ fiction?

I think, now, the amount of progress in LGBTQ+ fiction is expanding at a wonderful rate. There are so many interactive fictions with options to select sexuality, select gender, select beliefs, etc. However, despite this expansion, there’s still a good deal of backlash against some aspects of LGBTQ+ fiction.

For example, as a bisexual woman who has dated men, I know there are some individuals who may not consider me a part of the LGBTQ+ because of this aspect. Not only is this incredibly disheartening, but it’s a viewpoint that I think should be educated against, and fiction is a fantastic pathway to do this. Another example I can think of is a friend of mine who identifies as asexual but is sex-neutral rather than sex-repulsed. Most people can’t believe her when she says this, and she often faces backlash for this declaration as well. This is another thing that I think that, with exposure through a medium such as fiction, can be worked on.

What I’m trying to say here is that I think LGBTQ+ fiction can be a brilliantly educational platform—if used right. Although it already teaches so much with what it has, I think having that representation of different subgroups of sexuality, of their experiences and beliefs, so people can become aware and knowledgeable of these options, is something I’d like to see more of.

Q5: What or who are some of your biggest inspirations?

Oh man, I struggled to list off inspirations because I know I have some, but as soon as someone asks me who they are my brain just goes ‘brrrrrr’ LMAO.

In terms of the games that I write and the worlds that I build, I think David Lynch and Robert Chambers are probably the two that I somehow incorporate. Attollo and Metamorphosis both have a lot of surrealist horror, which are what these two really specialized in. Shirley Jackson is also another person who inspired me a lot when it came to the writing and creation of Attollo, especially the intrapersonal relationships between the characters.

In terms of life, this is something else I really struggle to answer. I don’t really have celebrity inspirations or anything like that, but I do get inspired by my close friends and sister a lot. Seeing them go through the struggles that they face and absolutely thrive really drives me to push through my own struggles. They’re the strongest, most brilliant group of people that I know, and I consider myself incredibly fortunate that I can be a part of their lives. Not only that, but we also all collectively encourage each other to push further and to chase our dreams (as cheesy as that is LMAO) and that’s something that I think is another stroke of good fortune. I struck gold when I met them, and they’re some of the biggest inspirations in my life.

Q6: What’s a super vague spoiler for your current project?

For Attollo, I’d say ‘Home is where the heart is.’ For Metamorphosis, to quote John Berendt, ‘Always stick around for one more drink.’

Q7: Lastly, what advice would you give to your readers?

What advice would I give to you all? Oh my, I’m not exactly a wise woman here, but I’ll do my best to give you something lmaooo. I think what I really want you to walk away with, from both my stories and this interview, is that if you’re passionate about something, then share it with the world. Don’t let anyone deter your passion.

I remember listening to this painter once who commented to his friend how he ‘really liked painting’, and his friend’s first response was ‘but are you good at it?’. He then compared this to the scenario of walking; would you say, ‘but are you good at it?’ to someone who said, ‘I really like walking’? No, because it simply wouldn’t make sense, and it doesn’t make sense to say that to anyone who’s doing something out of passion.

To put it simply—if you love something, then don’t let anyone take that passion from you. I began writing these stories because I’m passionate about Attollo and Metamorphosis; I love each character, each bit of lore, and I share it with you because I want you all to enjoy it as well. Am I the best writer? God, no. Does everyone like what I write? Definitely not. But will I let this stop me from writing, from enjoying what I’m doing? Never, and I want you to do the same.

Explore your passions, embrace your passions, and let what makes you happy continue to do so

#if: events #Pride Month 2021 #pride month #queer authors #queer fiction #queer creators #interactive fiction

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reflectionsofacreator · 3 years

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Time for William’s conversations -- and he has five of them. Wordy motherfucker. As per usual, you can go here to listen to the voice inflections, though not many of them stood out to me for this set of convos.

Will: Son? Will: I ... I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. You have to understand I’ve never been very good at this. Nevermind that we live rather... extraordinary lives. Desmond: Yeah... I kinda liked my ordinary one. Will: You can’t escape who you are, Desmond. Desmond: So I’ve noticed. Will: Look... It’s silly for us to go back and forth like this. I admit, I did a shitty job raising you. I apologize. I’m sorry. But it’s important you understand that it didn’t come from a bad place. You’re my son. I love you. I guess I was so busy trying to make sure nothing bad happened, I didn’t... consider the consequences. Will: Truce?

Notice how Desmond doesn’t say a word to all of this. No agreement to a truce, no real word for Will’s justifications other than a few noncommittal snarks. Sighs. As much as Will says he loves Desmond, that doesn’t change the fact that Dez faced abuse at his hands. The way that Will talks just grates at me, trying to frame it as a “let’s make up and move on”, not really with any sort of actual like, real acknowledgement of it, and the way that William phrases brooks no room for argument.

Onto the next convo.

Desmond: I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to ask, but - how’s mom. She’s not... Will: No, no. Your mother’s fine. We decided it was safer if we split up for this job. Desmond: Always assuming the worst. Will: Hmph. For good reason. Desmond: Can I at least say hi to her? Will: I’m sorry... It’s too risky. Maybe when we’re done... Desmond: ... Right. When we’re done.

Please, sir, a crumb of a canon name for Desmond’s mother, last heir to Altair’s bloodline? Please, sir, a crumb of acknowledging that mothers are important figures too to a person’s life, not just fathers?

God who am I kidding, ac3 is just “daddy issues: the game” isn’t it, with both Desmond’s and Ratonhnhake:ton’s mothers thrown under the bus for the sake of father-oriented narratives. Sigh. It’s worth noting that Dez actually sounds pretty resigned on that last line, like he doesn’t quite believe it. Ha ha. Yeah.

Desmond: Have... Have we ever tried to make peace with the Templars? Will: Throughout our history there have been moments... Several, in fact. But... It’s impossible. There are... existential differences. Insurmountable. If there were to be unity, it wouldn’t be a truce so much as a submission. Desmond: But knowing what’s about to happen... Wouldn’t it make sense to try and talk to Vidic? Come to an arrangement? Even if it’s only temporary? Will: We’d all be so busy watching our backs, nothing would get accomplished. [slight chuckle] Imagine that. We’re more productive at war... Desmond: Well have we ever tried... sending in someone? Doing to them what they did to us with Lucy? Or Cross? Will: We have. And it’s never worked. We’ve sent people who were either too weak, and found themselves turned - or too strong, and were unable to carry out the charade. Desmond: I just feel like we all want the same thing. Will: We use the same words, but that’s all they are... words. In the end it all comes down to freedom. We seek it. They detest it. And so there’s never an end to the fight. Not until one side is completely gone. Desmond: Is that even possible? Will: Probably not. Our two groups have existed in one form or another since .. well... forever. But things can be better than they are. And that’s something.

You know, when the person that was inhumanely experimented on advocates for peace with the people that did so, I’m a little more inclined to think he’s got a point than the Mentor of the Brotherhood who just outright refuses. Honestly I think there’s something to be said for the fact that Desmond is largely an outsider looking in, and he’s able to see that this war is getting them nowhere, especially in the face of everything else. He’s spent his last 9 years living as a civilian, trying his best to get rid of the ideologies of the Assassins, and that leads him to having a lot of interesting perspectives.

Honestly, it’s probably what the Brotherhood needs. They’ve spent so long trying to get the upperhand on Abstergo, or a lot of other things, and they lose sight of what’s important, I think. Like, yeah, you can say that Desmond is being naive, sure, but I just -- it’s like how Ratonhnhake:ton pushed back against Sam for saying he’ll grow out of his own naivety. Like, the game isn’t exactly being subtle with the parallels between Desmond and Ratonhnhake:ton, but man if it doesn’t make me worried.

I know, ultimately, that the modern day plot kinda goes to nowhere (save for maybe the Origins onward), and that there’s not much in the way of change that happens. Also, I know that Ratonhnhake:ton’s efforts for his own people are futile in the long run, resulting in a very similar feeling futileness that these two characters have to grapple with. But like, that’s the rub, isn’t it -- ac3 is more tragedy than anything else, with inevitable failures that can’t be circumvented.

It interests me that Desmond lumps Lucy in with Cross though. Like as not he doesn’t exactly know the whole story there, but still. Makes me think.

Desmond: Did you look for me, dad? When I was gone. Will: Every day. Desmond: Come on... Will: I mean it. Every night I’d look. Searching for you name - or variations of it - hoping you’d slip up. Abstergo only found you first because they had better access. A few more days and it would have been me. Desmond: Well, I’m here now. Will: And I’m glad.

Desmond sounds resigned on that last line, damn. Tbh, the vibe I got from this one is that Dez couldn’t really believe that his father actually cared about him. (I mean, I can’t either, but that’s neither here nor there) I do vaguely wonder how long it took for the frantic searching to become just an ingrained habit, how long it took before William would just click through results and never actually hope to find anything, resigned to never knowing the fate of his son.

Dammit I think I just made myself feel for the bastard. [beats with stick] back! Back I say!

Desmond: Do you think Lucy regretted what she was doing? Will: I used to think I knew her well, but clearly that wasn’t the case. So I really can’t give you an honest answer. Desmond: She seemed so sincere, though. Like she really wanted to make a difference. Will: Yes, well when I first met him, I thought the same thing about Cross. Desmond: It just keeps happening over and over again. Will: What does? Desmond: Everything... Will: Don’t get weird on me, Desmond. Desmond: No. It’s fine. I’m fine. Don’t worry. Will: Alright, then. You should think about getting back in the Animus... We’ve got to find that key.

Catch me worrying anyways :D Like, really worrying :D

Groans I just. there’s so many worrying signs in these conversations, and I don’t like where it’s going!! at all!!

If you liked this, or what I do, consider checking out the rest of my ac3 playthrough! Or my other playthroughs in general!

#creator plays ac3 #William Miles #Desmond Miles

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smolfoxbab · 3 years

Text

okay here’s the Narumitsu angst (with a happy ending)

its my blog and i get to choose the hyperfixation to post about

((1,830 words //tw for injury + blood// hope u enjoy!))

Phoenix Wright wasn’t the type of person to make enemies. At least, not on his own. His selfless nature and optimistic personality made him a likable man to be around, even if he was often clumsy and oblivious at times. However, being a defense attorney was a different circumstance, one that brought a certain set of unspoken dangers with it. In proving his client’s innocence, the guilty verdict was placed onto another. While most of these people posed no threat behind the bars of their sentences, there was no guarantee a grudge wouldn’t push them to seek vengeance.

Miles Edgeworth had plenty of experience with this concept already. He was a prosecutor-- The Demon Prosecutor. Among the death threats and various other attempts on his life, he was all too aware of the risks that came with his job. But he had learned to shoulder them, right alongside the other burdens he carried. He also knew that Phoenix didn’t consider these things, didn’t consider his own safety as much as he considered others. Concussed, tazed, nearly drowned and beaten to a pulp in an infamously deadly river... none of it seemed to phase him. He never slowed in his pursuit for protecting others, and that... that concerned Miles more than anything.

“You need to be more careful, Wright,” he had said once in passing after a trial where a guilty offender nearly wrung Phoenix by the neck, the defense attorney standing just a little too close when the verdict was handed down.

“One of these days something... serious, might happen to you, and you won’t be able to just laugh it off.”

Phoenix only flashed him that dopey grin and said, “I’ll be fine, Edgeworth. For an unlucky guy, I’m pretty lucky.”

Miles wanted to believe that, truly. The man seemed to get off easy in dire situations more often than not, so perhaps he had a point behind his foolish reasoning. Even so, his worry lingered. Luck always tended to run out at some point.

---

Then one afternoon, his phone rang. He had already been driving towards Phoenix’s office, having been called over earlier on the premise of having an “important discussion.” He’d left as quickly as he could, but the traffic seemed to determined to keep him from reaching his destination. It was slow, and he seemed to be hitting every red light possible. It was at one of these prolonged red lights, as he sat impatiently tapping the steering wheel, that a familiar tune sounded off in his pocket. Sighing, he slipped his phone out and checked the screen, not too surprised to see Phoenix was the one calling. Forgot to tell him something in the first call, most likely. He hit “answer” and brought the device up to his ear.

“What is it, Wright.”

There was a raspy breath on the other end before Phoenix spoke, his voice just as hoarse.

“M-Miles, I... I-I uh...”

Miles’ brow furrowed, and he found himself straightening in his seat, grip tightening on the phone.

“Wright? Is something wrong?”

There was another breath, followed by a rather nasty sounding cough. There was then a sound that could have been a laugh, if it wasn’t so strained.

“Ah... s-something like that... I w-was trying to call... hhhah... I guess it d-doesn’t mmmatter... a-are you almost... here?”

The light turned green, and Miles pressed on the gas. Harder than he should have, perhaps, but he was uneasy now.

“Yes, I am. What is it, Wright? What happened?”

There was a grunting sound, and the rustle of paper.

“W-well... fffunny story, ah... there was s-ssomeone at the door and it t-turns out it wasn’t... w-wasn’t you and ahm... shit-”

The hiss was sharp and pained. Miles turned a corner a bit too hastily, nearly catching a street sign as he swung around it. Before he could say anything, Phoenix continued.

“I’m not... I’m nnnot doing too hot, Miles... It’s getting... k-kind of hard to... focus...”

Miles clenched his jaw, trying to hold his composure. He was on the final stretch of road, he just had to get there.

“Stay with me, Wright. Stay on the phone. Do you hear me?”

“Yeah...” came the reply, but the strength in it was fading, “yeah... Miles...?”

“I’m here, Wright.”

He turned into the office parking lot as he said that, haphazardly parking and exiting the car in record time.

“.....what I w-wanted to... tell you... I... I love... you.”

Miles’ breath hitched as he ascended the steps. He would’ve have stopped completely if not for the adrenaline fueling his movement. A lump formed in his throat, which he heavily swallowed as he pressed on. Damn it, why now did he- Damn that man.

“J-Just hold on, Wright. I’m coming up on the door now. Wright? Wright?”

Silence filled the other end of the line as he approached the door, which sat unlocked and ajar. A red smear stained the door handle, while more splashes led across the floor and deeper inside. Miles only hesitated a moment before flinging the door open, rapidly searching the room for the other man. It didn’t take long.

The defense attorney was slumped against a bookshelf near his desk, various papers and books scattered around him, along with his still lit up phone. He wasn’t moving. Miles sucked in a breath as he practically slid to Phoenix’s side, one hand clasping his shoulder while the other went to check his pulse. Thankfully, he could still feel it, though it was weakening.

“Wright? ...Phoenix, can you hear me?”

He tried to get some kind of response, lightly shaking his shoulder, but got nothing. He shifted his gaze downward, where he couldn’t help but spot the dark stain soaking underneath his jacket. He lifted the blue fabric slightly, trying to get some assessment of the damage. It looked too wide a tear to be a gun wound. A stabbing seemed more likely.

“Damn it. Damn you,” Miles cursed under his breath, shucking his jacket off and moving to put pressure on the wound. He set to call the authorities at the same time, his now-shaking hand nearly dropping the phone entirely. He stared at the unconscious man before him as the phone rang, mumbling to himself before the responder picked up,

“If you die, you fool, I’ll... I’ll bring you back and kill you again myself.”

Emergency services responded quickly, and an ambulance was sent with haste. The police force arrived as well, with the ever-diligent Gumshoe heading the charge. Ever-diligent, and ever-emotional, as the detective seemed to blast through one emotion after the next while Phoenix was being prepped for the drive to the hospital. Miles was given the assurance as he boarded the ambulance himself that, no matter what, the culprit wouldn’t get away with it. In the tense silence of the ride that followed, Miles let that statement repeat in his head- let it hold him together. They wouldn’t get away with this. He would see to it personally... Once he was assured that Phoenix was going to make it out of this alive.

---

Several hours of absolutely nerve-wracking waiting in the hospital lobby followed after, but all well worth it when he was informed that Phoenix was in stable condition. That didn’t stop him from nearly throwing the recovery room door off its hinges upon arrival, however. He needed to see it for himself, confirm with his own eyes that the other was alive.

A tired smile greeted him from the bed.

“Hey Edgeworth...”

Miles stood in the doorway for a moment, silent and stiff. Then, slowly, he drew in a breath, let his shoulders relax, and stepped inside with the door closing behind him.

“Wright.”

Phoenix winced at the tone of Miles’ voice, like a child about to be lectured by his parent.

“Look, before you get m-”

“You are an absolute moron, Phoenix Wright. I mean really of all the idiotic- Not only do you call me as you’re bleeding out, rather than contact the authorities-”

Phoenix attempted to interject.

“To be fair I was actually trying to call the-”

But Miles didn’t let him finish.

“But then you have the gall to go and declare- to tell me that you- in such a dire circumstance you decide to claim-”

“Miles-”

“Not seconds before I walk in on what could have well been a murder scene- And what would I have done then? Knowing you had said such a thing before I could even have a chance to process it let alone-”

“Miles if... if you don’t feel the same I-”

“Reciprocate.”

Both of them fell silent then. Phoenix, slack-jawed and staring straight at Miles while the prosecutor locked his gaze to the floor, feeling the heat begin to burn in his cheeks. Phoenix blinked rapidly, beginning to flush a bit himself despite his currently paler complexion.

“Y-y-you mean you-”

Edgeworth huffed and turned towards him, closing the distance between himself and the bed before closing the distance between the two of them. It was an impulsive kiss, and not the one either of them imagined would be their first, but it was real. Phoenix was real, and still here, returning the kiss like it was the most natural thing in the world. A wince and a hiss broke the moment though, Phoenix pulling back to sink into the mattress he’d started to push off of. Miles pulled back hastily, rubbing at his arm with an awkward clearing of his throat.

“A-apologies, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no- my fault, really. And look I... I’m sorry for worrying you and... how I said that really wasn’t how I meant to go about it-”

Miles cut him off again before he could start losing himself in his rambling.

“I... I know, Wright. I would be far more concerned if your plan had been to confess to me by having a near death experience.”

Phoenix chuckled nervously and looked elsewhere, giving Miles the chance to take up the seat next to his bedside.

“Yeah that’s... a little far out there... even for me. But Miles, you really...?”

Phoenix looked back with a start as Miles took his hand, his grip cautious but protective. Miles attempted to play it off as if he was exasperated, rather than jumbled mess of feelings he was grappling with. The mess of feelings he had been grappling with for some time.

“Honestly, I would have thought just now made it clear enough, but. If I must say it to convince you. Yes, Phoenix. I... I love you, too.”

There was a pause, far too long yet far too short, before Phoenix smiled. Still tired at the edges, but warm and genuine.

“Okay then. I’m... I’m really glad to hear it isn’t just... I’m glad.”

Miles couldn’t help but smile faintly himself, gently squeezing the hand in his.

“...As am I. Now... why don’t you tell me how you got into this mess?”

#narumitsu #wrightworth #ace attorney #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #My writing #fanfiction #*twiddles fingers*#idk if this is any good but

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years

Text

10 Dates | The Obstacle Date

Summary: Kim Junmyeon was the epitome of a perfect catch - he was successful, handsome and everything you currently didn’t want in a man. Yet after agreeing to his request to give him 10 dates in total to change your mind, you realised you might have been looking for someone like him all along.

Pairing: Kim Junmyeon x reader

Genre: dating au / romance

Warnings: none

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

The confessions in Italy only weighed heavier once back on home soil. Although you tried not to let it bother you, it did. There was so much more to Junmyeon than you had even expected. And whilst it was rather innocent and came from a genuine heart, you were uneasy.

Not by him, but by yourself.

Did you always have this habit of jumping into things too fast? You admitted to him that you were falling in love. Now over something small, you were backtracking as if those ardent confessions didn’t mean anything.

Because they did. You weren’t joking about feeling what you did for him.

However, Junmyeon was right. You should have waited. There were moments in the relationship thus far where you could tell he wanted to tell you that he had liked you for so long. You were certain it would have naturally come out at some point and in the right setting you probably would have been touched.

To some point, you were now, even if you couldn’t quite comprehend it.

“He’s liked you since forever?” Ayla asked after you explained to your best friends what had happened for you to return home and not gush a mile a minute about how fantastic everything was.

Nodding slowly, you looked to Kelsi, waiting for her to pipe up about how Junmyeon was still the dream man. Instead, she looked puzzled. “If he liked you so much, why didn’t he just do something about it?”

“It was when I dated Kyungsoo in high school so it kind of occurred around the same time.”

“Yeah but you just said he crossed paths with you more than recently. He’s an adult, he could have approached you now,” Ayla mentioned and Kelsi nodded along.

You sighed. “I know. But I can also understand why he didn’t. It’s rather odd though, don’t you think? Junmyeon and I are adults yet a lot of this relationship has been built on juvenile things like my plan to escape if necessary. Those first few dates were definitely a mess.”

“Yet, he still liked you,” Kelsi offered but Ayla scoffed.

“Yeah because he’s liked Y/N forever. He’s living out his teenage fantasy right now. How long will that last?”

“He’s genuine,” you grappled at a defence for the man. You didn’t appreciate hearing it from your friends like that, even if you had thought it all yourself. “He’s been nothing but a gentleman. He never forced me to do anything, and he never rushed a thing. It’s me who did. I think I’m the one with the problem. Each person I’ve dated, I would tell them I loved them and then something would come up. I don’t wait long enough to understand what is really love and what is just lust.”

“You live in a fairytale over romance, you always have,” Kelsi explained. “That’s why I thought if I sent a prince your way, maybe you’d snap out of that way of thinking. Kim Junmyeon is a great man and it’s uncanny that you both have a history that wasn’t clear from the start. But that doesn’t mean he can’t be your happily ever after if that’s what you want, Y/N.”

“The problem is, I don’t know what I want. I confessed to feelings that maybe were too premature and now it feels like a mess. Everything was going so smoothly.”

“And now you have an obstacle to face,” Ayla concluded, staring at you carefully. “It’s in every story, Y/N. It’s up to you whether you think you can get passed it or if you should give up before you try.”

Lowering your head, you didn’t know what the right answer was anymore.

You were thankful for your return to work. It kept you busy during the day and with a new team project, you were able to extend it into the nights.

Still, you knew you couldn’t avoid Junmyeon either.

“Hey,” you spoke into your phone as you leaned back in your work chair. It had been a few days since you last talked and you swallowed back the distance you felt pushing in between you.

“Hey.”

“How’s work?” you started, cringing silently at how ridiculous that was to ask. Spinning around in your chair, you clamped your eyes shut and tried to think of something better to say whilst Junmyeon gave a generic answer. “Ah, that’s good. Do you think we could meet up tonight?”

“Tonight would be good,” he agreed, sounding more earnest than usual. You wondered if he was anxious like you were too. “Should I cook?”

“No I’ll bring something on my way over,” you replied and after arranging a time, you hung up and stared at your office wall for an immeasurable moment.

It was hard to remain focused on your job for the rest of the day and you were grateful when it was an acceptable time to leave the office, stopping by one of your favourite sushi stores before taking an Uber over to Junmyeon’s home.

He answered the door with the smile you had missed seeing every day, and for a moment you grinned back, stepping inside his home and carried the food over to the table in his kitchen. Junmyeon helped you out of your coat and then lingered at your side.

“I don’t know what I am allowed to do or not do,” he admitted, his arms loosely outstretched towards you.

It was enough of an invitation for you to step into his waiting embrace, inhaling deeply to ground yourself. It felt as if it had been years since you were last here, not mere days. Feeling greedy, you didn’t step away at an acceptable time, remaining embedded into his side until you were certain you’d forget all about why you came over tonight.

Maybe that would be best. If you could just forget about all of it, you could go back to loving on Junmyeon in the way you had begun to. However, the hours you had spent overthinking everything required attention and you finally shifted back, your cheeks pink as you tried to gesture to the food.

“I got sushi since I know you like it.”

“Should we eat first then talk?”

You nodded with a smile. “Food should never have a part in any deep discussions.”

And so you both chatted. You heard about the recent shareholder’s meeting Junmyeon had attended for his company and praised him for securing another big deal. He was equally interested in your new project proposal and asked how things were with your friends. It was all amicable and yet, you could both feel the burning questions lying just underneath the shallow ones, waiting to be exposed.

Finally, once seated in the living room, it was time to do so. Junmyeon ran a hand through his hair agitatedly. “Are you wanting to break up with me?”

“I can’t say it didn’t cross my mind a few times,” you responded carefully, playing with the bracelet on your wrist. You smiled sadly. “But I also know it’s the last thing I want to do.”

“Really?”

“I wasn’t hurt by what you had to say, rather with myself,” you confessed, angling yourself on the couch you both sat upon so you were facing him. After tucking your legs up underneath yourself, you nodded softly. “I told you I was falling in love with you.”

“Does it feel different now?”

“Every relationship I’ve had, I’ve always wondered where I went wrong. I would try to meet people who I thought matched me well, and every time it would end with me feeling as if there was no growth, no excitement. None of the initial flutters remained and so I believed I grew complacent and fell out of love. After meeting you, I don’t think that was the case at all.”

Junmyeon merely waited for you to continue, his expression curious and encouraging.

“I told people I was in love with them before I could truly feel what love was. I did the same with you too. The difference is, with you, I know I can reach that feeling. Whatever I feel right now, I know it will only deepen and become more powerful the longer I’m with you.”

Junmyeon couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his lips. “Well, that’s a relief to hear. With how everything ended on our trip, I was convinced you’d be coming around to end things tonight with me.”

“That would be the easy way through navigating the obstacle that has arrived in our narrative, right?” you mentioned with a heavy breath. “We could both decide what we had was amazing, but too much of a dream to continue. Or we could pretend nothing came up for us and continue with the loving words we expressed. Worse even, we could opt for a clean slate and start afresh.”

“Are they our only options?”

You shook your head. “I choose option four.”

“What’s that?”

“We acknowledge the way we got together wasn’t always ideal. I for one had no hope for us and reacted rather juvenile towards you. Equally, the rush I began to feel carried me too strongly into a realm that I’m not ready to fully commit to. I listened to my friends at times when I should have been listening to myself or to you. I wasn’t fully present as myself and myself only until the fourth date.”

“The real us date,” he murmured with a fond smile and you nodded, scooting along the couch, closing the distance between you.

“Let’s just be real with each other. So you liked me for years. I don’t know why you didn’t do anything about it, life is mysterious like that. However, you can tell me. And I’ll listen. I’m not prepared to let go of what I discovered in Italy with you. We’ve come too far to have a clean slate, to pretend anything. I want to be real and raw with you. You told me to wait to tell you that I felt something for you, and so now, I want to do just that. I want to grow with you until the moment I can no longer keep those words in and they scream out from every part of me. We’ve only just begun this adventure together; it’d be a shame to stop journeying like this.”

Junmyeon cradled your face in his hands, nodding as he ran a thumb over your cheek gently. “I want to go with option four as well. How long do I have you here tonight? I want to discuss as much as I can with you.”

“Well,” you mentioned slowly, trying not to let yourself come across as too eager. “I was kind of hoping you’d have room for me in your bed and time in the morning to drop me off at work or a subway station?”

Leaning in and kissing you slowly, much like your very first kiss, Junmyeon then pulled back only enough to rest his forehead on yours. “I was kind of hoping that would be your answer too.”

_________________

Part 9

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thegrantwater · 3 years

Text

Darkness Feeds on the Saddest Souls

A small taste, that's all I ask.

part one, also on my ao3

word count: 1896

When Regina came too, she smelled smoke.

She wasn’t sure where it had come from, the smell of flame, but it was almost overwhelming. Looking down, she saw black tar dissipate at her feet. A grey dress fell to her ankles, and she pushed the hood of her newly adorned cloak back to her shoulders. Looking up, she realized she was in the middle of a forest, one she wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with. The air felt crisper here, and as she took a deep breath in Regina realized that she’d ridden Rocinante through these woods as a child.

“I’m in the Enchanted Forest.”

“Very perceptive, dearie.”

She whipped around, seeing Rumplestiltskin leaning on a tree behind her. He looked like he did when they’d first met, his skin glistening in the light and wrapped in his attire from a life lived long ago.

“How the hell are you here? You’re in Storybrooke, in a coma.” He gave a slight nod, a smirk on his lips.

“Yes, I am. Or rather, he is.” Regina furrowed her brows, confused.

“What are you?” She was nervous, feeling magic crackling in the air around them. Her power hadn’t felt like this in ages, and she thought back to when Emma had helped her activate Jefferson’s hat. The energy in the town hall then is what she felt now, the raw intensity weighing her down and lifting her into the sky all at once.

“I’m many things. The voice in your head, the Dark One’s powers inside of you-inside of all Dark Ones. Rumplestiltskin is just one of many.”

“So Emma failed,” her voice was soft, laced with something she couldn’t even put words to. The last thing she remembered clearly was Emma taking the dagger in her own hand, raising it to take on the curse herself. After that was darkness, and pain coursing through her veins as she lost consciousness. It was slowly making sense, her ending up in the Enchanted Forest. The runes by her feet came into focus, translating quickly in her brain once she realized what they meant.

Regina was now the Dark One, standing on the stones that gave life to the first to carry this burden.

“There it is. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to spell it out for you.” She glared at the man as he took a step towards her. “Now, are you ready to begin?”

“Begin what?” She replied, finally stepping off of the stones and starting into the woods around her.

“Well, learning to be the Dark One, of course! Though it shouldn’t take much time, you were a more prolific heart stealer than I ever was in my day. Maybe a little training, learning to hone all the powers of the darkness, but I’m sure it won’t take longer than a week to make you one of the most powerful Dark One’s of all time.” He was trailing behind her, a spring in his step as the leaves crunched under his feet.

“I won’t embrace the darkness again. I can’t,” she spoke, still walking through the trees. Henry was present in her mind. He would never forgive her if she fell back into her old ways, not after how far she’d come. Regina wouldn’t fool herself - she was no hero, and she never thought she would be. But she’d improved herself, had worked towards happiness and peace with the family she’d created, and if she went back to the darkness she wasn’t sure she’d find her way out this time.

“Oh, they all say that. But everyone who steps from that well enjoys the taste too much. It’s intoxicating, your majesty, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of that.” She stopped in her tracks, turning to face the vision behind her. He was smiling, a disgusting visage of filth and evil. “So you can fight the urges, and you can try to ignore my whispers in your ear at every turn. But everyone falls for the flavor of the darkness. The only way to stop is to be stopped.”

“If I’m in the Enchanted Forest, then Merlin isn’t far from here, and the Apprentice told Emma that he can destroy the darkness. So I’m going to find him, and he will fix this.” She’d stepped closer to him, now practically nose to nose with the embodiment of calamity. She almost gagged at the smell, identical to what she’d smelled at the stones. It was the smell of suffering, of pain caused over thousands of years. If she let it sit for a moment, it smelled like her castle had in its prime. The blood of her enemies spilled on the marble floors, the rot of death permeating the hallways as she drank bitter wine from the decanter in her bedroom, crying out into the night for her wishes to be granted. But Regina knew better than to trust the Blue Fairy to answer her calls - her sleepless nights praying for the fairy to take her away were still imprinted in her mind.

“Merlin? You’re much better off with me,” he kept the same wicked smirk on his face, and Regina rolled her eyes as she turned her back to him once again.

“I doubt that. I won’t hurt the people I love, not again.”

And so she kept walking.

“Apprentice,” Emma burst through the curtain in the back of Gold’s shop, where Blue was dabbing at the wizard’s forehead with a damp cloth. “The darkness took Regina. Where did they go?” The rest of her family trailed in behind her, Hook trying his best to keep his distance. Emma wanted him to; she thought that if he tried to come near her after what had just happened, she’d rip his throat out.

The Apprentice sat up slowly, swatting away the fairy’s hand. “She’s now where all darkness is born, Savior. Your realm.”

“The Enchanted Forest?” Snow asked softly, clutching David’s arm. Emma kept her focus on the man in front of her. If she looked back, all she’d be able to see was Henry’s face, crestfallen at losing his mother for the umpteenth time.

“Then you need to take us there,” Robin spoke up from behind them. The Apprentice looked past Emma, clearly disappointed. How this frail old man could hold so much power and so little at the same time, Emma would never understand.

“I’m too weak now, but this will help.” He waved his hand, and in a flourish of grey smoke a wand appeared in his hand. The handle was ornate, a delicately carved green wood, knobbed on the bottom. “This was a gift from Merlin, the day I became his apprentice. In it is all light magic.”

Emma snatched the wand from his hand, inspecting it closely. “So this can take us to my mom?” Henry was quiet, his voice barely a whisper. Emma looked back to see tears in his eyes, fists clenched at his sides. Regina did the same thing when she was upset, almost as if it was an attempt to ground her anger.

“Not on its own,” the man explained. “It needs to be wielded as it was forged, with both sides of the coin. Light and dark as one.” His voice trailed off at the end, and he fell back onto the bed, eyes rolling back into his head. Blue brought the cloth back to his head, wiping at it gently and muttering to herself-some kind of healing spell if Emma had to guess.

“The only person with that kind of power is the one we’re trying to get to,” David spoke, a thought simply bursting through the silence. “How are we going to get there without her?”

Emma stood, the want firmly in her hand. “Maybe we don’t need her. I can try and use this thing myself.” Turning back to the group, she held the wand towards the ceiling. All eyes were on her as she slowly made a circle with the wand, and her only thoughts were directed towards seeing Regina. She thought that if she could devote her mind to the woman in question, that just maybe it would force the magic through the wood and into the portal she was struggling to create.

“Emma enough!” Hook shouted, stepping forward and pulling Emma’s arm down. As he did, Emma’s other hand reached up and gripped his throat, fingers practically crushing his arteries.

“I know what I’m doing, Killian.” She growled, eyes pointed in anger. Robin stepped between them, breaking the connection between the two. The pirate let out a cough as air filled his lungs again. Emma felt the hard stares of her family on her, shocked by her aggression. None of them could remember the last time she’d behaved like this, if at all. Even Emma struggled to think of a time she’d been overwhelmed by such rage.

“Emma you heard the man,” Robin started, attempting to get her focus on him and not the man she’d threatened now twice in the same night. “The wand needs both light and dark to reach its full potential; your magic is purely light. Without the darkness, we won’t be able to activate it.”

“And what’s your great suggestion, Robin? We call Regina and ask her to activate the wand for us? She’s not here!” She shouted, now stepping up to him with a fury in her stance.

“We need someone wicked, Swan.” Hook muttered, still rubbing at his throat. The ginger spitfire locked under the hospital, part of the reason they were in this mess in the first place.

“No, no, no. That witch is more than wicked, she’s deranged. All she’s ever wanted was Regina gone, do you really think she’d agree to help us get her back?” Emma said, and as her adrenaline rush came down she started to feel her head pounding.

“We have to try, Ma.” It was Henry that spoke, as heads turned to face him. Snow and Charming were appalled at the mere mention of Zelena, and after all the damage she’d caused Emma was right there with them. She opened her mouth to speak, but Henry began again before she could get a word in edgewise. “My mom left her there because she thought that it was possible Zelena could change. Maybe this is her chance.” He was desperate, grasping at straws in an attempt to convince her. “And Robin’s right, you’ll never be able to wield the wand on your own. I think it’s worth the risk, if it means we can get Mom back. Please.”

The room fell quiet at his pleas, everyone deciding on their own whether or not it was even a viable option. Emma was the deepest in thought, grappling with the dilemma before her. They were right - she couldn’t use the wand on her own. And with Gold comatose, there truly were no other options for a magic user in the town. But what would Regina say when she found out they’d let Zelena go? Sure, it was for her, but locking the witch up was for her as well. And if Zelena harmed any of them, nothing would go well.

But Emma had made her decision the moment she’d realized who Hook was talking about. So she focused back on Henry. “Looks like we’re making a stop at the hospital.”

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retvenkos · 4 years

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i just read your tags are you anti-snape?

(so i just saw that my tags were cut off halfway through my rant, so if you want me to finish that, just send in an ask and i will write out my whole thoughts)

okay, so anti-snape is a strong word, with a lot of different connotations to it, and while i wouldn’t brand myself as anti-snape because of all of the strong feelings attached, i would say that i don’t think that snape deserves all of the recognition that he deserves.

why?

what i firstly want to say is that snape is emotional abuser. my case in point here is neville, who had parents that were literally tortured to insanity, proving that his worst fear is snape - his teacher. how many times was snape unusually cruel to neville and harry? how many times did he humiliate hermione - an already bullied, muggle-born student (and possible poc)? snape is established to be cruel, and when you look at his actions, it is clear he is emotionally abusive to his students.

why did i start with this? because i relate with neville - i know what it is like to have your worst fear be an abuser that you face every day. so, therefore, i am biased against snape, and a lot of my dislike for him comes from the fact that no matter how you dice it, this man was in a position of power, abusing those students that looked up to him.

he especially hated harry, who was an abused kid himself (and there is some kind of narrative in there, an abused kid growing up to hate and alienate an abused kid. i’m not going to get into that. but just think about that for a second and tell me you don’t want to at least dislike snape.).

and perhaps you want to argue that snape couldn’t know that harry was abused over at privet drive. fair, okay. not everything about a kid can be seen on their face, right? but, one could argue that if snape took the time to look at harry and see him as a kid for a second, he could see hints of it. i have family members who are teachers, and they say that they can never be 100% sure, but they can at least have a good idea of who is abused at home, just based off of the way they interact with other people - especially adults. OR, if you don’t like that idea, you can think of it like this: the teachers at hogwarts are probably close to each other, right? mcgonagall knew (at least to some degree) what the dursleys were like - furthermore, she is close with harry and perceptive. she would have known that harry was abused, and if you don’t think that she wouldn’t have at least mentioned it to snape, i would disagree and say you don’t know mcgonagall. also! dumbledore! there is literally so many opportunities for snape to figure out that harry was abused at home. he just didn’t care.

so, snape is an emotionally abusive man in a position of power, picking on literal children as an outlet for his misplaced anger. this is the set-up for snape, and had he never had an in-depth redemption arc, we would literally all dislike snape.

and i feel like, then, the only reason that we have this snape/anti-snape discourse is dependent on whether or not you think his redemption arc is reason enough to excuse his actions.

and so here we talk about his childhood. which is definitely important and gives good insight, but should not be the only reason as to why he is seen as a good character. childhoods are formative and important, but they are not all encompassing. let’s not forget that snape is a grown man when the story starts. he is 31 years old when we are introduced to his character.

snape had a terrible childhood. he was neglected. he was abused (or so it was implied). he was friendless. he was lonely. he was poorly socialized. he was in a hogwarts house that seemed against him, almost, so he had to work to carve his place out and prove his worth. he wanted to stay at hogwarts all year, if he could.

(sound familiar? harry? neville? you two are here?)

but, school is not always great. at school, there are bullies that are terrible to him - it goes beyond teasing sometimes, snape getting hexed and jinxed and publically humiliated. he has one friend - lily, but sometimes he wonders if she really understands or if she really cares. no one has ever cared for him before, so why should she? he falls in love with her, but she does not reciprocate his feelings. instead, she falls for his tormentor - the person who has made his one safe place terrible, the person who treats him like he’s nothing.

now that is a compelling background. when he falls in with the wrong crowd, we can see why. he is desperate for some kind of belonging, some kind of importance.

(is that... draco?)

he gets more violent as time goes on. those spells he created? levicorpus? sectumsempra? he’s going down a dark path and he wants to cause pain. he becomes a death eater, and while we don’t get a lot of detail what happens here, he rises in the ranks, which means he had to have done terrible things. at this point, he is clearly a bad person. and maybe he feels remorse during this time, but it’s clearly not enough to push his conscience out of where it is. he is still on voldemort's side.

what changes him? the power of love, of course. because even in this terrible time, he still loves lily - right? but is it love? or is it more like obsession? jk would tell us it’s love, but i would disagree.

at the beginning, yes. snape loved lily. but after so much has transpired? things changed. snape is no longer as pure as he once was. he changed. any maybe he didn’t notice it, sure. but wasn’t he different, after everything?

if he loved lily, he would have cared about (even minorly) the things she cared for. yes, he could still hate james with a burning passion, yes he could let that ruin his and lily’s relationship,,, but could he become the very thing she feared and abhorred? could he become a death eater, literally killing people she loved? people just like her? could he have gone to her house, stepped over her dead husband, ignored her crying child to mourn her dead body?

this feels more like obsession. if you love someone, you care about them - their wellbeing, their peace of mind. love means you need to have an awareness for who your loved one loves, and you can accept them for the fact that they love someone else. snape shows he doesn’t. he only cares for her.

here we are, now, at this point is snape's story, and the natural progression in his redemption arc is for him to actively try to amend his terrible actions.

and... he does? kind of?

he becomes a double agent which is perfect. he vows to protect harry, which he does, physically... but he has a clear disregard for protecting harry emotionally, which one could argue is most important in harry’s story.

to defeat voldemort, harry has to come to terms with the idea that love is his strongest weapon against the dark lord, right? so snape being horrible to harry is not only bad because emotional abuse is real, but it’s also part of why harry is so angry and bitter in the sixth book, the exact opposite of what he needs to be if he wants to defeat voldemort.

also, snape preaches “control your emotions” but snape... is emotionally unstable and takes out all of his anger on children half his age? idk. that just bothers me.

so i feel like snape kind of half-asses his way through his redemption arc. he has chosen a different side, yes, but he doesn’t make a lot of intrinsic changes. he’s still angry. he’s still bitter. he’s still emotionally manipulative and abusive.

so really, the question is: is a redemption arc dependent on a change of heart? or is a change of action good enough?

if you haven’t already picked up on how i feel about this issue, i don’t think a change of action is enough.

redemption is the act of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil (thanks, google). it’s absolution for your crimes. i feel like redemption is an intrinsic transformation, and jk preaches that love can do such an act. i’ve already covered that i don’t think snape loved lily, at the point of his big character changing moment. he was obsessed. it was more a change of action, than of heart.

BUT, that doesn’t mean that i don’t think he couldn’t have been redeemed. toward the close of his story, i kind of saw him as going through another arc as a character - i saw him start to care for harry more as harry rather than the child of the woman i’m obsessed with. i think, here, he’s starting to show that love that jk insists he has.

i think that if he had more time, he could have had a more full, more satisfying redemption arc. and that’s the tragedy of his character, right? we could always sort of trust him, but we could never fully trust him until the end. he was never really quite redeemed, it was cut short.

so, basically, i grapple with the fact that jk is adamant that snape is the good guy, he’s the redeemable character, when... he’s kind of only halfway there. AND, this is coupled with the fact that i believe draco was halfway there to a complete redemption arc, and jk is equally as adamant against draco getting a redemption arc.

jk has said that she thinks that the people who want draco to be redeemed are just girls obsessed with the bad boy having a heart of gold (which is fair, to some extent), but... isn’t she the exact same with snape? isn’t she equally obsessed that her readers know snape as being the emotionally scarred, bad boy with a heart of gold? food for thought.

also, where i draw a clear distinction between the crimes of draco and the crimes of snape is that draco is a teenager alongside the teenagers he bullies and emotionally abuses (draco, too, is an abuser! if you want an analysis on him, hmu.) draco is a 15 year old abusing other 15 year olds. this is terrible, and it can’t be excused. i agree. BUT, snape is a 31 year old man abusing 11 year olds. he is also their teacher. there is a clear power imbalance coupled with the fact that snape is an adult, who is supposed to be wiser and smarter.

so... long post, forgive me. i could go off about the crimes of jk rowling's depiction of slytherins forever and never be fully satisfied. i’m sure that in a weeks time i will have more i want to add onto this post. but for now, these are my thoughts on snape’s redemption arc, and my answer to whether or not i am anti-snape.

i am sure that after reading this, there are some of you who will think that i am anti-snape. that’s fine. you can have your own opinion, but if you are going to say that, know why.

no opinion is good if you can’t explain why.

#harry potter discourse #hp #severus snape #anti-snape #j.k. rowling #discourse #olive rambles #and apparently screams at the sky because i have now been writing this for two (2) hours and my mom doesn't want to listen to me anymore #she likes to play devil's advocate in arguments but i will not stop until she understands my valid points

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the-fallen-order · 3 years

Text

devil eyes.

I’ll be honest with you all, I’ve never posted any of my writing. Super nervous, honestly. I was sent a Star Wars fic by a friend and I kept getting the urge to write.. Between me and two friends (they helped with ideas), this is a bit of what we came up with. I’m going to post it on ao3, I think, but I’m a bit self-conscience and kinda scared lol.

This isn’t the whole thing, just a bit - I’d love some (constructive) feed back..

While Hera is an OC, I tried to leave her fairly ambiguous, so you can view her however you want. I have an idea in my head of what she looks like, but I will leave that up to the reader (unless anyone is interested in what I envisioned).

(PS. Yes, I know there is a Hera in Rebels, completely unrelated)

I’m also up for collaboration, or doing one shots! I tried really hard to keep stuff canon, but I’m not perfect. It doesn’t look like any formatting copied over, so I apologize for that!

This is set AFTER the ending of S2 of The Mandalorian. I don’t believe there are any spoilers...

................

Tattooine.

A wasteland the Huntress was certainly not keen to be on again. It was hot, almost unbearably so, with more sand than she had ever cared to see in her lifetime. An unremarkable planet with twin suns, once home to Jabba the Hutt and his palace. She had visited the palace once, had watched someone – a slave that had done Jabba wrong, she presumed – get dumped into the rancor pit, and she had never wanted to return. The only saving grace of the planet was the podracing.

Yet, money talked, and she found herself back on the awful planet once more, tracking a quarry through the vast desert wasteland of Tattooine. She had narrowed her search down to a small village sitting at the bottom of a mountain - an interesting place to hide, she thought, considering there were much better places to play hide and seek with a bounty hunter. The tracking fob in her hand was blinking more steadily now, indicating she was in the right place. Placing it back in her pocket, she reached up to readjust the hood of her black cloak before pulling her binoculars off her belt to get an idea of what exactly she had gotten herself into.

She knew there would be more bounty hunters coming – Greef Karga, who had given her the bounty puck – was notorious for handing out more than one puck for the same bounty, especially when they were high priority. Most hunters within the guild dreamed of getting bounties like this, but very few were qualified for the High Risk, High Reward type of bounties. Which led to a lot of resentment towards the hunters that were qualified.

The village seemed devoid of any natives. The Quarry had most likely captured the ones that inhabited it or had them killed if they resisted. The beings left milling about were undoubtedly guards hired to protect him, most likely heavily armed, too. At least ten, from what she could see through the binoculars, with an unknown amount inside the huts. It would be challenging, but doable.

“Don’t move.” A modulated voice from behind her broke her train of thought. Her breath hitched as the tip of a blaster was pressed against the back of her head. Another bounty hunter, no doubt. How did I not hear him?

She slowly raised her hands. “I’m in the guild.” The Huntress said.

“I know.” He replied. “This is my bounty.”

Uh huh...

“Maybe we can make a deal,” She suggested, “There’s at least ten guards down there, with who knows how many inside the huts waiting for us.”

He was quiet, watching her. The Huntress slowly turned around to face him, hands still raised in the air, her eyes widening at the sight of Beskar. Oh, fuck. A Mandalorian. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is not good.

There had been talk of another Mandalorian bounty hunter, one that wasn’t Boba Fett, one that was ruthless during his hunts and never backed down from a fight. He had been Blacklist approved. He seemed to be following in the footsteps of the one and only Fett, with some kind of vendetta against the galaxy fueling him.

“What’s the deal?” He asked finally, blaster still pointed at her head, his finger on the trigger.

“We can split the bounty.”

Dead silence.

Her heart was racing. She had had plenty of blasters pointed at her, had been shot at plenty of times, shot a couple times, but never by a Mandalorian. They were deadly warriors, not ones to be crossed or stand in the way of. Rare as they were nowadays, when one did show up, it was never a good sign.

“We do this my way, then.”

“Your way?” She shot back.

“Yes.”

“I was here first.”

He stared down at her cloaked figure, contemplating.

“I could kill you and have the bounty all to myself.” He said, almost passively, like he was toying with the idea.

Oh fuck. Think…think!

“Even that Beskar of yours can only protect you from so much, Mandalorian. Half of the pay is still better than none if we are both dead.”

“We do this my way, then.” He lowered the blaster to his side, kneeling down beside her, pressing a button on his vambrace that changed the view mode of the visor in his helmet. The Huntress lowered her hands, putting her binoculars back on her belt.

Stars, he was intimidating.

“Quarry is in the far -right hut.” The Mandalorian said, “With more guards hiding inside. Let’s go.”

She sighed quietly, mostly to herself, before following him down the side of the mountain. What am I thinking?

The Huntress stayed low, quietly making her way to the first hut, listening intently as the sound of enemy footsteps came towards her. Vibro-blade in hand, she moved swiftly, her free hand covering his mouth to muffle him as her other stabbed the blade into his neck, pulling him back behind the hut as he struggled against her. She twisted the blade in deeper, his body going limp in her arms as she pulled the blade out, dropping him to the ground.

She continued to make her way through the small village, quietly taking out guards with her vibro-blade as she went. As she set another now-dead guard on the ground, blaster fire suddenly erupted around her. She peaked around the edge of the hut she had snuck behind, watching as mass chaos unfolded in front of her.

Ah, the Mandalorian has been seen.

Guards were everywhere now; she had quietly taken out five, but those five had been replaced by another twenty and they were all shooting at the Beskar-clad target. She couldn’t blame them, though; he was a truly enticing target to shoot at.

Sheathing her vibro-blade, she pulled her blaster from it’s holster and open-fired at a few of the enemies, watching as the Mandalorian disintegrated one with his long rifle.

Impressive.

She kept her gaze on the Mandalorian whose cover was quickly becoming compromised. Turning her attention back to the guards, she began firing more rounds at the them to draw their attention away from him and onto her. The Mandalorian gave her a quick nod - she assumed it was his way of saying thank you - and used the opportunity she had provided to him to move his position and disappear behind the other huts.

Pulling a thermal detonator off of her utility belt, she armed it and threw it in the direction of the guards, peeking her head back out after it had detonated, eliminating the group. It was stupid of them to congregate in one area like that, but she supposed that’s what you got for hiring bandits to protect you, rather than highly trained mercenaries. Even with them being heavily armed, idiots could only do so much.

The blaster fire had mostly ceased after the blast, with one or two guards left trying their best to take out the two bounty hunters. She almost felt bad for them. Watching as one was disintegrated, she took out the last one standing and moved to join the Mandalorian in the last hut on the right.

Walking through the door, blaster drawn, she watched as the Mandalorian cuffed the bounty, who was pleading and crying to let him go, that it was all a misunderstanding. “Whatever you’re being paid, I’ll double it if you let me go!” The Huntress rolled her eyes at that - that was like the go-to statement of the century for quarries when they knew they were caught. She holstered her blaster, continuing to watch the Mandalorian. He pulled the bounty towards the door by the cuffs, stepping past her as if she didn’t exist.

“What are you doing?”

“I told you this was my bounty.” He replied.

“We made a deal.” He stopped, looking over his shoulder at her.

“Deals off.”

“Fight me for it.” She taunted, clenching her fists in preparation to fight. Her blaster was no use against the beskar, this she knew. The Mandalorian let go of the bounty, pulling the long shiny spear from off his back and turned to look at her. His body language conveyed the message to her very clearly; he was pissed.

“We had an agreement, Mandalorian.”

He charged at her, taking a swing at her with the spear. The Huntress crossed her arms at her wrists, letting her own beskar vambraces take the impact of the attack, the sound of beskar-on-beskar rang through the air as he pushed her backwards towards the wall. She stumbled a few steps backwards, regaining her balance as he swung again. She ducked, throwing a punch at his unprotected side, making contact. The Huntress quickly stepped back, activating the flamethrower on her vambrace, forcing him to step back away from her.

“Where did you get those?” He asked harshly. She disengaged the flamethrower, watching him cautiously, both of them poised to continue fighting. Mandalorian’s took their armor very seriously; especially when it was a dar’manda wearing the armor. This she knew all too well.

“This is my arm--“ Was all she managed to get out before he used the grappling line in his vambrace to constrict her, watching as it wrapped around her, causing her to lose her balance and fall to the ground with a thud.

She struggled to get loose from the line as he pulled her towards him, only stopping once she felt the familiar sensation of a blaster being pressed against her forehead. The Huntress stared up at him, fully expecting him to pull the trigger on her this time.

The silence between the two was almost palpable.

“…Kandosii?” It was almost a whisper, barely audible through the vocoder in his helmet. Her heart skipped a beat at the nickname - she hadn’t been called that in years. It was foreign, almost, the familiarity of it just out of her reach. The sound of the Beskar spear hitting the ground echoed through the hut as the Mandalorian studied her – the Mandalorian armor, now painted a familiar blue, her fighting style….her eyes.

She was alive.

#the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x oc

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emilyplaysotome · 4 years

Text

One Year

I don’t know who is still active on here or who follows me, but I felt like I wanted to write something and this is what I wrote. Semi-autobiographical.

Hope you like it.

I open the door to the bar where we said we’d meet. Beyond just running late, I’m not dressed for a first date and instead wear jeans and sneakers and a t-shirt I bought for myself on a trip that has bold letters with the name of the city I was in.

To be honest, I didn’t want to go on this first date.

It’s not because of you but because there’s too much going on. I’m about to leave again for work and I know how these things go. Even if we like each other I will quickly be forgotten. We will say things like, “This was fun, we should do this when you get back” but in the end the days will pass and we will live our lives exactly as we did without so much as a thought of this night.

Despite knowing this, I tell myself to go because I have nothing to lose and I have said I want to meet someone new.

I argue with myself that I’ve met plenty of new people the past couple of years, and that it’s unlikely that this one is the one that will be so different but in the end I go out of obligation.

I said yes and I don’t want to go back on my word.

I open the door to the bar where we said we’d meet and I see you.

To be honest, you take my breath away.

You are much, much, much hotter than your pictures gave you credit for and you smile at me. I think I must be mistaken because there is no way that my jeans and sneakers and t-shirt and makeup-less face is good enough for you. I turn to see if perhaps there is someone behind me - someone taller and thinner and more objectively beautiful.

But there is not.

You are smiling at me, and so I smile back and push down the little voice that tells me you are out of my league and join you at the bar.

I am intimidated by your looks and then I find out you are smart, kind, and empathetic.

The conversation flows easily and you reveal yourself to me rather quickly. I feel in control in this regard, as I am quite good at getting people to show themselves. The problem I have with you is that everything I pull out of you is better than the last and I continue to wonder who or what you’re looking for that can possibly meet you at your level.

I worry I am not good enough.

I drink my first drink with my climbing shoes in my tote thinking about the promise I made to my friends. I order another drink with you because you asked and I know that they will understand it if I show up late. I wonder if you’re asking me to have another drink to be polite or if you feel a fraction of what I feel for you.

You seem interested but I have a hard time believing it.

Behind the counter there is a barkeep who keeps interrupting our conversation. We are both friendly to him and in the moments when it’s just us, laugh together, wondering if he knows this is a first date and if he’s playing with us both a bit. You find a way to dazzle me with your intellect, and I feel self-conscious as I take big gulps of my beer wondering if you’ll realize how simple I am.

You speak about the intricacies of how the world works having studied the science that holds it together. I don’t know what to say as I am an artist who grapples with ability to move people with my work.

You seem to know exactly what to say while I am left wondering if my voice is worth anything these days.

You open the door to the bar where we met and hold it for me as we exit.

We say goodbye in the subway and I feel disappointed you don’t kiss me but I figure that I will never see you again and make peace with the suspicion I have that you were just being nice to me.

I meet up with my friends who forgive my tardiness and I climb trying not to think anything of our meeting.

That night I think about the day that my old relationship died.

I think about how I was sitting on the couch and how I closed my laptop when he came in. I think about how stunned I was by his ramblings and how I had to ask, “Are you breaking up with me?” before I fully understood what was happening.

I thought about the days that passed, where I couldn’t eat and could barely work and how quickly I lost weight as a result.

I thought about how frightened I was to go on a date on an app and how much fun I ended up having with a man I should have never met. Born on the other side of the world who crashed into my life for three passionate months before disappearing as quickly as he arrived, occasionally letting me know he missed me.

He doesn’t write me anymore.

I thought about the one that followed, who I wanted so badly and who gave me so little. I thought about how he seemed to know when it was I was finally over him and how happy I was to finally be rid of those feelings.

He doesn’t write to me either.

I thought about the man I fell for without his knowledge a few months ago, and who reminded me too much of the others. I thought about how brave I was to break things off, recognizing that he would not be able to give me what I wanted.

I never gave him the chance to write me again.

You send me a text message the next day and I find myself both skeptical and elated.

Looking back I realize how hard it was for you to carve out time for me, but back then I was just happy that you wanted to see me before I left.

I calm myself down before we meet by googling your name. I see a picture of you from a linked in and I tell myself that my memory made you hotter than you are and that you are not some untouchable human that is out of my league.

I remind myself of how far I’ve come and how I will not allow the little voice that questions my worth to ruin our date.

I ask myself what will make me feel strong and powerful and worthy and I don’t wear a t-shirt with letters on it. I put makeup on and do my hair and wear a top that shows my stomach if I raise my arms.

I like the way my stomach looks these days.

I open the door to the bar where we said we’d meet.

You’re not there, so I take a seat at the counter and I make small talk with the bartender. It’s hot and I feel sweaty and annoyed at NYC summer for making it impossible to stay cute.

When you arrive, you are sweatier than I am but you are also much hotter than the picture I found that helped me pretend you were in my league.

“Fuck.”

I say it to myself when you go to the bathroom and I am alone at the counter with an empty beer, having ordered a second round. I like you so much and I want you to like me and I’m starting to believe that I might have a chance. The conversation this time is lighter and quicker and I can tell I’m still somewhat in control of it. We bounce around and I think, “See. I can keep up with you.” and I hope you like that I can.

At some point I discover your feet are comically wide, and I tease you as if I am a fifth grade boy.

At some point you kiss me and I realize that I actually have a chance with you.

I leave the city for ten days and you write me every single day.

What starts as short, simple texts becomes long letters back and forth. I write them after working for 10 hours each day and they take me about an hour to write, but writing them is my favorite part of the day.

In time, I will find out that they took you just as long to write and that you were talking to another girl at the same time you were talking to me. You had the chance to go out with her but decided you didn’t want to, and I will wonder how it is possible that I found someone who is as wonderful as you.

I will think about all the men I dated who spoke with and slept with and saw other women as they told me how much they liked me and think about how much better you are in every way to them.

When I return you will invite me over and I will go to your place, surprisingly unafraid despite having only seen you twice. I will wonder if we will sleep together and I am surprised when you tell me about your past.

You were married once.

I don’t care.

I was in an eight year relationship once, I tell you.

You don’t care.

We don’t sleep together, and I wonder if it’s because you like me or because you don’t like me enough.

I freak out before our fourth date.

The long messages that bring us closer together suddenly feel oppressive and I find myself scared to reply. I don’t know what to say and I change the subject entirely, trying to restart the thread, removing some of the seriousness of what’s happening.

We’re not “officially” together and yet you’re starting to feel like someone I need around.

I’ve been hurt before.

When I meet you in front of the restaurant, you are a little stiff. It takes a moment or two before we start talking like normal. You tell me that you told your friend about me, and I learn that you don’t like many people but you like me.

I want to be with you.

I invite you back to my place and we drink more. I want to hook up. We do, but nerves get in the way.

I worry it’s not nerves, but it’s me.

I worry I’m not good enough.

A month has gone by since I met you.

I’ve returned from another job away and you spent the night. I like waking up with you, but I hide my bashfulness by teasing you about your morning routine. I roll out of bed and throw on some clothes whereas you do your hair and put on cologne, etc. etc.

I don’t want you to date anyone else.

I don’t want to date anyone else.

I think this as we walk together in the park with our coffee and I think about how I want to say this. I think about how I want to make space for you to say no because I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t want to be with me.

In the end the words “relationship”, “boyfriend, and “girlfriend” are completely unsaid and somehow the catalyst for us becoming official is my awkward muttering of, “I’m down if you’re down.”

“I’m down,” you say, taking my hand and laughing at how I’ve managed to make everything clear in the least romantic way possible.

I tease you back but it will take weeks for me to say that you are my boyfriend.

It is not because I am embarrassed.

It is because I am in disbelief that someone like you could actually like me.

Time marches on.

I discover how competitive you are when you play board games.

Your face is a little red, and you are a little drunk when you look at me and ask, “Is it too much?”

“No,” I say, realizing that I love you but not saying it. “It’s not.”

I learn that you prefer the cold and never turn the heat on in your apartment. You are always ordering new gadgets and shirts and things whereas I can’t remember the last thing I purchased.

For a month I bite my tongue, because I know that I love you but I also know that you have not loved anyone and I do not want you to feel pressure if I say it.

You say it one day before you leave to go home for the holiday.

I am so happy you did, because I know that you mean what you say.

I know that love is a big deal to you, and that you are not just being nice.

You mean it.

It has been one year since I opened that door to the bar where we said we’d meet.

I have walked to your place countless times and you to mine as we survived a pandemic together. I have seen you at your best and at your worst, and I love you more now than I did that night when I said it back the first time.

There are still moments when I’m dazzled by your intellect, and moments when I wonder if I’m enough for you.

In those moments I think about the fact that you love me.

Because I know you do.

I believe you do.

The thought makes me I hold my head up high because if you believe I am enough for you, I should be better at loving who I am too.

And as much as I love you, I think I love myself more these days and I love you for that.

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rosesisupposes · 3 years

Text

with a door between them

this is one part projection/comfort, two parts fix-it

Set right after SVS Pt 2: Putting Others First

read on ao3

characters: Roman, Janus (Remus is mentioned but not present)

pairings: no romantic; platonic roceit

content tags: dialogue-heavy fic; self-doubt; crisis of self-worth; arguing; Roman-centric hurt/comfort; apologies; fix-it fic

reader tags: @royally-anxious @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse @thelowlysatsuma @adorably-angsty @max-is-tired @almostoveranalyzed @potestessemagishomosexualitatis @mariniacipher @vintage-squid

word count: 1,619

⁂

Janus fidgets with his gloves, staring at the gilded door in front of him. He takes a breath, and knocks.

“Yes?”

“May I come in?”

“Are you sure you didn’t mean to go to Remus’ door instead, I know you get us confused!”

“Roman, I just want to talk.”

“Thanks but no thanks, I’ve had enough lectures for one day!”

“I’m not here to lecture you-”

“I don’t care. Go away.”

“Roman, please, just listen-”

Instead of a reply, Janus hears the orchestral sounds that mean Roman’s opened up a portal to the Imagination.

With a sigh, Janus pushing open the bedroom door to see the portal starting to close. He snaps, and it freezes just long enough for him to follow the Prince into his realm.

A grand castle, shimmering in polished marble and gilded roofs, stands before him. A flicker of a familiar red sash pulls his attention to the highest tower. He makes his way through the corridors and staircases until he finds the heavy oak door to the tower room.

“Roman, listen, please, just for a moment-”

“Oh my god, do you have to just slither in everywhere? Is it not enough to just fucking bask in your newfound acceptance and everyone agreeing with you? You’ve just gotta rub it in how wrong I always am?!”

“No, I just really need-”

“The only thing you need to get lost. There’s a whole magical forest just south of here, why don’t you try it. Better yet, get out of the kingdom.”

“I’m not leaving. I need to talk to you.”

“Too bad, this castle is enchanted so that no one can lie, guess you’ll have nothing to say.”

“That’s rather harsh.”

“Yeah, well,” Roman says with a bitter laugh. “That’s all I’m good for now. Just fuck off and let me wallow, will you?”

“I have something you need to hear.”

“Too bad.”

Janus sighs, and sinks against the wall, sitting on the tower landing. He glances at the heavy door, and settles in to wait.

Long moments pass in silence, before Janus hears a huff on the other side of the door. “You’re still there, aren’t you.”

“I am.”

“Ugh.”

Janus hears footsteps, retreating and returning. Roman must be pacing on the other side of the door. Janus just waits.

“Shouldn’t you and Patton be busy planning your wedding by now?” Roman grumbles.

“And break my confirmed bachelorhood?”

“Ugh!”

More footsteps, stomping across the stone floor and back.

“Does Virgil know what happened yet?”

“I assume so.”

“He hasn’t said anything to you yet?”

“I haven’t exactly gone out of my way to let him hiss at me more.”

“Of course you haven’t.”

Stomp-stomp-stomp.

“Why are you just sitting there!!! Don’t you have anything better to do than annoy me?”

“I told you, it’s important that I talk to you.”

“And I told you, I don’t want to hear it!”

“I know.”

“So why won’t you just leave?”

“Because it’s important.”

“UGH!”

The steps shuffle and stop. Something thuds against the door, followed by the sound of cloth sliding against wood. Janus shifts until he’s leaning against the door from the outside.

“I don’t see what could possibly be so important that only you could tell me,” Roman grumbles.

“Who would you have preferred in my stead?”

“Anyone but my brother. Actually, scratch that, I’d rather have Remus.”

Janus smirks, knowing Roman can’t see him. “What’s the saying? Blood is thicker than water?”

Roman snorts. “You’re not water. Unless you’ve secretly been Jesus this whole time and you keep miracle-ing it into wine.”

“Alas, no, my secret is out, how ever will I recover.”

Roman huffs out laughter, then groans. “No, stop that. No making me laugh when I’m mad at you. Fuck off. Go away.”

“Sorry, no can do. Not until you let me tell you what I came to say.”

“Lalalalala, I can’t hear you! Hm, wonder if the snake is talking? I don’t know, I can’t hear anything. Lalalala blah blah blah blah bubba gump shrimp!”

Janus waits as Roman continues to ramble, fiddling with his cape chain until the stream of words lessens to a trickle.

“I don’t think either of you is the “evil” twin, you know,” Janus says as Roman finally lapses into silence.

“What?”

“You and Remus. I don’t think either of you are evil. Evil implies some inherent level of ill will.”

“Okay but- wait, what? Is this what you came to say? Is this the big thing that couldn’t wait?”

“No, but- earlier. I’m quite fond of Remus. He’s chaotic, but not malicious . I don’t think comparing someone to him is necessarily an insult.”

Roman grunts.

“I know you don’t like the comparison, because being separate from him is important to you. But I- that’s what I wanted to say. To ask. Why do you think it’s such a sensitive issue for you?”

“You do remember how we ended up as two sides in the first place, correct?” For a moment, Roman’s voice is a dry as Janus at his most sarcastic.

“Yes, but- you’re still Creativity. Being similar to him won’t change that.”

“The mindscape named us for a reason, snakeface. I’m the Prince, not the Duke.”

“Prince William is technically a Duke-”

“Yeah, like technicalities matter in the subconscious!”

“Then what’s the big difference that overcomes the technicalities?”

“Has Thomas ever, ever, read a story where the Duke is the hero?”

Janus leans his head all the way back against the door. There’s an edge in Roman’s voice, a warning note that says don’t keep pushing. But Janus can’t let that stop him, not when they’re both so close.

“Why does being his hero matter so much?”

“It’s what I’m supposed to be!”

“So?”

“So without it, I don’t have a purpose!”

“Roman-“

Roman’s voice is speeding up, no longer talking to Janus, just himself. “No purpose means I’m useless, and useless means I’m not needed, and not needed means-“

Janus waits.

Roman’s voice breaks “If he doesn’t need me, Thomas won’t keep putting up with me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Oh please, like you of all people don’t know.” Roman snaps, voice strained with the effort to not cry. “I might have only one brain cell but at least it still knows what I’m like. I’m extra. I’m over the top. How many times have I pulled us all into dumbassery because I didn’t pause or hesitate and just charged in? I have no impulse control, even when I really should. Like when someone trusts us with personal information that took a lot to share and I just- laugh.”

Janus grimaces. “Your reaction being inappropriate didn’t justify mine. I knew how hurtful my words would be. Like you, I didn’t control the impulse. But my slip was worse. And I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“But you’re not escaping talking about this. Thomas won’t ‘keep putting up with’ you? Roman, he loves you. You’re important to him, without being ‘of use.’”

Roman grunts.

“You don’t believe me.”

Confirming grunt.

“You still think you have to be needed.”

A pause. “Mhm.”

“Roman, what’s my function. What do I do for Thomas?

“I- well, I know it’s more than just deceit.”

“That’s right. Lies are a means to an end. And the end is self-preservation.”

“You protect him.” Roman says quietly. “From running himself ragged just to meet others’ expectations. From the rest of us completely take over his energy, whether that’s creating endlessly, or learning everything, or sacrificing himself to be perfectly selfless.”

“That’s part of it, yeah. You want to know a secret?”

“What”

“I mess up too, Prince. Not just in lashing out at you. Sometimes the lies that are meant to be self-preserving backfire.”

“I- what?”

“Sometimes, I let us tell ourselves lies that protect our egos, or that let us avoid having to grapple with more painful questions and realities. I help us spin a narrative so strong that it doesn’t even feel like a lie anymore, just a fundamental truth. But eventually, even the strongest narratives get enough holes poked into them that they crumble.”

Janus shifts, leaning sideways against the door, and continues. “And the worst part is that even as they crumble, you can’t always tell that the foundations were fabrications in the first place. You just accept them as truth, and the crumbling as failure. You believe your doubts and worries are clear-eyed truth-tellers.”

“You?”

“All of you. Thomas, Patton, Virgil, everyone. But you, Roman, most recently.”

“Oh great, I’m lying to myself now too?”

“Yes, you are.”

“And how, pray tell, am I deluding myself today?”

Janus pauses, makes sure Roman’s listening, and says, “By saying Thomas has to ‘need’ you to love you. By telling yourself you need to 'earn' your place among us. By thinking we don’t treasure you regardless of your contributions.”

“What do you- I-”

“Roman, listen very closely, okay? You are worth it. You’re worth the ‘trouble.’ You’re worthy of our love, and our time, and our care. We want you around, and we’ll keep wanting you around. Full stop.”

Silence, only quiet breathing, and Janus finally cracks open the door. Roman’s sitting on the floor, back against the wall, tears flowing through the fingers hiding his face as his shoulders wrack with silent sobs.

Janus scoots over until their shoulders touch. Without speaking, he runs a gloved hand gently through Roman’s hair, over and over, until Roman manages to speak.

“You really mean it?”

Janus turns just enough for Roman to see him as he removes the glove from his right hand. He lifts his bare hand, and waits until Roman meets his eyes to say quietly, “I promise.”

#svs redux #POF #sanders sides fanfiction #ts roman #ts janus #my smol drama son #my smol slimy boi #roses writes fanfic

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baby-witch-eli · 3 years

Text

Research, Charts, and Tarot Readings

After last night's very successful meditation, I've been very keyed up and excited. Today, between homework, I've been reflecting on the meditation and researching an aspect that struck me as odd. I felt compelled to do multiple different tarot readings, all had very similar themes that even lined up with my Horoscope! I'll break down the signs given to me today and attempt to bring all of them together.

Single Card from Familiar Deck

I drew a card from this deck at around 2:00am, soon after my meditation session. I asked for advice on how to proceed and build a good relationship with my spirit guide. My deck, known for its brutal honesty, showed me Reversed Temperance. My life has been chaotic lately and this card reminded me how urgent it is to find balance and moderation. I believe this card is a reminder, or warning, to stop overloading myself with college work and responsibilities. It will be hard to focus and set intentions if I am distracted and burned-out. It's a call to align my inner and outer worlds as I seek to maintain academic standing while deepening my spirituality. Reversed Temperance is yet another sign that I need to prioritize self-healing and make changes for the better.

Horoscope based on Natal Chart

My horoscope seems to be telling me that even though things are hard right now, I'm reaching a positive turning point. Now is a bad time for taking on more burdens, which makes sense as I've been overwhelming myself with work lately. My horoscope is also pointing out all the emotional turmoil and disillusionment I've been grappling with during the last few months, which only serves to give credence to the prior points. However, my health should be improving and I have more energy. Now is a fantastic time for creativity, originality, and intuition Overall, my horoscope seems to be conveying that even though I've been facing great struggles, I have what I need to push past them and meet my goals with good humor. My ascendant sign will be aligned with the new moon. With an upcoming move and a drive to practice spirituality more, now is the perfect time for it!

Daily Draw with a New Deck

For this four-card drawing, I asked for more guidance on dealing with my spirit guide. The grouping of three was the Moon, the Magician, and the Devil. These cards suggested that I'm waiting for the return of a loved one who I rarely see but who means a lot to me. The return of this person has the potential to trigger personal changes that I need by opening new doors to me. A cycle is ending in my life, in which I've made accomplishments I'm proud of, but I'm uncertain and apprehensive about the next one. A new story is beginning and I will be faced with decisions constantly. I have to keep moving forward to make this an upcoming transition fulfilling.

The missing card, Death, communicates me putting forth my sensitivity. My past and my experiences make me who I am and I must use that to push forward and bring out my potential.

Research

One thing that kept bothering me about my meditation was the repetition of the name Brigid. It struck me as odd and I didn't think a fox could represent the goddess of that name. However, I couldn't shake the feeling that its brown eyes were important. I continued my research wherein I tried to find a connection between Brigid and the guide that appeared to me. In a collection of folklore, I was extremely surprised to find a story in which Brigid uses a brown-eyed fox to save the life of a man. The man had accidentally killed the pet fox of the king and a workman had asked Brigid to come save the man from execution. On the way, she came upon a wild fox that took to her immediately. Brigid brought it before the king and showed that the fox could do all the same tricks as his late beloved pet. Overjoyed, the king agreed to let the man live. After Brigid left, the fox grew to see the palace as a prison. It was restless and unhappy without her presence and found itself to be rather neglected when the king left on a journey. Using the neglect to its advantage, the fox waited and managed to escape out of a door left open. The king was furious to find his fox missing when he returned. However, no matter who he sent out, the fox was never to be found again. It had escaped into the woods for good.

Yes or No

I asked the deck whether the fox that came to me in my meditation was Brigid's fox. The answer was 74% yes.

Celtic Cross

I asked this deck for more clarity on the fox's relationship to Brigid. My first pairing was Fertility and Swallows. These cards had the same message as ones I had pulled for my daily tarot: I'm waiting for the return of a person who will help me make the upcoming cycle a successful and fruitful one.

The second pairing was Fish Wheel and Island. These cards are warning me of yet unseen betrayal that has been ongoing for weeks. The reasons for this betrayal are unclear but it will signal the end of our relationship. This draw teaches me to be slow to trust before I get to know a person, lest I find myself used like I have been in the past. I need to be cautious.

The third paring was Panther and Peacock. This pairing points out how quick I am to close doors because of past failures and heartbreak. Instead of letting the past guide me, I live in it. I need to learn to let the past be the guide towards the future I should be paying more mind to. This month will be filled with new issues and challenges but I have all I need to make it through and reach my goals, as long as I make use of my experience, intuition, and temperament. I may meet a man my age who will play an important part in my future, which holds some good omens.

Draw from 32

This was the last draw of the day. I asked the deck if Brigid is trying to reach out to me. The first group of three was the Moon, Strength, and the Magician. These seemed to be telling me that I'll spend happy times with loved ones in April. The cards seemed to say that there was a woman, with considerable influence over me, appears at my side. She shows kindness towards me and I know some feelings she has for me but part of them escapes me. Our communication isn't always clear. It's possible her feelings are more intense than I believe and I may be more important than I think. A sign of her true feelings has the potential to change my life.

The second grouping of three was the Hanged Man, the Tower, and the High Priestess. As with the previous drawing, this one warns of betrayal. Where this betrayal comes from and from whom is unclear. But these cards seem to say I'm being used for personal gain and I must strategically prove I am the smarter one. Whoever this person is, I have a false perception of them. If I fail to come out on top, I could find myself destroyed again by the greed of another. The consequences would be severe. However, a third person may help give me an edge when I feel as if all hope is lost. This person's role will be decisive and they could acquire a new dimension in my life. I won't know how to thank her as it's likely she will have pulled me out of the abyss.

The third grouping of three was the Star, Wheel of Fortune, and the Emperor. These cards also seem to be pointing out that although I have the will to do well but I let the past block me. I have to learn to move on. Inaction will end with no forgiveness. I don't lack imagination or ambition but I haven't been giving myself the proper means to accomplish my goals. I suffer from inaction and need to get moving. However, once I do act, luck will be on my side this week and I could find happiness if I take my life into my own hands. This is especially powerful for me, as autonomy is something I've always felt robbed of.

The missing card for this draw was the Chariot. By not picking this card, I further emphasized my cautiousness. I am analytical person and prefer to reflect on a situation before acting on it.

Bringing it all Together

The signs I've received today seem to point towards great changes for the better in my future. However, to reach these changes I must take action. I need to learn to stop overwhelming myself with work and instead focus on what matters. Self-evaluation and perseverance will be crucial during this next cycle in my life. However, it would seem the cards are warning me that I should be prepared to face yet another devastating betrayal. They warn against the consequences of continued inaction and clinging to the past. The challenges I'm facing are not yet coming to an end, although the end is in sight. My readings today seem to suggest that the fox appeared to me in order to help me use discernment in my relationships and to guide me on my path towards healing and improvement. If my interpretations are correct, Brigid may be reaching out to offer me aid. Overall, I think that my ascending sign, Aries, aligning with the new moon at this point in my life is a sure sign that now is the perfect time to act.

#baby witch #witch tarot #witch notes #divination #brigid #deities #brigid goddess #witch journey #witch life #red fox

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nevaryadl · 4 years

Text

The Slayer teaches Vega some grappling and takedown techniques cw: long post

The Slayer, even in his down time, needed to keep up his body and his physical health. Usually, Vega would watch the Slayer do basic exercises around the fortress. Sit ups, push ups, stretching, curls, so on and so forth. It was always a delight in seeing the Slayer take care of himself, both knowing that the Slayer was taking care of his health and also because it was always a delight to see the Slayer’s… wonderful body in motion.

It was while Vega was watching the Slayer do his exercises, that the Slayer took pause and turned towards him.

‘Vega, can you defend yourself?’ The Slayer signed out.

“... Can I defend myself?” Vega chimed back.

‘Defend against someone attacking you’, The Slayer clarified.

“Ah… I am not quite sure. I have only recently acquired a physical platform, and before that, there was little means of ‘attacking me’,” Vega said.

‘Can I teach you some things?’ The Slayer signed out.

“You wish to teach me how to defend myself?” Vega asked.

The Slayer stepped over to where Vega had seated himself and his physical platform, holding out his hands invitingly. Vega took them, following the pointed tug upwards until he was standing and walking with the Slayer as he walked backwards to the smallish training mat that he had set up. He stood there, hands being held by the Slayer, before they reluctantly let go of each other, though the Slayer standing no more than a foot from Vega, head tilted up to meet his optics.

‘I want you to be safe’, The Slayer signed out.

“That is an incredibly touching thought, Slayer,” Vega said. “Though, I am not quite sure when I would ever need to defend myself.”

“Just in case,” The Slayer grunted out.

The Slayer worrying him was absolutely endearing of him and made him fall in love just that bit more with the man. He cared, and of course Vega knew that, but it was the little things that nearly overwhelmed Vega’s processors with the realness of it. That the Slayer cared for him. That the Slayer loved him. Absolutely wonderful.

And, that was why, Vega had to resist the urge to be amused when, during an explanation of how to incapacitate several species of demon on the Slayer’s part, that Vega suddenly realized that with his access to the internet and other sophisticated data bases, that Vega could ‘download’ most any fighting style or defensive skills. And then use them with little trouble. But, he kept that to himself. Why do it that way when the Slayer was offering to teach him himself?

‘Okay, try and grapple me,’ The Slayer signed out.

“Of course. Please tell me if I accidently harm you, Slayer. I would never on purpose, but I am still not quite sure of the absolutes of this platform’s strength,” Vega said before they put some space between each other and then took their stances.

Vega was still getting used to the platform. He could move in general just fine, but more skilled and quick movements were still rather strange to do, and he keenly felt his movements being rather awkward as he tried to get the Slayer into a grapple, each attempt met with an easy escape and gentle nudge back to let him know that the attempt was unsuccessful.

And while it was tempting to download the knowledge to twist their positions around… it was far too endearing for the Slayer to encourage him and gently critique him on what he was doing right and what he was doing wrong. There was a beauty in how simple and easy the Slayer phrased himself, the assured way that he spoke, and Vega did wonder if it was how he taught others while he was with the Sentinels or how he was taught. It felt very ‘tried and true’ and it almost seemed to come as second nature in the simple ‘correct the wrong and praise the good’ manner of teaching.Perhaps Vega did not have the same feelings towards praise as the Slayer did, but it felt rather good to have the Slayer praise his attempts to grapple.

The temptation to download the training was still there, the thought of pinning the Slayer to the mat with ease got Vega… excited… but he never partook of it. It was exciting as it was to get his hands onto the Slayer’s body and try to ‘manhandle’ him into a grapple, though the Slayer would rather easily twist out or bat his arms away. To see even a fraction of the Slayer’s finesse and power at work was… amazing beyond compare. And to feel the Slayer ‘demonstrate’ holds and grapples and feeling the power of the man’s body against his physical platform was… something so amazing that it was hard to put into words.

When Vega managed to pin the Slayer under his own skill, finding himself and the Slayer on the ground and the Slayer’s arm firmly pinned with his metal thighs and holding the Slayer’s wrist in his hands as the man lay face down on the mat, one of Vega’s clamped together thighs pressing against the back of his neck, the victory felt so much sweeter and well earned. He had done it, he had pinned the Slayer under his own power and skill.

“Are you alright?” Vega asked.

The Slayer threw him a thumbs up and patted his thigh. Vega released him, the Slayer rolling his arm around as he slowly sat up.

“Very good,” The Slayer grunted out, grinning lopsidedly.

“You are a good teacher, Slayer,” Vega chimed. “Is your shoulder alright?”

“Sore.”

“Would you allow me to message it? In apology and thanks?”

“Sure.” The Slayer let his arm fall tired. ‘Don’t need to apologize though.’

Vega shuffled to sit behind the Slayer and took to messaging the Slayer’s shoulder, making sure to be gentle in case of rather new tenderness. The Slayer sighed happily at his touch, leaning into it a bit, warming Vega’s core and devoting himself to the task in his hands, until the Slayer was loose and languid in his hands and leaning heavily against him. When he was done, Vega gently eased the Slayer back until he was fully leaned against him, looking down to see the Slayer looking up.

“My thanks for teaching me, Slayer,” Vega said, slipping his arms around the Slayer and resting his hands on the Slayer’s abdomen.

The Slayer smiled up at him, moving his hands up to say something.

‘Want to teach you how to shoot next’

“Oh my, that should be interesting. But you are a good teacher, I feel safe in such capable hands.”

The Slayer pinked quite cutely at that, thumbing at his nose before looking aside, mouth quirking up into a smirk. Vega bent his head down to bump his face plate against the Slayer’s face gently, making the Slayer laugh before getting a hold of his head to hold it to kiss it proper, making Vega’s core warm delightfully.

Yes, he was quite safe in such capable hands. And so, the Slayer was also safe in his.

#doom #doom eternal #doomvega #The Doom Slayer #doom marine #VEGA (doom)#long post/

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